I have recently been in discussion with some young adults, college graduates, and they all make me feel kind of ancient.  Some of them knew Sergeant Pepper.  Nobody had a clue what "ring around the collar" meant, or "Plop, Plop, Fizz, Fizz" or what Mr. Whipple didn't want you to squeeze.  And, it's my guess that most likely they never heard of Simon & Garfunkel either.  Well, they may have an excuse for the last one.  I mean, honestly, when did Paul Simon last have a hit?  And, Art Garfunkel is probably most famous for how his career disappeared when the duo broke up.  But, I remember them for "The Sounds of Silence", "The Boxer", "Slip Slidin' Away" and "I Am a Rock".  If you look up the lyrics, none or them were too happy.  So, maybe these young people aren't missing so much after all?  Then again, I know what they are probably listening to today.  I'll stick with the classics.

But, all this got me to thinking.  What on earth does "Garfunkel" mean.  Seriously, of all the names anyone could select, why would anyone want to be the first Mr. Garfunkel?  And, why would the first Mr. Simon want a name that could just as easily be a first name or a last name?  I know all about that confusion.  I had to look up the names.

Most references for Simon go back to the twelve apostles of Jesus.  The disciple Simon was also called Peter, "the Rock".  The name Simon comes from Hebrew and means "listen".  It's my guess that Paul Simon didn't "simon" to his singing partner Garfunkel.  I've always heard they hated each other.  You aren't listening to the other person's point of view when you're too busy hating on him.  Of course, Paul may have simply preferred the Greek meaning of Simon which translates as "flat-nosed".

And then, there is Garfunkel.

It comes from Yiddish for "carbuncle".  I've heard of the word, never knew the definition, and looked it up.  Now, I wish I never had.  It's a collection of pus filled boils that are somehow connected under the skin.  Now, I'm perfectly willing to tell people that Phillip means "lover of horses" even though I don't care one whinny about them.  But, I'd never tell anyone what Garfunkel means if it were my name.  Never.  I know it's not safe to say never.  But, never!  Fortunately, thankfully for Art, it also refers to red granite.  And, since that folk music duo came and went, the term "Garfunkel" has a few additional meanings.  It means the friendlier, more out-going person in a duo.  It also means to tag along, like someone unnecessary (at least to Paul Simon).  And, sadly, it also means to disappear mysteriously, like Art's career.

I found it most interesting, among all this trivia, that both of their names had something to do with a rock.  Perhaps that is what moved them to write the lyrics, "I am a rock; I am an island."  In my mind, they are some of the dumber lyrics ever written.  Okay, they wrote, "a rock feels no pain, and an island never cries".  Nobody wants to get hurt.  I get that.  And, if you get hurt, you might pull away for a while.  But, the lyrics don't say, "Sometimes, to protect myself, I am a rock so I won't get hurt.  But, it's only temporary".  When in high school, they probably didn't listen to their English teacher quoting John Donne.  (If my English teacher gave the same speech, I didn't listen or remember either.  That class was a good time to be a rock - or block - head.)  Anyway, in 1624, Donne first penned these words:

               No man is an island entire of itself;
               every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main;

Okay, I agree, this is a really long introduction to get to my point.  John Donne was right.  No man is an island.  Nobody should strive for that.  Forget about being a hermit.   It's not what we were created to do.  It is not God's plan.  We need community.  We have to rely on others.  There are some burdens that you just can't bare alone.  There are times when we all need help.  Even Gilligan had several other castaways. 

You can't do it all alone.

This became ever so abundantly clear to me recently.  My legs have been mildly swollen for a very long time.  I can't remember when I last wore regular socks.  I always wear white anklets.  But, things took a turn for the worse this winter.  My feet, ankles and calves have been extremely swollen.  I turned to compression socks for relief.  If you've never worn them before, you have no idea.  They are next to impossible to pull up over your feet.  They do the job for a while, but even they stop their effectiveness eventually.

This should have been enough.  Who needs any more problems than this?  Not me, but I got it.  In May, I had an introduction to tendonitis and the foot doctor also said I had plantar fasciitis.  I went on steroids and anti-inflammatory medication for months.  If I tried to wean myself off them, as instructed by the doctor, the inflammation flared back and I couldn't walk. 

And, then, August rolled around.

