Life on Earth

Cartagena: A city of squares

2010-02-20T11:10:00.004-05:00

Cartagena is a city of squares, each with a life of its own.

One afternoon, we were headed to the Museo de Oro, or Gold Museum, when we noticed a ruckus on the street bordering one of the squares, Plaza de Bolivar. A crowd had gathered and was emitting periodic whoops and laughs. We detoured over to see what was going on and boy was it worth it! A man wearing a donkey costume was putting on quite a show. The costume looked kind of like a horse costume - the kind two people wear so there will be four legs poking out. But, in this case, it was just one man who had sewn two little feet, complete with boots, onto what would be the donkey's sides so it looked like he was a tiny man in a saddle. He had attached reins to the fake donkey's head and was using his own legs underneath the costume to make the donkey run. He pretended the donkey was prancing nervously and made a great production of trying to rein in the wild beast. Whenever someone walked too close, not paying attention, he'd lash out and kick at them, as though it were the startled donkey doing it. The innocent bystander would, in turn, be startled and the crowd would crack up! He also raced the donkey up and down the street and took photos with the crowd, collecting donations as he went.

As his performance started to die down, a beat-up SUV pulled up to the curb and what seemed like a dozen people, plus props and drums began to spill out into the afternoon sunshine -- it looked like passengers getting out of a clown car. We followed them into the square to see what they would do and it ended up being a performance on par with something you'd pay $30 to see at the Opera House. The group's drummers set up in the center of the square, at the base of a Simon Bolivar statue, and an equal number of male and female dancers spread out on the cobblestones in front of them. Once the music began, the dancers came to life, becoming the drumbeats with their bodies and providing full-throated narratives of the stories they were telling. Between routines, they would come around to collect tips. We stayed, mesmerized, for their whole performance. At the end, they matter-of-factly packed up their stuff and left with little fanfare before another group of drummers took their place.

We never made it to the museum that day, instead spending the entire afternoon sitting on a park bench watching the world go by. Even when no performance was happening, the square was entertaining - a fantastic spot for people watching! There was a huge flock of pigeons that seemed to call the square home and a lady there sold little bags of corn for people to feed to them. Children LOVED to chase the pigeons and would run themselves ragged trying to catch one. The pigeons would fly up in big bursts to escape the kids' grasp and then flutter back down to the ground or land on the heads of old men sitting nearby, which generated chuckles from observers and benevolent smiles from the gray hairs who'd become pigeon perches. When especially tenacious children got after them, the pigeons would fly up to the top of the Bolivar statue, where they were safe from pursuit. I wonder what Simon Bolivar, who helped liberate large parts of South America from the Spanish, would think of such an indignity.

To capitalize on the crowd of bench warmers, vendors offered a variety of food and drink for sale: Some pushed carts or wore strapped-on trays (like at a baseball game) containing candy, ice cream, lemonade and other refreshments. Others carried boxes that held thermoses of espresso and little paper cups. And, ladies in old-fashioned skirts and ruffle tops, carried huge bowls of fresh fruit on their heads that they'd pull down and cut up for customers. If food and drink wasn't what you were looking for, there was also La Carreta Literaria (literary cart), with variety of books for sale.

Some couples opted to simply kiss, cuddle and hold hands in the dappled sunlight under a canopy of green, with the sound of one of the square's four fountains burbling soothingly nearby. At night, when the sky darkened and the air cooled, old men set up tables on the edge of the square and played animated, hours-long chess tournaments.

There are many squares in Cartagena, but Plaza de Bolivar is my favorite.

Cartagena: Exploring Old Town

2010-02-12T11:44:00.005-05:00

"This is the same territory where we live today, we who are the heirs of the Karib warriors, the men of the cross and the sword, and the African drummers. We are the inhabitants of this piece of earth that borders the "Sea of the Seven Colors." We, who have been born here, who have grown up here, who have cried over our dead and have been happy because happiness is the most natural way for us and for our life and is what best identifies us in regard to other people on the face of the earth."

So read a plaque inside the Palacio de la Inquisition, which houses the Historical Museum of Cartagena, where we visited on our first full day in the city. What beautiful and powerful sentiment to exclaim that happiness is your most-defining characteristic as a society, despite many years of hardship. Cartagena, the setting for Gabriel García Márquez's novel "Love in the Time of Cholera," has seen many misfortunes. Here's my recently learned, basic historic lesson (look elsewhere for facts and details!): Originally a meeting place for indigenous people from the North and the South, Cartagena subsequently was the target of pirate attacks and was invaded by the Spanish. The Old City is surrounded by a massive wall that was designed to fend off invasions; it is now a UNESCO world heritage site and can be seen in the movie "Romancing the Stone." As a port city, Cartagena remained of secondary importance until it became a hot spot for the slave trade, at which point, it became the empire's number one port in the Caribbean. Eventually, the citizens fought for and won independence from Spain, and the prosperous and decadent city fell into a period of decline and suffered several plagues, including the one depicted in Marquez's novel. At long last, the city began to claw its way back to health, both literally and figuratively. Due to its popularity among South Americans and Europeans as a tourist destination, it remained largely untouched by the drug trade that ravaged much of Colombia in the 1980s and 90s.

Cartagena is now a lovely place with cobblestone streets and bright pink flowers spilling over the balconies of colorful, colonial buildings. Every few blocks, there are parks where people gather on benches around fountains or sculptures. Lazy pigeons, seemingly exhausted by the heat lay on the pavement like dogs. Women wearing bright, traditional outfits carry bowls of fresh fruit on their heads (think Chiquita banana lady) and sell refreshments. There are also many vendors selling necklaces, bags, carved figurines and the like. It's pretty touristy, but still charming. At night, the air cools and you can smell flowers everywhere. The clip-clop of horses hooves echo off the buildings as carriages take couples on tours throughout the city. Lovers walk hand-in-hand and music wafts through the air from bars and restaurants. It's a very romantic place.

If you ever decide to visit, here are some tips:

-- $1 = 2,000 pesos (give or take, depending on the exchange rate). Before you start using the money, you should sit down and assess what you've got and what it's worth. Darrel accidentally tried to give room service a $50 tip when they brought beers to our room. They looked at him like he was crazy and took of without the money. Ha ha!
-- I don't know if it's just our hotel or if this is common practice, but there is no iron in our room. If you want to get something ironed, you have to send it to the laundry service and it costs about $6 to get one shirt ironed. That's why I'll look wrinkly in all the pictures, LOL!
-- English is not widely spoken here. Spanish is not widely spoken by Ellis-i. It's working out OK though. On our friend Elizabeth's advice, we brought along a little English/Spanish dictionary and it's been very useful. We're trying to be friendly and humble when we butcher the language and, so far, everyone's taken it in good humor and helped us along as best they can.

