On my recent trip to Belgium and Slovakia, I flew Icelandic Air.  I did that so I could have a free stop-over in Reykjavik.  My favorite souvenir in Iceland was not a magnificent $200 hand-knit sweater.  Beautiful! But, way out of my budget.  No, I take interesting photos and then draw portraits for my best souvenirs. 

There is a reason why they call the place Iceland.  The place knows how to get cold.  And, I was not prepared for the kind of cold I faced in Reykjavik.  On a previous trip to the Arctic Circle, in Finland, I learned that cold doesn’t matter as long as you know how to dress for it.  I was warm and comfortable in Finland.  So, I guess I didn’t learn my lesson because, I repeat, I was not prepared for Iceland.  I froze. 

I knew to wear layers.  I wore a T-shirt, a regular shirt, a pull-over hoodie, a coat, double pants and double socks.  Notice, that list didn't include a hat, thermal winter coat, gloves, scarf or winter boots.  (I had sneakers.)  I was ready for winter in Belgium, but I wasn't in Belgium.  Actually, the shoes were wrong for Belgium, too.

Anyway, I opted for two tours in the cold.  The first was a night tour to see the Northern Lights.  We’ve all seen the postcards with amazing greens, blues, purples and reds.  What nobody ever tells you, until after you’ve paid for the tour, is that the “color” most often seen is white.   My guide said that those other colors are only seen two or three times a season.  Now, you know.

Okay, so they maybe should be called the “Northern Whites”.   Regardless, they were amazing.  From inside the warmth of van, I first saw a great band of white slash the sky from top to bottom.  But, when I crawled out of the warmth of my van to face the full brunt of sub-freezing Iceland cold, I saw a double white “rainbow” cross the entire sky.  Those lights continually danced and changed.  The rainbow merged into a giant loop before totally disappearing.  Then, I saw a huge halo over the mountains in the horizon.  The final spectacle showed swirling curves across the sky like a Van Gogh painting.  It was a “Starry Night” sky in real life.

The second tour was a day trip along the southern coast of Iceland to unpronounceable waterfalls, glaciers, beaches and a volcano that blurred together in the cold.  The thermometer in the van claimed it was -11 degrees Centigrade outside.  That didn’t include the wind chill factor with a gale force strong enough to knock you over.  At one point, I took this photo of fellow passenger Ben.  I thought he looked as cold and miserable as I felt.  And, he had the perfect name for a title.

If you're old enough to know who Forrest Gump is, then you know all about life and its box of chocolates.  Well, I was in the Peace Corps six years before that movie and there was very little chocolate involved in my experience.  When there was an occasional "CARE package" from home, everyone at the Post Office knew Peace Corps Volunteers always received chocolate of some kind.  And, it must be said, even if a mouse ate a corner of some chocolate bar as the box sat in the Post Office, it never mattered in Liberia.  Nobody ever wasted chocolate.

My mom sent Reece's Pieces, my chocolate of choice.  However, on a day to day basis in Zwedru, Liberia, there was very limited chocolate.  The only kind of "candy" available tasted like Halls eucalyptus cough drops.  Yes, they are horrible.  That is not real candy.  And if that wasn't bad enough, in the tropical heat, they were also sticky.  Somehow, my neighbor kids were thrilled whenever I passed them out.  I don't understand how.  I do promise you they were a whole lot happier when I taught them how to make no-bake chocolate cookies with treasured cocoa powder from the capital.

I still love no-bake cookies.  Well, actually, it's hard to find a cookie I don't like.  At a recent Returned Peace Corps Volunteer gathering, I grabbed more cookies than I should have before joining a group around a picnic table.  I fell into conversation with a man from Cameroon.   When I told him about my murals, he said, "You should paint murals in Cameroon."

I love the idea of returning to Africa.  However, there is that pesky little problem about financing the journey.  When I was informed that money should not be a problem, the guy had my attention.  He said I should write to the U.S. Embassy in Cameroon.  However, the letter should not go to the ambassador.  I needed to write to the Public Affairs Officer.  My community murals are so unique that there should be interest in the project as well as cash in discretionary funds.

Okay, that advice (and way too many cookies) happened on a Wednesday night.  On Thursday I wrote to Cameroon.  But, hey, I thought it might be wise to not put all my cookies in one basket.  So, I wrote to ten embassies.  On Friday morning, I got my first reply. 

Yes, I know that was fast.  When I first moved to Africa (pre-Internet, e-mail or Facebook), the fastest communication home took a month.  It was two weeks for the letter to get home and another two weeks for the return if they wrote that same day.  Nobody ever replied that quickly unless I told them about malaria.  So, yes, instant (and even overnight) communication anywhere around the world continues to amaze me.

I know, I know, be careful what you wish for, but this was more than I could possibly have wished for.  The reply was from the embassy in Liberia.  The people from the embassy want me to paint two murals with Liberians who survived the Ebola outbreak!  In my mind, anyone who survived Ebola should be considered a national treasure, but that isn't the case in Africa.  Those poor people are stigmatized in society.  The hope is that involving them in a community project will help with their re-integration. 

