Made this video a while back.

Due to some sketchy internet connections here in India, I can only upload to my Lessons From A Vagabond You Tube page. Subscribe here, or check the blog.

The world doesn’t tell us what we want WE TELL THE WORLD.

I’m an O.G. Check Season 3. Better yet, watch Saigon: Arrival if you need to catch up.

Now why is old-news like me posting alongside the new voices of Jet Set Zero?

Here’s what’s going on:

BAM! I was a cast member for seasons 1-3 (plus the bonus season 4 ((you have to watch season 3 to the 25’34″ mark and the secret season starts)) )

BAM! I’ve been lurking for exactly one year TODAY. (Or some day, I forgot to look at the date when I left Istanbul, but what does it matter, close enough.)

BAABAM! I’m taking off again for the wide world after a year of modest and in-almost-every-way ordinary living. I think it’s time Jet Set Zero went to…

BBBBBAAAAAAMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!SOUTHAFRICAMOTHERFUCKER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

…And Mozambique. And probably MalawiZambiaZimbabweBotswanaNamibia-land. That is, Southern Africa.

My favorite Google Image result for South Africa. Will I too be caught dancing naked in a river with a lioness? No promises, but I'll do my best.

Question! How is this Jet Set Zero??

Answer! It’s a reach-around from Futureyou that decided today was worth the risk and sent a postcard from Zanzibar saying “wish you were here, pussy”.

Question! How is this NOT Jet Set Zero??

Answer! Well, I’m glad you asked.

1! I will not be in the same place for 90 days. Unless you count the southern third of the second-largest continent in the world as “one place”.

2! I will not work in the local economy. Far from it. I will be working remote the whole time for a company in the US. Cheating? Maybe. But I think you might want to know how I did it. And I’ll tell you if you lose the attitude.

3! I’m not going with a bunch of dudes, like the old days. My travel companion is a gorgeous, six-foot-tall Brazilian goddess with an unquenchable lust for life, string bikinis and 8 bottles of hair-care products.

I missed you Jetsetters and I’m glad to be broadcasting again. But this is a complicated story, just like all of them, and I want you to call me out if things don’t make sense.

I look forward to sharing this with you guys. Hope you follow.

-Rob

Dear Readers,

It’s been some time since you’re heard from me in an adventure capacity.  I think it’s time to change that.

Just about two months ago we got an amazing opportunity – head to South Korea and experience (and share) a whole new side of  it.  The side that involves tasty intricate food and nearly endless culinary adventures.

Over the next few weeks I’ll be sharing my story of a six day period over Thanksgiving where I was shown some of the most delicious/interesting food and venues we have experienced anywhere.   Some of the food was on fire (flaming chestnuts), some was ridiculous (crabs dancing under the moonlight), and some was just incredible (the salad of four seasons).

In true Jet Set Zero spirit I flew out of NYC the same morning North Korea attacked, and then while there managed to meet up with a whole cast of our old friends and even end up partying with an up and coming Brooklyn based rap group.   For a trip about food it really managed to provide quite a lot of entertainment.

Get ready for a fresh set of stories.  This is going to be fun.

-Brian

Disclaimer:  The KTO (Korean Tourism Organization) covered the flight and accommodation for this trip.  They were all awesome and pleasure to work with.

There’s another side to travel that people who don’t do it often, don’t really know about….coming home.

Reverse culture shock is an actual thing. After being on the road, or getting used to a country’s way of life, there is an adjustment period that takes place when you arrive back ‘home’.

There’s an unspoken bond among travellers, those who truly have it as a lifestyle for a period of time. We get the idea and understand the inevitable stress related to attaching and detaching to a place. When we come home, there is a psychological adjustment that has to take place.

When home, though most people from the outside see it as the place where you can chill, it’s mentally chaotic for a little while. Varying side effects can include anxiety, depression (raises hand), feelings of being in a dream, disconnection from that once normal, disgust for that once normal, loneliness, and paranoia at all the new people who have popped up out of your ass apparently curious to see what you’ve been up to. It’s a mind fuck. Apparently mine has been conjured up along with the holiday spirit.

