Yesterday, we had nothing scheduled, and the family was planning on being away on various errands for most of the day. After a brief conference, we decided we should spend our alone time walking through the town of Hagen and taking some photos.

I hvae been hoping to take some photos worthy of showcasing on this blog. While these are not masterpieces, I feel they reflect some of the town’s charm and specialties. I’ve included with them, a little comment, description, or story to help you place the photo in the map of your mind.

We’ll start with the Timmerman’s house. The top-left window (third level, way up in the attic) is where I have been sleeping at night. If I leave the window open during the night, I can be awoken by the church bells ringing to signal the hour. This is a wonderful way to wake up.

Turning around and walking down “Christian-Rohlfs” street on the way to town brings a blanket of green into view. Beautiful swaying trees all around protect me from any wind as I walk.

Along the side of the road, dozens of “Smart Cars” and other small European cars flank the roadside. My heart becomes stronger when it sees that somewhere in the world, people are putting the needs of the environment even slightly above the needs of their own.

Stop and wait at the stoplight while fuel efficient electric buses pass, right on time. Pass your hand over the infrared “walk” sensor, that tells the light to let you cross some time soon.

When you have, swing on to Domberg street and continue on towards “Downtown” Hagen.

As you walk, pass the “Hagen Graveyard”, a beautiful monument of history. An honor to those who loved Hagen before us.

Walk the long way around the town, and you will pass the “Bahnhoff” (train station) before turning to go to downtown.

Reward your eyes by looking up and feasting on the site of an age-old tower, standing straight and strong above the “Bahnhoff”.

All of this walking has made me hungry. Lets turn back and see what we can find to eat.

I’m tempted to visit the “Tanzschule” (Dance School) to see what they might be doing. Knowing my knee couldn’t take dancing, I cannot join in.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a “Doner” stand. In Germany, Turkish people are very common. They go to their own schools, eat their own food, and even speak their own language. Sometimes, Turkish children raised in Germany are not even allowed to learn or speak German. One mode of income for the Turkish families, is to make “Doner” stands or shops.

I pay 3 euros, and go sit down at the tables and chairs beside the stand. Biting in, my mouth is showered in flavor. The taste of salty, spicy meat, mixed with cabbage, lettuce, and a mysterious white sauce haunts my mouth for many hours after the Doner has disappeared.

I’m full now, and its getting dark. I think we should head back home. This time, we’ll head back through the park. As I go, I’ll stop and look at things I find beautiful or interesting, or play at the playground.

This is a beautiful town, with a beautiful culture. Part of me wishes I could share its wonderful air and feeling with the world. The more I think about it, however, the more I am sure that Hagen…without many tourists…is just the way it should be.

I am sitting in the same chair as last time, by the same window. This time I have a slightly incredulous look about me, and am sipping my tea with quiet diffidence.

I am downright exhausted, you see, and the way I see it, I should not be awake right now at all. I must explain to you the source of such feelings:

Last night, a group of young German’s, all friends of the family, invited Julie and myself to “Fun Park”. Strangely enough, “Fun Park” is not an outdated theme attraction, but a discotheque and bar. This is the only disco (or “club” as we now call them in the US) within the reaches of the town of Hagen, and is spoken of by the town’s younger inhabitants as if it were a shrine. Mention merely the name of the place in a group, and far away expressions accompanied by guilty grins will soon show themselves all around.

We arrived at the place at 11:15 pm. I was foolish enough to have had misgivings about my communication ability within such a group, and as I felt for my wallet to purchase a drink my hand rested briefly on Lonely Planet’s “German Phrasebook”. I would not need such a tool tonight. The music was very loud, and it didn’t seem to matter which language was spoken, it couldn’t be understood by anyone.

Drinks were purchased and passed freely throughout our little group. I allowed a serene, contented smile to crease my face as I took inventory of the various people I had met.

There was Michael (pronounced Mish-ka-el) Julie’s old host brother.

Caroline (only part of this was said, and was pronounced Ka-roll) an outgoing, boisterous girl who apparently works with children.

Anna, another girl whose face was framed with dark, lavishly curled ringlets of hair.

There were two more guys, who I cannot remember the name of. Not by coincidence, these are the two who spoke the least English, and though many nods and smiles were shared between myself and them, it was a challenge to connect much more.

The stage was set and the players were warming up. With a sidelong glance through an overlooking window, the dance floor was visible only through tiny cracks in the masses of heads, arms, and pelvises, all flailing about to the rhythm of house music. I wanted to get down there.

My wish would soon be granted, for the group quickly tired of screaming at each other, and conceded to give the dance floor a go.

I had been slightly apprehensive of this activity since earlier in the evening, as I had sustained a debilitating knee injury in the previous month, and had been having trouble walking (let alone dancing) since. My concerns were quickly dispelled by the alcohol fumes and rhythmic “boom boom” of the bass.

Our tiny group made our way to the edge of the floor and we all began to make insecure movements with our arms and hips, bobbing up and down, matching our movements to those around us.