Off to Cartagena!

2010-02-11T15:58:00.005-05:00

Wow, I've been away from this blog for a long time - two years! The last entry was from just before Darrel proposed and now here we are in Cartagena, Colombia, celebrating our first wedding anniversary!

In a wild display of extravagance, we've gotten into the minibar in our room and are drinking cold cervezas and eating Pringles out on our balcony after our first day of exploring! Darrel's lounging in the hammock and we're listening to Steely Dan on his iPhone. He just enlightened me that their reference to "fine Colombian" is about coke, not cigars. Ha! Who knew? I had always pictured them sitting around with glasses of top-shelf tequila, blowing smoke rings! Anyway, let me catch you up on the first day of our journey.

***

When we left Detroit, !!Snowtastrophe 2010!! was under way and we worried our flight would be canceled. But, to our great joy, it wasn't and we even left on time! Before we got on the plane at 6:35 a.m., I drank a bottle of water and a coffee. About an hour into the trip to Fort Lauderdale, where we had a layover, I really had to go to the bathroom. But, I didn't want to bother the guy next to me who, heading to Cancun, had been ordering double rum and cokes since we boarded. His tray was littered with bottles and cans, so I figured I'd wait until he got up. When he finally did, I made a beeline to the least busy bathroom. A boy, about 10, went in in front of me. After he was finished and I went in, I discovered he'd left the seat up. "What a savage," I thought. "Didn't his mother teach him to put the seat down?" When I was finished, I headed back to my seat and, just before I got there, a woman reached out in front of me and handed her earbud to a friend across the aisle so she could listen to a song, effectively blocking my path. One of her traveling companions admonished her but she shrugged him off. Finally she took her earbud back and I was free to get into my seat. I figured Big Drinker, who had already returned, would stand up and let me in. Instead, I stood, staring at him, as he adjusted his jacket, pulled out his glasses, generally made himself comfortable, etc. The same considerate traveling companion who'd admonished the earbud girl now pointed out to Big Drinker that I was waiting to get back into my seat. Big Drinker looked up at me in a somewhat annoyed fashion and said, "Oh, I wondered why you were standing there." Savages.

Luckily, our next flight, from Fort Lauderdale to Cartagena (about 2 1/2 hours), was much better. We sat next to this great guy named Edgar. He was about 45, but you'd never guess it from his boyish, mischeivious face. He was born in Colombia but moved to the United States as a baby. He lives in New York now and was going to Colombia for the Carnival celebration in Baranquilla (the second-largest such event outside Rio! Baranquilla is also where Shakira's from!). Anyway, Edgar was a total New Yorker -- all smiles but with watchful eyes, a total character full of witty remarks and ready to party! He told us about the first time he'd come back to Colombia: After he enrolled in the Marines as a twenty-something, he said, his father wanted to show him what it really meant to be tough, so brought him back to experience their homeland. One night, after going out drinking with his extended family, he awoke crying. The sound, in turn, awakened his father, who asked what was wrong. Edgar said he was overwhelmed with the feeling of fitting in for the first time in his life. "You can take a child away from where they were meant to be," he said, "but that place will always be in their heart."

Once we were on the ground, a driver from our hotel picked us up. On the way to the Charleston Santa Teresa, we passed along the seashore and saw a man driving a donkey cart down the side of the divided highway where cars, buses and scooters zipped past. There were skyscrapers and cranes, but also chipping paint and stumpy little shops along the road. The closest thing in my experience to compare it to is Puerto Rico. Once we got checked in to our hotel, a former convent, we went up to the rooftop pool/restaurant, where we had views of yachts out on the water and a beautiful old church roof. It was gorgeous - high 80s, mostly sunny, with a nice breeze - and we were just in time to watch the sun set! We ordered ceviche, empanadas and plantains with avocado sauce. I had a beer and Darrel had a Mojito. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

WORLD VIEW: Jamaica, Day 1

2008-02-20T08:17:00.008-05:00

To be honest with you, I did not think our trip to Jamaica would turn out as interesting as it did. Never having been to the Caribbean before and basing my expectations on what I'd seen in TV commercials, I thought we'd be cut off from the culture by the confines of our tourist experience in Negril. Luckily, it wasn't like that at all - we met tons of interesting people and learned a lot about Jamaica ... and American tourists!

When we left Detroit, it was 3 degrees Farenheit, gray and snowy. After an all-day trek, with a layover in Atlanta, we cruised in over the sparkling water of Montego Bay with a view of lush, sun-dappled mountains, marked by pastel-colored houses and palm trees. As the plane touched down and the pilot announced our arrival, applause and "woohoos!" erupted. We had managed to pack only carry-ons, so we booked through Immigration and were soon out in the warm, late afternoon sun. We found our shuttle driver, who told us to grab a beer and relax while he rounded up his other passengers. So, we headed over to the outdoor airport bar and ordered some Red Stripes - it was finally time for D to break his self-imposed, three-month exile from alcohol! Talk about a "woohoo"! Our driver took quite a liking to him and popped by to chat with us while we waited. A woman selling discount books also approached us and we couldn't resist buying one after she made it a point of pride, "This book is only $5 - don't you think your lady would like it? Isn't she worth spending $5 on?," she cajoled D. Sideways, with a wink, she said to me, "Don't worry, I'll take care of you." It wasn't so much that we needed the book as it was this woman was charming as hell and we couldn't resist. But, the point is - be prepared to be solicited as soon as you step off the plane. Also, be prepared for the currency quandary. The exchange rate between American dollars and Jamaican dollars (or Jai) is astronomical - when we were there it was about $1 U.S. to $65 Jamaican. Plus, different places charge different rates - there is not a uniform system. And, you won't always get change in the type of currency you pay with. Everywhere we went accepted U.S. dollars, but often you'd get Jamaican dollars in return.

Finally, it was time to head out, so we boarded the bus and hit the road as the sun went down. We were joined by a very outgoing woman from New Jersey, who immediately pegged my accent as Midwestern because she had attended U-M. She was a lawyer on vacation with her pre-teen son, whom she'd given Benadryl for the flight because he was afraid to fly. He sat quietly next to her as she spoke loudly and confidently on many topics until we dropped them off at their hotel. Heading out of the Montego Bay, the traffic got really crazy. As the main street narrowed from two lanes to one, it was like an all-out, horn-honking gladiator battle to get ahead. Plus, there were people in the streets selling all kinds of things: Flags, eggs, peanuts and pastries, which flumoxed me. Who would want to buy an old pastry from the side of the road?

