The Places We Go
Calle de Santo Domingo, Pamplona, July 2023.
“Let’s see what we’re up against tomorrow,” Uncle Jimmy says as we peer over the balcony.
The smell of stale wine wafts up the street, sticky sweet from the revelry of the previous day. Chupinazo, they call it. The hazard of a crowd crush looming in our collective PTSD - but that’s another story.
We look on as runners dressed all in white stretch and smoke. The air is tense and electric.
The buzz dies down as a priest mumbles prayers in Spanish over the loudspeaker. Then the moment everyone is waiting for. As one, the crowd launches into a chant that shakes the block. All I manage to catch at the end is “Viva! Gora!”
Then everyone scatters in anticipation. Another hush.
Caesar’s Palace, Las Vegas, April 2024.
“You done with work for today?” Uncle Jimmy asks as he looks up from his pool chair.
He’s taking a conference call as bikini models flitter behind. I’m looking at a man with holes in his T-shirt and an Amazon basics backpack. If his business associates are offended by this eccentricity, none have complained.
“Have to keep up appearances,” I reply. It’s one in the afternoon, or about 4:00pm on the East Coast. Close enough to quitting time. Disdain for workplace frivolity was a trait I learned from the best.
“Someone’s gotta use the pool,” I observe as I dip a toe. The hotel pool is lined with plaster statues and an inexplicable gazebo in the middle. I love the absurdity of it all.
Indian Ocean, The Maldives, December 2024.
“We have more bathrooms than people on this yacht,” remarked Uncle Jimmy. And so it was - ten bathrooms to nine passengers.
I wasn’t planning on joining this trip, but when you’re offered a spot on a yacht, you find a way. Am I on negative PTO? Maybe. Does anyone really work around Christmas?
Our next stop is a sandbar somewhere in the Indian Ocean. A real Robinson Crusoe moment comes over me as we disembark. The children hop into the kayak to paddle around the island. The adults are snorkeling the reefs.
I find a quiet scenic spot to set up a tripod for curating the perfect beach frame. It’s embarrassing how good I am at this.
Pamplona.
You don’t see them at first. You feel them more than hear them. And suddenly, a realization sweeps the crowd as the bulls thunder down the thoroughfare. And today we’re running with them.
You’d think we should be terrified. Instead, my analytical nature took over. No human can keep up with the bulls for more than a few seconds. The danger is statistically negligible. More people will die white water rafting in America this summer.
The key is to start jogging as the bulls approach. With a running start, we come within 10 feet of the animals. Confusion bubbles as the convoy passes us.
“Keep running,” Uncle Jimmy yells, “These MF’s must be going somewhere!”
We round a corner and find ourselves in a corral. Cowbells are jingling behind me. The authorities have barricaded both sides of the street. We follow this new herd of cows. Into an arena.
Las Vegas.
“Well then you’d have to invent a new kind of money,” I say.
“Yes, that’s what SBF did,” Uncle Jimmy reminds me. We ponder the intricacies of money and the genius of Sam Bankman-Fried. Chest deep in tepid water.
“All this for $40 a night,” he gestures to a plaster mermaid. Through unknown machinations, Uncle Jimmy has us checked in as supposed whales. Neither of us have ever seriously gambled.
“It’s the yellow privilege,” he helpfully points out. Las Vegas is one of several places in America where you are deferred a level of respect simply for being Asian. Nobody knows if you might be one of those crazy rich ones that could make a salesperson’s commission this month.
We visit a watch shop and receive an education in the finer points of a tourbillon. I marvel at how he charms the salespeople and handles jewelry with price tags that exceed the average American’s annual income. This from a man with holes in his T-shirt.
The Maldives.
There’s no view like a sky full of stars in the middle of the ocean. After several frustrating attempts, I concede that nighttime photography on a swaying boat is impossible.
“I wonder if you’re searching for the wrong fish in the wrong pond,” Uncle Jimmy ponders as he puffs on a cigar. It’s certainly a point I’ve considered.