It's already an amazing opportunity.    But, it gets even better.   One mural will be in Zorzor and the other will be in Zwedru.  Yep, my Zwedru!  After more than twenty-five years, a horribly violent civil war that ripped the country apart and that terrifying Ebola epidemic, I'm going back home.  It's a trip that is so long overdue.  Mama Gump was right; you never know what you're gonna get.  So, pass me some chocolates to stow away in my luggage because I'm packing my bags for Africa.
 
P.S.  If you happen to be too young and have no idea what I'm writing about, you need to know the most famous line out of Forrest Gump's mouth.  "Mama always said life was like a box of chocolates.  You never know what you're gonna get."  Now, go rent yourself the movie and bring your own box of goodies.

I'm not really a chicken.

Some people think chickens cross the road to get to the other side.  I don't buy into that nonsense. No self-respecting chicken wants to cross the road at the risk of turning into cloud of fluttering feathers and a pile of smithereens.  Every time a chicken - or a person - crosses a road, there is a risk of an accident happening.  It
can happen any time, any place or anywhere.  Some day my number is going to be up.  Yours, too.  I am just determined that it shouldn't happen while crossing the street in Columbus, Ohio.  So, I can say I've ridden the trains in Madrid and the tubes in London.  I've sipped at cafes in Ougadougou, Casablanca and Manhattan.  I will not spend my life "hiding in the hen house".

I don't believe we're meant to live as chickens.  We are not meant to live in fear.  Yes, there are some terrible people "out there" who do horrible things.  But, the world is filled with so many more incredible people.  When you go out and meet them, you'll see that we are a whole lot more alike than we are different.  And, differences
only make us more interesting, not threatening.  So, I cross the road and then I cross the globe.

After the Paris attack in November, chickens wouldn't have even stepped on to the sidewalk.  Forget about the road!  But, I had a ticket to Europe and it was non-refundable.  I crossed the globe.

I didn't go to Paris.  I would have if I had the time.  Instead, I went to Brussels.  If you followed the news on your smartphone on that weekend, you would have known that Brussels was on lock-down with the highest possible terrorist security threat.    Some kind of attack was feared imminent.  But, I don't have a smart phone.  With my dumb-ass phone, completely oblivious to the news of the day, you might say I was a dumb . . . er, uninformed traveler.  But in my defense, my phone doesn't work overseas.  My friends in Antwerp wanted to warn me.
There was no way to communicate.

So, I hopped on the train to Brussels.  Apparently, buses and subways throughout the city were shut down for the weekend.  The trains worked just fine.  But, when I walked out of the station, parked right in
front of me was some kind of military vehicle.  It wasn't a tank, but several policemen could easily have been inside, ready to protect and defend against whatever or whomever came their way.  I took a left turn.

When I go to Brussels, I head to two streets where antiques are sold. I didn't see anything I had to buy.  Whew!  But, I had a very nice stroll in my favorite part of the city.  Then, I decided it was time to wander towards the city center with its incredible marketplace. Things were entirely different the closer I came to the Grand Place.
Stores were "mysteriously" closed for the weekend.  I didn't know why.  Streets were blocked off so no cars could get to the center.  And police!  All kinds of police with all kinds of fancy guns were all around the market!

I finally approached an officer and asked if he spoke English.  I wanted to know if there was a specific threat or if this was just the "new normal" after Paris.  The young officer spoke English, with the most delightful French accent, and shamelessly lied through his teeth.  He said it was just the new normal.  Well, new normal or not, I
decided it was time to return to Antwerp.  You may disagree, but my mamma didn't raise no fool.

Total time spent in a locked-down European capital city - one hour and a half.

November isn't the best month to vacation in Europe.  It was cold, wet and windy.  I spent a lot of time sipping cappuccinos in cozy cafés. But, the reason for this trip was to visit with some good friends from
several countries.  Mission accomplished and I safely crossed the globe back to the United States.

At customs, the officer asked if I'd recently been to West Africa. What?  Why?  I hadn't heard any recent news about Ebola.  Was it back in Liberia?  The officer informed me that Liberia was still clear, but Ebola had resurfaced in Sierra Leone.  It just wasn't making the news any more.  Well, that was sort of a relief to hear.  Because, you see, the next time I cross the road and the globe, I'm going to Liberia to paint murals with Ebola survivors.

Feel free to stay in your hen house for that trip.

Most people only know about my cartooning, but I drew the portraits you see here.  They are all from my travels around the globe and all carry special memories.  Sometimes I take photos of people I know.  Other portraits are of people who cross my path for a few brief moments.  But, thanks to a zoom lens, I also snap portraits of people who have no idea they ever captured my eye.

From left to right, here are their stories.