It took us about an hour and a half to get to Negril from Montego Bay, with stops to drop off other passsengers and for Red Stripe. You can drink anywhere in Jamaica - except around the steering wheel - our driver told us. Along the way, he also pointed out a Rasta selling ganja along the roadside. Most households in Jamaica derive at least part of their income from marijuana, he said, but the prime minister has been cracking down on its cultivation and sale, which remain illegal. Not surprisingly, he didn't campaign on an opposition platform, our driver said. It was only after his election that he sent soldiers to cut down the fields. When we asked why he'd do this in a country where so many people depend on marijuana as a cash crop, our driver told us it was due to the long arm of U.S. policy. Tourism accounts for 60 percent of Jamaica's economy, he said, with the United States being a main consumer. So, the government doesn't want to ruffle any feathers.

Once we'd arrived at our hotel, the Samsara cliffs resort, we unloaded our stuff and walked across the street for a candlelit, outdoor dinner at Choices restaurant. We wound up the night mellowing out, stargazing and laughing on the oceanside cliffs of our resort.

A perfect ending to the day that began a wonderful trip.

SPIRIT: Dalai Lama to visit Ann Arbor

2008-02-07T11:06:00.000-05:00

Heads-up everyone: His Holiness The Dalai Lama will visit Ann Arbor on April 19 and 20. Tickets to hear him speak are still available! Until then, ponder the lyrics to Yael Naim's song "New Soul". Sound familiar?:

I'm a new soul I came to this strange world hoping I could learn a bit about how to give and take.
But since I came here felt the joy and the fear finding myself making every possible mistake

la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la...

I'm a young soul in this very strange world hoping I could learn a bit about what is true and fake.
But why all this hate?
Try to communicate.
Finding trust and love is not always easy to make.

la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la...

This is a happy end cause' you don't understand everything you have done why's everything so wrong
this is a happy end come and give me your hand I'll take your far away.

[Refrain]:
I'm a new soul I came to this strange world hoping I could learn a bit about how to give and take but since I came here
felt the joy and the fear finding myself making every possible mistake

la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la...
la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la....

SPIRIT: Technology vs. humanity

2008-01-21T11:53:00.000-05:00

Would you like to have sex with a robot? Do you think you could fall in love with one?

Author Damon Levy says that sex with robots will be possible within 5 years and love with robots will be possible by mid-century. Levy made these claims while promoting his book "Love + Sex with Robots" on the "Colbert Report". While Colbert whole-heartedly mocked him, I couldn't help but think there would be a market for hot 'droid nookie and, worse yet, for R2-D2 lovin'. And it made me sad. Because what are love and sex besides spiritual experiences? Yes, yes, sex feels good and you can have it with someone you don't love - a stranger or a client or a rapist. But, even then, it is an interaction between two human beings that leaves both changed. And, when there is love with sex, it is one of the most uniquely human experiences we can have. If you take one of those spirits out of the equation and replace it with a pre-programmed pile of metal and plastic, you eliminate the spiritual element. In which case, how are you any different than a robot?

With all that on my mind this weekend, I began watching "Children of Men," an apocalyptic film in which the human race has become infertile and the last generation is living a bleak, hopeless, dead-end existence in a chaotic world. And, that's when it occurred to me what was so disturbing about sex with robots: What is beautiful about sex is not just the thrill, the feel or the kink - it's the miracle of it, the humanity, the possibility of new life it brings. For generations and generations, it has never failed to continue the human race. It is like the sun rising or the sky being blue or gravity - you take this daily miracle for granted. And, with this regeneration comes renewed hope for a better future. But this miracle comes with strings attached - emotions, obligations, etc. That's where technology steps in - it can make things easier for us, entertain us, occupy us, and, according to Levy, even love us. It's easy; it's clean; it's free of the complications that are intrinsic to human beings. But, in our quest for ultimate efficiency, are we sacrificing our humaness? Our ties to each other? In "Children of Men," one young character sits at the dinner table, strapped into an electronic gizmo, so immersed in technology that his father has to shout into his face for him to hear - and, even then, he glances up with resentment at the human intrusion. In another scene, the young woman the film centers around, Key, misses an introduction to someone because she has her headphones on - her face clearly says she does not appreciate the interuption. I couldn't help but wonder if the people in the movie had become so immersed in technology and so detached from each other that that's why the miracle of life had been taken away from them. But, something wonderful happens. Key becomes pregnant - the first person to do so in years. She explains that she didn't even think about pregnancy as a possibliity when she had sex with so many men. But when she felt the baby kick inside her, she knew the miracle of life was real. Alive and kicking inside of her were humanity and hope for the future - something technology cannot replicate.

You are the product of a miracle, as am I. So, in parting, I say namaste - I honor the divine in you.

MUSIC: Bomba

2008-01-15T11:59:00.000-05:00

So, the other day on NPR, I heard this group I wanted to tell you guys about: ¡Bomba!. They describe themselves this way:

"Latin/World group ¡Bomba! is led by three artists of contrasting cultural and musical backgrounds- drummer Mario Allende originally from Chile, bassist Rubim de Toledo of Brazilian descent, and keyboardist Chris Andrew from Vancouver Island. Taking different routes to the same destination, they landed in Edmonton, Canada and banded together to share one vision. These three are a new generation of musicians well schooled in traditional Latin music forms from timba to rumba, to son, salsa, songo, as well as North American popular music and jazz."

While I was checking them out on the Web, I found out that there's a whole style of music and dance called Bomba. Maybe you've already heard of it, but it was new to me. Bomba is a vibrant style that originated in Puerto Rico as a spiritual release for sugar plantation slaves and their descendants. Here's how National Geographic World Music describes the genre:

"Traditionally bomba is danced by a mixed couple who take turns showing off their skills, competing with each other and with the drummer. The dancers proceed in pairs and without contact. The excitement and sensual tension in the music is generated by the often improvised interactions of the singer and chorus, the drummers' rhythmic exchanges, and the suggestive "conversation" between the highest pitched drum and the dancer. The drummer follows the movement of the dancer; dancer and drummer cajole, tease and challenge each other to what appears to be a sensual dual, which lasts as long as the dancer's stamina continues. The effect is that of an intimate visual and musical exchange between singer, drummer and dancer."

