Alec Torelli Blog

Hey Guys!

Here’s an interview I did recently with a friend of mine from Florence. He published it in Italian, but we recorded the entire audio conversation in English. It’s a two part interview and the links are below! Hope you enjoy. I’d love to hear your thoughts… so shoot me an email at alectorelli@gmail.com

http://www.assopoker.com/poker-news/intervista-esclusiva-ad-alec-traheho-torelli-1-parte-7392

http://www.assopoker.com/poker-news/intervista-esclusiva-ad-alec-traheho-torelli-2-parte-7424

Ciao
Alec

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Your internet disconnects in a poker tournament when you have Ace King of hearts. You reconnect and the very next hand you’re dealt two aces and double up. Four hours later, your sitting heads up with a 8:1 chip lead and shortly thereafter, you go on to win the tournament. You find out later that your opponent had two aces when you timed out with Ace King suited, meaning you would have probably gone broke. It’s a blessing in disguise and experience them daily; not just at the poker table.

Since I have recently moved to Parma, Italy, its been quite the change of scenery. The quaint town of Parma resides an hour south of Milano and is home to Parma ham (prosciutto)
and parmesan cheese. As you can imagine, the city boasts some of the worlds best food. While my experience here has been quite an adventure, it has taken me quite some time to adjust to the contrast in lifestyle. Sometimes, the things that frustrate me most about America I end up missing, and the things I thought I loved about Italy, I resent. To help illustrate, I have complied a list of the10 best and worst things about life in my new home town!

The 10 Best Things About Living In Parma, Italy

1) Italians are in absolutely no rush allowing for a more stress free existence.
2) It’s a toss up between the women and the language.
3) It’s home to the worlds best food.
4) Without a stable internet, I am forced to try new things and experience the culture.
5) Sitting in coffee shops is a required pastime.
6) It’s quaint and charming.
7) Walking and biking are the preferred methods of transportation
They practice “siesta.”
9) I haven’t met a single American in the past month.
10) Parts of town are 2,000 years old and it has a ton of history.

The 10 Worst Things About Living In Parma, Italy

1) It takes forever to get anything done.
2) With amazing food and no gyms, you have to be prepared to gain 15 pounds.
3) They don’t have many familiar foods that I’m used to such as: sweet potatoes, pancakes, soy milk, smoothie stores, almond butter and oatmeal.
4) The internet is entirely too unstable to work consistently.
5) Productivity suffers when every meal takes 3 hours.
6) Everyone smokes.
7) You can never buy more than you can carry, so I run out of groceries everyday.
Nothing is open when you want it.
9) It’s hard to make friends in a different language.
10) Because everything is so old, Parma lacks many conveniences such dryers, dishwashers, microwaves or air conditioning.

It’s ironic that what can sometimes be the worst part about the city, is also the best. During a discussion with my friend Luke “Redline” Kim, he said it plainly, “you can’t have it all.” The little things that give the city charm such as the historic buildings means that you’re going to wait five days for your jeans to hang dry. On a cold rainy Sunday when all you want is to curl up and watch movies, you literally have no choice because everything is closed. On the other hand, when you’re hungry at 3:00 pm on Monday and request to eat, the Italians look at you like you’re from Neptune because nobody eats until 8:00 pm. Life in America is completely different than Italy. While it thrives on conveniences and service, in turn it lacks culture and history.

The best part about living and experiencing a new country is just that; it’s all new. You are forced to live outside your comfort zone and to learn and understand another culture. Since moving here, I have learned more about myself and have become better at adapting to unfamiliar situations. Whenever I’m having a culture breakdown, I always try to keep in mind that the Italian way of life isn’t necessarily better or worse than my decadent existence in California, it’s just different. I can choose to perceive these culture differences in a positive or negative light, and how I do determines the experience I’ll have. So instead of bitching when the concierge at my hotel tells me that a city with a population of 500,000 people has no gym, or when you ask when the internet will be working and they don’t know because the engineer is sleeping, or when you walk twenty minutes to the fish shop only to find its closed because the owner didn’t feel like coming to work today, I’ve learned to smile, take a deep breath and say, “you know what, it’s Italy.”

Perhaps this telling adage is most relevant when we travel or experience something new.

“We see as we are.”
- Buddha

A typical meal in Parma, Italy

The Cavor Cafe, where I spend three hours a day

The historic piazza outside my apartment

The T-Cafe where I enjoy writing and cappuccinos

As always, you can email me at alectorelli@gmail.com. You can follow me on twitter at www.twitter.com/alectorelli

Ciao,
Alec

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“Hey Redline, can you pass me the sweet potato fries?” she said with a sheepish smile. She had grown quite familiar with the crew. It seemed like forever since she used first names when referring to any of the boys. We sat comfortably around the terrace of StripBurger, admiring the tourists as they walked the Las Vegas strip. We indulged in one of our favorite social activities by playing “Lodden Thinks” (a game that involves betting on what people think of an arbitrary topic).
“How much would you have to be paid to permanently change your name?” I asked Cassie. The group erupted as everyone fought to speak their mind.
“Who gets to chose her new name?” clarified Redline.
“Hmmm. Me!”
“Jesus, that’s crazy” retorted Robls.
“Lock it in,” I told Cassie. She paused for a moment to think. The sun made her hair glisten, brightening her golidlocks. A smile crept over her face, like a little kid who saw Disneyland for the first time. She scribbled something on the paper white napkin before looking up; “I’ve got it,” she exclaimed! We bid furiously on her answer, insulting each other jovially in the process. When it was all said and done, the line was set at “$47,600.” Redline took the over while Robl and I took under. We wagered $100 on her answer. She turned the napkin over apologetically. On it were three numbers scribbled down.
$200 was crossed out at the top. Below it, $300 was blurred in similar fashion. At the bottom of the napkin read $500 in bold blue ink, circled several times. “Wait so you’d would literally change your name legally for $500?” Redline protested as he passed Robl and I each $100 bill.
“Ummm, yea,” she said.
I pulled out $500 and placed it on the table in front of her. “When we get back to Orange County, I’m going to give you this and we’re gonna make it happen. I’m going to give you some ridiculous name,” I joked.
“At least you’ll have a good story,” said Robls.
“What, like Bambi?” she said with a giggle. If she wanted to see me smile, all it took was her laugh. Her face lit up as she made a high pitched two syllable sound. Something between a hiccup and a giggle.
“Bambi!” I said excitedly. “Its perfect.” And it was. Just as a dear prances around her environment, there was Bambi, bouncing through life. The group burst out laughing.
“Bambi,” we said in unison.
“What is it you guys say?” She said with a smile. She was always smiling.
“What do you mean?”
She paused…”Booked,” she said.

