Wounded Wanderer

By Michael Sandusky

What do you do once youve reached the pentacle of success? When youve achieved all of your dreams and now youre faced with depression, mid-life crisis, divorce, bankruptcy, cancer. The author once had all the answers except what he needed to know about himself. So he became an adventurer traveling the world over learning about people, life and himself. Here youll cross the Sahara Desert, catch man-eating sharks, ride the night train to Venice, then find yourself trapped behind fire lines in River of No Return Wilderness. These and other adventures await those who are looking for the same answers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 25, 2013
• ISBN: 9781493100651

Michael Sandusky

Michael Sandusky is the quintessential story-telling romantic. His fifty years of writing novels, short stories, poetry, self-help books and newspaper columns have been read and enjoyed the world over. He loves deep-sea fishing, traveling to exotic locales, cooking and public speaking relating thrilling, funny and poignant stories about his adventures, narrow escapes and interpersonal relationships. He still believes that the best stories cannot be made up, but come from actual human experience. He can be reached at [e-mail]

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Copyright © 2013 by Michael Sandusky.

ISBN:          Softcover                                 978-1-4931-0064-4

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4931-0065-1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Rev. date: 09/17/2013

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Contents

Acknowledgements

Dedication

Introduction

Chapter One       Seville Spain and the search for Don Quixote

Chapter Two       Luxor and the train ride through Egyptian hell

Chapter Three       Cozumel and the likes of Caspar Milque-toast

Chapter Four       Monte Carlo and the little car that couldn’t.

Chapter Five       Beckley West Virginia and the widow-maker.

Chapter Six       Lahaina Hawaii – My most exciting adventure

Chapter Seven       San Marino and its postage stamp monument to resistance

Chapter Eight       Idaho’s River of No Return and Naked fishing.

Chapter Nine       Masada, Israel and the fight to the death

Chapter Ten       Rome and my escape from pickpockets and death as well

Chapter Eleven       Two Hundred Feet of Water and Empathy with Zane Grey

Chapter Twelve       Icy Strait Point Alaska and broken dreams

Chapter Thirteen       Key West and its succession from the United States

Chapter Fourteen       The Sahara Desert and the little Citroen that got in the Way.

Chapter Fifteen       Kiev Ukraine and I almost get killed by an ice cycle.

Chapter Sixteen       Petra Jordan From Mercedes to Horseback.

Chapter Seventeen       Damascus convinces me there is a Purgatory

Chapter Eighteen       Douglas Arizona, The Cowboy and the Man who lived in his car

Chapter Nineteen       In Search of the Man-Eater.

Chapter Twenty       Night Train to Venice

Chapter Twenty-One       Sailing the Southern Ocean

Chapter Twenty-Two       Getting my Kicks on Route 66

Chapter Twenty-Three       $100 Honeymoon

Chapter Twenty-Four       Paris’ Empire of the DeadI think of a great line for a movie: I see Dead People.

Chapter Twenty-Five       Jerusalem Where St. Helena seemed to find all the correct relics

Chapter Twenty-Six       Panama City Panama and the Choice between Voodoo or Zombies

Chapter Twenty-Seven       Versailles France and how easy it is to lose your head over this place.

Chapter Twenty-Eight       The Canadian Wilderness

Chapter Twenty-Nine       San Francisco’s Flowers and Fog Horns

Chapter Thirty       Austria and the lost grave

Chapter Thirty-One       The Loneliest Highway in America

Chapter Thirty-Two       Mexico CityTaking a wrong turn on the way to Los Angeles

Chapter Thirty-three       Fatima PortugalThe three children and the three secrets.

Chapter Thirty-Four       BroadwayToday’s music lesson.

Chapter Thirty-Five       DeadwoodProstitution, Gambling and Opium

Chapter Thirty-Six       Lanzarote, Canary Islands – Demons, canaries and dogs

Other Works by Michael Sandusky

Flight From Destiny

Psalmwriter: The Chronicles of David Book II

Psalmwriter: The Chronicles of David Book III

Bathsheba’s Eyes

Sins of the Father

Journey’s End

Determining Your Destiny

Wait Training

Acknowledgements

The Author wishes to thank Vicki Barner for her diligence, longsuffering and editorial competence in editing this book. Your work into the wee hours of the morning at times is greatly appreciated.