SPIRIT: Bahá'í faith

2007-12-30T11:11:00.000-05:00

A friend I once worked with, Ruth the Truth (as we called her), made a lasting impression on me with her theory about religion. She likened one's spiritual journey to climbing a mountain. Everyone's goal is to reach the top, but different people have different challenges along the way. One person may face an icy slope and need an ice pick to make it up. Another person may be climbing up a sandy, desert slope and need water. Still another person may be climbing a grassy, gravely ascent and require hiking boots. Whatever the situation, each person needs a different tool to reach the top - and these tools Ruth likened to religions. In her book, no one religion was better than any other - just as an ice pick is no more "right" than hiking boots - your faith just depends on what kind of spiritual slope you are climbing.

I couldn't help but think of Ruth and her theory this morning as I read about the world’s youngest monotheistic religion, the Bahá'í faith. One of the faith's core beliefs is that there is a God - though this entity is unknowable in human terms - who throughout history has sent teachers fitting for their own time and place. Among these teachers have been Mohammed, Jesus, Budhha, and the Bahá'í faith's founder Bahá'u'lláh, who taught in 19th-century Persia. Despite the diversity of these teachers, Baha'ism puts forth that they have all shared the same purpose: to unite the world in peace. If the Bahá'í Web site is accurate, there are plenty of people this idea appeals to: "With more than five million followers, who reside in virtually every nation on earth, it is the second-most widespread faith, surpassing every religion but Christianity in its geographic reach." But, what exactly is this faith? Wikipedia's entry on the Bahá'í faith quotes Shoghi Effendi, the religion's appointed head from 1921 to 1957, on the principles of Bahá'u'lláh's teachings:

“The independent search after truth, unfettered by superstition or tradition; the oneness of the entire human race, the pivotal principle and fundamental doctrine of the Faith; the basic unity of all religions; the condemnation of all forms of prejudice, whether religious, racial, class or national; the harmony which must exist between religion and science; the equality of men and women, the two wings on which the bird of humankind is able to soar; the introduction of compulsory education; the adoption of a universal auxiliary language; the abolition of the extremes of wealth and poverty; the institution of a world tribunal for the adjudication of disputes between nations; the exaltation of work, performed in the spirit of service, to the rank of worship; the glorification of justice as the ruling principle in human society, and of religion as a bulwark for the protection of all peoples and nations; and the establishment of a permanent and universal peace as the supreme goal of all mankind—these stand out as the essential elements [which Bahá'u'lláh proclaimed]."

Sounds a little like John Lennon. Sounds a lot like reaching the top of the mountain.

Maybe the real spiritual truth lies in accepting the fact that we are all on a journey, struggling on our way to the top. If we put down our tools and stop climbing in order to argue about whose tool is the best, we halt our progress toward that spiritual summit. Maybe, as we head into 2008, we would do well to accept each other's tools and in so doing, find peace by reaching the spiritual summit together.

ART: Martin Ramirez

2007-12-15T11:18:00.000-05:00

Martin Ramirez was an ordinary-seeming individual who possessed an extraordinary talent.

A Mexican immigrant to the United States, he wound up spending years drifting in and out of California mental institutions, having been diagnosed as a "catatonic schizophrenic". But, while he was institutionalized, he patiently created stunning works of art on all forms of canvas, including examining-table paper and paper glued together with saliva and potatoes. His works combined traditional Mexican symbols, colors and themes with his personal experiences, including time he spent working on the U.S. railroad. Through a blessing of fate, Sacramento State College professor Tarmo Pasto discovered Ramirez's artwork while studying in one of the institutions where Ramirez stayed.

Thanks to Pasto and others who collected and studied Ramirez's art, we are able to admire it today. A traveling collection of his works is on display through January at the Milwaukee Art Museum. If you can't make it to the exhibit, you can check out a CBS News Sunday Morning report on Ramirez, "Silent Artist Has Voice After Death: Confined To A Mental Ward, Martin Ramirez Refused To Talk, But Spoke Through His Art".

Sometimes the ordinary is merely a mask for the extraordinary.

WORLD VIEW: India & Kashmir

2007-12-09T17:19:00.000-05:00

Hey, Ankur, did you eat a lot of good Indian food while you were in India? "Well, in India, it's just called food," Ankur smirks.

Every couple years, friend and Detroit News photographer/videographer Ankur Dholakia's fam packs up and jets over to India to visit relatives and do some exploring. This year, they decided to check out the disputed region of Kashmir, located where India, Pakistan and China meet.*

While Ankur noted an unsettling and constant military presence on the streets, he was otherwise favorably impressed with Kashmir. In the state's summer capital, Srinagar, he noticed relatively little poverty - in contrast to other major cities in India, where heartbreaking poverty co-exists with extreme wealth. Srinagar was not a modern metropolis of towering skyscrapers. Rather, it was a collection of low-slung buildings and homes hidden behind thick privacy walls in a lovely lake-dotted landscape. Because the dollar goes far in India, the family was able to hire a cook to travel with them. Though, other creature comforts like thick, cushy mattresses and air conditioning were harder to come by than delicious meals.

When asked to expound upon India, Ankur smiles his gentle smile and says, "Young people there are the same as here. They think about cars and cell phones. Cell phones are very big." Ah, cell phones, the universal constant.

For more observations about India and Kashmir have a look at Ankur's photos. Enjoy!

*Different parties dispute how Kashmir is depicted on maps. This map is only intended to give you a general idea of where India and Srinagar, Kashmir, are.

MUSIC: Kidd Skilly

2007-12-01T22:02:00.000-05:00

Talk about this for a perspective: Kidd Skilly's a half Indian, half Mexican rapper from the D. (That's Detroit for those of you who don't know!)

He caught my attention this summer in a Metro Times article breaking down South Asian stereotypes: "Bollywood nights, A generation of South Asians melds a new cultural mix". He told The Metro Times: "There is something about great personalities with poetic souls that fascinates me. The people who influence me most seem to transcend through age groups, religions, ethnicity and race — they make people feel a certain level of comfort."

It just warms my heart how he blends so many facets of his background and experience. Check out the video for his song "Bhangra Chick". Did you notice how he even works in some love for Michigan State?

The word that fits him best? I'd say transcendental.

TRAVEL TIPS: Something to turn you on

2007-11-21T12:47:00.000-05:00

My girlfriends and I recently managed a monumental feat: We shorted the electricity out in a posh spa resort hotel room. Too many blow driers, curling irons and who knows what else going all at once! I now find myself staying with my boyfriend in a room his niece VERY GRACIOUSLY gave up for us during our Thanksgiving visit to Texas. Only, my hair drier/curling iron cords don't quite reach from the outlet to the mirror.

