After my wife, Bridget, flew back to America to witness the birth of our nephew I was left with too many hours. Reverting back to my 5th grade coping mechanisms for boredom and solitude, I began to doodle and sketch the landscape of Saigon and the landscape of my imagination…

The Notre-Dame Basilica, HCMC, District 1

Set adrift in space…

Delusions of grandeur

Incense burning before the Buddha

Community Connection

See more journal pages from the road.

Cover of the same travel journal I’ve had since 5/9/08. Address on front: Rauli 596 entre argomedo y santa isabela, my friend Gustavo’s old apartment in Santiago, and the first place we stayed after coming to South America almost 2 years later.

I DON’T KNOW how much of an audience there is for this, but if I could I’d just publish excerpts and pages from people’s travel notebooks here every day. On certain levels that would be my ultimate vision for the Traveler’s Notebook. I have several reasons for this, but really they’re all just extensions of a need for transparency in writing about travel and place. I feel like people’s raw journals reveal perceptions and truths that oftentimes get obscured or diluted when they go to “flesh them out” into an article. I think this has to do both with people’s expectations as far as what seems “publishable,” as well as fear about letting people know what they really think.

The Longest Running Travel Notebook I’ve Ever Had

Below are various excerpts from a journal that has particular meaning for me. I started it in May of 2008 when we lived in Seattle. The very first entry was written at Elwha River campground after the first night of camping with my daughter Layla. I later remixed it into a blog at Matador.

Since then I’ve filled other journals, but for some reason keep coming back to this one, using it for everything: cut lists for carpentry projects, telephone numbers, directions to surf spots, maps of rivers, little notes of what people say, sketches of ideas for cabins, Layla’s crayon scribbles. I let it all mix together and don’t really worry about it. This is how I work:

Colorado (War, 9,200 ft.) by the numbers

# of days spent – 30
# of days snowboarded (in July) – 3
# of hitchhikers picked up along peak to peak Hwy – 4
# of times picked up while hitchiking – 2
# of feet of elevation – 9,200
# of miles you have to hike from there to go snowboarding – 4
# of times bear got into people’s cooler’s, trucks, food – 6
# of times bear ripped lock of trailer door – 1
# of times bear ripped entire door and frame off trailer – 1
# of lag screws used to fix / reinforce -4

Notes taken in Marietta, Georgia on 8/5/09 [with Layla's crayon scribble at bottom]:

“When he was a kid his daddy and preacher just sat him down and explained things to him, and he swallowed the worm and just pulled the whole bobber underwater.”

–Will on a kid’s Christianity

“Flow Chart of Distracted [originally "Divergent" but struck through] Thinking. A chart with three columns designed to represent textually how my mom and I communicate sometimes:

[(a) dialogue, (b) internal thought, (c) internal reaction to internal thought] and the text: “We’re going to a 50th wedding anniversary tonight. This couple’s kids live all over ¹ but they’re all in town this weekend…1. they probably couldn’t stand their parents → 2. no, don’t think like that.

Map of “La Confluencia,” drawn by Omar the day before I paddled the Rio Azul for the first time.

Notes written on 10/26/09 in Florida in a moment of total depression.

A deadness now. In the words mainly. Waiting for them to come back. Flipping back through this journal and realizing how much travel makes the words flow. Something about movement, leaving and arriving. None of this sounds right though. None of it expresses exactly where ‘we’re at’ right now. Someone just commented on my last blog if i’d read the “summer of black widows.” What summer has this been? Summer of bears. Summer of Japhy’s 13th birthday. Summer of the old crews getting back together in Colorado. Now it’s fall. It’s all flowed together like always. It’s been the worst fall of my life so far. The worst fall of Lau’s life. Fall of ultrasounds with no heartbeat. Fall of miscarriages. Fall of swollen knuckles. Fall of Vodka and Cranberry. Fall of getting Mom’s Infiniti up to 50 miles an hour around a curve in the neighborhood while wife and child are screaming in the car. Fall. Fall. Fall. Fall. Fall. Fall. The other night it was bad but then we had nothing left and so just walked around Siesta Key all empty. The sun had gone down and for a while we lay on the beach looking at clouds in the moonlight. When you see what speed they’re moving across the sky and feel like maybe you’re moving that speed too, it brings back that travel feeling like everything is alright again for a little while.

Sketch of cabin idea when it occurred to me to have two different lofts interconnected by a bridge. Drawn in Jan 2010.

Final note: my latest entry in this journal is a cut-list of fence boards for our land in El Bolson, Patagonia.

community connection

Please check out more of Matador’s journal pages.

If you’re interested in submitting, please email scans of photos resized to 930 pixels wide to david at matadornetwork dot com.