He also wants to thank Becki Horn Fuller as well as her mother Hellen Horn for listening to these stories sometimes when they were actually happening. Your response as well as your encouragement was a delight to my soul as well as my own literary spirit.

A special thanks is also extended to Becky Peer Sandusky for the use of her many journals used in bringing to my remembrance specific details in the telling of these stories.

Finally I want to thank Jacqueline Anne Sandusky for the companionship as well as her sense of adventure and excitement that added so much to these stories, some of which she is a participant.

Dedication

This is dedicated to you, my dear friend Charles Gillenwater.

For eight years now who have been my friend, confidant and teacher.

You have listened to my stories and worries and looked into my kit bag of troubles.

You have read all my books and commented on them to others in my presence. For that you are truly an encourager. You have used me as an example in your teaching. I hope I have lived up to your expectations. You have also provided to me writing material by way of your own adventures, be it the poor areas of Appalachia or the North Pole or the oil fields of the Texas Permian basin or the coast of Newport Beach.

You have been an inspiration to me with your seat on the City Council and your willingness to host a Foreign Exchange student.

I see that a wanderlust is developing in you and I’m afraid this book may be a greater temptation to you to fulfill that longing in your soul. If that is the case, then it was to be from the beginning.

Blessings my friend!

Introduction

One of my favorite movies is a John Wayne movie called "The Searchers." In it, John Wayne and another search for a niece that was stolen away by Indians five years ago. That’s right. They search for her five years. That takes real dedication. They weren’t just sitting at home and every once in a while went out to search. They were gone the whole time. My rear end would have gotten awfully sore on that horse. I wonder how many miles you can get out of a horse in five years anyway?

Is that any more strange though than the years that we search for something in our lives? Sometimes we search for decades and even a lifetime in some instances for that elusive answer, that perfect mate, that enduring happiness, that lost friend or lover or that ultimate peace of mind.

I’m no different than you. I’ve had a lifetime of happiness interspersed with regret and sorrow. Oh, I’m not talking about a couple of days here. There have been issues in my life that have lasted for years. That’s right… years. A lot of people and maybe you’re one of them looked for answers in alcohol or drugs. I have relatives that took that route. Some people try to find fulfillment in their jobs or their families. There always seems to be something missing though. Promiscuous behavior, travel, acquaintances, friends, money, gambling, education and other ends are utilized to find the answer to the one thing that is lacking in their lives. How about staying busy? That’s a good one. That way you don’t even have to think about what it is that you’re looking for! We’re all guilty of that one including me. We bury ourselves in our children only to have them disappoint us. We invest our money and then lose it. We break the one cardinal rule to insure having enough money to retire on and that is… don’t get divorced!

We come to this place in our lives sometimes where we say I just want to be happy again.

I’ve been there. Destination fulfilled. I’ve been on top of the mountain with four Mercedes in the garages, my own business, a great family, lots of friends and outstanding health. Then my life came crashing down. Clinical depression, mid-life crisis, divorce, bankruptcy and loss of friends spelled the end of my happiness.

My search began… first to make enough money to put a roof over my head. I was literally living in one room with a 60 watt bulb, a TV with one channel and no chair. I began to build my business again. I moved to a different state to make new friends. These were hopefully a means to an end – one involving happiness. I was healed of my depression. I was also healed of cancer.

Happiness is an elusive thing though. Maybe happiness isn’t what we think it is. We feel sorry for those who are mentally and physically challenged yet they are happy in their own world. Their happiness is not measured by our happiness. Maybe we have everything we need to be happy, but we’re just not utilizing it or maybe we’re not seeing it. Sometimes it takes something traumatic to show us what real happiness is.

I am a writer and an adventurer and a fisherman and a lover… of many things. One day I was complaining about a number of things and then it hit me that I have great health. I’m never sick. You can tell by my picture that I am not young. I had to stop and thank God for my health. When I did that, the complaints lessened in their intensity and importance. I complain about this big house and five acres of landscaping that I’ve worked so hard on. Then it hit me that I am really fortunate to have such a beautiful place that just about anyone on earth would relish living in and enjoying. Happiness is where we allow it to be. If we’re not happy… it’s because we’re not allowing ourselves to be happy.