Solution? Next time I travel, I'll throw a power strip with a long cord in my bag. This will keep the lights on and allow maximum mobility when I'm getting ready. It won't take up a lot of room but it will make life easier on the road!

FRIDAY FEATURE: Pakistan

2007-11-16T19:51:00.000-05:00

PLEASE NOTE: Friday Feature will spotlight a different place each week - sometimes a country in the news, sometimes somewhere I'm curious about. By all means, submit requests! I don't purport to be an expert. I'll just try to piece together the information out there in a way that makes sense. Your job will be to edit me and to feed the Friday Feature with firsthand accounts of the place.

Far and Near
Your heart will go on pounding.
My heart will pound
Though, far, far away.
This soil shall see joyous times come and go,
Far, far away.
Stars will go on shimmering,
Also far.
Every object will remain
Far,
But this passion, this desire for you,
This wild song
Will stay inside my heart
Forever
Near.
Translation by M.A.R. Habib from An Anthology of Modern Urdu Poetry

Do those sound like the words that would be spit from the lips of furious faces spewing anti-American vitriol or shouted from the mouths of suited lawyers battling the military in the streets?

Well, they could be. That is a poem in the Urdu style popular in India and Pakistan, a nation embroiled in a seemingly incomprehensible but certainly critical dispute. Several of you have asked me what the heck is going on over there. As best as I can tell, it boils down to this gross generalization: There is a power struggle under way between the military (played by Gen. Pervez Musharaff, who is also the president); the Islamic radicals (played by themselves, as well as the Taliban and al-Qaida); the opposition/secularists (played by the lawyers); and former Prime Minister Benazir Bhutto returned from exile (played by herself). The United States also has its hand in the mix, seeking to exploit its ally in the "War on Terror" for all it's worth, regardless of the impact inside Pakistan.

This U.S. involvement has had a destabilizing effect, angering the Islamists, who resent the U.S. influence on Pakistan and, in turn, Musharraf, who has allowed it. In a bid to maintain power, he has delayed elections, which riled the opposition/secularists, who have taken to the streets. The reason you see the lawyers out there protesting is because they believe Musharraf was elected illegally since he is also the head of the military - a duplicity they argue is illegal under the Constitution - and want free elections to be held, like, yesterday. All of this turmoil opened the door for the return of Bhutto, whose reputation has been clouded by allegations of corruption in Pakistan and Europe. She has sided with the opposition and seeks to annul a rule, put in place by Musharraf after her exile, forbidding prime ministers from holding office more than twice. She and Musharraf have worked together in the past and recently held talks about her role in the government.

So there you have it. Pakistan's very future is at stake in this struggle.

But what of Pakistan?

Well, it is a land with an ancient history. According to Lonely Planet, it has been inhabited since the Stone Age and ruled at times by Buddhists, Sikhs and Muslims. It was a crucial part of the Silk Route of trade between China, India and the Roman empire.

Eventually, at the turn of the 20th century, the British stuck their noses where they didn't belong and began colonization in the region. But the Muslims in British India got pissed and pushed for their own state. In the late 1940s, Pakistan, meaning 'Land of the Pure', came into existence. It was originally created in two parts cut in half by the bottom of India: West Pakistan (basically modern-day Pakistan, plus the disputed region of Kashmir) and East Pakistan (the modern-day Bangladesh). The West was predominately Muslim. The East was too, but also had a sizeable Hindu population. In the spasms of violence that led to Pakistan's birth, there were large migrations of people, which left scars of animosity and led to a civil war in which East Pakistan seceeded and became the nation of Bangladesh. It is said that these old rivalries persist in the relationship between Bhutto, a native Pakistani whose father also ruled, and Musharraf, whose roots lie to the East and in India.

Pakistan as we know it is cut in half by the Indus River from the Himalayas to the Arabian Sea. Its climate and topography vary greatly. Geographia.com says, "Pakistan can be divided into three regions: the lowlands along the Indus in the south and east, the arid plateau of Baluchistan in the southwest, and the mountains of the north." Its people have a reputation among travelers (Western and otherwise) of being warm and hospitable. They love cricket and will co-host the 2011 Cricket World Cup. The food is a mixture of Indian and Middle Eastern. Mmmmmm!! Sounds delish!

Interesting tidbits found on Wikipedia:
-- Pakistan has the world's sixth largest population, placing it higher than Russia, and lower than Brazil.
-- Pakistan sent 5,000 troops to the 1991 Gulf War as part of a US led coalition and specifically for the defence of Saudi Arabia.
-- Pakistan has accomplished many engineering feats such as construction of the world's largest earth filled dam Tarbela as well as, with collaboration with China, the world's highest international road: the Karakoram Highway.
-- Pakistani society is largely multilingual and predominantly Muslim, with high regard for traditional family values, although urban families have grown into a nuclear family system.
-- Pakistan is home to several mountain peaks over 7,000 metres (22,970 ft), which attracts adventurers and mountaineers from around the world.

Recommended reading:
-- Thorn Tree Forum: Pakistan
-- Pakistani Bloggers
-- New York Times: Sorting Out Pakistan’s Many Struggles
-- Behind the clichés, a modern Pakistan Letter from a frontline state
-- The US-Pakistan Roller Coaster Relationship
-- Lonely Planet's account of the nation's history

HEALTH: 'Black hairy tongue'

2007-11-11T20:33:00.000-05:00

A few years ago on a trip to Singapore, I had packed Pepto tablets and took a couple each night before bed, as we'd been doing some adventurous eating. One morning, I woke up and went to the bathroom to brush my teeth, only to discover my tongue had turned black. The whole tongue. I put it back into my mouth. Shut my eyes. Was I dreaming? Eyes open. Tongue out. Still black. I ran out into the living room to show my friends. We quickly got on the Internet and, within moments, in a frenzy of hypochondria, we'd diagnosed me with a potentially lethal case of "black hairy tongue" (a distinctly non-lethal ailment caused by bacteria in the mouth that can result in discoloration and sometimes a thick coating on the tongue). Also, apprently, a band by the same name. Distressed, and imagining what lay in store for me once I was hospitalized in a foreign land with this exotic and certainly deadly disease, I went back to the bathroom and absent-mindedly picked up the Pepto bottle. I began reading the label, just to take my mind off my predicament, when I came across a side-effect warning that went something like this:

"In some patients bismuth subsalicylate may cause dark tongue and/or grayish black stools. This is only temporary and will go away when you stop taking this medicine."