*******

We sat around the terrace of the Wynn’s renowned restaurant “Bartolotta.” The cushioned seats of our booth better felt more like a couch than a dinner table. Our friend and waiter Alessandro (aka “Chef Bean”) brought out our first course consisting of fresh oysters paired with Muscato. The moon shined off the restaurants built in lake, illuminating the patio. Several hours later, empty white plates and wine corks littered the table. Antonio suggested we all take a much needed double shot of espresso in anticipation for the night ahead. “Guys, tonight is going to be epic,” he said as he put down his glass. He was usually right.

We followed our hostess as she led through the madness of the Encore’s premier night club, XS. Positioned outside, away from the chaos of the dance floor, we could talk freely while enjoying the surrounding decadence. We made conversation with passing drunkards, making silly bets such as who will be the first to fall in the pool. The consequence for being wrong; Patron with lime. I looked across the booth to Antonio. His right leg was crossed perfectly over his left, forming a square. His right arm contained a glass of Patron and pineapple and was spread proudly across the top of the cushion behind him. He shot up. “To you, Torelli!” he said with an endearing smile. “Ahhhh C’mon. How about to Bambi!” She blushed. We raised our glasses. The sound of clanking was lost to the music thumping in the background. Distant shouts could be heard from the madness that surrounded us. Bambi turned to me. “This is one of the best weekends I’ve ever had. I’ll never forget this.”

June 12, 2009. Las Vegas, Nevada

===========

I logged onto twitter to see the following message. “Hey you! I’ve missed you too! I’m sorry that I was being a flakey friend. I was going through a really rough time but I’m doing a whole lot better now. How are you? How’s italy? Call me on this number.”
- Bambi

I called her over Skype. It had been over six months since we’ve last talked.
“Hollaaaaaaaaaaaaa Bambi!” “How you been?”
“Hollaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.” I missed her voice. “Gooooood, I’ve been doing much better. I’m living with my parents now. Been distancing myself from people back home cause I got into some trouble. But I moved up north, finished rehab and things are looking good.”
“Good I’m proud of you!”
“How’s Italy? Tell me everything! I’ve always wanted to visit there,” she remarked. “I’m thinking of coming in spring!”
“I’d love show you around. Besides you’ll be the only American blonde; they boys are going to love you!”
“I like the sound of that,” she joked. “Alright well I have to run, I’m driving and I’m lost right now, but can I call you later?”
“Yea sure do you have Skype?”
“No but send me your info and I’ll make an account tonight.”
“You got it, talk in a few. Ciao Bambi!” “Miss you.”
“Ditto, ciao!”

1:00 am, February 18th. Parma, Italy

*****

I scrambled to get to the computer in time to answer the incessant of my Skype phone. “Ciao,” I said jovially. “Hello?” “Hey.” “Yes, this is Cassie’s mom.” “Hi, how are you?” I asked as I sat up straight. “I don’t know if you heard. I’m just calling everyone in Cassie’s phone.” “Heard?” “I found Cassie in her bed this morning. She overdosed.” I was speechless. “Wait that’s impossible, we talked less than 24 hours ago.” I composed myself. “Jesus, I’m so sorry,” I said. “It’s okay. She mentioned something about you being in Italy, I just thought you should know.” “Thanks for calling.” I didn’t know what to say. What could I say?

11:00 pm, February 18th. Parma, Italy

*****

I’ve been extremely fortunate thus far to have only lost my grandma. However, one anticipates an 87 year old woman to die and I had plenty of time to say my goodbyes. I could only imagine how her mom must have felt walking into that room and finding her helpless daughter laying there. I wish there was something I could do to make it change. I couldn’t help but wonder if there was something I could have said on the phone the night before to perhaps alter the decisions she made that night. Sometimes however, we are left helpless. Like in poker, you can’t change the past, only how you react to them.

Through every tragedy, there is room for learning and growth. Her death was presumably unintentional but regardless of the cause, it begs the question; in a world of uncertainty, what can I count on? We all indulge in risky situations from time to time and the potential consequences can be higher than we anticipate. Like most people, I’ve always maintained the ideology that I’m somehow exempt from the harsh realities that life can bring. Sadly, it often takes an event of this stature for us to reflect on what’s really important and to reconnect with the people that are close to us. Life is like a poker tournament, one minute you’re chip leader, the next you’re out. And all it takes is one little mistake. Sometimes, you can do everything perfectly and still lose. Such is life. No amount of insurance can save us from catastrophic accidents. We drift through life with the expectation that tomorrow will greet us with open arms and unwavering certainty. Yet we have no guarantee. One of my favorite quotes provides some further insight.

“The clock is running. Make the most of today. Time waits for no man. Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is a mystery. Today is a gift. That’s why it is called the present.” – Alice Morse Earle

I wish I had the chance to go back to that moment we were together in the booth and tell her, “Bambi, I’ll never forget this either.” Let’s not wait until someone dies to tell them the things we should while they’re alive. And let’s not wait until we die to do the things we want to do while we’re alive. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, the only thing we can’t get more of, is time.

There is no future,
There is no past.
Thank God this moments not the last
There’s only us
There’s only this
Forget regret
Or life is yours to miss
No other road
No other day
No day but today

Finale, Rent

Feel free to email me at alectorelli@gmail.com with thoughts!

Cheers,
Trah

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I peered out the window as the pilot made the final announcements. Small white pellets fell from the sky like bullet shells from a helicopters machine gun. I hadn’t seen it physically snow in four years. As we touched down the pilot came on the intercom, Välkommen till Göteborg. I felt the snowflakes kiss my face as I stepped off the plane as if to say, “we missed you.” I paused for a moment to inhale the fresh Swedish air. After a wedding in Atlanta for New Years, a weekend in Amsterdam and a layover in Munich, “I made it.” I let myself say it out loud to make sure it was real…

I counted the bags on the conveyor belt as I waited in anticipation for my backpack. When it finally arrived, I walked through the large double doors toward the passenger pickup area. She would be there waiting. What seemed like a distant fantasy for months was becoming a reality. My heart raced. I felt the butterflies begin to race up from my stomach. I sped up. I felt her presence like a magnet searching for its opposite. Time slowed as I approached the final turn. “Excuse me,” I heard out of the corner of my ear. They might as well have been a grasshopper as I ignored them completely. My disregard proved unsatisfactory. “Excuse me sir,” they pestered. “This way please. We need to check your bags.”
“Ahhh I’m sorry,” I said. “No problem.”