Things took a turn for the worse.  You know it's worse when you can't walk.  And, that's where I found myself.  Both feet swelled up, the tendonitis inflamed and both ankles were in pain.  I couldn't walk.  The first day, I had to crawl around my home.  And, I'm still puzzled how babies do that so well.  The carpet hurt my knees.  I tried tying T-shirts or towels around my knees to crawl.  That didn't work.  Success, if you can call it that, came when I realized I could put each knee inside a cat bed and crawl around my home.  And, fortunately, two different neighbors contacted me the next day.  I knew this was no time to be an island.  When I was asked, "How are you doing?", I told the truth.  Yes, forget you, Simon & Garfunkel.  I am not a rock.  I am not an island.

There is little you can do when you cannot walk and every movement of an ankle is painful.  I moved into my bed for the next three weeks.  Eventually, I had access to a wheelchair, but getting in and out of it was strenuous.  I fell more than once.  And, to make things worse that should never be worse, I pulled some muscles in my lower back.  That did it!  I confined myself exclusively to bed until that healed.

My landmarks in the healing process mostly revolved around trips to the bathroom.  It doesn't matter if you cannot move and nobody is there to help you.  When you have to go to the bathroom, you have to go.  To accomplish that task, I had to stand and walk on legs and feet that screamed not to be used that way.  It was agony.  And, it was my lowest point.  After falling from my wheelchair, again, I finally collapsed back in bed.  I feared this might be a permanent situation.  There were not so many good thoughts swirling around my mind.  Thankfully, I fell asleep.

After a few more days exclusively in bed, the next landmark, also centered around a bathroom event, brightened my life when I realized I could stand on my left foot without any pain.  It made getting in and out of the wheelchair much easier.  There was no longer complete darkness and utter despair in this whole situation.  This was my first sign of improvement.

The next landmark, on the next bathroom visit, was when I realized I could stand on both feet.

Of course, there were several trips to the doctor's office throughout this. Again, this is no time to be an island.  Sometimes a neighbor, sometimes a brother drove me.  But after one trip, I decided I was in no mood to crawl from the car to the garage door.  I felt strong enough to walk.  And, I successfully managed the ten steps from the car to the garage door.  Then, I crawled upstairs to my wheelchair and rolled my way to bed for a well deserved, and exhausted, two hour nap.

I consider that last hurdle, actually walking, to be the final one to cross before complete recovery.  There are still things that I need help with around the home, but I can do more and more each day, before collapsing for another nap.

Simon and Garfunkel had most of their success in the mid-sixties to early seventies.  While they were fading in popularity, another singer from Hawaii began to edge her way onto center stage in the early seventies.  And, I'm happy to say that Bette Midler is still alive and kickin', belting out hits to her fans.  I'm always partial to one of her earliest songs.  Simon & Garfunkel likely disagree with her, and you may never have heard the song before, but Bette and I agree that, "You've Got to Have Friends!"

So. I want to thank my friends and family who have helped me through the recovery process -- Pat, Janice & Tim, Mark & Bubbles, Phyllis & Jim, and Gary.

ALBANIA - On my first trip to Albania, somewhere around 1995, there were no such things as travel guides about the country.  Nothing.  And, this was most certainly pre-Internet days.  I bought a ticket to Kakabia, but I wasn't sure if it was a town in Greece or Albania.  And, nobody in Greece appeared to speak any English to help.  So, with my ticket in hand, I traveled down the very bumpy road on a large Greek bus to parts unknown.

As it turned out, I still don't know if Kakabia is in Greece or Albania, but it certainly wasn't a town.  It was a border crossing.  It was in the middle of nowhere between two countries that really don't like each other.  There was no town, no village and I don't remember any lights.  And by the time I got there, it was getting dark. 

Fortunately for me, taxi drivers knew when to wait at Kakabia.  I was informed that the closest hotel was in Gjirokaster, about 20 miles away.  That worked for me.  And, when the taxi driver pulled out a business card of a guesthouse that read, "We speak English", I had a destination.

If you were ever welcomed into the Kotoni guesthouse in Gjirokaster, you know all about the 200 year old home in the middle of the Ottoman section of town.  Vita and Haxhi welcomed me like family.  And because of that, I've made multiple visits to Albania over the years.

On my fourth visit to Albania, in 2014, one morning at my breakfast table, I met Shane from "Down Under".  He was interested in my mural project and followed me to the school.  It happened to be during one of my two television interviews that day.  "Interview" really isn't the right word.  The microphone was shoved in front of my face and I was told to talk.  When I finished my speech, which the interviewer didn't understand, Vita took over in Albanian, waxing long and eloquent about me and my murals.  Shane did not escape unscathed.  Even though he had absolutely nothing to do with the project, he was interviewed on Albanian television as well.