“It definitely isn’t for lack of trying,” I offer back.
“You know, there are many highly eligible women who would take you up on the right offer,” he’s referring to his native Taiwan.
“I don’t think that’s true today,” I protest, my thoughts supercharged with nicotine. “I suspect there’s a strong selection effect when it comes to matchmaking. The kind of person who would sign up for it, is probably not the kind of person I’d be too interested in,” I spout as though an expert.
Though at this point I’d concede my current methods weren’t exactly yielding success. Nothing stings quite like recognizing you’re a failure on a yacht.
Pamplona.
“This must be what Gladiator feels like!” I exclaim to Uncle Jimmy. Fellow runners are in high spirits and taking selfies.
But why are the stands full at this hour? Realization dawns on me that we’re about to become part of a show. On cue, the crowd parts to reveal an angry cow. An angry cow with horns.
Daredevils taunt the cow and then dive back into the crowd. Cheers erupt from the audience as I watch someone get tossed. I decide I’ve tempted fate enough for one day. I hop the barrier and stumble through cobblestone streets back to our apartment.
“Checked that off the bucket list,” Uncle Jimmy greets me.
“I was not expecting the bit with the arena,” I concede.
“Yes, and aren’t you glad we did it while we could!” His cheer is evident. “Just imagine one day this wouldn’t be possible, or I’d be too old!” Uncle Jimmy’s stroke the year before was still fresh in our minds.
Las Vegas.
“I think you’ll want a pool,” I comment as we leave the third tour of the day. Uncle Jimmy has me tagging along as he shops for a retirement house.
“There’s just no reason to stay in Indiana. Las Vegas is the city with the highest number of national parks within driving distance!” He’s an unapologetic rationalist. “And of course, there’s the tax savings,” We are cursed with minds that seek efficiency.
“You want a pool so the girls visit. I know I’d make any excuse,” I say, referring to his two daughters who are leaving for college.
“Life is too short to mow grass in F-ing Carmel,” he declares. “I spent over 100 days traveling last year. We took the girls somewhere new every time they had a school break,” he continues. No cocktails on the beach for this man in his worn shirt.
We pull into an unassuming Chinese restaurant. “This… This isn’t right…” I mutter after a spoonful of soup.
Uncle Jimmy already drained his bowl.
“This is Cantonese soup like my grandmother used to make… Down to the sea cucumber.” I’m having a minor spiritual experience.
“Yet another reason to move to Vegas,” he remarks obliviously.
“No, you don’t understand,” I can barely contain myself. “I haven’t tasted anything like this for twenty years. And they served it to us just for walking in the door!”
He just nods and smiles. Uncle Jimmy - ever the stoic.
The Maldives.
“You’re doing all the right things.” Another cigar. But tonight the clouds have hidden away the stars. Just as well that the crew have set up Christmas lights on the deck.
I contemplate the last year. “I’m approaching the point of diminishing returns,” I admit to Uncle Jimmy. A succinct statement. Packed full of meaning. “There just aren’t all that many places left to see. And what I really want is more permanent. Family.” The word caught in my throat.
“Well, don’t make the same mistakes again,” the stoic tapped off his ash. “You already paid the tuition for that life lesson,” he’s referring to my prior unfortunate life decisions. I still have the receipts. I had to drive a Hyundai for two years.
“It helps to have a backstop. Several actually,” I think through the iterations I’ve played in my mind about the many what-ifs. Early retirement? Semi-arranged marriage? With enough financial firepower, all things are possible.
“Don’t stay up too late,” Uncle Jimmy stubs his cigar and gets up.
I look across the horizon. The endless black stared back. An ocean of manta rays and sea turtles. Was I looking for the wrong fish in the wrong pond? Am I still?
“Good night,” I mutter as he descends the stairs. I hear the unevenness in his step - a lingering effect of the stroke. A breeze pricks up a chill on my neck. Failure - sure I’d seen it plenty. And look where it got me. Imagine being blessed with success.