I picked up my toothbrush and began to brush slowly. Then, more frantically. And, as I saw the black fade off my tongue, I began to laugh. I would live to see another day after all! Hooray!!! Oh, we had a good laugh over THAT one!

I hope this little story will save you the stress of thinking you've contracted a rare tropical disease if you should ever encounter this Pepto side effect. Incidentally, Pepto has a nice travel-advice page on their Web site .

GUEST TRAVELER: Israel

2007-11-08T21:12:00.000-05:00

Join friends Cindy and Emily on their adventure in Israel on their blog, Unholy happenings from the Holy Land. Here are a couple excerpts to give you what Cindy might call the "flava" of their trip:

"Cats are EVERYWHERE. I can't deal with it. They're like squirrels. They're in the trees, in the dumpsters, in the shops, all over the streets ... Israel needs a Bob Barker; an advocate for the animals. "

"I had a really interesting convo with Yael on our way out of Tel Aviv. I noticed today that there is a huge absence of synagogues in and around Tel Aviv, and that just strikes me as odd. In our neck of the woods (Metro Detroit), there's like, 1 synagogue for every 9.5 Jews. Seriously. Her answer was pretty straight forward. You're either an Ultra-Jew and pray in an Orthodox temple, or you just don't pray. On high holidays, she told me, if you want to go to worship, look no further than a local gymnasium. Everyone who's not good enough to be in a synagogue will assemble and worship there. Freakin' what???"

"The flights were easy, they served free German beer, and although we slept through one meal, we have to say we were impressed by the two others we did get to eat. Shocking! International flights are great! If you ever have the chance to fly Lufthansa, do it."

"(Some customs of Orthodox Jews:) Women are not allowed to worship with the men. There are serious restrictions on interaction. No eye contact or hand-shakes. No hellos or thank yous to strangers."

Another interesting factoid: The dots next to the Hebrew characters are vowels. However, in Israel, signs in Hebrew are written without the vowels.

WORLD VIEW: A visitor from Jordan

2007-11-04T18:01:00.000-05:00

During the past three weeks, we hosted a visiting Jordanian journalist in our home and at our work, The Detroit News. Mr. Basil Okoor was an ideal guest, whose jovial sense of humor, candor, intelligence, energy and joie de vivre quickly made him a good friend too.

Basil was participating in an International Center for Journalists program for journalists who want to get professional experience in the United States. He and a partner run the independent news site ammannews.net (here's the translated version). Though his native language is Arabic and he insisted his English was not good, he was able to eloquently tell us about his life in Jordan and state his observations on the United States. I'd like to share some of what we learned with you.

JORDAN
- One of the more moderate Middle Eastern nations, Jordan is ruled by a king who appoints a Cabinet. The people elect a parliament, which is basically responsible for carrying out the king's orders. Frustrations are expressed toward these appointees rather than the king. Governing is a more fluid process than in the United States; officials can be ousted between elections if the king or the people are not happy with their performance.
- As a broadcast journalist, Basil was kicked off the air for his reporting. His Web site has been shut down twice by the government for reporting on the government. However, it is growing in popularity as people have a thirst for truth. Basil is a passionate believer that a free press is crucial to preserving the rights and freedoms of the people.
- Jordan has serious refugee issues. A January 2007 report in The Guardian stated, "There are thought to be 700,000 Iraqis now living in Jordan." That's in addition to the more than 1 million Palestinian refugees living in Jordan as of June 2007 (Source: International Herald Tribune).
- Jordan is surrounded by Israel, Lebanon, Syria, Iraq and Saudi Arabia, with Egypt just a stone's throw away. I am fascinated by what it must be like to live in a place where so many conflicts are boiling on (coming over) your borders, even as you try to maintain peace within and not get sucked into regional/global disputes.
- The most popular dish is made and eaten this way: Meat is cooked slowly in a yogurt sauce. Then, the pieces of meat are placed on top of a large platter of rice, which is set in the middle of the table, and the yogurt sauce is drizzled over top. Everyone eats from the same platter and uses their hands and pieces of bread. If you start to eat a piece of bread, you should finish it.
- Jordan does not have the oil wealth of neighboring Saudi Arabia.
- Family and education are very important. Families take pride in the number of children they have.
- Jordan is home to Petra, one of the Seven Wonders of the World, and borders the Dead Sea.
- Falafel is a popular food option among poorer people.

UNITED STATES
- Basil praised the journalists he met at the Washington Post, inspired by their passion and loyalty. However, at other papers, he found the people to be nice, but lacking passion for their craft.
- Things in the United States are very organized.
- Americans work a lot and do not have enough time to spend with their families and friends.
- The culture is very violent - from TV's gore and emphasis on war and scary movies to football's gladiator mentality. He observed that every statue he'd seen was related to the military.
- Health care (or lack thereof) and homelessness were shocking. He was surprised that the society as a whole did not have the heart to make the well-being of its members a top priority.
- The level of poverty and deterioration in Detroit amazed him. He referred to it as a "ghost town" and a "dying city" and repeated, "something is wrong here," while shaking his head.
- The lack of mass transportation and the spread-out nature of Detroit vexed him.

Let's talk. I'd love to hear your comments and questions.

We miss Basil already and can't wait to go visit him in Jordan where we can see the sites and meet the family!

GUEST TRAVELER: Armenia

2006-05-10T10:39:00.000-04:00

So, my friend Karen is serving in the Peace Corps in a village in Armenia. Here is her account of finding a dead chicken in her garden and what happened afterward. Read it and weep (because you're laughing so hard!):

What do you do with a dead chicken?

It was a great day to be cleaning bean poles & getting my garden ready with Gayane, my favorite 6th grader & my host-mom, Anahit. I looked down and there it was. “Hey, this chicken is dead,” I thought and said in Armenian. Later I would learn that the looks of horror that followed were not about the chicken so much as the words for dead person and dead chicken are different. They hear the words, “hey, this person is dead chicken.” Anahit came trotting over, looked down & did something to double my already horrified expression. “Where are you going,” I demanded. I already knew what she was doing. She was touching all over it with her bare hands. “To the river,” she rationally replied. “Put it DOWN, it might be sick,” I pleaded while Gayane looked on with confusion. The months of media mind intrusion had taken its toll-Avian Flu…Dead Chicken…Sick Birds…Unwashed Hands…Undercooked Eggs.