What shocked me upon my first look around the dance floor, was that no one else was dancing any better or more flamboyantly than I was. My movements were quite tame and typical of a teenage boy at a high-school dance, yet no one seemed to have any better ideas.

At first, I thought that everyone was simply a bad dancer. Then I realized something: The boys in our group, and the people I had seen standing in line at the restroom hardly seemed like the type who would volunteer to get up and “shake it”, yet here they all were. They were all giving it a go, and taking it in their stride. No, they were not all smooth and slick, but the beauty of their dance was in the fact that they completely lacked reserve. They flung their arms about, and stomped their feet, reflecting (and encouraging) their own enjoyment, and were obviously not simply pacifying the appetites of others.

With this idea in my brain, I began to think back to my days studying to be a ballet dancer, and started integrating more challenging steps into my movements. People smiled, and some even had glasses in their hands. They gave me space. They did not jeer, they did not shoot each other disparaging glances, they watched and clapped their hands.

As the evening wore on, and the alcohol content in the bloodstream of the place became a higher number, the movements of the dancers became less calculated and more grand, using more and more space. It was a good thing, I realized, that people were beginning to drop out and head home for the night, as the space required for each person was becoming more and more expansive.

Each time I thought the night might be beginning to wind down for our little group, more drinks were brought in and circulated and, everyone feeling refreshed, the dancing would continue.

Finally, the beads of sweat were replaced by wrinkles as faces yawned all around. Someone said something in German, and before I knew it I was being whisked off the floor and back out into the crisp, cold night air.

Feeling much warmer and closer to each other than we had at the beginning of the evening, we shook hands, hugged each other, and made mumbled promises to get together again. Michael, Julie, Caroline, and I all made our way over the cobbles of the marketplace and through the winding streets leading back to the house.

It had been a wonderful night, full of camaraderie, exercise, and new experiences. I couldn’t help but picture the prostrate bodies I had seen slumped over each other on the dance floors of clubs in the US. I generally try not to compare different cultures, for each has its positives and negatives, but on this occasion I couldn’t help but think to myself “This could have never happened in America”, and I knew I was right.

Hallo freunde!

This update is coming to you from the top room of a traditional house in Germany. Currently, Julie and I are visiting the family which hosted her years ago as an exchange student.

The house is solidly built, with thick white walls which even wifi can’t penetrate. The neighborhood is nearly mockingly picturesque. Looking out the window to my right, I can see a tall majestic tree with small banana-shaped leaves of many different shades of green. Beyond the forest of trees are little gingerbread houses, built hundreds of years before, with miniature people wandering about to complete the image.

The weather is what some would consider overcast. To me, it is the perfect day. Light enough to see, but not so bright that I shield my eyes when stepping outside. Cold enough that sweat is barely a threat, but not so cold that I must wear a jacket when venturing onto the cobblestones outside.

Ah what bliss! The church bell has just rung, to signal the passing of yet another peaceful hour in Hagen, Germany. Each toning of the bell fills up the ears with its harmonic sound, and just as quickly disappears, leaving the mind nothing but its own creativity.

This morning is sure to be host of a series of grand adventures to which I cannot even begin to imagine. The object of the remainder of this post, is to document the events and observations of the trip here.

Our scene is set momentarily in Union Station, the historic Los Angeles connection station. Busses, trains, and the “metro” (LA’s tubular mass transit system) all convene here. The building is made up of smooth concrete floors, and rich brown bricks forming to create long, spacious corridors leading to each preferred mode of transit.

My time at Union Square was to be short, as I had only to stand in line for a few moments before boarding the train which was to whisk me off to San Diego once more for my final departure.

The train ride was only two hours. Apart from my regular tea breaks (the train’s mess cars are always friendly enough to bestow hot water upon me free of charge), I read and spoke to people on my mobile phone. I said final goodbyes, and canceled US accounts (wifi providers, memberships, etc). By the time I had finished with my calls, my battery was nearing its death.

The train arrived in San Diego at 11:15pm. For many, this would be a horrid time to arrive in any city, but for me, it was perfect. I have always been one to save on accommodation if at all possible, and I saw my opportunity clearly: I would walk from the train station to the airport (along the harbor, this takes about two hours), placing me at the airport at one o’clock in the morning. The airport begins ticketing operations at 4:00am, but stays open in baggage claim, thus allowing a free lie-down in a soft airport chair.

My plan worked flawlessly. I had several deeply rooted conversations with the people sleeping on the benches along the ocean, and even found an empty bench for myself to sit at. I enjoyed this part very much, as I chose to combine the classical music station audio, with a breathtaking visual of the San Diego skyline. From this view, the lights twinkling off the building reflected in elongated patches of brightness across the water of the bay as a row-boat drifted imperturbably from side to side.

The airport was not crowded, and I was delighted to have my pick of soft chairs.

I felt as though I had just dosed off for a moment, but it had been three hours. The time had already come for me to check in and get to the gate for my flight at 7:30am.