We've kept in touch ever since.

AUSTRALIA - When my wanderings with the U.S. Embassy took me to Nauru to paint a mural in 2016, I had to stop over "Down Under".  If you ever travel anywhere, it is always best to have a local connection.  They know all the good stuff.  Shane showed me around Melbourne, introduced me to the Twelve Apostles (which you should really see in a video by Florida Georgia Line, H.O.L.Y.) and then helped me discover kangaroos in the wild.  Who could ask for anything more?

ECUADOR - Shane enjoys long travels to far corners of the world.  And, it's amusing how organized he is.  I travel with a vague idea of where I want to go and what I might do.  Little is ever written in stone.  Shane, on the other hand, has every day planned and every hotel paid for before he every leaves his very comfortable home in Fitzroy.  I would love to travel with someone like that so I never have to worry about anything.

When wandering South America, Shane followed a few paths that I have crossed before him.  So, while he was in the Galapagos Islands, he had a little "homework" to locate three of my murals.  It can be said, at best, that he was partially successful.  Two murals on the main island of Santa Cruz were still on the wall surrounding a big school, in the center of the city.  But, that once pristine wall was not exactly as I remembered it.  There was an awful lot of awful graffiti - with certain choice words in English - all over the walls.  Well, not exactly all over.  In the photos that I received from Shane, the graffiti "artists" left my art alone.  Their eyesores were scribbled all around my murals, but they respected my work.  I didn't think that ever happened with graffitiers. 

As for my third mural on Isabela Island, the building had been demolished.  Hey, it happens.

PERU - I've painted all over the world, but my favorite location has always been Tamboccocha, Peru.  It's a tiny little village surrounded by the snow-covered Andes Mountains.  And, as we painted, we were also surrounded by pigs on an occasion or two.  The village is so far off the beaten path and there is no reason for a tourist to ever go there, unless painting a mural or fulfilling a mission for a friend.

I was very surprised that Shane even found Tamboccocha on a map.  (I told you he was organized.)  And, a lot of his journey to get there was on foot, climbing one of those mountains.  I hate climbing mountains, but Shane had a unique mission that motivated him.

One of the local community members who helped paint my mural was Marcelino, the founding father of the village.  I was thrilled to photograph him when I visited the place in 2012.  And, when I returned home, I drew a portrait of him, the first from my travels in the Americas.  Shane's mission, in addition to checking out the mural, was to locate Marcelino and give him a copy of the portrait.

Shane is the first to admit his Spanish isn't all that great.  But, he really didn't need to speak it.  When he showed up in Tamboccocha with a portrait of Marcelino in hand, he was directed to the proper home.  In the courtyard sat the 90-year-old founding father with his wife, snapping beans.  Even with my limited Spanish, I most likely would have sat down to join them.  However, the clouds looked ominous and a storm was brewing.  Shane had time to deliver the portrait, snap a couple of photos and check on the mural (which had held up fairly well).  Then, he had to race back down the mountain.

I've always had this dream about a Phillip Martin Mural Tour, re-roaming the planet to find my previous projects.  I'm beginning to realize that the exterior murals I painted do not have a very long shelf-life.  But, if I don't make it to some of these locations a second time, perhaps more friends like Shane will cross some of the paths I've followed and send me updates.  However, I honestly think I would prefer to only hear about murals that remain more or less in pristine condition.

Most of the time you get what you pay for.  Sometimes you get less than what you pay for.  I personally don’t stumble across too many bargains.  But, I was looking for a last-minute bargain in accommodations as I headed to Cancún, Mexico.   I have learned that Airbnb (Air Bed and Breakfast) is a pretty good place to start.  But, finding a place for two weeks during peak tourist season in a high demand tourist location was not so easy.

Cancún has lots of hotels, lots of luxury hotels.  I don’t imagine they were filled to capacity, but a vacation in one of them would not be a vacation in my mind.  I don’t want to be near tourist shops and bars. I don’t go in search of air-conditioning, pools and a spot by the beach.  Okay, had I realized just how hot and humid Cancún was in July, I might have added air-conditioning to my list.  (I ended up spending an awful lot of time about six inches from a fan.) 

It would have been my loss.

My priority was a budget room in the home of someone who spoke Spanish.  My Spanish is terrible.  Don’t ask any of the very polite people who lie to me and tell me differently.  I know the truth, but I’m not afraid to use it anyway.  And, putting myself in a situation where I must practice is an excellent thing in my mind.  Hmmm . . . I don’t know anyone else in the United States who feels the same way as I do.  Maybe that’s why all those luxury hotels are so busy?  And, maybe that was why I was only my host's third American.  None of my friends would want to rent a room in someone’s home.

