Burned Out
Outside the Game
Burned Out
By A.J. Russo
I started my trip around the world with high expectations of experiencing global connection and peace. “A journey of harmony,” I think I remember my travel agent(s) saying. They assured me that everything would be smooth sailing (so to speak) once all the visas and arrangements were complete. Little did I know…
To test my resoluteness and strength, I decided to start my journey with a climb to the top of Mount Everest. I know … I know, “you’ve got to be crazy,” you’re mumbling. I suppose I figured if I could make it up the slopes, it would be all down hill from there. However, I was surprised at the cold reception I got from the Tibetans. I sensed they thought of my climb as some sort of a sign of aggression. I suppose, given recent clashes in the country, the scheduling of my trip was … well, let’s just say, untimely. I wondered if I would ever make it to the top.
Then, in the next leg of my journey, I was forced to change my itinerary. I wanted to stop first in Taiwan, but was told that we had to pass right by because we would be entering a “renegade province”. Wasn’t sure what that meant, but since it sounded ominous, I didn’t argue.
Pyongyang wasn’t even on my original route. After all, North Korea’s known more for military posturing than peace. But my agents said that they had done lots of business there in the past, and that probably meant more bang for my KPW (North Korean currency).
Before I knew it, though, the trip settled down and, without much incident, my travels allowed me pleasant visits with the Aussies, Thai, Indians, and Africans.
Then I reached the pacific shore of the US.
Sunny San Francisco seemed like it would be a perfect stop—beautiful beaches, historic landscape, and one heck of a long bridge. But, when I crossed the Golden Gate, I was deluged by screams of loud protesters. They seemed to be yelling at me, but of course that didn’t make sense. I was but a lonely tourist. So I left the land of the free, feeling a little like a political prisoner.
I crossed the Atlantic and visited London, Paris, St Petersburg, Athens and Istanbul before I stumbled again—this time in Kazakhstan. I traveled through barren country where an oil pipeline was being laid. “Why am I here?” I asked my agents. Apparently the organization had big ties to the energy firms. I left thinking what a “crude” trick they had played on me.
After 130 days and 8500 miles, I arrived at my final destination. Exhausted, I looked to the sky, but couldn’t see the sun through the fog (or was that smog). Because I’m a torch, I wondered why I hadn’t burned out along the way.
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