Walk in the Woods

Nik Curfman 8/7/23 Nik Curfman 8/7/23

Vol IV: #3 Colombia And My Sister

Over the last two years, Omar and I have wondered through the Redwoods and hiked local trails in Shasta County, discussed geo politics, and encouraged each other in the area of romantic interests. Naturally, we built a supportive friendship and enjoy spending time together. I’d wanted to visit Colombia but knew I needed to wait for an invite. And in May, before he left for the summer, Omar asked,”why not come to Colombia?” And I happily said yes.

One of the benefits of attending BSSM is the opportunity to meet men and women from all over the Earth. My small group had Germans, Brazilians, Mexicans, an Austrian, several people from Singapore, a few Brits, and a half dozen Canadians. And then we had Omar who hails from Colombia, the land of gangsters, violence, and cocaine.

I befriended Omar the first day of class. He was quiet and sat by himself a few rows in front of me. During a break, I introduced myself and he seemed unimpressed. Later, I’d learn he was overwhelmed and lonely in Redding. He’d left his family and friends and culture to come to BSSM. It’s a sacrifice I don’t think many domestics properly understand.

Omar is of a medium build, clean shaven with a broad face, and deep smile lines on either cheek. He always wears colorful button-down shirts, and clean blue jeans and hiking boots. (On my visit to Colombia, I’d find this to be of the common fashion.) He’s thoughtful even in his own language and eternally polite. Living in America was hard on his sense of time and bank account, but he persevered. And most admirably, he never complained. Not even once.

Colombia isn’t what you think it is. It’s beautiful with tall green mountains, vibrant flowers in bloom, and warm, welcoming people. Food is plentiful and affordable and I felt safe- with the exceptions of a few neighborhoods in Bogota. I wasn’t shocked. Omar represents his country well, and I read. I knew the narco days were in the past- for the most part. And that Presidents Uribe and Santos had propelled the country into the 21st Century. Colombia is a bit behind on infrastructure because of the wars, but they are making up for lost time with construction projects every ten feet.

During my time there, the overwhelming beauty refreshed my soul. I thought about it a lot, how the enemy tries to destroy the most beautiful places and people, but the Lord is good. And I also thought about my sister, and how in some way I felt like I understood her more. She speaks fluent Spanish and has visited a number of South American countries. And given the person I know her to be, she fits right in to place like Colombia. Her sense of community, lack of planning or time*, her expressive nature, all of it. Be if the best parts of a country like Colombia or the not so best parts, my sister would thrive in a place like Colombia.

All of these thoughts also gave me feelings of empathy for her. And I wonder if learning Spanish changed the way she thinks and looks at life. Scientists say it does. Our very white family could not have known how her Spanish proficiency affected her life. (Clink this link if you want to learn more: Learning a language changes your brain.) And so, for this and few other reasons, I’m glad I visited Omar in his home country. Colombia is wonderful and so is my sister.

*For real though, the lack of time management drove my Germanic-Anglo ass up the wall. Ten minutes means 600 seconds, not “some mysterious time in the future after the aforementioned ten minutes.”

Nik Curfman 8/14/22 Nik Curfman 8/14/22

Vol III: #4 I Hate Being A Tourist

Tourist are ignorant, unaware, and vulgar. And if you believe popular myth, we Americans are the worst kind of tourist. This is a lie. Another myth is we are all stupid, fat, and lazy. Though we struggle with these issues, the United States holds no monopoly on ignorance, pride, or gluttony. To my point, the French hotel clerk who called me “tres grossir’ was in fact a fat Frenchie.

As for me, I want to appear as though I belong and on occasion I succeed. My heart always smiles when people speak to me in their native tongue or ask me for directions. It’s moments like the one I had with asshole hotel clerk that make my skin boil. He didn’t know I speak French and thought to take advantage of the situation to be rude. What my French friend did wasn’t unique. In every country, culture, and tongue, we express our sinful pride and take advantage of foreigners. I hate it. One value my parents gave me was to value all people no matter where they come from. So more accurately, when I say I hate being a tourist, I’m really saying I hate being vulnerable and belittled or being a target. (And, while I like being called a smart American because I know north African geography, it’s asinine to judge my countrymen if they don’t. The fact that I know where Algeria is in relation to Tunisia or Egypt never made me a dime.)

The full picture of my travels unfortunately includes a few jackasses, but also kindness and warmth. Twice in Paris, I tripped on an uneven sidewalk. Each time a stranger reached out and asked if I was ok. A random luggage clerk in Kathmandu brought me my bag from a locked room, though his boss wasn’t thrilled by the act. And, in every city and village, children always returned my smile with a smile, and usually their parents smiled too.

Halfway through my time in Nepal, I had to let myself be a tourist. I let myself be vulnerable and decided to trust Simon. My decision helped build a better relationship with my friend. And, I relaxed. Yes, the diarrhea continued and my jet lag persisted, but I found peace in the storm. So what to the people who try to take advantage of me or talk shit? That’s life. I am choosing to let it roll off my back and keep trucking.