But, they would have missed Lucas.

Lucas is a young man from Argentina who lives in a two-bedroom home between two important tourist destinations in the center of the city, Walmart and Mercado (Market) 28.  I don’t often frequent Walmart back home.  I went there often in Mexico.  It was the closest grocery store that I knew of and it was delightfully air-conditioned.  As for Mercado 28, it’s the main tourist souvenir market in Cancún. Merchants were too aggressive for my shopping tastes.  I came to the city for dental work and not souvenirs.  I avoided Mercado 28.

As I said, Lucas’ home was very convenient in the center of the city.  I looked at several possible locations on Airbnb, but his was the first one that was available all of the two weeks that I needed. I didn't have a lot of choice, but it was meant to be.  So, I made my reservations, had a place to stay in the neighborhood and home that I wanted, and paid around ten dollars a night.

Lucas worked from home on his phone, but I never really understood what the job was.  Still, this made checking in at any time very convenient.  When my ride pulled up in front of his home, Lucas walked out to greet me.  He said, “Welcome, my friend” and gave me a hug.  Yep, I was in a Latin culture from the start.  And, I felt at home.

Both bedrooms were rented.  Across the hall was a fellow from Mexico.  Both of my roommates spoke English and Spanish.  We spoke a lot of both.  Many sentences, at least out of my mouth, used a combination of both languages.

Fortunately for me, the Mexican guy had recently moved to the city.  He had a full-time job.  He had no use for any kind of a guide.  I felt that I had a lot more of Lucas’ time and attention than if circumstances had been different.  And, it is very nice to have that kind of attention when in a new environment.

I had a personal guide to the money exchange, Walmart, pharmacy, laundry services, tailor and anything else I might have wanted.  Most of that “anything else” was food related, and certainly my kind of priority.  Of course, I asked Lucas about his favorite food back home.  What would he want his mother or grandmother to make as soon as he visited them?  I didn’t expect the answer I received.  Gnocchi.  Time ran out before we could actually make the dish, but I did get the recipe and it had a delightful surprise. (Recipe coming)

My new amigos helped me find some dishes that I never would have discovered on my own including tacos, chimichurri sauce, enchiladas, pazole and mango frappes.  All of those would be delicious any time, but they were so much better with friends.

Now, you know your landlord is going above and beyond any kind of expectations when he volunteers to paint a mural with you.  And, he brought a friend!  Lucas and Nadia were the only two people to help me on mural 57.  They had a great day – we all did -- and I had an even deeper appreciation of my new friends.

I am not tied to my telephone with an umbilical cord like most people on the planet seem to be.  It is not just a problem with young people.  I noticed on one plane ride this trip that every person in first class had their phones out as people boarded.  Lucas, a typical twenty-something, certainly had his own addiction to his cell-phone.  He told me it was his best friend in Mexico.

I know I didn’t blast Lucas with my pet peeve, or beat him over the head with it, but he picked up on it over our two weeks together.  I HATE cell phones during a meal.  During that twenty or thirty minutes, the people you share a meal with should be the most important people in the world to you.  Every other problem, every other person, can wait that amount of time.  Unless it’s life or death, it’s not going to matter during the meal.  And if it is life or death, what could you seriously do in twenty minutes?  Put the phone away!

It didn’t happen right away, but I noticed that before my two weeks ended, I had made a bit of an impact on my friend.  When we ate at home together, he left his phone alone.  And, one time, when he went out with a friend, he left his cell phone at home on purpose.  I didn’t think that was possible.

Now, I must admit, Lucas influenced me as well.  I’ve never seen the need for a smart phone.  I continually humor people wherever I go with my "antique" (eight-year old) flip phone.  But, Lucas had a really cool phone.  It was the first time I’d ever seen a phone that didn’t need a pass code.  He turned his phone on with his fingerprints.  That may be old technology to people used to smart phones, but I’d never seen it before. 

Okay, that technology fascinated me, but it was one of the apps he had that could be a game changer in my life.  He had the Google Translator app and it was simply stunning.  You can speak into it in English and it automatically translates the sentence into spoken Spanish.  Okay, on my desktop computer, I can change text from one language to another, but I’d never heard of this capability on a smart phone.  And, on top of that, if you hold the phone up to a sign, magazine or book in Spanish, it will change the text into English right before your eyes.  That would make for such an amazing difference in my travels.  Yes, Lucas, there might be a smart phone in my future.