Anahit paused long enough to give me the ‘really Karen, I know you can eat more if you’d just stop being so stubborn’ look. The pause was long enough for me to catch her off guard and take a few swings at the chicken with the beanpole I was still holding. I finally got her to drop it & back off as her look shifted to the even more familiar, ‘fine, if you’re not going to eat more I’ll just pick up the pieces of my broken heart and leave.’

Victory!!! I won! Okay, so now what do I do with this dead chicken. The scene had been secured so I ran upstairs to my medical kit-rubber gloves, surgical scrub & two heavy-duty HAZMAT style plastic bags. I put on the gloves and went to the garden. After handing Anahit the soap with one hand, I pulled my shirt over my mouth with the other. I was too focused to find as much humor in the situation as Gayane & Anahit. I put the chicken in the bags and tied them up. The entire time I scanned my memory for the pictures in the UNICEF posters. Step One: Stay away from dead chickens. Okay, too late for that one. Skip to Step Five: Wash hands. “Now we’ll wash our hands,” I declared. The giggles intensified as I brought down a pail of water from my filter.

Thankfully, the garden party broke up after that because I was dying to get the information to someone who’s first reaction wouldn’t be to quickly deposit the body with the rest of the trash. Dear God, where in mere moments other chickens, cows & crows would be feasting on it creating the most horrendous outbreak of Avian Flu yet.

The calling process began. I would try a few times to get an outside line then call a village number just to make sure the phone was working. NO one home at the mayors. No outside line. NO one home at the doctors. No outside line. After three hours of rotary dialing I finally got a hold of Steve, another volunteer & my regional ‘warden’.

“Hey Steve, what would you do with the dead chicken in my yard?”
“I killed it.”
“I know it’s dead, now what do I do?”
“Eat it!”
“I’m not going to eat it. I’m not even going to touch it again-you’re sick.”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m calling you to find out what I should do with this dead chicken I’ve got outside double wrapped in some plastic bags.”
“You’ve got a dead chicken?”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“Whooooh.”
“Ya, so what do I do with it?”
“Is there any blood?”
“No, it’s a scary randomly killed chicken.”
We decided this was a more than appropriate time to tap the vast pool of wisdom that is our Peace Corps National Security Officer.
“I’ll call you back,” Steve promised.
“Good luck,” I wished for all our sakes.

Hours passed. I washed some socks and hung them outside with a suspicious eye on the bags. I felt such a strong duty to properly examine the situation, but saddened by the thoughts of what a negative outcome would bring. Would I really be supporting the people in my village by bringing attention to a potentially sick bird? I’ve read that Avian Flu had been around for 100 years and I know how media hot-topics can skew reality. I read a quote from a man in Turkey saying he would rather give up his wife than all his chickens-his family’s only means of income. I imagined a near future filled with World Health Organization volunteers dressed in full Hazmat gear stuffing my neighbor’s chickens in bags to be incinerated. Gayane would look on as her father would wonder how he would feed his family. Gayane’s grandma, the woman who has brought me fresh eggs every day since I moved out, would probably be in tears.

The phone rang.
“Hey…what should I do?”
“Huh, huh, huh…”
“What did they say?”
“Huh, huh…maybe you could take the chicken to a special doctor in Sisian.”
“I’m not taking the f-ing chicken on the bus!”
“Huh, huh, huh.”
“No way dude, I’m not going to touch it again and there is no way in hell I’m going to take the dead, potentially hazardous chicken on a one-hour over-packed bus ride to Sisian.” (For anyone who hasn’t experienced a VIP 3rd world bus ride, well, just know it’s a prime location for the spreading of illnesses.)
“Steve, just call the doctor in Sisian and tell them to come here.”
“Okay…until then, guard the evidence.”

Since I was feeling good about a successful phone connection, I tried the doctor and mayor again. Nothing. A little later, still nothing. If I hadn’t felt such an obligation to guard the body mixed with a strong desire to not drink tea or eat cake, I might have walked down the street. Oh well, it can wait until tomorrow. Good night dead chicken.

I got up at 7 the next morning to meet with the two members of my running club. I wondered who had eggs for breakfast. After our run, the phone gods were feeling generous and I got the doctor on the line. Unfortunately, I still didn’t have the noun for dead animal.

“What do you have?!?!?”
“A dead chicken.”
“What??”
“Uh, a chicken that is not living…?”
“Oh, call the mayor and he will call the animal doctor.”
I get the mayor’s wife on the line.
“Who is dead Karen?”
“A chicken.”
“I don’t understand.”
“In my garden I have found a chicken, but it doesn’t live…what shall we do?”
“Leave it there and we’ll call the doctor.”
As I got ready for work there was a knock on my gate. The grandma from next door had come to claim the body.
“Where is our chicken?”
“I have it, it will stay here until the doctor comes.”
“No, give it to me-I’ll take it.”
“No, the doctor must see it.”
“Fine Karen, give it to me.”
“What will you do?”
“I’ll give it to the doctor.”

I look at her bare hands and quiver my last shake of fear as I point to the bags. She giggles, takes the bags and shakes her head. It’s out of my hands now.

I go to school and whispers of bird flu float through the halls.

“What will we do,” the students ask. I still don’t have any answers to give. Back at home the phone is ringing off the hook accompanied by knocking at the gate. “Where is the chicken,” they all ask. It’s with my neighbor. No, I don’t know if it is sick. Yes, I know I am a crazy American. By late afternoon the local vet gives the results of the autopsy. “The chicken at mouse poison,” everyone stops by or calls to say. The mayor’s wife calls.

“Karen, did you call Peace Corps because everyone from the Embassy, WHO & everywhere else is in a panic.”
Feeling a little embarrassed I proclaim, “No, are you kidding, I can’t call Yerevan. I called Steve…he must have called.”
“Fine, just call Steve and tell him to call Peace Corps and tell them all to calm down-the chicken at mouse poison.”
“Thank you, I’ll tell him.”
Three hours later….
“They said it ate mouse poison.”
“Oh ya.”
“Ya and the vet said it was okay to eat the chicken as long as the family properly boiled it.”

For the next week I was on damage control and had to go to the store to buy my eggs. I heard some great ‘Karen and the dead chicken’ stories. Some were true, some undeniably false, but all laughable. So what do you do with a dead chicken? Next time I’m going to take the body for a walk down the street to the mayor’s house. I’ll leave it out of the bags for all to see, but I’ll be wearing my gloves with my shirt over my face. That way we can all laugh together at the crazy American.