ARTIST Daniel Worth wrote this about the following journal pages:

Since leaving Australia for Europe around the end of 2008 I have made an effort to document my travels in my art/diaries almost everyday and I am now up to my 6th [journal] in around a year and a half. I think having a journal is a special way to record personal ideas, experiences, visions and an invaluable source for my artwork. I now fantasise over having bookshelves full of my art journals when I am older and having an illustrated story of my life to look back on.

1.Notes: ‘Things to Paint in London – “I need to push and focus more or flake and get a job!”

2.Notes: “Painting note- more rhythm and distortion.”

3.Notes: “27/11/09 This Journal entry was done at a cafe in Amsterdam while sheltering from the rain, enjoying a hot chocolate and watching lots of people with and without umbrellas running around in the rain.”

community connection

To see more of Daniel Worth’s artwork and journal pages, please visit Daniel Worth Art.

Please send journal page submissions to david@matadornetwork.com

Dudes. Hillary Harrison Photo.

At some point I’d decided I should go to the Lebowski Fest. Actually go and see what it was like, rather than just imagine it and then later look at pictures online and wish I’d gone—and then pretty soon forget about it entirely.

I was in those days balancing my time between writing, thinking about writing, thinking about other things, and trying to kill squirrels with a pellet gun. My wife had suggested on several occasions that maybe I ought to get a job. A real job. Like where you commute back and forth to an office and get a paycheck every two weeks and eventually work your way up to parking and benefits.

You just don’t seem happy, she said.

Of course I’m happy, I said. Why don’t I seem happy?

You don’t even bother to get out of your bathrobe anymore.

Which on some level I resented. Yes it was a bathrobe, but I had shorts on underneath and a clean T-shirt. I was not barefoot. I was wearing flip-flops, and on my eyes, against the glare of the sidelong winter sun, a pair of fine, expensive, protective eyeglasses. It was cold enough in the house, and cold enough outside too, that I wanted to wear a bathrobe. It was more pleasant that way.

The most I was going to do, as far as going out was concerned, was maybe to mow the lawn out front or do some cleanup in the back. I wasn’t planning on going beyond our property line. I wasn’t, for example, planning on driving to Von’s for a quart of half-and-half. Not in my bathrobe, anyway. I wasn’t, after all, Jeff Lebowski.

It’s a housecoat, I said. Not a bathrobe.

Sometimes, on Wednesday nights, before trash day, out on the sidewalk, I’d meet up with my neighbor. He was a half-Armenian, half-Georgian, ex-Soviet Air Force pilot who flew hundreds of passenger-jet sorties into Kabul during that particular Afghan war, in the eighties — bringing fresh troops in and taking dead bodies out.

These days he was working six days a week, two shifts a day, around the clock. By night he was a uniformed security guard at a hospital downtown, by day a plainclothes detective at a jewelry store in Beverly Hills. Twenty-five dollars an hour plus benefits.

So where’s The Dude?

I work like donkey, he’d say, grinning, as we wrestled our respective bins, me in my housecoat, he with his badge and gun.

I know, I’d say. You’re a good man for it.

And then he’d say: Any news regarding your job?

What job, I’d think to myself, what’s he talking about?

No, I’d say. No news.

I was interested in the idea of a community of fans, a community founded upon the otherwise solitary experience of watching a movie—which is of course not an uncommon phenomenon, especially in America. But this was not Star Trek or Harry Potter or Remington Steele.

This was The Big Lebowski, the Coen Brothers’ irreverent update of the Raymond Chandler/Philip Marlowe/mistaken identity tradition, in which Jeff Bridges plays “The Dude,” aka Jeffrey Lebowski—a hapless and amiable bum of the sort one sees often enough around Los Angeles, wandering the aisles of the local grocery franchise in bathrobe and sandals.

The character’s most obvious appeal, it seemed to me, was the way in which he, like Marlowe before him, redefined cool—Jesus-cool, postmodern-style—cool as the ultimate lack of aspiration.

The Dude was quite possibly, as the movie’s narrator puts it, the laziest man in Los Angeles County, “which put him high in the running for laziest worldwide.” That is, until someone peed on his rug and a certain amount of action had to be taken. And a lazy man forced into action is a surprisingly interesting thing to watch.

I wasn’t convinced that as a movie it was as good as, say, Raising Arizona, which had always ranked in my top ten, or even Altman’s The Long Goodbye, from which the Brothers Coen had here drawn inspiration. But I felt I understood the sense of humor behind the thing. So I figured why not check out the nature of the community it had spawned. See if it had anything to do with me. Or the state of the Union.