Everyone looked the same in the check-in line. Slightly “pissed off” expressions were permanent residents, while dulled eyes and insatiable yawning accompanied. I did my best to charm the ticket agent into upgrading me to first class, but perhaps it was not the right morning for either of us, I was offered an aisle seat.

By the time I had boarded the plane, I had been able to sneak a cup of tea, and the caffeine flooded through my malnourished blood, warming both my temperature, and my personality.

I was feeling so much better, in fact, that I struck up a conversation with the girl sitting next to me. She was in the window seat, I in the aisle, and we had the middle seat to act as a buffer. Our conversation took a turn for the better when we began talking about theology.

“Amalie” was her name, and she was a French-Canadian who had moved to San Diego to go to a private Christian college. I am neither Christian nor otherwise, and thus tend to have very little opinion on the subject. Even so, she managed to involve me in the conversation.

The conversation (much to my surprise and delight) had no undertones of recruitment or conversion, simply interest. She was so interested in her own religion, she did not mind discussing its possible weaknesses with an open mind.

The time passed quite quickly, and we seemed to touch down in Philadelphia earlier than I would have expected. I made my way to my next gate and sat down. I had about 15 minutes before boarding would begin for the flight to Germany.

“The flight is delayed until further notice” the confident man boomed over the loud speaker.

Damn.

Something had gone wrong with the pre-flight testing, and they were delaying the flight until further notice. I considered stocking up to the podium and shaking my fist with the other would-be passengers, but a quick glance at the terrified airline employee mullified me. They were doing the best they could.

Thankfully, they had remedied the issue within an hour, and we were boarded and ready to take off with only an hour and fifteen minutes behind us. My only concern was whether I would be to the airport in time to locate Julie’s arrival gate and meet her there. Our cellphones don’t work in Germany, and if we failed to locate each other in the airport, I did not know what would happen.

We arrived with time to spare, thankfully. Julie’s flight was arriving at 8:50am, and it was just 8:00am CEST when we touched down.

Stepping off the plain, I was instantly reminded of the reasons I wanted to come to Germany in the first place:

1. The language (my favorite language in the world).
2. The people (who seem to consider each of my favorite foods a standard of their diet).
3. The weather (as I have already said, it is perfect for me).

And what a splendidly simple process it was to switch to Julie’s arrival terminal via the SkyLine suspended transit car.

I had been waiting to see my fiance for a long time, and it felt even longer as I hopefully glanced through the momentary opening of the arrival doors. Her shining face was finally visible as one of the doors opened, and an even brighter smile than I remembered greeted me.

We embraced and looked at each other for some time. I think it was me who broke away finally and said “We’d better get going”.

Those who have ridden the Amtrak train in the US, and say that they have ridden a train don’t know the half of it. A train in Europe is an amazing microcosm of quality and service. The dining car of Amtrak’s “Pacific Surfrider” is a vending machine in comparison with the fine delicacies available on an “ICE” train here in Germany.

When I finally stopped marveling at the facilities of the train, we made our way to our seats. We were in a tunnel when we sat down, but as we pulled out into the sunlight, a huge HDTV widescreen television monitor flipped on to our right, showing hills and villages from years past. Julie called this device a “window” and explained that the beauty I was seeing really existed outside the train. I could scarcely believe it, and passed it off as a trick of advanced 3D motion graphics rendering.

When we finally did step off of the train into the crisp air of the country, the picture of the hills and model houses remained unchanged. It was then that I knew I was really here in Germany.

The rest is history. We walked to her prior host-families home and were received, with open arms, into their spare room. We’ll be here for two weeks before Julie will go to Koeln to start her internship, and I will likely get an apartment in the city as well.

So ladies and gentlemen, I must start my day. Please leave a comment if you have something to say, I truly enjoy hearing from you.

I’ll post more soon.

Hey everyone. My deepest apologies for not writing anything substantial these past couple of weeks. My “real” job needed some tending to and thus I’ve been unfortunately busy. Hopefully the flow of urgent work has been staved for a while and I can focus more on writing for this blog.

So…we know what I had in my pack at the beginning of this wild adventure, but if you’ve been looking closely at the photos I’ve been posting, you’ll have realized that certain items have been switched out, some have been removed, and a few (eek) have been added.

As my “what’s in my pack” post has been the most popular on this blog by almost 90% (meaning that post alone has brought in nearly all of my traffic), I figured those of you readers who might be about ready to unsubscribe to my feed would probably be ready for another injection of geeky travel gear tips.

Without wasting any more time…here’s the new, changed, and trashed list:

The above photo is an updated version of what is in my pack(s). The most major addition is the first on the list:

DISCLAIMER: All links to items are referral links. I get 4% of your purchase if you click my link and buy the item. If you feel like helping me out, this is a good way to do it. We both win. 

