The renaissance man

The following thoughts are reflexions on travel, and the dream of a nomadic life, that float around the Twittersphere lately, compiled after a year of living on a sailboat across the Canadian, America and Mexican American Pacific coasts.

My first encounter with a nomad was during my stay in Prague, as Santiago, I had just met Fulcanelli. There was a time in my life when I may have felt homesick. But from then on, home was anywhere but here, a vague concept that existed out there. Forever fleeting.

The office is no place for multi-disiplinarists, and Japan was where I last fought this loosing battle. My desk, not the medium onto which I would aquire the array of skills I longed for.

Survivable

Living on a sailboat was not picked amongst other equaly enticing ideas. It was, at the time, the only pragmatic solution. It would at once, align with everything that I believed in and wanted in life. In that, it might not correspond to your meaning of travel, or even be replicable.

The monthly rent of our beachside Tokyo housing was nearly 1.5K$, and this thus implicated some serious downsizing.

To think that, at the time, the most heart-breaking things to let go were instruments, old consoles, books and some camera equipment — when the truly hard things to let go would be my habitual bath, tap water and reliable internet connection.