Now, I’m not perfect and I am still searching for some things. However, I’ve been able to lighten my load of baggage over the years and I did it through writing and traveling. You see, when my world came crashing down I lost myself in these two activities. I’m writing right now and I’ve traveled all over the world. I’ve put some of my adventures into this book for you to enjoy. Let me tell you though… I started out with a lot of baggage. I lugged it all over the world.

I had a trunk of fear. Fear for the future, for a new mate, for children going down the wrong path, for loss of income and health.

I had an overnight bag that I stuffed with loneliness. That’s a tough thing to lug around and take out every night. Who wants to sleep alone?

At times I had a backpack of doubt strapped to my back. Doubt pretty much covers everything. You even doubt yourself and your sanity at times. You doubt God and just about anything you can lay your hands on.

I carried a suitcase of guilt. About a lot of things – children, my mate, my own activities in life, my early youth and marriage and… the list goes on and on.

I had a duffel bag of weariness. I was tired of it all. Death would be a welcome respite. I was tired of life and the world and all the things going on in the world. I was bearing the burdens of the world, my children and my business.

I hung a fanny-pack from my belt and in it was grief. Loss of wife, family, income, friends as well as remorse over all the mistakes I had made in my life.

Added to all of this was a bag I tied to my wrist and in it was discontent. I was discontent with myself and with my lot in life and with being a victim and with people who let me down and… my lands, what does one have to do to be happy?

So with all this baggage I set out to write and to travel. I am happy to report that I got tired of carrying all that baggage and discarded most of it along the way. I left it in some of the cities and places you’re going to visit with me in this book. You’re going to laugh out loud a lot, but be warned… sometimes you’re going to cry. Not because of the things that happened to me, but because you recognize yourself in the story.

John Wayne found his niece after five years and brought her home. His search had ended. I hope that you will lose some of your baggage as you read this book. I hope that each day you can weigh yourself, holding this book, and find that you are a little lighter than the day before.

I hope this book helps your search to end happily.

Chapter One

Seville Spain and the search for Don Quixote

I like the way the name is pronounced in Spain or more specifically Andalusia. Seh-vee – a is so much prettier and more suitable for such a lovely city. I get off the bus next to the Cathedral. It has brought me from the port in Cadiz and I am anxious to experience this great city and everything about it.

What will be its effect on me if any? What can it do to the wounded heart of this wanderer? Spain’s greatest writer Miguel de Cervantes was from here. What did it take for him to write Don Quixote? In 1575 he was captured by Barbary pirates and taken to Algeria as a slave and held there for ransom. During the next five years he made several heroic but unsuccessful attempts to escape before he was finally ransomed in 1580 by his family and friends. This was after he had fought with the Spanish military in the Battle of Lepanto, losing the use of his left hand. Can you imagine that? That may have been part of his own treatment for his wounded heart, but something else proved the greatest balsam to his wound. He became a tax collector, but was imprisoned several times for not giving sufficient explanation for his collections. It was during these times in prison that he came up with an idea about an idealistic Spanish nobleman who, as a result of reading many tales of chivalry, comes to believe that he is a knight who must combat the world’s injustices. He travels with his squire, Sancho Panza, an uneducated but practical peasant on his mount, an old, bedraggled horse named Rocinante. He travels in search of adventure, dedicating his actions of valor to a simple country girl whom he calls Dulcinea, seeing her as his lady. He sets himself the task of defending orphans, protecting maidens and widows, befriending the helpless, and serving the causes of truth and beauty. His imagination often runs away with him, so that he sees windmills as giants, flocks of sheep as enemy armies, and country inns as castles. He has a romantic view of the world like I do, but so far I don’t have a Sancho Panza to present a more realistic outlook. Can Sevilla turn me into a Don Quixote and sing The Impossible Dream and really mean it?

Wait! Don Juan is also from this city. Don Juan, is the legendary lover who seems to conquer the hearts of many of Europe’s women. Hmm… I could go for this… to have women fall at my feet and line up to be kissed. Wait a minute! He also is the prototype of the unrepentant libertine. This old Spanish tale recounts the promiscuous Don Juan’s seduction of the daughter of Sevilla’s military commander. After killing the commander in a duel, Juan cynically invites the victim’s funerary statue to a feast. The statue comes to life, seizes the defiant Juan, and drags him down to hell. I think I’ll pass on this one.