1. Eagle Creek Black Vagabonding bag
   Perfect for carrying my laptop, notebook, camera, and more wherever I go, this is my journalism “utility belt”. Each day before I leave the place I am staying, I strap my crucial electronics/supplies in, and leave the backpack behind.
2. Trader Bay Fleece Sweater
   This fleece was a gift from Julie a while back, and I hadn’t decided I was going to keep it until the last minute before leaving. I have used it a VERY small amount on freezing, foggy San Francisco mornings, but mostly it is waiting for the winter days in Germany and Italy.
3. Sea to Summit Silk Mummy Sleeping Bag Liner
   The sleeping bag I had purchased ended up being too warm for my high-heat producing body, so I sold it to a bunk-mate in San Diego and purchased this blissfully small silk sleeping bag liner. I have used it many times already, and have washed it…erm…considerably less times. Feels great, packs great, is great.
4. Moleskine Squared Reporters Notebook
   I am a huge notebook fan, but this one and its ruled cousin are the coolest model I’ve come accross yet. I love flipping it open in a green-grassed park and jotting down the thoughts tumbling around in my head. I am sending them “home” to my parents so they may act as souvenirs of my journeys.
5. Targus Combination Laptop Lock
   This was recommended to me en-mass before I lef, but I wanted to see if I would get real-world use out of it before I filled up my bag with another needless item. I found it on sale at best buy and have been amazed at the amount I have used it. Coffee (the main course at internet cafes) is conducive to bladder relief and it seems to always come to my attention just when I am in the middle of a web-meeting or large project. It is a great luxury to be able to lock up the laptop and walk away for a moment - without losing my place at the table…or my laptop.
6. Lenovo Thinkpad X61
   I purchased this machine right after I posted the last article. It was purchased on a recommendation from Tynan of Life Nomadic, and I have been unexpectedly impressed with both Linux compatibility and durability. I accidentally poured water across the keyboard while reaching for a loose-lid water bottle and the machine didn’t lose a beat. Perfect for the “travel-warrior”.
7. 8oz Jar of Dr. Bronners Soap
   I’ve always loved Dr. Bronners, but this orange liquid soap really comes into its own when used at an airport shower between flights. With enough rubbing, this stuff will cleanse the body of any and all foreign bodies in no time.
8. Office Depot Coupon Book
   Technically, its a business card holder, but works perfectly as a small little coupon book. Since I have been on the road, I have discovered countless deals to be had by using coupons. When I first visit a new city, I will visit the more residtial neighborhoods and look for the “local rag” (a technique inspired by my friend Richard Cray), these are usually coupon feasts, and I clip and use every one of them. This practice is what allows Julie and I to live on an income for one when need be.
9. Vibram Five Finger Shoes
   I’m not gonna lie, I went with the trend on these and got the exorbitantly priced Vibram Five Finger shoes. When staying at a hostel, I tend to use them alot as they work as a good fungus shield (as well as a conversation point for curious onlookers).
10. Logitech VX Nano Cordless Mouse
    I’ve had cordless mice before, and I’ve hated them all for one singular reason: The USB dongle that hangs off the side of the laptop like a broken pinky-toe and gets lost the second you remove it. This mouse solves that problem. Still using the shortwave radio technology of standard cordless mice, while avoiding the power-draining requirements of Bluetooth, the USB dongle is about an inch long and sticks just a half-inch out of the side of the laptop. I have left it in since I got it and never had a problem. Whenever I want to use the mouse, I take it out and turn it on. Easy as that. Comes with a slick, minimalist carrying case as well.

That’s pretty much all the new stuff! There are little things I may have missed, but that is the gist.

Now for the stuff that didn’t make the lightning round, here’s a photo to remind you of what I USED to have:

Here’s the difference:

1. Speedstick half-size deoderant
   This stuff sucked. It was liquid, and needlessly so. I fell for the gimmick, and ended up with a LOOONG shirtless wait for the stuff to dry. I’ve got a big boy gel stick now.
2. Chinook 16 oz. compressed mummy sleeping bag
   Too hot for me, and too bulky. Many hostels won’t let you in with a sleeping bag so what’s the point?
3. Emergency Checkbook
   Having this with me freaked me out. If identity theft is bad in the US, I wonder how it is in Eastern Europe…?
4. Linksys USB wireless receiver
   My laptop’s reception is fine. This was a pointless device.
   
5. Belkin Mini-Wifi detector
   Also pointless. Both my phone and laptop pick up wifi signals instantly (my phone doesn’t even need to boot up) and when searching for a cafe with free wifi, the usual best bet is a sign saying “Free Wifi” in the window.
6. Nokia cellphone/PC cable to use phone as backup modem
   Nope. Not useful enough to be of service. Starbucks is every few blocks in any metropolitan city (or suburban sprawl for that matter) of America, and in Europe I wouldn’t have cell-phone reception anyways.
7. Everex Stepnote 13.1″ (laptop) with Ubuntu 8.04
   Sold it to my father. It wasn’t a bad machine at all, but I needed something a little more robust with a little better Linux support. Replaced by the X61 tablet.

So that’s that! Hope you enjoyed this edition of TravelGeeks Magazine

This week’s photo of the week is coming to you from Oakland, California. I’m looking out the window next to my laptop and I’m able to see the entirety of San Francisco right now. The photo, unfortunately, is not that view, that will come soon.