Some confusion arose when they came across several unmarked pill cases. “Can you please explain?” asked the guard politely. His accent was heavy and his equipment consisted of a handgun, club, Leatherman knife, flashlight and a wide array of other gadgets. He was roughly 45, balding and carried a gentle demeanor.
“Yes. These are Guarana and those are Willow Bark. It’s a natural caffeine supplement I use for working out.”
“And these?”
“Excedrin. It’s for headaches.”
“This one?”
“Vitamin C.”
“Why aren’t they in their original containers?”
“Well I’m doing quite a bit of traveling and the pill boxes are quite cumbersome. These are much more portable.”
“I see.” Said the officer. “Moment.” He went into the back room. About a minute later, four officers came out. Apparently they didn’t get much action. It reminded me of the police department in my hometown of Irvine. One speeding ticket and three officers show up because it’s more exciting than driving in circles.
“We need to search the rest of your bags. Come with us please.”
“Whatever you want,” I said calmly. After all, I had nothing to hide. A different guard whom looked more Turkish than Swedish, led me to a small, barren room with an uncomfortable metal bench. The door held a tiny glass window which was the only connection to the outside world. We entered together and he shut the door behind us. He said nothing. Time seemed to move as if we were in a dream from the movie “Inception.” One minute in the real world was sixty in this cubicle. Only this was no dream.

Just as I felt I was losing what little hair I have left, the former guard came into the room. “What are these?” he inquired as he held up a small pill bottle from my toiletries bag.
“Adderol. It’s similar to Ritalin.”
“What is it for?”
It’s given to people with A.D.D. to calm them down and help them focus. They spoke briefly in Swedish before the balding guard said, “I’ll be back. Moment.”

The Turkish guard informed me that they had to strip search me. Tilting. He began to inquiring about my travels, as a loose form of interrogation. I explained that I was coming from Amsterdam, visiting a woman in Sweden and moving to Florence. One could see the confusion looming over his head. We sat quietly for thirty seconds and I watched him agonize like a chess player contemplating his next move. “So what do you do? For work? How do you live?” he asked with vigor. Normally, I’d use this as an opportunity to live vicariously through one of my alter egos. They have recently ranged from writer to emerging rockstar but in light of the situation, I decided honesty was best.

“I play poker.” His face lit up. He started to pace. Now the real interrogation began. “I love poker!” he began. One thing led to another and thirty minutes later, we were discussing traveling, marriage and family, his dreams to visit America and the political differences between our cultures. I learned about his job in the field (customs agents in Sweden were also trained police officers), his love of tai kwon do and our mutual passion for food. When the other guard finally came back, they spoke briefly in Swedish of which the only word I could understand was “smuggling.” Not good.

They led me a different interrogation room, this one equipped with a computer and some grim pictures on the walls. The guards and I discussed the procedure for being caught with an Amphetamine in Sweden without a prescription. In short, he told me I was being convicted of smuggling narcotics. “How do you plea… plead… plea?” I laughed. “Plea.” Is this a joke? I thought to myself. Pablo Eskobar was a narcotics smuggler. “Isn’t that a little aggressive?” I asked him. I tried to explain the severity (or lack thereof) of this charge in America. After gaining no ground I plead “not guilty.” I had a bit of trouble understanding the language barrier, which dragged out the process. During the confusion, several other guards came into the room. I could sense their curiosity of the situation. They would ask several questions about my interrogation before getting to the point; “So I heard you’re a poker player…” At one point there were four guards and a first officer in the room with me discussing preflop strategy in Texas Holdem. After a brief lesson, I intervened. “Guys I’d love to talk all day, but can I make a call to my girl really quick? She’s been waiting outside for two hours and is probably going to kill me.” “I’m sorry, we’re not allowed to do that until the interrogation is over.”
“Are you married?” I asked the guard intently. “Well yes, he said proudly. We just had our twelve year anniversary last week,” he said in his broken english. “Then you know how your wife would feel if you flew across the world to see her and she couldn’t get a hold of you. She sat there worrying for your safety, wondering where you were. We had dinner plans tonight as well…” but before I could finish he raised his hand to signify that he understood. “Do you need my cell phone?”

Three hours passed and I knew more about the guards than I did some of my friends. “You know,” I told them during one of our lighter moments, “if I wasn’t starving and being convicted of smuggling narcotics, this would actually be quite enjoyable.” “We really wish we could let you go,” one of them explained. “But if you were my brother, I still have no choice.” I laughed. “We’re almost done though,” he promised. “I’m going to call the prosecutor and inform him of your decision. I’ll be right back. Moment.”

After four hours passed, the first officer came in and informed me of their final decision.
“We have a second charge for you,” he began.
“What is it?”
“Well we don’t have an english word for it, but in Swedish its called “something I can’t pronounce.” “Basically it means that you brought the drugs in without knowing they were wrong.”
“Ahhh like ignorance?” I said. More talk in Swedish amongst the guards.
“Yes… we think,” he said apprehensively. “How do you plea… plead… plea? Which one is it again?”
I asked him about my options and retributions I could face for each.
“If you plea guilty, you pay fine and it will be wiped from your record. If you not guilty then prosecutor call you in several days with his decision. You have hearing and talk to lawyer. This maybe take several weeks because you have to face trial.”
“I’m only here four days.”
“It’s up to you,” he said somberly.
“How much is the fine?” I said with a sigh.
“In Sweden it varies based on income. For you, very expensive.”
“Fantastic.” He brought out a calculator. That can’t be good. He furiously punched in numbers for a minute or so.
“Based on our calculations you owe 33,000 Kroner (roughly $5,000 USD)!
“There’s no way.” I’d expect that if I had two pounds of marijuana, 1,000 pills of ecstasy or a kilo of cocaine but 30 pills of adderol that I use sparingly for poker? Please.
He looked at me blankly. “Can I talk to the prosecutor?” I begged.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible. You can only do that if you have a trial,” he admitted. I sighed as I banged my head into the wall behind me, making a loud thud that echoed across the room. Silence followed.
“Do you take American Express?”
“Let me check… Moment.”