Here’s to all the ignorant tourist: you made the journey and crossed the waters. You’re the explorer and the adventurer, the one who said yes when most others say no.

Nik Curfman 8/11/22 Nik Curfman 8/11/22

Vol III: #3 Back At Living

I want to write more about my travels. But, right now, I’m having a hard time putting thoughts together. My mind feels scattered and displaced. I wanted to write something today, and I did, though it isn’t cohesive. LOL. Perhaps tomorrow. For now, I’m happy to post this ramble which I now see has little to do with my title.

This post took a while to write. More accurately, I had a hard time deciding what to write. My brain is stuck in a timezone over the Atlantic and God only knows when I’ll rediscover my usual sleep pattern. What I want is to organize my thoughts about the trip and what I expect moving onward. But, I decided to be gracious toward myself and relax while I can.

Of all that happened during my travels, I’m happy I was patient with my circumstances. Each stop had its flaws: Paris was sweaty and crowded. Nepal was wild, chaotic, and challenged my digestive system. And in Germany, life moved at a leisurely pace. (In fact, flying from Nepal to Germany was like going to library after spending the night at a cock fight. I needed a day to adjust to the quiet of the rolling farmland.) In addition to the adjustments needed for each culture, I faced the usual downfalls of the western traveler- bad food, lost luggage, delays, rude ticket and hotel agents, and all types of people trying to hustle the foreign guy for a dollar.

My favorite hustler was a skinny Nepalese man who’s main tactic was to stand- arms folded- in my line of sight. He tried to stare me down while looking as impoverished as he could. I had to keep from laughing every time he tried to shake me down. My local grocery store in Redding has at least 5-6 aggressive beggars in the parking lot. They use shame and guilt and sob stories to secure their next hit. My poor Nepali needed something better than folded arms and a glare.

Nik Curfman 7/21/22 Nik Curfman 7/21/22

Vol II: #95 First Impressions of Paris

My first impressions of Paris, more observations and thoughts to follow.

My dad taught me to look like I know what I’m doing regardless of the situation. In other words, display confidence even when I’m completely lost or bewildered. For example, within my first two hours of being in France, three separate people asked me for directions. In Redding, this is quite normal, but in Paris I had to laugh. If only they knew I spent 45 minutes trying to decipher how to leave the airport.

And now, some of my first impressions:

To answer the question of how to leave Orly International Airport: Take the Orly Val train to Antony Station, then transfer to the B line north.
Paris is a maze of streets and boulevards.
Paris is packed and dense. Every inch of the this city to put to use and the parks are lovely. And, people are everywhere. All kinds of people. To put the packed/dense thing into perspective, the city of Charlotte has 900,000 people living on 300-ish square miles of land. If Charlotte were as densely populated as Paris, it would have 16 million people. That’s staggering to think about. The only city in America that’s comparable is Manhattan in NYC.
Yes. The bread to noticeably better than in the US and not expensive. We have quality breads in the US but they tend to be expensive ie a good sourdough loaf in Redding is $10. What I mean to say is, the average bread in Paris is delicious.
The relationship between the Catholic Church and Paris- and by extension France- is very real. I walked into two separate Cathedrals yesterday. One was commissioned by Napoleon and the other was built by local priest. One was dead and one was alive. I’ll let you guess which was which.
Finally, of all the US cities, Paris most reminds me of…New Orleans. I know, what a shock.

That’s it, for now.

Nik Curfman 6/28/22 Nik Curfman 6/28/22

Vol II: #87 Real Sh-t Part 2

God bless people who make travel international arrangements for groups and tourists, or anyone. The process reminds me of my amateur status in regards to international travel. I’ve been to Russia and Canada. And, I did zero work to make either trip happen. This trip is all on me to plan and execute. Good Lord, what a task.

What’s great about having most the trip booked is I can begin to plan about my days in Paris and Nepal. Halfway through my escapades yesterday, I realized I’ll be all alone. (I know what you’re thinking: NO SHIT, NIK.) I felt scared and vulnerable for an hour or so. Of course, I’ll be alone in a new country, new culture, with limited ability to communicate in French. That’s what I signed up for, right?

After my brief panic, I reminded myself of two very real facts. First, I am going to Paris on the instruction of the Holy Spirit, not your average American tourist. And two, it’s Paris. The city full of life and culture and history. I’ll start my days at a Catholic mass- where I am to bless them in prayer- and then on to any number of parks, museums, or monuments. Accordingly, I already purchased my ticket to the Louvre and plan to spend my last full day in the Musee de Louvre. In all my life, I have yet to go to a museum alone. I can’t wait because I’ll be able to stare at whatever painting or sculpture I want, for as long as I want. (And, the site has 16- yes 16!- cafes and canteens to service the patrons. What-what?! The prices are reasonable enough?! They will literally have to kick me out of the building. I said all day and I meant ALL damn day.)

As for Nepal, I have little concerns for what or how that portion of the trip will play out. My new friend Simon has made all the necessary arrangements and I’m looking forward to seeing his smiling face. Simon is in his mid-20’s after living in an orphanage. He’s mentally strong and always ready with a joke. But, he’s serious about the Gospel too. I have a lot more peace when I think about going to Nepal because of him.