The audio files were deleted long ago, alas. But here is some of what I’ve been able to glean from the notebook:

9:45 PM, Friday. 7000-something Hollywood Blvd.

Live from the Westbound Pedestrian Detour in front of the Kodak Theater, two nights before the Oscars. Hollywood is closed from Highland. Gangs of production people adorned with all-access passes, bomb-sniffing dogs, clusters of photographers and newsmen trying to sort out how to approach Sunday Night.

Book by Founding Dudes.

I am standing on a spot that will soon feature prominently on TV.

Next door, at the pre-party for Lebowski Fest West, inside some kind of night club, not much going on: only a few people drinking White Russians; nobody, as far as I can tell, smoking pot. I see a few guys trying to be The Dude. But the thing you realize is it’s nothing to do with the costume.

The original Dude, the inspiration for the character, is supposed to be here tonight. I don’t see him yet.

Once I get it in my head that in fact I may be The Dude, everything starts to pick up.

Chris and Danna have been married three times and divorced three times. To and from each other, it seems. Chris is wearing a trenchcoat, calf-length Indian moccasins and black sunglasses. He is not the original Dude, he says. “It’s just that they made a movie about a guy who’s life mirrors mine in a way that’s crazy.”

I order another White Russian. The bartender explains to me how in this life the best thing to be good at is being poor. Which I am highly practiced at, but not at all good at.

There is some kind of raffle, involving the original Ralph’s checkout girl, who is there with her twin sister. You can tell which is which because one is dressed in a Ralph’s uniform.

They show the movie on a big screen over the dance floor. It’s better than I remember. Then I wake up in the back of my truck in the parking garage.

8:50 PM, Saturday. Cal Bowl, 2500 E. Carson

There are nihilists. There are Sam Elliot look-alikes with pristine white hats and real handlebar mustaches. There are any number of Maudes in red wigs and bathrobes. Most are considerably fleshier than the wispy Julianne Moore version.

There are three Jesuses, and three bars serving White Russians. There are lines to get drinks. Everyone waits with utmost patience.

There is a reporter covering the event for a Japanese magazine, and a crew from Spanish TV.

One woman has come as the ransom note, another as the coffee can that held Larry’s ashes. There is to be a costume contest. There are several Walters. One is pretty convincing. Another has come as Walter’s dirty underwear.

There is a bowling team called The Bums. They wear their gloves on their heads. They lose. I am disappointed this is not the actual bowling alley from the movie.

There are some admittedly dudely fellows in long cardigan sweaters and real beards. The Original Dude, the inspiration, is named Jeff Dowd. Jeff “The Dude” Dowd. He has no beard. He gets up to make a speech, starts out complaining about how hard it has been to get a drink. Then the mic cuts out on him.

Jeff “The Dude” Dowd. Jerry Duvall Photo.

Melinda and Ed are up from San Diego. Some people get it, they say. Some people don’t. They saw the movie together when it first came out, in San Francisco. They bought the VHS, wore it out, now they have it on DVD. Melissa is worried about her car out in the parking lot—in the hood, as she puts it.

I leave the bowling alley and go next door for some soul food. I try the chitterlings, which I’m told are pig’s intestines (“you have to eat them with hot sauce”), then opt for a pork chop and some mac and cheese.

Back in the action, I spot the original Liam. And Chuck E. Cheese, who is in fact, I learn, a marmot. One of the Jesuses walks out into the lanes to retrieve his ball. One of the Maudes bowls a strike. The Original Dude bowls a spare.

Says one onlooker: “This is the most surreal thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

A Jackie Treehorn recommends I see the Albert Brooks movie Lost in America. He confides that Lebowski Fest Vegas is better than Lebowski Fest LA. Someone else argues for Austin.

Outside the bowling alley, the night winds down ever so slowly with an original Jeff Dowd look-alike (who is not Jeff Bridges) doing an acoustic-guitar workup of Journey’s Don’t Stop Believing: hold on to that fee-layee-ya’ang…

And then, soon enough: it goes on and on and on and on…

Community Connection

Also check out Eva Holland on The Meaning of ‘The Big Lebowski,” all these years later. And this Matador photo essay from Louisville, where it all got started.

For more wild and wacky festivals across the globe, check out Matador Nights.

Got your own Lebowski Fest dispatches? Share them below…

Editors Note: I’ve known Andy Vernor aka ‘Vern’ since the early days of going to school in Athens, Georgia. Like all good Athens kids we were into music–I was exploring primitive recording / sampling techniques for making beats; he was playing ‘nitro-rock’ in a kickass band called Land Speeder. Seeing them open up for Suicidal Tendencies is still one of my all time show highlights.