Another half hour went by in a futile attempt to process the charges. They only took cash and checks which meant I would have to make another trip to Gothenburg to pay the fine on a later date (I left my little 33,00 Kroner back in Amsterdam lol). Before I left, I had to sign something (which was printed in Swedish) that stated I would be contacted in the next few days by a court representative with details regarding my case. I thought back to that movie of the two women convicted of smuggling drugs in Thailand where they signed their life away thinking they were stating their innocence while secretly being tricked into admitting guilt. “You don’t have any copies in English?” I inquired. “We ran out, but I’m afraid you cannot leave without signing this.” I had been there four and a half hours, was famished and had to pee. I thought for a moment. “Can the rest of you leave the room please?” They were a bit dumbfounded but after the first officer gave the nod, they proceeded. “Can you translate this for me please?” After he finished, I asked to talk to the Turkish guard in private. He came in and translated the exact same thing. I did this with the third guard as well. Everything was copacetic. Either this was the most elaborate hustle ever (in which case they deserved to bust me) or they were telling the truth. Pen in hand, I closed my eyes and moved my hand across the dotted line…

After a week of agony dealing with the aftermath of the case (I called every legal counsel in the US Embassy Registrar but none could help me because it was a Swedish holiday, several phone calls to legal counsel in the US, my CPA and advisors), I finally settled in Gothenburg for 5,500 Kroner ($800 USD) and was convicted of “negligence” (which won’t go on my record). In some ways, I’m frustrated because of the amount of time and energy it consumed but also because I feel the punishment was a bit steep. Worst of all, I have no more adderol which is tilting to say the least. In America, they’d laugh at this because adderol can be bought anywhere except vending machines. On the other hand, had I been in Thailand or Singapore I could have been caned or possibly given the death penalty. Just like anything in life, it depends on how you see it.

I take adderol an average of once a month, which is obviously not incriminating. Furthermore, I think the drug is absolutely terrible for our health and prescribing it to innocent children is a far worse crime. I clearly had no intention of selling the pills or causing any disruption in Sweden. Customs was fully aware of that, yet punished me anyway simply for possession. But what message does that really send? That I have to follow the system or I’m somehow a criminal? That If I don’t do it their way I’m condemned. If I don’t let someone else dictate how I will live my life then I’m somehow a worse citizen or I must pay for my actions? Who are they to tell me what I should do in my free time? I don’t tell anyone else how to live.

I know you’re thinking one of two things?
1) Why not just get a prescription?

I didn’t get a prescription for the same reason that you jaywalk; it’s entirely too convenient and you’re not really harming anyone. Adderol is easier to find than my favorite brand of cereal. I don’t follow rules or laws that I don’t see fit, simply because it’s “the law.” Some examples include rolling stop signs at 2:00 am when nobodies around, speeding on an open road because it makes me feel alive, or smoking a joint after a long day of work. Similarly, I don’t follow any of societies “unwritten rules.” I didn’t graduate college, I enjoy a long distance open relationship and I gamble for a living. More importantly, I don’t think any of these things are wrong. On the contrary, I wouldn’t conceive of committing certain atrocities regardless of their legality, such as murder and rape.

2) How arrogant of you. Who do you think you are? Alec Torelli or something? We all have to follow the rules or face the consequences.

Face the consequences, fine. But follow the rules, never. For its this blind obedience to authority that allowed Hilter and Stalin to massacre millions of innocent people. The Nazi’s were just following the rules laid out for them. If it’s the law, we must enforce it, right? It’s this “negligence” that allows wars to occur and our rights to be seized from our fingertips. It’s only for the tenacious work of few brave souls who’ve stood up to law makers that has resulted in slavery to being abolished, granting women the right to vote and corrupt empires to cease. Hundreds of years later, we’ve established national holidays such as Martin Luther King Day to commemorate these heros. But how were these revolutionaries perceived during the time which they lived? If they were lucky, these liberators were ridiculed, hated and persecuted. Most of them such as Martin Luther King, Joan of Ark, John the Baptist and John F. Kennedy were assassinated.

These visionaries all had one thing in common. They envisioned a world which had not yet existed. How can one be revolutionary if his ideas are the same as the masses? Yet despite this we still ridicule those who defy the system. We punish them for being out of place and herd them into being sheep. But being a sheep is dangerous. Power corrupted entities can be the shepherd to sheep. But what if you have the courage to think for yourself? They can’t control a free thinking individual. They can’t control me. While it is true I may not be able to change the rules that others lay down for me, but I can choose which ones I will follow.

“If you obey all the rules, you miss all the fun.”
- Lina Knuthson, Sweden

How do we change the system? Abraham Lincoln once said, “the only way to change a policy is to enforce it completely.” Perhaps if everyone guilty of jay walking in San Francisco and NYC was given a ticket, people would see how silly the law is and change would follow. Perhaps if everyone who “sped” driving 80 mph instead of “following the rules” and going 65 mph were issued speeding tickets, law makers would see the speed limit is symbolic of life in 1970 and increase it.

Here’s some food for thought. If marijuana was legalized tomorrow and alcohol made illegal, would you then allow your kids to smoke weed but not drink alcohol? How sad if our morality and actions are based on the rules other people set for our lives. At what point do we draw the line? Is the above really any different than being the defying college student that tells his parents he doesn’t want to become a doctor because he is passionate about poker? After all, you’re breaking the “rules” set by your parents. Just because there is no legal penalties does that somehow make it okay? Whose rules do we follow and at what cost to our lives? The ambiguity makes it impossible to be consistent, unless we live our lives the way we want to. (Of course this means without imposing on others). Again, this means that we face the consequences. You’re going to disappoint people. You’re going to deal with morons. They’re not going to understand. You know what I say? As long as you’re doing you, who cares what they think? The real question is, who are you going to let affect how you live your life? I know my answer. Nobody. I use this quote as a healthy reminder to keep myself focused on what really matter. Doing me.

“50 told me go ahead switch the style up and if they hate then let em hate and watch the money pile up.”
- Kanye West

Disagree? Agree? Thoughts? Email me at alectorelli@gmail.com. You can follow me on twitter at www.twitter.com/alectorelli

Cheers,
Alec@justdoingme.com/fromSweden

(just a silly signature)

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Hey Ryan,
Here’s the latest! MErry Christmas

Alec

Title: Merry Christmas

Hey Everyone,

I wanted to take this time to give a special thanks to everyone’s support over the past few years. I have some reallyyyy cool and innovative stuff coming up this year that I’m going to share with ya’ll. I appreciate everyone that took the time to write, and your encouragement and feedback keeps me going!