The streetcar was crowded this morning.

Raw humanity in its most telling and exposed form painted a tapestry of color, of diversity, crackling noticeably in the morning air.

The human intention, the wants and goals of the citizens of this reality hung, like summer dresses, beautiful in their simplicity, and their materialism, out to dry.

The conversations and emotions of the passengers rocked, jerkily, in time with the movements of the streetcar…as if they too were being blown in the wind.

Every fare was overpaid. Just $50 cents was paid as a dollar. No one made exact change, for the savings simply was not worth their time.

Seniors stood, stumbling and leaning in the crowd, as youngsters who did not speak English sat, luxuriously flaunting their comfortable seated real-estate.

The driver answered a question for the twenty-seventh time that week, and sighed.

Children stared at me, wondering why this funny man happened to be standing so close. “What is this gathering for?” they must have thought in the rapidly maturing parts of their minds.

And what would my answer be? If I could speak to them using a developed vocabulary, I fancy I would tell them it is a celebration: A celebration of a fulfillment, a satisfaction, a healing of the “aching heart”.

In an outpouring of creative genius, “A Writer’s San Francisco”, the inspiring words of Eric Maisel simply states:

“An aching heart needs an ice cream cone in a new location, a change of flavors, a choice of picture postcards to send to loved ones to whom it never says “I love you” except when it is on vacation. The heart needs an oddity or two, something to make it smile.”

Eric’s words resonate when riding a streetcar, in the most tourism-oriented location in San Francisco.

His words provide not a justification, but a self-identifying reason for enjoying the view of the tapestry.

Trust…

To say that trust is an important characteristic to nurture while working with a client online, would be an understatement. Building and maintaining a trusting relationship is paramount, and within the daily journey to the completion of your deadlines - a strong and mutually understanding work-relationship can do wonders for the enjoyment and sustainability in which your work employs.

So dramatic are the differences of a badly-matched client/contractor versus a well-matched one, I can draw you a chart of monetary appraisal, clearly showing the difference of a positive and negative work-relationship.

Over the course of the past two years of freelancing, I have harvested, and assembled, several strands of wisdom which are identified, in my brain, as the three golden rules of working with clients while freelancing:

Rule #1 - Trust your instincts.
Just like many of you, I wish this statement was not so avalanched towards truth that it could be considered a rule.  Many times when meeting with a potential client, whether online, on the phone, or in person, I will have an instant feeling of grave inevitability - as if I had found a message on the wall of a cave:

“This job is not right for me.”

I have thought this to myself whilst listening to the client’s request, and far too many times I have ignored the thought and agreed to take on the work in spite of the warnings.

This instinct, I believe, spawns from the mentality of a desk job. Early on, I carried many such instincts and values over from my work at my “day job”, and have had to painfully unlearn them throughout the many months since. Even in the smallest of design firms - the general mentality is that when more work comes in, as long as the client is willing to pay the desired amount, their work is taken on, with little regard for the standing workload of the staff.

This method, though irresponsible and stress-feeding, is a widely-accepted attitude in the corporate and non-profit world, and is accepted silently and submissively - with pursed, tense lips, longing for an evening of relaxation and alcohol consumption - by the company’s crispy employees.

The desired attitude for a freelancer, is a discerning - strategic one. Though conceivable in theory, the practical application of this discernment and evaluation process begins to fall apart when the freelancer’s wallet gets thin and the work begins, seemingly, to dry up. These “droughts” and in-between periods are hotbeds for stress-causing badly-fitted work-contracts.

My trick for avoiding these bad situations? I actually haven’t really found one. I simply try to follow the above rule as much as I can, NEVER do something just because the money is good (it is never worth it, as jobs you don’t care about, or share morals with, are ALWAYS the hardest, and most troublesome to complete), and try to be as honest as possible with the client when meeting - so as not to create false expectations.

Rule #2 - Good friendships DO NOT necessarily make good working relationships
“I actually just got out of a really bad experience with my business partner and ex-best-friend, so I could really use some work…” the Portland-based graphics designer was telling me. He was begging for any work I could throw at him as he had committed one of the most commonly-known, yet least yielded laws of business: Don’t get involved in business with your friend (or your spouse/significant other for that matter).

Now, please do not get an impression that my opinion is that work-relationships with friends or spouses are impossible, for I simply do not believe that. I do know from experience, however, that they are the hardest to cultivate for any extended period of time - as resentment and defensiveness quickly follows on either side.

Apart from the odd hobby photo-essay project with my fiance (an accomplished photographer), I stay away from combining the worlds of work and friendship.

Relatives, like friends, are easy to evolve into clients or work-partners because of the perceived value from fellow family members:

They see someone they can trust - who will probably give them a discount on your service.

You see someone who is conveniently close as a client, a good way to get another project on your resume, and someone who will probably tip your work well.

Can you see how the above two statements would conflict?