What has me the most warped right now is that I realize that of those people that I consider to be best friends…people I can do the ugly cry in front of, yet still love me in the morning, about 95% of those people are scattered around the world. It’s a bit of a hard pill to swallow, especially in New York. I always say New York has one of the highest populations of a city in America, yet you can feel like the lonliest soul walking these streets sometimes.

I don’t run in a pack. Extrovert with very introverted tendencies. Yet, I miss the allure of friends. Of all the places I’ve been, New York is probably where I spend the most time by myself. The photo above shows what was nearly an every weekend occurance when I lived in Japan. Thailand…shit I lived in a house with five other people, enough said. Even my small bouts of time in other countries, you mingle and have a good time with people on that same personal journey as you. I find the hardest struggle in this area to be when I’m home. My phone can not ring.

Acquaintances and networks are one thing. But when you need substance, you need your friends. So my heart reaches out to Ferndale, Michigan; Calhoun, Louisiana; Madrid, Spain; London, UK; Niigata, Japan;Sydney, Australia, as well as New Rochelle, Yonkers, Bronx, and Poughkeepsie.

It’s sinking in…I’m really home.

“This is going to be fun. Fun, fun, fun, fun, fun. Camping is fun,” Michael said sarcastically. I was running out of money and needed to find cheaper ways to live in order to preserve my rapidly evaporating Australian dollar. Setting up the tent in the sand I tried to maintain the appearance of confidence. The two man tent had barely been big enough for me when I was living out of it in Brooklyn. How was Michael’s tall ass supposed to fit in here too? Not to mention all the gear that also needed to go in with us. I started thinking about how I could use the rain fly to make a lean to shelter for myself. Obviously we weren’t both going to fit, and well, this was my half-cocked idea.

“It’s funny the things that can happen if and when you put yourself out there on the edge of uncertainty.”

8:16 am. The down comforter and queen-sized bed is making it difficult for me to start my day. I’m lying here, letting my thoughts float in the sounds of the Indian ocean and Fremantle’s lazy streets. A/C on blast. Wrapped up like a worm in a cocoon. The last three days at the campground have definitely been the best times we’ve had here in Australia so far.

The campground was like a hidden desert oasis trapped in a cultural wasteland. Located on what seemed to be the very edge of town, as far south as the free bus would go, through a less than obvious one kilometer foot path, is the coolest place we’ve been to in Australia……wait for it………the RV Park!
How do I explain that the most memorable and fun times that I’ve had so far in this great outdoor paradise was in a concrete campground next to a landfill site? How was THIS the place that I’m going to remember as the highlight of my time spent on the west coast?
It was like stumbling directly into the cool kids club. This was hands down the cheapest place to stay in all of Fremantle, difficult to get to, and the living conditions (at first glance) were primitive to say the least. Not to mention the fact that you actually had to own a tent or a camper of some to sleep there. This is where the dirtbags, cheapskates, those in the know, and hardcore road warriors stayed. The cast was as diverse as they come. Rag tag. And full of awkward vigor and priceless outback experience. This…………….was way cooler than any hostel we could ever have stayed at.
8:37 am. The inside of the tent is a stark contrast to the dark comfort of my dreams. It’s hot and the air is thick. The rolled up pair of jeans under my head feel as if they stiffened through out the night, losing all credibility as a pillow. Michael’s crunched up on the other side of the tent. All six foot four of him. Somehow he looked way more comfortable than I was. “Asshole!” We slept feet to face as men tend to do in these situations in order to prevent any accidental spooning from going on. Our gear and bags filling in any floor space that our bodies neglected to occupy. Time to pull the trigger and get this day started. Reach for the zipper. Pull with all my might. BOOOOM! The visual noise is unbearable. Fucking hot Australian sun always seems to be directly overhead. Hovering a few dozen meters from the Earth’s crust. Step out of the tent and onto my flip-flops, next to the half empty box of wine based beverage. I need some water bad.
The campground is just waking up. Dave and his girlfriend are sitting at the picnic tables checking to see if there’s any new interest in their camper van. Wet clothes dry in the sun on metal trees. The Finnish guy who I’d been having a deep conversation with the night before sat unmoved in a sun bleached folding chair, shades on, couldn’t tell if he was asleep or not. Past them, in the outdoor kitchen, a guy is pouring cereal into an unlikely container, and one of the Japanese girls has something going on the stove. I refill the four dollar bottle of water that I bought with liquid from the tap and remind myself not to lose this one. No one’s sitting in the TV room and its enclosed isolated nature seems like the perfect place to beat the heat and enjoy as little time alone. Kicked back on the couch, Southern hip-hop flowing through the headphones, I reflected on the madness that had transpired the night before, the new group of friends that we had just made, and the fist fight that happened over a single rolling paper.