This is a house I went to recently to look at Christmas lights. Pretty ridiculous. (Sorry if it takes a minute to load)

www.traheho.ws/christmaslights.MOV

www.traheho.ws/house1.JPG
www.traheho.ws/house2.JPG
www.traheho.ws/house3.JPG

Merry Christmas!
Alec

www.twitter.com/alectorelli
alectorelli@gmail.com

www.twitter.com/alectorelli
alectorelli@gmail.com

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I’m sorry if I haven’t updated the blog with the rest of the trip report from Highway 1. Something came up. What I have been doing however deserves some explanation…

For the past semester I have been taking classes at Chapman University. Wait a minute, I thought you dropped out of college? Well I did, twice. However two days before University started I decided I wanted to go back to see things from a more enlightened perspective. But how was a two time college dropout with no resume or transcript (not to mention not wanting to pay $40,000 a year to attend Chapman) supposed to attend University? There was really only one way… sneak in.

The day before school started I printed out a class schedule (found on Chapman’s website www.chapman.edu) of all the classes I wanted to take along with a map of the campus. I went to class the next day, with a backpack and a laptop and just showed up. What’s the worst that can happen? They kick me out?

My first class was a Creative Writing class with a maximum of 17 people. The class was obviously full and thus I was sitting on the floor. Following the class, the teacher asked me to stay behind. “I didn’t call you name,” he told me. “I know professor, that’s because I’m not in your class.” “I’m sorry but we have 19 people already, I’m afraid if you’re not on the waiting list we have no room for you.” I explained to him that I was a professional poker player with a passion for writing. “I’m going to work harder than every student in here,” I told him. “Unlike them I actually want to be here.” “Alec, I like your fire but I can’t just let any kid of the street into my class. I could get fired for this. These kids pay $40,000 a year to be here. There’s other people on the wait list that want the class and…” I wasn’t having it. “I’ll be your teachers aid. I’ll get you coffee and bring you a bagel everyday…” After 15 minutes he conceded. He let me in. I couldn’t believe it. One for one.

With new found confidence, I went to at least 15 classes over the next five days. It was awesome because I felt like I was shopping for a new car with no budget. If I didn’t like a class, I would simply leave and find a new one that better suited my time schedule or interests. Since I had no defined major or agenda, I sat in every class with an open mind and best of all, my purpose for being there was actually to learn. I attended an eclectic variety of classes from writing to psychology to real estate development. After the week long binge was over, I had successfully crept into three classes of my choosing; Creative Writing, Real Estate Development and Psychology of Motivation and Emotion. Best of all, it was absolutely free! (Well almost free.. I did rent a textbook for $12 and decided to audit one class which cost a few hundred. I even managed to get myself an official Chapman ID card

I developed a few rules and strategies that helped me maximize my experience while at University.

1) Always bring a backpack and laptop
2) When they call role don’t say anything
3) Be honest. If you’re passionate about something, the teachers dig that and want to help.
4) Always sit next to the most attractive woman.

I’m sure you have 1,000,000 questions and I could write a book on my experiences there. If so please email me and I’ll get back to you! I had some ridiculous moments, good times and met a lot of cool people. Best of all, I learned a ton in the process. Ironically enough, I spent more time in University when I didn’t have to be there than my entire time while a paid student at SMU. I attribute this to actually wanting to learn and not being pressured or forced to get a grade. Instead of worrying about coming out ahead, I simply tried to soak up knowledge which made the experience much more pleasurable. Of course I never did any homework or tests, unless I found it interesting and genuinely wanted to learn the material. I specifically remember walking into my psychology class one Tuesday afternoon and the professor said, “we have a test today.” I turned around and walked right out. Most of the students had no idea I was a professional poker player because I’m young enough to blend right in. I wanted to keep it that way so i could get a more genuine experience and get the college experience. In the case of one class, the cat was let out of the bag early…

A week into the semester, I realized I wanted to add another class to my regimen. I hopped into a public speaking class and fortunately enough, the professor was sick the first few days of class so I didn’t technically miss anything. We sat there in silence as the 75 year old man waited patiently for the clock to strike 2:30 pm. Promptly following it, he started blasting techno music so loud that the entire building could hear and jumped around the class screaming and dancing. What did I get myself into? He decided that we all need to overcome our fear of public speaking so he called students on his desk to stand in front of the class where he would interrogate and try to embarrass them. As he scanned the room I felt my heart beat quickly, like I was making a big bluff on the river. “He’s gonna pick me.” I thought to myself. I just knew it.
“You there, in the orange shirt. Come up here.” I stood quietly. How am I going to get out of this one? “Lets give him a round of applause. I walked forward as the class applauded.

I stood on the tall oak desk in front of 30 students as the professor paced back and forth in front of the class. His Micky Mouse button pinned freshly to his accompanying suit. His top had and full scaled beard polished off the look.
“Soooooo,” he began very candidly. “What’s your name?”
“Alec Torelli.”
“Why did you decide to come to Chapman?”
I paused for a second. “To learn.”
“Don’t bullshit me son. I’ve been here 42 years and I’ve heard it all.”
“Wanna bet?” I wanted to ask him. I thought better of it.
“Okay… What are you studying?”
“Well,” I began. It’s kinda complicated. I guess I’m not studying anything in particular.”
“Yes, so you’re undecided. That’s okay too. So you’re a freshman?”
“No sir.”
“Senior?”
“Not quite.”
“Well what year are you?”
“Um… I’m not really any year. I’m not sure how to answer that.”
“So what are you doing here? Who are you?”
“Well. I don’t really go to Chapman sir. I just came by today because I really want to learn and public speaking has always interested me. I heard your class was amazing and I really would like to sit in on it this semester.”
“Hmmmmm.” He paused for a moment and scratched his beard while thinking.
“So what is it you do?”
“I’m a professional poker player.”
“And you make your living doing that?”
“Yup.”
“So you play on all those tournaments we see then?”
“Yes.”
“And what’s the most amount of money you’ve made in a tournament?”
“Well it’s sort of a difficult question because it’s kinda personal. I mean I wouldn’t ask you how much you make in a year right?”
“Well sure, we’re open here. I make $100,000″
I laughed. “Look” he told me. “If you want to stay in my class you’re going to have to be honest. Its the least you can do for sneaking in here.”
“$336,000.” So much for keeping a low profile. He looked a bit puzzled. The class erupted. Was this some sort of joke? The first 10 minutes of class and theres some kid in an orange shirt standing in front of the class talking about being a professional poker player sneaking into a University. Everyone was quite confused. After the turmoil settled he looked back up at me.
“In my 42 years of teaching, I’ve never quite seen something like this. But you know what, that’s what makes my job what it is. Welcome to public speaking.”