Rule #3 - Always send an email
Some would challenge this as a hard and fast rule, but I swear by it:

Each Monday and Friday, I meet online (via instant message) with one of my longer-term programming clients. During each of these adjective-ripe meetings, we discuss new changes, features that need to be implemented, and more.

At the end of our meeting, one of us (usually the client) will go through the items we had discussed and puts them into the to-do tracking system we use. This system automatically emails each of the to-do items to me in turn, and I archive these emails as I complete the items.

The system works quite well, and from that day forward, I always have an archived digital copy of the client’s request, with a time stamp attached to the email. Though I have never had to use these records within any sort of legal situation with my clients, I have, on select occasions, been tasked with sifting through my archives to find the email which confirms a client’s request. When confronted with a time stamp and record - in their words - of their request, a client will nearly always back off.

Tools of the Trade: My two favorite tools for working with clients online…

While these tools are somewhat oriented towards programmers/workers in the web field, nearly all of them can be adapted to fit any freelance duty:

PayPal
I am sure someone will have something to say about PayPal in the comments. Reports of bad experiences with PayPal are available for anyone who would like to read them online with a quick Google search. In all of my experiences with working with them for two years, I have not had a single problem.

Paypal is my bank, my credit (well…actually debit) card, my invoice system, my accounts-payable manager, and much, much more.

Paypal is a company who’s most prominent, marketable feature is the ability to send money - using credit cards, or checks, to anyone in the world - in any currency in the world - instantly. For a 3% commission, they will transfer any monetary amount (actually…there is a limit, though I will probably never hit it) to any email address (it helps if they are signed up with PayPal) for you the instant you click “Submit”.

I have a PayPal debit card which I use for nearly every purchase, every day. This integrated system keeps my bookkeeping simple, and I have not yet had a problem.

Basecamp: Web-Based Project Management Software
Basecamp is a project management software which, at one time, simply rocked my socks.

Since I have started to write more, and program less, the program has lost effectiveness for me, but my longest-standing client and I still use it, religiously, to keep track of changes and to-be-done items.

The system is web-based, hosted (meaning you can’t put it on your own server), and charges a monthly service fee ranging from $10-40 depending on your needs for access to the system.

A free account is available, if you just need to manage a specific process. Give the system a try before you buy, and see if it revolutionizes your work flow!

I’ve got my client, now what?
The next step, theoretically, is what you should be best at: Actually doing the work. This wasn’t the case for me, especially when I started out. I only half-knew web-programming at the beginning of my career (I’ve come along way in two years), and still don’t know everything. These situations are a great way to learn new skills quickly, though even now sometimes I will find myself needing to steer the project in the directions my skill sets compliment. For better or for worse: This seems to work.

But I say that needing to skirt and redirect everyone once in a while is ok. In nearly every situation I have worked in, the least comfortable yet most effective technique is the one which rings the most true:

Honesty really is the best policy when it comes to interacting with clients and setting deadlines. Setting too-soon deadlines, and missing them, is usually far worse for the client’s opinion of you than setting fair and moderate deadlines, and delivering early.

I hope this article has helped a little bit with those getting started, or those who just needed an injection of new ideas and/or validation. If you already knew all this stuff, I apologize.

Look out in the next few days for my next article in my “Working on the Road” series:

Part Three:  Being Suddenly Productive

The question everybody is too polite to ask: How much money do I make in a month? How much money do I spend?

Throughout the remaining days of the next month, I will explain to you, in detail: Just how I managed to create for myself everything I have. I will explain the transition from overworked freelancer to limitless travel vagabond…while still trading my time for money.

The Title of This Article is:

Part One: Working on the Road, How I’ve Made it Work for Me

Over the next month, look forward to the next four articles:

Part Two:  Having Clients I’d Never Met

Part Three:  Being Suddenly Productive

Part Four:  When I Began to Save Money

Part Five: What I Would Have Done Differently

…and action…

About a year ago, I was first looking into creating a more flexible, deliberate lifestyle. I had read The Four Hour Work Week by Timothy Ferris a total of six times in one month (not a joke) and was hungrily delving into the wealth of less-than-promoted information on Lifestyle Design.

The issue that scared me to death, was the idea of so much instability and possibilities for error and miscalculation. Rarely are blog posts or articles written about exact amounts of monetary input and output, and this creates a lot of hype - but little certainty and confidence - for those who feel they have to justify this supposedly “unstable” career choice with some tangible numbers before diving blindly, and head-first, into a new life/work style.

Unfortunately, as I read through the archives of popular blogs, saw supersaturation in the online markets, and watched the so-called “new rich” ideas become commonplace in the homes of people around the world, I slowly lost confidence. I lost the enthusiasm that told me I could do it. I lost the certainty that seemed so plentiful when reading books which made the process sound so easy.

At this point, some simply give up - returning to their pastimes of spending justifying the attendance of the office Christmas party as “networking”, and trying to appreciate the little things such as “casual Friday”. I did not give up. Call it my determination, or perhaps it was the plans I had made with Julie to leave my hometown, but I managed to pull it off. I created a job which could be done from anywhere.