The Night In Question:
Michael and I are standing in front of one of the two public grills provided at the camping area. Staring down at the sizzling links and glossy beef steaks like two hungry wolves watching a young fawn stray from the elders. Back in Asia it it had been noodle soup and pork on rice all day everyday. I would have killed for a steak back then. Now, thanks to Australia’s amazingly inexpensive beef prices we were eating steak everyday.
Dave, his girlfriend, the Finnish guy, and the German girl were sitting at the table next to the grill. They had all been here for at least six months, separately traveling across the continent, winding up here together, for this very moment. How long have you guys been here in Australia?” someone asked. “About a week.”
Then they all began discussing the routes that they had taken to get here in Fremantle and what they saw along the way. Broome, Darwin, Surfers Paradise, Turtle’s nests on the beach, Snorkling on the Great Barrier Reef, Picking Fruit in Queenland, Breaking down in the middle of the outback. Yes! This is the information that we needed. There people were cartographers helping us to map out of trip. Before listening to the stories I hadn’t been that impressed or excited about Australia. But their accounts of life on the road had stirred up my imagination once again. We continued to talk over boxes of Goon, a.k.a. crappy box wine, undoubtedly the cheapest way to get drunk in Australia and another dirtbag travel tip from the crew. The German girls’ friends had just arrived, a bunch of loud mouthed ruffians she had worked with somewhere along the way.
“Fuck these guys!”
They were aggressive, annoying, and a negative energy descended upon their arrival, threatening to destroy the family environment that we had been fostering this whole time. “Let’s move. These guys are starting to piss me off.” That’s about when the fight broke out. Something about someone not letting someone else have a rolling paper. Stupid. We put on the Doors, cranked up the laptop, and prayed that they would stay seated on what was now “Their side” of the campground. Which of course they didn’t. “You know what? These guys are ridiculous. I’m calling it a night.”

*sorry for the lack on photos and super sloppy writing. my laptop decided to stop working when I landed in Sydney. -jp

I don’t want to travel anymore.  I just want to be home.

A series of events have unfolded at warp speed over the past few years. Starting in 2004 when I got struck by a taxi and broke my leg, I turned my life of stressful routine into a life of adventure, accumulating dreams and fulfilling them with an aggressive enthusiasm. I’ve taken my happiness seriously when it should have been taken with lightness. I have made life’s leisures into a life. But I don’t want it anymore. I’ve proven you can make travel your life and, to myself, I have proven that it can be just as lonely as it can be fulfilling. And right now, I’m exhausted.

I’ve overcome hardships with as strong a positive attitude as possible, wondering when I would hit rock bottom. It never happened. I just kept going – floating for fear of drowning, or “rolling with the punches” as one friend put it. Before Jet Set Zero came along I had already let my stubborn enthusiasm 1) guide me to Europe, 2) volunteer in Kenya and become embedded in rural Kenyan politics, 3) produce my documentary A Chance for Peace (with zero prior experience) immediately following Kenya’s post-election violence, and lastly, it was all topped off with my apartment burning down rendering me homeless and broke as I struggled to finished school. Why am I tell you all this? Because I could pretend that this life of travel is all sunshine and freedom, but it isn’t. The reality – since that is what we are here to share – is that it is also extremely taxing and I don’t want to keep it up anymore for me or for anyone. If anything it is a job I love, not the entirety of a life I want to live. Not for me. Not anymore. There but be a balance.

I’m so thankful for Jet Set Zero and for everyone I’ve met along the way since I first started walking again after breaking my leg those years ago. I’m eager to carry out all the mental, emotional, and spiritual acrobatics I have tumbled through, but I can’t do that in flight. I need roots. I’ve been uplifted by so many experiences and have been empowered to continue traveling as I see so many people becoming inspired by my trips. More will come, undoubtedly, but for now I have to stop.