My experiences in this class proved to be the best of my life. I learned so much and his teaching style was the best I’ve seen. The class was awesome and we got to watch students speak all year about meaningful experiences in their lives. I was fortunate to share my experiences as well and be a part of the class. What I’m going to share with you is my final speech, given in the lecture hall in front of the students of that public speaking class. It was my semester’s work and is very personal to me. I hope you enjoy. If you dig it, please let me know because I plan to do more of these video blog entires in the future, so instead of writing about an experience I can talk about it and convey and share much more with ya’ll. Again, if you have questions or want to know some cool things about my stories at Chapman, let me know and I’ll answer all them in a video entry or personal emails of some sort.

Here is the link to the speech.

You can always email me at alectorelli@gmail.com.

Thanks for the support.

Cheers,
Trah

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Saturday – Monday, November 27th – 29th

I woke up around 8 am to the sound of pouring rain outside the window. I had ambitions of visiting the a nice stroll through the park, doing some reading outside and drifting around the city. So much for that idea. I headed to Starbucks to reevaluate. While ordering my morning Chai I inquired about local attractions in the area. “I would like to take a run, perhaps in a nearby park or something. Is there anything like that around here?” “Well of course there’s the bridge just down the road,” she replied hastily. “Bridge? What bridge.” She looked puzzled. “The Golden Gate bridge.” I felt like a moron. “Oh, yea… where’s that again?”

I made my way to the base of the bridge and marveled at its grandeur. I realized that there was a pathway leading across the bridge where pedestrians could walk. There was a fair number of tourists, most of whom were lining up for the covered bus tours or driving slowly taking pictures in their cars. Not me. I decided the only way to truly see all the bridge has to offer was to cross it on foot. I learned that it was roughly four miles round trip on the pedestrian path. I grabbed my ipod, tied up my shoes and began running. Although it was pouring rain on the bridge, I was heavily compensated by an amazing view of the horizon. The sun’s rays peered through the clouds and lit up the city. The runners high kicked in and I felt on top of the world. The bridge, city and skyline was all so grandiose, that it humbled me. I guess you had to be there, but it just made me what to be better.

The rest of the weekend was spent drifting around the city, window shopping, eating, reading and writing. I played some online poker tournaments Sunday, which was mundane to say the least.

I got up on Monday excited to tackle the city. I grabbed my REI day pack, loaded it up with protein bars, trail mix and fruit and was ready to go! I made my way through the Castro district where one can feel content drinking coffee, eating lunch and reading a book for hours upon end. After four hours of indulgence, I hit the road and walked to Haight-Ashbery. The charming little hippie town was home to smoke shops, health stores and homeless people. I’d be confident in saying there are as many unemployed homeless people as working citizens. One almost couldn’t imagine the town without them. It would feel naked. Every third block there was a police offer escorting a drunk bum to a different corner where another cop would send him back. The whole process was quite amusing. It got my curiosity aroused and I asked the cop about the punishment for sleeping on the streets. From the impression I got, sleeping on the streets was about as enforced as jay walking in New York City. There were so many of them that their goal has shifted from preventing to containing and managing.

I couldn’t help but wonder what it’d be like to be homeless. In some ways it must be liberating having nobody to answer to, nowhere to be and nothing to do. As I strolled down the street, I stopped to talk to a juggler. As we struck up a conversation, he began to teach me how to juggle bowling pins. It’s quite harder than it looks. I showed him some magic and I inquired about his life. I learned that he spent the last two years backpacking through Europe and had traveled to roughly 20 countries. He spoke multiple languages and performed in a traveling circus throughout Europe. Him and his girlfriend slept wherever they could – in hostels, friends houses or even street corners if necessary. He was extremely well versed in European culture and informed me of many unique laws and customs of various countries. Who would have ever thought you’d be on a street corner learning European politics from a homeless juggler? His plans for the future was to save up $1000, head back to Europe and drift some more. He was fond of landing in a random city and just seeing where life took him.

Several minutes later, another homeless fellow joined the conversation where I learned more about drugs than I did in my entire D.A.R.E program. I bought them both a beer and said my farewells. Again, I was humbled.

It got me thinking. The life he’s aspiring to live is no different than what most college students and Wall Street millionaires want. What I presume we want when we delve into these corporate jobs is to eventually gain the freedom to see and experience the world as we want it. We want to travel with no restrictions and leave all inhibitions at home. We don’t necessarily want $1,000,000, but rather we want what we THINK that money is going to provide for our lifestyle. Ironically enough, this homeless guy was living it. He had no money, but he had bought his freedom with the courage it takes to live in a way that focuses on lifestyle choices. He enjoyed the freedom to go as he pleases, with nobody to answer to. I tried to put myself in a hypothetical situation where I could chose between a life in corporate america or a struggling juggle on the streets of San Francisco. At what point would I sacrifice my lifestyle for a job working in corporate america? In other words, how important is it to me to live a lifestyle where I make the rules? After a little thought, I came up with my answer. Priceless.

For thoughts, questions or comments please email me at alectorelli@gmail.com. You can also follow me on twitter at www.twitter.com/alectorelli

Cheers,
Trah

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Friday, November 26th (Black Friday)

I woke up at 5:30 am and after a quick bite to eat, I hit the road. The sun was rising over the horizon which made the ocean sparkle like a girl who wears too much glitter on her face. I looked at my thermometer which read 37 degrees. I wasn’t about to let the cold weather rain on my parade. I put on three layers on top, two on bottom, gloves, a beanie, seat warmers and the heat so I could comfortably ride with the top down. There wasn’t a single car on the road which allowed me to tightly hug the turns at 70 mph. I blasted the music and sang at the top of my lungs. In those moments, I experienced the sensation of being alive. Best of all, like most good things in life, it didn’t cost me any money. However, I would not classify this experience as free. It’s much easier to purchase a sensation than experience one on your own accord. Purchasing a sensation is as easy as going to a movie, zoo, taking drugs or watching a broadway show. Creating your own experience requires much more than money; it requires letting go of control and inhibitions so you can experience things as they come. I find the latter to be much more difficult to achieve which is explains why the sensation is much more liberating and enjoyable.