So, how can you obtain the confidence required to avoid this seemingly inevitable path? I feel it is my job to tell you - from the greener side of the grass - just how much I make and spend per month, and how I make it work for me.

In this part of my series, I’ll tell you the numbers. This will provide a primer, and hopefully encouragement, to keep your momentum going while I write the rest of the series.

How much I make:

My current projects are almost completely different from when I started my adventure. A web programmer by trade (and not a particularly experienced one), I assumed my market was cornered by people in developing nations who will work for half, or sometimes a quarter of what I charge per hour. It just wasn’t so.

If I have learned anything since making the decision to make money as I go, it has been that no market is ever saturated to the point of making it impossible to make it work.

Our common sense will tell us that many skills (such as furniture builder, social worker, chef) are impossible to take with you in any form of constantly moving medium. Our common sense is, in nearly all cases, incorrect. To make the pieces work, one simply must think critically, while throwing in a touch of capitalism; coupon clipping; and flexibility.

But enough inspirational straight-talk, you wanted to know how much money I make. Here you go:

Large programming project - $1000 per month
New travel-writing gig - $700 per month
My blog and sponsorships - $100 roughly per month

Total: $1800 per month.

Believe it or not folks, that’s actually alot of money for me. In the month before this one, I only made $1100 for the month.

Now: Keep this in mind, this is important: I don’t know about the laws in other countries, but for me in the US, the taxes I pay as a freelancer are essentially a third of everything I make.  Let me repeat that: taxes as a freelancer in the US take away a whole third of everything I make.

So what are we looking at as far as amounts?

Large programming project taxes - $332 per month
New travel-writing gig taxes - $234 per month
Blog sponsorship and affiliate taxes - n/a

So what does that leave me with at the end of the month?

The grand total of: $1234.

So there you have it - the cold hard reality. Obviously, I am not the only one doing this sort of thing, and others are more or less successful, but I don’t know how much everyone else makes - because they won’t talk about it.

Before I say anything else - those of you with office jobs paying $40,000+ per year who’s inspiration just vanished completely - don’t give up hope just yet.

When I was working at my desk job, I had worked my way up to a $40,000+ per year job which also offered medical insurance (what’s that?) and a 401k. Even with this large amount (in comparison to my $20,000 monthly take-home which I have now) I found myself trying to make ends meet at the end of the month. Gosh - food was so expensive. So were furniture and electronics. Buying my new $300 iPod video stressed me out - I was giving up alot of food money for the month. I needed the iPod, though, I told myself, to drown out the noise of my coworkers through the day.

Just a few months later, after changing my life completely and quitting my job, I had no need for the super-expensive iPod and ended up selling it for pennies.

How much money does one really need to make it all work? Well, that depends on their lifestyle, their dependents, etc. When my wife-to-be Julie is with me, I support us completely. I cover the accommodations, buy the food, transportation, etc. Using techniques like coupon clipping, I manage to turn the income of one into the expenses of two

More often than not, Julie is with her family or doing an internship or other program that lets her cover her own expenses. This leaves me to use my extra cash to put aside as savings, or to spend on tours/luxuries along the way.

Now, here is a breakdown of my spending:

Accommodation - typically $25 per day at hostels around the world. FREE if staying with a friend or family member. This totals $750 per month.

How much do I have left so far after accommodation expenses? Looks like $484. I make sure to mix in time stayed with relatives, or couchsurfing, so every few months this expense is able to be put away for airfare.

Food - $250 per month. This amount fluctuates, depending on how long my stays are at the locations I stay at. The longer I stay at a specific accommodation, the more bulk foods I can buy, and the more I save. I’ll give more information about saving money on food in a coming post.

Transportation - Passes for most city-based public transit systems rarely cost more than $100. If the public transit is unusually expensive, I will bike or walk.

Those are my main categories. Internet access can be achieved basically for free at almost every location around the world.  I will address the internet issue in another post as well.

Grand total expenses: Around $1100 per month.

That gives me some money to play with (museums, tours, etc), and allows me to put some away for airfare later on.

Ending thoughts: I know this sort of tight budgeting seems precarious, and in the increasingly scary economy, it is. As many successful businessmen and travelers will tell you, you must be willing to try something new, to reap the rewards of such a totally awesome lifestyle.

More is coming! To  find out more, make sure to read the next article in the series coming monday,

Part Two: Having Clients I’d Never Met.

Julie and I arrived in San Francisco yesterday morning. What was supposed to have been an unconscious overnight bus-ride, had quickly become a nine-hour-long fight, uncomfortably restricted to three feet of seat with uncomfortably-economized foot space.

The bus was filled with a typical set of passengers: An array of ex-convicts, single mothers, and families of immigrants. We were the odd-people out, joined by a Norwegian woman who was making her way across the world spending just $25 per day. Considering the bus ride cost $32.00 per ticket, there probably wasn’t much left in her budget for food that week.