For the rest of the week, I’ve got a punch list of travel tasks to complete e.g. secure a euro electrical plug, purchase an international phone plan, etc. As I watch this trip go from an idea to a reality, it’s getting more real and I’m starting to get excited. I like that.

Nik Curfman 6/27/22 Nik Curfman 6/27/22

Vol II: #86 Real Sh-t

I dragged ass on buying my tickets long enough. The post is literally the last ounce of procrastination I have in me.

Since January, I’ve told anyone who asked “what are you doing this summer?” that I am going to Paris then Nepal. Months ago I said it with joy and anticipation. That joy has since morphed into anxiety and stress. As I type I am only a few weeks away and I have yet to buy my tickets or make accommodations. But, this post will be my last bit of procrastination. I’ve got my credit card beside me ready for the using.

I don’t see procrastination as a terrible practice. When I was in college I did my best work when the deadline was mere hours away. I admit that when I say I procrastinated, what I really mean to say is I waited to do the bulk of the work when it time to work- as in I learned how to build momentum on projects and papers by slowly gathering resources for that final push.

But, this is not college. It’s real life and I have what I need to get the ball rolling.

Ok. I’m gonna stop writing and start buying. More tomorrow.

Nik Curfman 5/4/21 Nik Curfman 5/4/21

Journal: #273 Travel Day, Take 2

I’m not perfect, but I don’t expect to be. I have doubts, but they are signs I’m moving in the right way. Rough days and weeks happen. Some of my relationships are in shambles, and I rarely go through an entire day without anxiety. But, I’m still here. I’m still writing and walking, praying and believing. I am weathering the storms. And, when they are too tough to endure, I hunker down to try again the next day.

I knew the weather in Georgia was extreme before I left to go to the Columbia Metro Airport yesterday afternoon. I knew it, and yet I didn’t think it would cause me any delays to my return to Redding. Why didn’t I connect the dots (my Delta flight went through Atlanta)? I just didn’t. So, after a series of delays, a hurried boarding, and another delay, we deplaned. Then they cancelled the flight, straight up. It made me laugh, because what else could I do? It’s not as though Delta didn’t try, and tornadoes are not joke. They did their best. Time for plan B.

Plan B put me on a plane at 7:30 AM this morning. Once again, as all Delta flights to south are, I was routed through Atlanta. Everything in Columbia went as planned. Step one complete. In Atlanta, the storm clouds gathered to the west. As we did the day before, we boarded out flight bound for Sacramento with great haste. Unlike the day before we got off the ground. Our pilot was determined, and flew south to avoid the storms. The flight took an hour longer than normal, but I finally arrived in California 14 hours later than planned. I call it a success given the situation and my prayers go out the those suffering from the storms.

For no good reason, I feel a new season is upon me. The delay in my return to Redding reminded me of how I first arrived in Redding. On March 1st, 2014 my flight from Chicago to Redding was cancelled due to engine problems. I spent the night in a hotel, and finally made it to Redding late the next day. I arrived clueless, but clinging to an idea. I believed the Lord held something good for me in California. Today, I have that same sense. The difference is I know the Lord has good things for me this summer.

My first year in Redding the Lord asked me to trust Him, which I did in spurts. For three or four months stretches, I leaned into the Holy Spirit and lived the best life I could. Then the hype faded, and I wandered away from my pursuit of the kingdom. Jesus was my best friend, but I treated Him like an Emergency Room. When I read through my old journals, He message never changed. He remained the patient teacher despite my inability to listen. Last summer I made my full commitment to pursue the Him every single day. And now, I’m here.

Where is here, you probably wonder. Here is the other side of me, the life Jesus always held for me. Gone are the deeps shames and self-denial. They’re replaced with endurance, faith, and love. I’m not perfect, but I don’t expect to be. I have doubts, but they are signs I’m moving in the right way. Rough days and weeks happen. Some of my relationships are in shambles, and I rarely go through an entire day without anxiety. But, I’m still here. I’m still writing and walking, praying and believing. I am weathering the storms. And, when they are too tough to endure, I hunker down to try again the next day.

I’ve got a destiny in Jesus. My only path is forward.

Nik Curfman 5/3/21 Nik Curfman 5/3/21

Journal: #272 Travel Day Today

I don’t love airports, planes, or the drive from Sacramento to Redding. It’s the smell, a grizzly mix of jet fumes, sweat, and industrial cleaning solutions. After every flight I take a shower ASAP to wash it away. Man was not made to fly, and somehow we did it. And, as unpleasant a process as it can be, I can fly from one side of the United States to the other in six hours. What a gift.

I feel guilty for leaving my parents just as my dad ramps up his radiation treatments. My brother and sister seem poised to step up and help shoulder the load, so that’s nice. But, I feel for my momma. She’s the one who will battle the day-to-day ups and downs. (My dad is a fighter, which is great. It’s his instinct, but can be a bit of roadblock when anyone tries to help him.) One of my tasks will be to encourage her when she’s overwhelmed.

See y’all tomorrow, from the Golden State.