Ten Gallons and a Half Pint
Mexico
There was a lot of Mexican food involved during my visit to Piedras Negras.  One celebration with a whole lot of food was at church where I found this little boy.  Not only was there food, but there were embroidered dresses, western boots and cowboy hats for big and small alike. 
During preparation for yet another feast, I was asked if I liked "chile". Now, when you ask someone from the United States if they like "chili", they always think of piping hot soup with beans and meat (and hopefully topped with grated cheese and/or sour cream). That's not what it means in Mexico. If you ask someone in Piedras Negras about "chile", they are talking about salsa with chile peppers.
My chefs used all kinds of peppers including serrano, chile de árbol and chipotle.  No recipe included jalapeños. Those little bits of fire were reserved especially for nachos. And, one small hint if you want to cut down on the fire. Take out the seeds before you make your chile. No matter if you were as young as this half pint or a whole lot older, I appeared to like salsa hotter than most Mexicans.

Maasai Young Man
Tanzania
As in many cultures around the world, when a young man or woman reaches a certain age in Tanzania, there are traditional rites that usher them into adulthood.  For Maasai males, the most celebrated age-group is the Morani, or warrior group. The initiated belong in this group for approximately 10 years, beginning in their late teens or early twenties.
It's not all that common to witness the celebration.  I traveled with a small group as we zipped past about half a dozen young men, dressed in black with white designs smeared across their bodies.  The van sped by before I could grab my camera.  Well, I made sure that if we ever saw this again that the driver knew this was a photo opportunity not to be missed. 
Sometimes I get embarrassed about asking strangers for photos.  However, these boys were thrilled.  Actually, they waited along the roadside for interested tourists just like me to stop.  They knew that they would attract attention -- and -- that they would get good tips.  Everybody was happy.

Mama's Girl
Ecuador
The actual photo was not in focus.  I had a zoom lens that seemed to work correctly about half the time.  That just wasn’t acceptable when snapping once in a lifetime photos on safari in Africa or in rural village markets in the Andes Mountains.  However, even with an unfocused photo of this girl walking with her mother, I knew I had the makings for a good portrait.
However, I’d had it with that zoom lens.  I stuffed it in my luggage instead of my carry on.  I didn’t need to worry about the extra space or weight that it took up in my bag.  I was done with that lens!  It would ruin no more photo opportunities.
As it turned out, I was really done with that lens.  It was stolen from my luggage at the airport in Ecuador  (and I couldn’t have been happier!)  On one of those rare occasions when I did something correctly, I had travel insurance that reimbursed me the full value of that worthless lens.  I used it as a down payment to purchase my next camera, with a lens that no longer frustrated me like the previous one.

Grandma Chakir
Morocco
The Chakirs, my Moroccan family, were such gracious hosts.  It wasn't just for me.  My friends were also welcomed into the Chakir home on several occasions.  However, all welcome mats were thrown out and no holds were barred when my mother, brother and sister came to Casablanca, Morocco.
Mom always came with presents and introduced them to American treats like buckeyes and Jiffy Pop popcorn.  But, it was seriously impossible to out give the Chakirs.  On one of my mother's three visits, they had Moroccan gowns for Mom (as well as my brother and sister who weren't even there).  Once the gowns were distributed, there was naturally a photo session with my mother, Mama Chakir and Grandma Chakir, all decked out in their best djellabahs.  Mr. Chakir wanted in the photos but I said he was dressed like an American.  If he wanted to sit with these ladies, he had to dress like a Moroccan and put on a djellabah. 
Grandma Chakir just chuckled.  She couldn't believe I said that to her son.

Chimney Sweep
Germany
My mother’s grandparents were from the German / French region of Alsace-Lorraine.  According to family legend, grandfather was too short to get into (or out of) the military.  He would have suffered (and probably not survived) simply because the German military didn’t really tolerate those vertically challenged.  He fled to the USA.  Grandmother was a different challenge.  She got caught with her sister’s fiancé and was promptly sent off to America.  I think I would have liked her.
Mom wanted to explore her roots and we headed off to Europe together.  We knew there was a Roth family home somewhere in Gundershoffen, most likely in the town center.  We just didn’t know where.  I thought the best way to find it was a trip to city hall.  They were closed and I failed on my mission.   Mom, on the other hand, went to the local bar (probably for the first time in her life) and looked for the oldest man there.  Of course, he knew where the Roth house was located.   Along the way, we met this chimney sweep.  I knew that chimneys still needed to be cleaned, but I didn’t know that any of the men still dressed like Dick Van Dyke.

Girl from Angkor Wat
Cambodia
To be honest, this is one of my most favorite portraits.  If you really look at that scarf, you’ll see the tedious detail and can only imagine the amount of time it took to draw.  When I completed it, I seriously considered stopping with the portraits.  Perhaps I did my best one here?  Not sure, but I’m glad I didn’t quit.
The girl is wearing a Khmer scarf called a “krama”.  Traditionally red and white, they can also be used as bandanas to cover the face or even carry a baby.  I took this photo as she worked at one of the archaeological sites at Angkor Wat.
I visited Cambodia before Angelina Jolie / Lara Croft, tomb raider, found her way there.  Tourism changed at Angkor Wat after that movie.  So, where I visited with a few hundred people, now days you are likely to visit with thousands.  It might not be the same experience, but it is still worth it to view this Hindu/Buddhist complex that is the largest religious monument in the world as well as a UNESCO World Heritage Center.