Halfway through the bus-ride (at about 2:30am) we stopped for 20 minutes at a typical rest stop town. To call these places towns is an exaggeration, they can be more accurately described as corporate hot springs. During the gas-infused 1960’s, Burger Kings, McDonalds, Best Westerns, and Seven-Elevens sprouted up all over the US along the freeway routes. Some of these name-brand oasis’s evolved into larger versions of the same – but they all focus around select demographics, namely : Truckers, ground bus passengers, and lost tourists.

A quote by Charles Kuralt always comes to mind whenever I find myself barreling down one of these twelve lane public race-tracks: “Thanks to the Interstate Highway System, it is now possible to travel from coast to coast without seeing anything”. Unless taking the 101 or other considerably slower, older highways, this is, sadly, very much the truth.

At 5:25am, the bus rolled into Oakland and three quarters of the bus deboarded. A quick chat with a local outside told me that, even though many people live in the city, a walk to the BART station was faster than taking the greyhound across the bridge. This made sense, and as we are staying in Oakland, I was tempted to do the same thing. However, all of my directions and maps were based starting from within the city, and I had paid for a ticket to San Francisco. Instead of deboarding, we relocated to a previously occupied seat – offering significantly more leg room (a deficiency of our seat we had carelessly overlooked when boarding).

When we did arrive in San Francisco, it didn’t take me long to realize I was, in fact, lost. My maps and directions – I began to understand, with increasingly flushed cheeks - were based off of the location of the Greyhound corporate offices, not the Greyhound station. Thanks Google Maps.

A quick exchange with a local (who looked to be just the sort of local one would expect to be walking around at 5:45 in the morning) of the city, revealed a BART station just two blocks away. The station was indescript and marked only by a small sign with the word “Metro” printed on it. An escalator offered a way up, but not down. Under normal circumstances, we would have been glad for the encouraged opportunity to walk – but in this strange and un-restful world, this was an irritating obstacle.

The ticket-purchasing kiosk was utterly baffling. I am a firm believer in daily, weekly, and monthly passes for public transit. As a heavy user of buses and subway systems, I typically save a lot of money with such passes. The blue and white digital display before me offered no option resembling “unlimited” anything. Everything was based on amounts. Different fares were available for different distances. Dazed and confused, I submitted and purchased two tickets for $20 each. This scared me a little. I didn’t have this sort of money to spend on a simple “ticket”.

Within a few moments, I understood. The gate requires a scan of your “ticket” card upon entering and exiting. If a card is scanned through the “in” slot at “Embarcadaro” station (the station we started at), and scanned through the “out” slot at the “Rockridge” station (the station we ended up), it will deduct $3.20 [<CHECK PRICE] from the card’s amount. I assume the bus sytem is slightly different, though I have not yet tried it.

My God-sister (yes…God-sister…no that doesn’t mean a nun) picked us up at Rockridge. We were irritable and zombie-brained, but I managed to generate some halfway decent conversation subjects as her Toyota Prius hurtled town the freeway. The air had been cold and crisp outside. This temperature, coupled with our body’s diminished, sleep-starved heat generating power, resulted in a lot of shivering, and it was nice to be inside a warm and compact space. Enjoying being in any sort of vehicle is an extreme rarity for me.

My God-sister’s place was as cold as the air outside, and Julie and I walked around passively – keeping our jackets on – as we were shown the intricacies of the kitchen, alarm system, and (most importantly) the internet connection. As soon as we were dismissed, we fell into bed. I was asleep the moment my head hit the pillow.

Six hours later, we awoke. Somehow, our bodies are attuned so that if one of us wakes, even with no movement, the other one will wake as well. I crawled out of bed to do some work, and Julie went back to sleep. It was already 3:00pm and I had a full day of writing ahead.

Rebeccah, my god-sister, has set her internet connection set up in a loft above the rest of the house. Aside from the unfortunately-placed sloping ceiling beams (the position of which have resulted in about a hundred smacks on the head, even after only one day) the loft is extremely cool. A sharp-cornered desk is embedded into the wall, and once the heat from the sun is evacuated via the skylight, a day of work can be passed quite pleasantly within the white-walled space.

Around 7:00pm, I heard stumbling footsteps on the stairs leading up to the loft. I turned my trance music down and a hairy head appeared around the corner. Julie was up.

We decided to go grocery shopping at the Safeway down the road. I picked up a savings booklet full of two-for-one deals. An hour later we emerged with six shopping bags each. Using bulk-deals and coupons I had saved a collective $30 on a whole three-weeks worth of groceries. One of the things I enjoy about staying a specific location for longer than a week is that the bulk purchases of preserved food ads up very quickly to major savings.

We had managed to stuff the fridge by bed-time, and I for one was looking forward to reaping the rewards of my carefully planned two-for-one ice-cream purchase.

While falling asleep for the second time in less than twelve hours, and feeling the warmth of my sleeping partner beside me, I thought to myself with a hint of a smile, “Life is so wonderful now”.

I haven’t had much chance to get work or blog posts done in the past few days, and am looking forward to setting aside a day to relax and do some writing in a Cafe. Wonder when that will happen…?

In any case, here is the photo of the week: