9/2/2018
This story starts with a man named Gustaf, a quite striking, sixty something with an easy smile. Now Gustaf may not need an introduction in southern Iceland, but since I am not from southern Iceland, I did not know who he was. It just happened that he was my seat mate on the 20 minute flight I chartered from Reykjavik to Vestmannaeyjar Sunday morning. It just happened that he was a former professional footballer for Icelandic club IBV in their glory days. (He was also the former coach for the Icelandic club KA.) It also happened that he was quite tall, as am I. And so we were quite literally forced to get to know each other on the plane since we were basically sitting on top of each other.
The last time I was on a tiny plane like this, I vomited into my cashmere sweater. This time, thankfully, my stomach behaved. I was focused more on the stories from the late 70s and early 80s being told to me about the island, the soccer club, and quite frankly, anything. Before I could blink, we had landed in Vestmannaeyjar, quite possibly the most stunningly unique place on planet Earth.
It is roughly 5 square miles in the middle of the ocean off the tip of southern Iceland, and I had arrived with just myself. No bags, no rental car available, no nothing. It was 2-3 kilometers to the center of town from the airport, and my new friend and his brother graciously offered me a ride and brief guided tour. As I genuinely crave authentic local experiences, I hopped right in and ate up all the stories that they regaled me with. An active volcano to the right. The fishing port straight ahead. Football stadium and golf course to the left. Was I even paying attention anymore? It was just so gorgeous. They dropped me off in the center of town, and we said our goodbyes. Maybe we would see each other at the football (soccer) match at 1400 (2pm).
I wasn’t planning on playing golf. But when I saw the course in person, I had to. 
Give me an ocean, a volcano, and 18 holes, and I get weak in the knees. I walked into the clubhouse and asked if they had room for 1 player. The kind lady said yes. I then told her I needed clubs, a pull cart, balls, tees, food and drink. I also needed shoes and a glove, but they didn’t have those. It was like a hunting lodge that served as a golf shop. 
It was the most memorable round I have ever played, primarily for the following reasons (also reference the pics).
I played in running shoes and 4 layers, constantly putting on and taking off clothes, depending on the weather’s mood. The course was measured in meters, so I never knew how far I had. It stormed holes 4-7, but was absolutely picture perfect before and after.
My clubs were 30 years old. I had 2 sand wedges, a child’s pitching wedge, and no 9 iron. There were no riding carts. Only walking. Hole 16 took me over the Atlantic Ocean twice. 
I shot in the 90s, unofficially. I say unofficially for the following reasons. I lost 2 balls on hole #1, a hole that has no hazards in which to lose a ball. Much less 2. I also have no idea if/how Iceland marks out of bounds. And I have no idea how to play a sand shot with pieces of lava in the bunker. 
As I played the last few holes, I started hearing loud noises reverberating off the cliffs. I finished hole 18, quickly returned my stuff, and then walked about 50 yards up the street to the second half of the Icelandic Premier League football (soccer) game between local team IBV and Vikingur Reykjavik.
It reminded me of my hometown school Wingate University in North Carolina, minus the ocean and volcanoes. It had a few hundred people in attendance, and it had a small community feel. Kids were playing. Older men were reminiscing about days gone by. The quality was decent, with the game ending in a 1-1 draw. The #10 for Vikingur and the #7 for IBV were quite enjoyable to watch. That is, when I wasn’t peeking right and stealing away glances at the magnificent scenery.
As I boarded the plane to head back to the mainland that evening, a random middle aged lady asked how I enjoyed the game. I told her it was fantastic, but more importantly, how did she know I was there? She said that her family had given me a ride into town earlier, and I just started laughing. I guess the little island doesn’t get a lot of dark skin, dark haired Americans every day, and word travels fast.
She told me about how the island was a great place to raise a family, which was a thought I had at the soccer game. I mentioned that from May to August, this place must be Paradise, with which she agreed. The other 8 months, I asked? Quite isolated.
The last time their volcano erupted was 1973. Her father was the fire chief, in charge of evacuating the entire island of 5,500 people in 2 hours via fishing boats. Gives new meaning to the terms fire chief and community, of which they made me feel a part of on this lovely day.