I made my way through Big Sur and marveled at the scenic beauty. I ate breakfast in Nacimiento which has one of the most spectacular views the coast has to offer.

I hiked down to Lafayette Beach which was completely secluded and just soaked up the view.

I crossed Bixby Bridge where I came across a young traveler. I gave him an elevator glance and noticed he only had a bicycle, sleeping bag, backpack and guitar on his back. His scruffy face couldn’t have seen more than 20 summers and he looked like he hadn’t showered since October. Intrigued, I asked him, “where you headed?” “South,” he said candidly.
I was hoping for something a little more specific. “Well where’d you come from?” “North,” he chuckled. “How far north?” “Vancouver.” “And how far south?” “I’m hoping to make it to San Diego before Christmas.” “And all you have is this bike and your guitar?” “You know it. I’ve always wanted to see Highway 1 and now I’m doing it.” And I thought I was a champion. I learned this kid had never even ridden a bicycle before this trip and here he was averaging 60 miles a day on the coast. He was living and yet another example of how money is only an excuse we use for not doing the things we want.

I continued to Carmel, where I drifted around the quaint little town and stopped for lunch. I strolled down Scenic Drive which overlooks the gorgeous California coastline. The city was absolutely packed for Black Friday which made shopping quite an experience. I picked up a few cool souvenirs and added a Dogs vs. Cats chess set to my growing collection.

After lunch, I took the infamous 17 mile drive through the palaces that overlook the ocean and Pebble Beach Golf Course.

I concluded the trip around 3 pm and realized I was just a quick 2 hours from San Francisco. I made my way north and as I approached the city, got a call from Antonio Esfandiari, whom was also in the city for Thanksigiving. I agreed to meet him at his hotel in downtown. By the time I parked and got to his room it was 5:35. “Hurry up,” he told me as he opened the door. “We’re going to Union Square in 10 minutes for the lighting of the Christmas tree. It stars at 6:00.” I had just driven 200 miles over 12 hours and all I wanted was a shower and some food. I scrambled to get ready, downed a protein bar and ran out of the room to Union Square. We watched as a choir sang and a band performed in front of 10,000+ people who lined up to see the annual Christmas Tree Lighting. The energy was amazing and it was cool to see everyone out in the city so excited over something so seemingly trivial. I bought into it, only because I love the spirit and atmosphere of Christmas. It made me feel like a little kid again, if only for a second. The entire city square was lit up with lights and if I wasn’t third wheeling Antonio and Priscialla, one could say the experience was romantic. Too romantic, really.

Following the spectacle, we walked into a nearby Italian restaurant at 7:30 PM on Black Friday which (as you can imagine) was absolutely packed. Antonio made his way over to the hostess to inquire about getting a table.
“Hello young lady” (she was roughly 40), how long for a table for 3?”
“We’re booked the rest of the night, sorry. It’s Black Friday and we …”
“What’s your name?” Antonio charmed.
“Megan.”
“Hello Megan,” he said sticking out his hand. “Antonio. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
“I’m from Las Vegas. If you take care of me, I’ll take care of you,” Antonio said with a smile.
“Let me see what I can do,” she said with hesitation. “We’re really swamped tonight.” Antonio pulled out $25 from his pocket. “Watch and learn kid,” he whispered to me.
“He strategically positioned himself in the middle of the tables where she would inevitably walk back to the front desk. As she approached, he slipped out his hand and shook hers saying, “Thanks for your help.” I watched as he palmed her the $25. Two minutes later we were seated in a booth with a waiter taking our order. The food was amazing, and we gossiped for hours over wine, oysters, salmon and linguini.

After dinner, I headed out to Isaac “WestmenloAA” Baron’s place on the Marina. The two bedroom, third story penthouse was equipped with modern marble and wood finish as well as a fireplace. It was also walking distance to a market, starbucks and 24 hour fitness. I was in heaven. By the time I got settled around 10:30, I passed out for a much needed sleep.

Do It Yourself!
Starting Point: Gorda, CA
Ending Point: San Francisco, CA
Distance Traveled: 181 miles
Cost: $60 in Gas
On A Budget: Busses and Trains can take you up and down the coast which provide a unique way to meet backpackers and travelers from all over the world.
Wanna Get Extreme: Bike it!!

For thoughts, questions or comments please email me at alectorelli@gmail.com. You can follow me on twitter at www.twitter.com/alectorelli

Cheers from San Fran
Trah

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Wednesday, November 24th

After a killer morning workout, I made my way north toward Santa Barbara. The pre Thanksgiving traffic was absolutely horrendous and by the time I got to Santa Barbara it was nearly dark. Fortunately, the highway allowed for spectacular views and I got to watch the sunset while driving. Gorgeous. I was semi frustrated that it took me several days to travel 100 miles and was in no mood to camp. It was just after 5:00 pm and I suddenly felt the urge to play some poker. For those of you who read regularly, I haven’t talked about poker since Bush was president, so you know this is a rare occasion. I called Amex in search of a home. They lead me to the Bacara Resort and Spa just north of Santa Barbara. http://www.bacararesort.com/ It’s one of my favorite hotels in world, located right on the cliffs, overlooking the ocean. It’s impeccable service and spectacular views make it a perfect pre trip detox. I checked in to the hotel just in time to register for several late night tournaments. I entered four tournaments and two cash games. They had these little golf carts that take you to your room. From the lobby to the room, I made $400 which paid for my stay. While playing, I kept myself entertained by singing along to “Aladdin” and “Beauty and the Beast” on ABC. After busting the tournaments four hours later (ironically right when the movies ended), I finished + $2,200, which should cover the cost of the trip. Life is good… especially when you win at poker.

Thursday, November 25th (Thanksgiving)

After sleeping a solid 8 hours, I woke up at 8:00 am eager to conquer the day! I downed a protein shake and hit the pool for a solid mile long swim. I soaked up the sun afterward in the jacuzzi which overlooked the ocean. I felt like a champion. After breakfast at the cafe, I hit the gym for a 45 minute, high intensity workout. Who says you need to get paid to be an athlete? After some detoxing in the steam room/spa, I hit the road. The highway was completely open, and I was flying. Top down, driving 110, scenic views and a sick playlist. It doesn’t get better than that. I passed a cop going 95 in a 60 and he didn’t pull me over. That’s when you know it’s going to be a good day.