I carry a book with me when I travel.  The people who cross my path sign it.  Most people only write their names.  Special people must write me a message.  They really aren’t given a choice.  I’m glad Lucas waited until my last day in Cancún to write in my book.  It gave us time to develop a friendship that I hope continues for many, many years and visits.  He began his comments with words that summed up the experience for us both.  “We started off as friends and ended up as brothers.”  Now seriously, why would I want to stay at a luxury hotel?

You already know that saying isn’t exactly true.  At least in my experience, after twenty years of wondering the globe, I find myself living in Ohio again.  But, I knew enough not to return to rural Ohio where my mother grew up.  Anyway, we all get the concept.  If you return somewhere, it’s not going to be the same.  Some changes are easier to accept than others.  It’s a fact of life that you should already know all about. You just have to be ready for some changes if you return.  And, it works on vacation destinations as well.  I stayed in Playa del Carmen, Mexico, for a month about two years ago.  I didn’t know what to expect upon my return.

There were several goals for the day.  During my last visit, I had a taste of the Day of the Dead.  Those who truly celebrate, paint their faces like skeletons and wear festive clothing.  I don’t get that festive, but I appreciate a good paint job.  I took a photo of a beautiful “dead” senorita and then drew her portrait.  I wanted to give her a copy, if she was still alive.  Well, I located the proper souvenir shop, but employees at places like that are easily replaced.  Nobody recognized her.  Okay, she had paint on her face, and that couldn’t help the identification process, but I created a very good likeness.  I left in defeat.

Fifth Avenue, the main tourist drag in Playa, lost some of it’s luster.  Summertime is peek tourist season and those selling all their wares were out in force.  Want some drugs?  Want some tequila?  Massage, mister?   I passed them by without a glance and wandered into a shop with a huge screen television.  I happened upon the last ten minutes of the World Cup match between Brazil and Belgium.  Talk about a dilemma.  Should I cheer for the country where I lived for nine years or the country where I had the most amazing welcome with a muraling experience?  I opted to just enjoy the match.  However, there were a lot of Mexicans (recently defeated by Brazil) who were so thrilled with the little kingdom by the sea.

One more task for the day was to visit Ismael at DIF and check out my mural that was not quite two years old.  I figured it was best to go to the office first before wandering the campus unsupervised, uninvited and unidentified.  That’s when I learned that Ismael was no longer working at DIF. 

So, I moseyed my way across the campus to my mural.  And, I learned something.  I learned first-hand, up close and personal, that murals do not last two years in blistering tropical sunshine.  This mural was three months shy of a second anniversary.  It should have been scraped, resealed and repainted a long time ago.  All colors were faded.  Much of the paint had cracked and pealed up from the wall, just waiting to flake off.  It was one of the risks of returning to check out the wall.  It was best not to photograph; I'd remember it as it had been.  And, this was not just for Playa del Carmen.  I recently learned that two other murals (in the Galapagos Islands and Paraguay) had been destroyed in building renovation projects.  This mural was a step above that . . . but just barely.

My final task of the day was down on the beach at the main gathering point in Playa del Carmen.  The pier is not far away and most afternoons you can enjoy Aztec dancers performing their traditions.  I was hoping to find Edgar.  It’s his portrait that I entered in the PromoWest Art Competition in the Arena District in Columbus.  Edgar’s portrait is now on display in my hometown.  I headed to his hometown to give him a few copies of that art.

It had been a while since I last saw Edgar.  There were three dancers in the afternoon.  One of them could have been Edgar, but he just didn’t seem as friendly.  I thought the day might be a total bust, but I mustered up my courage to talk to non-Edgar.  He said my friend would perform later in the day. 

It was worth the wait.

The one and only time I met Edgar, I gave him a portrait of his wife, Alejandra, and I took his photo.  Well, much to my delight, when Edgar showed up to dance, his wife was by his side.  When I took her photo about four years ago, and drew her portrait, Alejandra looked fierce.  She was an Aztec warrior, after all.  But, it was all an act.  I gave her another copy of her portrait and said it was for her mother.  There was no fierceness any more.  She glowed and I saw nothing but warmth in her eyes.  Finally, I had my opportunity to photograph Alejandra holding her portrait.  I never thought that would happen.

And, Edgar was just as warm and gracious.  Of course, I took a photo of him holding his award-winning portrait.  And, I finally told him his portrait was now on display in Columbus.  He was so very pleased to help spread his culture around the globe.  As for me, I was pleased that I made the effort to go “home” again.