I am pleased to report that I have found the world’s perfect place. From May to August that is. A place that is welcoming. A place that is beautiful beyond words. A place, astonishingly, that was covered in hot lava just 45 years ago.
Have a great week. -Benj
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Let me introduce you to my friends Ben from Alabama and Jay from Iowa. We met 2 years and 10 months ago at a work conference in Minnesota.
Through a friend’s hookup, we were able to play Hazeltine National Golf Club right before the Ryder Cup, and that 18 hole walk was where we bonded.
It was magnificent. It was spectacular. It was and is a memory that brings out so much emotion in me. So we
It was spectacular. It was and is a memory that brings out so much emotion in me. This year, it was my turn. What would be magnificent? What would be spectacular? What would be emotional? Pinehurst, the home of American golf, where the ghosts of the greats fill the air.
I love hanging out with these boys. I love the unusual adventures we get into. I love that I never know what is going to come out of their mouths. And I love the golf.
On Saturday, we stood on Wingate University’s soccer field, my favorite place in the world, as the sun started to set. And on Friday, we lumbered down the last few holes of Pine Needles in Pinehurst, a course that has hosted 3 US Women’s Opens, having played 36 holes. Ben and I were wiped. The sun was setting. And Jay was playing lights out. It was magical.
We’ve known each other for less than 3 years. We’ve now done Hazeltine, Yellowstone, and Pinehurst. Beast Mode.
I have always been interested in the best and the most respected. You know, things that in whatever category have stood the test of time. Stores around for 30 years. Restaurants for 60 years. So on. Has to be good. I’ve never been interested in trends, who is the richest or most popular. Meaningless. So I have been traveling near and far to go see these “best” things and people in person with one or two goals in mind. Pick their brains, and maybe make a connection. And I have.
It is an intimidating proposition, even for someone who does not get intimidated easily, to go introduce yourself to one of the best. But if you truly share passions and there are no ulterior motives, you will connect. And your life will be so much more enriching. Mine has been.
I bought a couple of pieces from TRC on Friday including 2 ties from Kiton and 2 shirts from Hamilton and Eton. These names may mean nothing to you, but they represent some of the most finely crafted articles of clothing in the world. Crafted by
What do you geek out on? Where can you connect? It’s 2018. We live in our phones. But call me old fashioned, the best connection is still in person. A smile. A handshake. Passionate curiosity that you can feel. Whatever it is that makes you, individually, memorable.
Prior to leaving last Friday for this latest adventure, I hadn’t seen my 3 year old son in almost 3 weeks. You see, his mother and I had made the decision to let him spend a fair amount of time this summer with his grandparents at The Farm in Mississippi, getting a different type of education. It’s awesome for his development, but good God, I miss him.
So…let me take you to a few new places along the 2,425 miles I drove this week. New sights. New smells. New emotions. New day. New hope. Last Sunday, the family made Italian subs and sat on the beach in Biloxi and watched the Blue Angels do their show. Quite impressive. Later that night, the men went on an exploratory boat ride, only to stumble upon an entire community of “houseboats”- houses built in the water and only accessible by boat.
I grew up on a college campus, so it’s kind of a thing for me. After visiting, I found the best hole in the wall in town for some red beans and rice. (It was literally underneath an interstate underpass.) Aye, aye was it good.
I then drove for a few hours on I-10 through Cajun country, battling a beautiful storm and that sinking feeling you get when you see that Texas is 880 miles across. At that point, I decided to find a hotel. (I rarely book hotels in advance if I am driving. Allows me to stay nimble.)
I talked hats and had one made for me at Miller Hats in this random industrial area, and then finished at Golf Club of Houston, home of the PGA Tour’s Houston Open.
I had wonderful conversations with my tour guide Harold about his life as a D1 basketball referee, the owner of Miller Hats about how rap culture saved his business, and my playing partner Justin about living a passionate life and combatting hungry raccoons. 
I shared a riveting Saints-Panthers conversation with our Uber driver Morris, as well as traded war stories about the best Kansas City restaurants with our waitress (her hometown). I deheaded fresh shrimp straight off the boat on Friday in anticipation of a shrimp boil with the family on Saturday, which was delicious.