After driving a few hours, I realized the road was looking quite barren. What happened to the beautiful coastal views? “Damn,” I thought to myself. “This drive isn’t all that they say it is.” When I pulled over to get gas, I asked the attendant, “where’s the water? I thought this highway was right on the beach?” She looked puzzled. “You are on Highway 101. The coast is on Highway 1.” Fuck me. I had been driving 200 miles on the wrong highway. After pouting about my ignorance, I reminded myself that you can’t get lost when you don’t have a destination. I had an amazing time, so what’s the difference. I inquired about how to find the highway and she told me I was 50 miles inland. I headed back south on the 101 until I reached the turn off and made my way toward the coast. After driving 50 miles on a desolate winding, I found myself at the same location. I had driven in a circle for the past hour. Infuriated, I retraced my steps back to my missed turn off (easy to do when you’re driving 100) and again searched for the ocean. I tried to calm myself down and remind myself that I was in no rush and had nowhere to go. Why was I so concerned about wasting time? Getting “lost” was a valuable lesson, because I learned that I need to slow down and just enjoy being out of control, experiencing the trip as it comes. Fortunately, this detour led me to some pretty spectacular views.

As I was driving, I came across a family of 10 – 15 deer, just drifting through the woods. Unfortunately, one of them didn’t make it

Several miles later, I came across a deserted US Military Tank, which was 100 yards from the road. I stopped to explore and the control deck and top were open. I could literally climb inside and mess with the controls and adjust the shooter. Not something you see everyday.

Sunset came about a half hour later, and as the sun kissed the horizon, the sky lit up with a stunning blend of orange, yellow, red and purple. The epic cliffs allowed for amazing views, but of course the pictures don’t do justice.

I finally hit highway 1 around 5:30 pm and decided to post up in Gorda for the night. I checked into a little cabin on the water and after a quick meal and hot shower, I passed out around 8:00 pm. It didn’t even occur to me until I checked my phone to set an alarm, that I “missed” Thanksgiving.

Some things about the holidays have always puzzled me. They actually semi – tilt me because people miss the meaning entirely. Why do we put such value on them? It’s like nobody gives a damn the entire year and suddenly the holidays come and they care about giving, family and friends. Why do people need a holiday as an excuse to see their family and tell others we love them? If you miss someone’s birthday or don’t send them a gift, it’s like you are a bad person. Like you owe them something on that holiday. Doesn’t it mean much more if they receive a card from you telling them you love them on March 18th or June 4th or April 23rd for no particular reason? Wouldn’t that show much more thought and love than sending it when you “have” to on a holiday that demands it? The people who only show appreciation on holidays are “part time” friends. The holidays only come once a year; it’s sad that we need them to remind us of what’s important. At least you have me who reminds you every week

Holidays diminish the value of giving and love because we are forced to celebrate them. I saw my grandma last week for no reason simply because I love her and enjoy the company. I have dinner with my parents regularly because they are special and close to me. Furthermore, if that’s the only time you see your family, why do it at all? If it’s a drag and you don’t like it, cut it out. You only have one life to live and its yours! Since time is our most valuable asset we should stop spending it doing them and start doing us! I don’t need hallmark or anyone else to remind me that I love them, to binge eat on a random Thursday or feel romance under the city lights. I can do that 365 days a year.
End of rant.

For questions, comments or thoughts please email me at alectorelli@gmail.com

Cheers,
Trah

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Tuesday, November 23th

I’m headed on a journey and this is my diary. I will include pictures as well for your viewing pleasure. I’ll try to post one a day!

This marks the first entry of my trip report. I’m not going to edit this, it’s a trip report not a persuasive blog entry. Candid. Just me, wherever I am, whatever I’m thinking. Before I go into detail, this trip came about by mere coincidence. Both of my parents left town for Thanksgiving (my mom to NYC and my dad to Texas) and I had nowhere to spend the holiday. For some, this would the most depressing feeling in the world. For me, I couldn’t be happier. It’s not that I don’t love my family; in fact, quite the opposite. It’s that I rarely get time alone and decided to take advantage of the opportunity. While debating my Thanksgiving plans, I realized I haven’t taken a trip alone since New Zealand (January of 2009), nearly two years ago. I don’t know where I’m headed because the destination is unimportant. One only needs a destination if they have somewhere to be. My goal is not to get somewhere, it’s to enjoy the process of getting there. In my experiencing traveling, having a destination forces my mental energy to be expended on arriving at the location, instead of enjoying the journey. California’s Highway 1 is supposed to be one of the most beautiful drives in the world. Why hinder it with time and endpoints? If I see somewhere I like, I want to be able to stop until I’m ready to move on. I don’t know how long I’m going for because boundaries limit our experiences. I only know that I’m leaving my house and driving north. Since it’s hard to pack when you don’t know where you’re going, I brought the following items.

Kelty Coyote 78L Backpack: perfect for any overnight hiking or camping adventure
Marmont +15 (can sustain 15 degree weather) sleeping bag
Trek Light Hammock to post up between two redwoods and sleep
Tent and Mattress Pads: In case it rains or I do some serious backpacking
REI Day Pack: for day hikes, trail running or walks
Laptop Bag: Primarily for writing but also in case I stay for a prolonged period of time, I can play poker and run my life
Canon Rebel T2i: Shoots 1080p HD video as well as amazing photos to document the experience
M6 Convertible: The preferred method of transportation

My first stop is Santa Monica. After endless traffic on the 5N (leaving before Thanksgiving was not a good idea), I realized there’s no rush to get anywhere. I posted up in a hotel on the beach and caught up with some friends in the city. There’s nothing like an evening drifting along the promenade and catching up over Italian food and wine. After one last stop at REI and Lulu Lemon, I was set to embark on an adventure to nowhere…

Do It Yourself!
Starting Point: Orange, CA
Ending Point: Santa Monica, CA
Distance Traveled: 48.6 Miles
Cost: $189.00
On A Budget? Camp anywhere along the CA coast for free or any number of hostels or campsites cost no more than $10 per night.
*Note: I don’t include the cost of food or other necessary items. Only the incremental differences which you would incur during the trip.

For thoughts, concerns or questions, please shoot me an email at alectorelli@gmail.com

Cheers from Santa Monica, CA
Trah

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