Today I write you still stuck in India and I don’t know how and when I will be home. I consider my stay here one last lesson that’s telling me its time to go back to California and build my home and life. Again. Hopefully this one wont burn down like the last one. The night I watched it all burn I said to myself, “Destruction gives way to creation.” It’s time to lay the foundation. I can worry about adventure – and appreciate it more – once my roots are firmly planted.

Happy holidays, ladies and vagabonds. See ya when I see ya. It’s been hella real.

PS: I’m working hard to get onwards and upwards, but if anyone would like to make an offering of Frequent Flier Miles in exchange for some grade-A karma, I would not object. So holler. Peace and love, y’all.

I am a fraud.

I’ve espoused to others what I consider my wisdoms, my “lessons learned from a life of travel” and I have been deluded by my own ignorance.

I used to say that my outlook on life was based on a keen awareness of the fragility of life, but instead of nurturing it, I have strangled it, tying a wire around the neck of the world and squeezing out its wisdom, join, and pain. So don’t listen to my “words of wisdom” because I know nothing. If anything, I can tell you that wisdom is not something to be taught or learned. It is a consequence of life. It doesn’t lie in your will to achieve your goals or your desire to “be a better person”, nor is it stamped in your passport, as I mistakenly thought.

Achievement and desire have been my downfall. In the West, it’s conditioned by society that time is limited, so hurry up, work hard, and do “right”. I don’t know about you guys, but I’m tired of that tension. What some call “the American dream” has taken me further away from enjoying the reality of each moment, and into a  future where the only thing that is certain is a constant start of want and reach. My drive to be something extraordinary, I now realize, is totally ordinary and not noble at all. And the strength of my desires has produced just as much stress and suffering as life-changing moments. But life is always naturally in flux, it doesn’t need me to hurry it along. In short, my mind needs rest from want.

I have said before that the more I see the less I know. On JS0: Thailand, I wont be surprised if I am, at least in part, portrayed as “the spiritual one”, but my search is coming to a close. I’m learning that the best thing I can do for my spirit is to let it breathe, not smother my mind is philosophy, theology, and history. All these years of travel and circumstantial transience have taught me that there are no answers and there is no “me”. I know nothing and this supposed-former-wisdom-junkie would happily rather be your fool.

That is my confession. Little melodramatic maybe, but sometimes it comes with the territory.

Merry Christmas wherever you are from everyone here at Jet Set Zero.

Best wishes and happy holidays.

It’s been 4 weeks since JS0: Thailand wrapped filming.

Here’s a brief synopsis of events:

• Show finishes filming after 3 months, 2 months of pre-production on my end.
• Everyone disbands, we leave our house.
• I contact my discount airline ticket connection to book my ticket home.
• The connection falls through without warning.
• And now I’m unexpectedly stuck abroad.
• With no job.
• Or house.

The money I budgeted to get home is not enough for the full fare ticket I now have to pay for on my own.  I had to leave Thailand so I got myself to India. Thank God, Buddha, Allah and all their disciples that I have a friend here I can stay with. I accept my role and accept the work ahead, but I am nevertheless stuck.

Although I’m glad to have this experience, I’m not going to lie: it’s been rough. Partly because India is fucking intense, but mostly because I just need to rest. Try to balance the levity with the gravity of the past few months. Instead, I’ve been trying not to cry alone in public, constantly wishing I was home (especially for the holidays), and longing to hold my best friend’s newborn baby girl.

Today I write you alone in New Delhi on Christmas Day. Tomorrow who knows what will happen. Now this is an adventure of a different color. Hoping for some grade-A karma to kick in.

I’m not sure this is what I wanted.  After what was one of the hardest days of my life and a good two days of traveling, I finally reached my home town of Calhoun, Louisiana. As I am typing this blog, I will admit that the tears are steadily running down my face. Two days ago, I left Chiang Mai, Thailand for home. What hurt the most was saying goodbye to my amazing friends. Over the past four months I really grew to love those guys. I created a bond with them, a bond like I never had before. It kills me to leave that behind. This friendship just ignites the fire inside of me to keep going on. I made a promise to my friends that I would be back in June and we will pick up where we left off! My word is as good as gold! I love you guys.