What was my favorite part? That’s easy. My son’s greeting last Friday night, his greeting again Wednesday afternoon, and the fact that he is in the car coming home with us right now!
That is so powerful to me, because I am fascinated with the “why” we as a society do what we do. Why do we treat people the way we do? Why do we behave the way we behave? Why do we teach our kids what we teach them? Why are we afraid to open our minds and our hearts?
I’ve always been curious, but I never had permission to just travel.
I usually travel based on natural curiosity, whims, interests, and desires. Trip Advisor, resorts, etc. do nothing for me. I want to meet the locals. I like to do it an original way. The anything but khakis way. One of a kind. But I am making an exception this week, although it is not really an exception at all. I am going to Houston, TX for the first time because Mr. Bourdain did an episode in Houston. It was fascinating, and I am going to use it as a guide for my trip. I’m not copying, because that’s not my style. But the show introduced me to a joint called Burns Original BBQ. And BBQ, to me, is like air. So damnit, I’m going to Burns Original BBQ Tuesday.
The more I travel, the more I learn. The more I learn, the more I know. The more I know, the more I realize that I don’t know a damn thing. And that, my friends, is what the world needs more of. That’s what I’m an advocate for.
Friends, I was in West Virginia last weekend enjoying the PGA golf event held annually in the wild, wonderful state. It inspired this week’s “Best Of” post, because so many people shat on West Virginia, never having experienced it for themselves. Same goes for a lot of places and things.
Having said that, I want to tell you about my infatuation with golf. It’s about a 15 year journey, and I’m going to start with the present. I was down in Southern Mississippi last week, and I got in 2 rounds of golf at one of my new favorites, Shell Landing Golf Club. It’s gorgeous, perfectly manicured, and adjacent to the Gulf of Mexico. Round 1, I shot 87, which easily could have been an 80. Round 2, I shot 99, which easily could have been a 110. It’s maddening.
I have a big goal to become a scratch golfer in 2019. In layman’s terms, that is the consistent ability to shoot at or around par. Before everyone starts laughing, let’s travel back a few years. My dad loves golf, and he tried to get me involved as a teenager. Not interested. Too boring. Early to mid 20s, I caught the bug bad. I joined 2 local rural clubs and played nearly every day, sometimes twice a day. Often, the darkness is what made me quit, only to have the first tee time at sunrise the following morning.
During that time, I got my handicap down to around 3, not shooting out of the 70s for months at a time. Stellar for a complete amateur, and proof that it can be done. I took 1 lesson if I recall, and then just plugged away incessantly. But I had one major problem. I couldn’t be present and stay present. If I screwed up a hole, I couldn’t let it be. I would stew on it, which as you know, just made it worse. Contrastingly, if I had a really good round going, my mind would jump 5 holes ahead to how this could be the best round ever. And, of course, that just ruined it. My best score ever is 76, which I shot multiple times. And I firmly believe that I never beat that because I couldn’t be in the moment. Always behind or ahead.
Okay, non-golfers. Here we go. There are a lot of experts and non-experts out there making noise about the importance of being present. I’m a non-expert, but over the past few years, I have focused in on this concept, that for whatever reason is hard as hell. Minus blow-up holes on the golf course which might have caused me to throw a club or 3 at one stage, I managed the past piece pretty well. Can’t really do anything about something that happened 10 years or even 10 minutes ago. It was the future piece that I had a hard time with. Looking 5 holes ahead. Looking 2 weeks ahead. My 5 year plan. Anything but the present (.com). Well, I’ve worked really hard to sort that out, and I encourage you to do the same.
My 87 in round one was pretty focused, considering I’ve played no more than 10 times in 2018. The flaws were simply physical. No problem. My 99? Well let’s just say, I had 99 problems and that day, being present definitely was 1. Work in process.
3. Bodies of water- Got on a boat in the Gulf of Mexico where I couldn’t see land. Tried to outrun a storm. That solved that.
4. What people think of me-wrote an 
anything but khakis 