Over the years I’ve always been a bit jealous of Vern’s journals. On one page he’ll have random thoughts or song lyrics. The next will be some crazy sketch for a superhero or a tattoo idea or a diagram of some new structure he wants to build.

I’ve been messing around with new blogging technologies lately, checking out posterous, tumblr, and others, and while it’s all really cool and enables you to share links and media really fast, there’s just something about real journals like these that seems so creative and free.

–David Miller

1.‘Alt easter island head and gladiator… fun with lines and geometric shapes’

2.‘Protuberance Man- a quasi-hero who exudes energized protuberances when drawn into conflict; he contributes positively despite his conflicted existence which straddles his pizza flinging reality and the realm of the imagined. Also some song lyrics (later used)’

3.”Autumn leaves in Wisconsin and tatt #3 early design.’

4.Brick= ‘cover songs that would be cool; lyrics ripped from R. Kipling poem used in Land Speeder song + random line sketch.’

5.‘Outdoor ed brainstorm and sketch of wife with care package label… early love.’

6.‘Dog Soldier Society was a proposed name for a prog metal band that never really got off the ground. if you like it you can have it, but please rock righteously. Also fun with collage.’

7.”Song lyrics, plans for upright bass stand, idea for yard statue using discarded televisions + quotes from…Fight Club and other(?)’

8.Self control: mantra and tattoo design–inner right bicep (but red did not make final design).

9.‘Building the eye;’ mantra and self portrait as graphic.

Community Connection

Have journal pages you’d like to share? Please email scans or photos to david [at] matadornetwork.com.

About the journal, Kathleen notes:

“This trip to East Africa was actually the first time I’ve taken a journal away on a trip. I found the book at the bottom of a drawer as I was finishing off some last minute packing. It was a gift from my mum years ago and it makes me smile that its pages are finally being used for something other than shopping lists.

I’ve always been into documenting my travels through photography or collecting ephemera but I haven’t picked up a pen to drawer anything since I left school! Once I started I just couldn’t stop, I think it gives you a different way of looking at things. Where I was in Africa in particular people often wanted money if they noticed you’d taken their photo. On the other hand, nobody minded if I sketched them as part of a scene.”

1.“The landscape of Samburu National Reserve is beautiful and boring. The parched ground is only broken with thorny acacia trees, termite mounds and spiky shrubs. When the sun rises it is larger than I have ever seen it and the whole sky reflects the dusty red earth.”

2.“Bird Walk: 10am 22 July 2009 Samburu Game Lodge: An ornithologist named Jacob led us on a guided walk around the entrance and grounds of Samburu Game Lodge. We saw so many beautiful birds including mourning doves, hornbills, ibis, mousebirds, weaver birds, a vulture, and my favourite – the ‘go away’ bird. He lets out an alarm call that alerts animals when a predator is snooping around. We also saw a heart lops [sic], a rare black bird with brilliantly red-tipped wings. Mainly though I just enjoyed the opportunity to walk around and gaze at the trees.

(opposite page, selection) “The April rains haven’t fallen in this part of Kenya for 2 years. People working at the lodge and our driver Martin say that they have seen the effect this is having on the animals of the reserve. The river that once flowed by the lodge is now an expanse of parched earth.”

3.“26 July 2009 Keekorok, Masai Mara

The landscape has changed again. I expected the Mara to look a lot like Samburu but instead of thorny bushes and dusty ground the vast plains are covered with long golden grasses. There’s more evidence of rainfall here in the south too – small pools and occasional palms. The lodge, Keekorok, is fantastic. There’s a bar overlooking a pool where hippos wallow and no fence!

Roachy is our new adopted pet. He gave Alan quite a fright this morning when he was hiding in his shorts. (NB drawing to scale.) (Not to scale. Roachy was BIGGER – Alan.) ”

4.“Sunday 26 July 2009

It’s the last night at Keekorok. I’m not quite ready to leave Kenya. It feels like we’ve only just started to understand this country. This evening was beautiful, after dinner we stood and looked at the stars over the Masai Mara. There were so many and with no light pollution they seemed impossibly bright. For the first time in my life I saw the centre of the Milky Way – beautiful.”

Community Connection

Do you have a travel journal you’d like to share? Please send scans or photos of it to david[at]matadornetwork[dot]com.

1.“Averaging a half-marathon a day, the trans-Bhutan ‘Tara-thonners’ reach kilometre 377.’”

2.“People said the Lhops were amongst the most backward of Bhutanese minorities; I found them to be gracious and hard-working.”

Community Connection

Do you have a travel journal you’d like to share? Please send scans or photos of it to david[at]matadornetwork[dot]com.