Now Carmen, even though she couldn’t decide between the officer Don Jose and the bullfighter Escamillo at least is at the top of the world’s most romantic operas. I could get caught up in that. Everyone loves a beautiful woman. Yet if she can’t decide… how does that help a wounded heart, but to delay healing even longer? Women who can’t decide and are constantly changing their mind about things cause the deepest consternation in men. I may be safer with The Barber of Seville by Rossini. I don’t really need a haircut though so I think I’ll go into this big cathedral for something a little more sedate.

Andalusia was occupied by the Moors of North Africa for about 800 years until Ferdinand III captured it in 1248 AD. This big Gothic cathedral took over a hundred years to build and sits on the site of a mosque. Inside is what I want to see though. It’s the tomb of Christopher Columbus. It was from here that he set sail for the new world. At that time Sevilla was a major port on the river that went down to Cadiz. He had trouble in getting seamen to go into the unknown and had to get some convicts who were promised freedom. A year’s supplies were taken, but it only took 36 days to reach the Bahamas. He was a wanderer… an explorer who was now doing what he had dreamed of for the previous ten years. I wonder if he was traveling with a wounded heart like so many of us?

I have much to do but the cathedral holds wonderful paintings by El Greco, Murillo and Zurbaran so I need to see them first. The most famous bullfighting stadium in all of the world is here and I must see a bullfight. It’s well within walking distance. It is the Plaza de toros de la Real Maestranza de Caballeria de Sevilla. Sevilla’s bullring has been around since 1749 and has undergone many changes. It is oval and sunk into the ground. It is a magnificient structure with Italian influence made of stone, marble, wood and brick.

The crowd forms quickly and the shaded parts of the stadium seats fill up first. The opening ceremony of the bullfight is the paseo. I watch as the matadors march into the bullfighting ring in a grand procession. All three matadors enter simultaneously, dressed ornately in silk jackets and monteras or bicorne hats. The cuadrilla which is a group of apprentices is following the matadors into the ring. They are prepared to assist the matadors in the slaying of the bulls. The idea of the bullfight is a combination of ritual and mortal combat, with an attempt, at the risk of the principal contestant’s life, to maneuver a bull gracefully and kill it in a manner both courageous and aesthetically unrepugnant. I hope this is the case. I was going to be a brain surgeon until I discovered I couldn’t stand the sight of blood. Surely it will be better than my visit to the area slaughter house with my granddad when I was a child. To see a cow hit in the head with a sledge hammer… well that leaves an indelible impression on a child. But hey! I’m an adult now. I should be able to take and appreciate this part of the Andalusian culture.

It will be clearly a contest between man and bull. The first matador comes out and the bull is released. Whoa! It’s not a small one either. It comes slamming out of the gate of the bull pen. I watch as it skids around looking for something in which to drive its sharp horns. The man sitting next to me speaks English and his name is Jose! Why am I surprised? He explains what is happening here. There are three acts to a bullfight. The first one is the pic-ing. The bull runs up and rams a padded horse and when he does this the matador pierces his neck muscles with a lance. Jose explains that is to wear down the bull’s neck muscles. I watch as it gets hairy now because this got the bull’s attention. He didn’t like that so he turns and charges the matador. He shows his fearless grace by getting the bull to charge the cape held close to his unmoving body. There are a number of passes with the cape and the crowd roars its approval. The amount of applause the matador receives is based on his proximity to the horns of the bull, his tranquillity in the face of danger, and his grace in swinging the cape in front of an infuriated animal weighing more than 1000 lbs. The bull instinctively goes for the cloth because it is a large, moving target, not because of its color; bulls are color-blind and charge just as readily at the inside of the cape, which is yellow. These are fighting bulls and live a year longer than domestic bulls which go to the slaughter house to get hit in the head with a sledge hammer I guess. Fighting bulls charge instantly at anything that moves because of their natural instinct and centuries of special breeding. The ancestors of these fighting bulls were a particularly bellicose species of bovine originally found only on the Iberian Peninsula where they ran wild. The ancient Romans were the first to appreciate their deadliness and imported them for their Colosseum games. Since then they have been trained for the single purpose of combat in the arena. They have no pre-arena contact with man except for branding and their picador test at two years of age. Then they are allowed to attack a picador on a padded horse, who pricks them with a lance and their bravery is carefully rated according to how many times they are willing to charge in spite of the sting of the pic. Cowardly bulls are marked for the