I woke up early on the old Soviet modeled train from the sun grazing my eyes. I was bundled up in a thick comforter, still laying lazily on the hard mattress, when I glanced out the window to see free roaming animals, nomadic Yurt tents, half frozen streams and mountains towering into the cloudless sky. It was an awesome sight causing a wave of spiritualism to flood my body. It’s gorgeous, mysterious and enchanting. It’s Mongolia.

I'm glad I never got to see him when he was alive. It was tough enough having to deal with his one hundred ninety pounds of dead weight all zipped up inside a sleeping bag. I didn't want to know what he looked like.

I got lost on my way to the land of fairy tales. I had confidently followed the road to the Promised Land, only to find that it led to ruins. All over Turkmenistan’s capital city Ashgabat, the run down, rambling houses of the poor were being knocked down and replaced by strangely isolated tower blocks. In this city of constant destruction and construction, no map would stay up to date for very long. I walked back and up around the building site, in search of a road or a landmark that would help me to get my bearings. I found myself at a crossroads and yet again checked my map. Either side of me, bored, young military police men loitered inconsolably. Everywhere you went in Ashgabat they would be standing around; guns in their holsters, heads in the clouds.

Aboard our boat offshore the Galapagos, a guide/naturalist regaled us with stories of the island's earliest settlers. An artesian spring provided fresh water to the island. The first settler was an Irishman, stranded in 1807, who raised potatoes and vegetables and bartered them with passing buccaneers and whalers in exchange for supplies consisting mostly of liquor. In the 1830s came a German dentist and his woman. The dentist pulled all of his own and his partner's teeth-to prevent tooth decay. A supply ship provided him with a set of teeth -one story says they were metal, the other wooden - which he and his partner shared.

I was going against the prevailing SE winds in the Gulf of Mexico which is typical for the region during late January early February. I was a week into the trip when I woke up early on the eighth day about 100 miles out of Key West, Florida. I calculated that, since the winds were shifting, my estimated time of arrival was in 12 hours.

Africa has always fascinated me ever since I stumbled across a copy of Mungo Park’s ‘Travels in the Interior Districts of Africa’ when I first starting my teacher training back in 2008. It led me to accepting a job as in an independent primary school teaching the British curriculum to expat and local families in Nairobi, Kenya. Though Park’s book detailed his journey across West Africa, the mystic of Africa was a compelling reason for me to accept the job in the other side of the continent.

Myanmar (or Burma) is one of those countries plagued with political strife, abject poverty and extreme oppression. For some reason I’ll never be able to explain, these countries greatly appeal to me as a traveler. I guess I like comparing what I experience there to what I hear back home on the news. I also like representing my country, showing them that not all Americans are imperialists. Therefore, Myanmar was another place I had to check out. So, I dıd.

As we clattered through the Kyzylkum Desert in the battered shared taxi, the driver reached across and offered me some pills. When I asked him what they were, he shrugged.

They say if you survive the 1st month of combat, you will be OK... HELL NO! I have to tell you, I almost didn't make it home to my pregnant wife and unborn son. My 21 year old body should have been shipped in a cheap wooden crate with the American flag draped over it just like many other fallen soldiers from the Forgotten War.

Latin America, summer of 2007- the journey that triggered my travel addiction. Sao Paulo to Mexico City entirely by land. Two continents, 13 countries and a list of numerous insane experiences. The only possessions accompanying me: a raggedy school back pack stuffed with a few dirty clothes, three Kodak disposable cameras, a pen, a journal and barely enough money to eat 2 meager meals a day. The following is just one of the many strange encounters of my trip.