BOOK: Global Journeys in Metro Detroit

2006-05-01T14:00:00.000-04:00

If only every city had such a fantastic guidebook! To be fair, not every city has such rich cultural diversity as Detroit, which is much-maligned but far too infrequently celebrated, as in this tome.

Global Journeys in Metro Detroit: A Multicultural Guide to the Motor City features chapters about communities rooted in the Americas, Europe, Africa and the Middle East, and Asia. The book provides maps, restaurant listings, information about events and exhibits, interesting cultural tips, history and more. Everything is broken down into bite-size bits, and whether you use it as a guide to exploring new places or simply leave it out as a bathroom reader, you are bound to learn something.

Written by native Detroiters with help from Metro Detroit institutions, scholars and companies, and a preface by then-mayor Dennis Archer, this book is the real Detroit deal!

TRAVEL TIPS: Use the Web to save $$$, time

2006-04-29T16:20:00.000-04:00

We all know that planning and paying for a trip can be
a real pain the keister.

But Jeremy Caplan of TIME magazine, in its May 1,
2006, edition offers some tips to make the process
easier and hopefully a little more affordable. If you
subscribe, check out page 69. For the rest of you,
here are the highlights:

Kayak.com
*a new way to search for bargain flights
*covers fares on about 300 airlines
*lets you adjust search parameters without having to
start from scratch
*also offers hotel and car-rental deals

Travel.yahoo.com/trip
*gives you a Web folder to store online research about
museums, restaurants, etc.
*after gathering Web pages about places you'd like to
visit, you can print your itinerary, save it or share
it online

Triphub.com
*useful for planning reunions or weekend getaways with
friends
*this site is described as "like a traveler's version
of Evite.com"
*you can book group tickets
*facilitates group discussions
*TIME warns, the site is only two months old, so it's
still working out the kinks

Bnm.com
*cheap rental cars

Biddingfortravel.com
*offers bidding help

Turnhere.com
*see free short videos of destinations around the
world

Tripstalker.com
*instead of checking on prices several times a day
until you find one that works for you, let this site
do the work for you
*the site will alert you by e-mail or text message
once a flight, hotel, or rental car matches your
criteria

WORLD VIEW: Iraq

2006-04-26T10:30:00.000-04:00

*map image from http://geo.ya.com/travelimages/az-iraq-map.jpg; click on map for larger image

With the war in its third year, news from Iraq has become background noise for many - a half-listened to news broadcast, a lost cause? But for the people IN Iraq, every day is a thundering caucophany of news as their nation convulses right before their eyes, transforming - into what?

The Internet allows the sangha (a Buddhist term that means "community of all beings") to connect like never before. So, check out the heartbreakingly desperate posts on these blogs from inside Iraq.:

http://messopotamian.blogspot.com/
TO BRING ONE MORE IRAQI VOICE OF THE SILENT MAJORITY TO THE ATTENTION OF THE WORLD

http://healingiraq.blogspot.com/
Daily news and comments on the situation in post Saddam Iraq by an Iraqi dentist

http://hammorabi.blogspot.com/
Iraq - 'The Past, Present and Future of the Cradle of Civilization'!

WORLD VIEW: Shanghai

2006-04-19T14:07:00.000-04:00

For some hilarious and fascinating morsels about daily life in Shanghai, check out the recent posts at:

http://www.banterist.com/

Here are some excerpts:

TOURS
Asian tour guides all use bullhorns to address their groups, turning any tourist spot into a cacophony of different dialects competing to tell you about the vase or tree you're looking at. A guide told me they don't use them for Western tourists because we're averse to having someone with a bullhorn talking to them from one foot away. Not so for the various Asian visitors who are perfectly content to have a 90 decibel lecture on the Qing dynasty delivered to their face. Even if the group numbers two, as I witnessed.

SPITTING
Phlegm here is the by-product of a serious pollution problem and a national love of smoking. Spitting it all over the place is the by-product of Mao's Cultural Revolution which embraced "peasant" behavior. The government is aware that hawking phlegm everywhere is freakish to Western tourists and is making an effort to stop it. In the meantime however, watch where you're walking - or turn it into a fun game.

LANGUAGE
The language is fairly impossible to speak, in part because of the tonal aspect. There are four tones: high, rising, falling-rising, falling. That means you'll enjoy many exchanges like "Shizou? Shizou? Shizou?" until they realize you meant "ShiZOU." Depending on how you use tones when saying "tang" you are either saying "soup", "sugar", "to lie down" or "boiling hot." So when you thought you were ordering Hot & Sour soup you were actually telling the waiter you were taking a nap.

GREEN TEA AND TAXIS
Most interesting among his factoids was that green tea improves vision and alertness. He told us taxi drivers here carry a thermos of it which is something I've seen myself. I have no doubt at all about the magical properties of green tea, because its ability to improve the vision and alertness of Shanghai's taxi drivers explains why everyone here isn't dead.

At the very least, to take a taxi in Shanghai is to put your fate in the hands of a man who does not speak your language and will not drop you off where you had intended. At the worst, it's Death Cab 2006. They put New York cabbies to shame.

SPIRIT: Laughter yoga

2006-04-11T12:41:00.000-04:00

Smile. No, really - smile.

How do you feel?

In 1995, Dr. Madan Kataria, convinced by his research for a scholarly paper that laughter really IS the best medicine, formed a laughter club in a city park in Mumbai (formerly Bombay), India, to put the theory into practice. Eventually, he combined laughter with yoga, and now the practice has spread around the world. The club's Web site describes the practive this way: "Laughter Yoga is physically-oriented technique that uses a perfect blend of playful, empowering and otherwise "tension-releasing" simple laughter exercises, interspersed with gentle breathing and stretching exercises, rhythmic clapping and chanting of Ho Ho Ha Ha Ha in unison. This is done as a way to improve health, increase well-being, and promote peace in the world through personal transformation. In Laughter Yoga you use laughter as a tool, not an emotion."

OK, OK, it sounds a little silly, but give it a try. I promise you'll feel better afterward - even if it's only because you're laughing at yourself! See if there's a club near you:

http://www.laughteryoga.org/

Even, if you can't find a club to practice with, just remember what e.e. cummings said: "The most wasted of all days is one without laughter."

Here are a few more quotes to get you thinking about laughter:

"Laughter is an orgasm triggered by the intercourse of sense and nonsense." - Author Unknown

"I've always thought that a big laugh is a really loud noise from the soul saying, 'Ain't that the truth.' " - Quincy Jones

"When people are laughing, they're generally not killing each other." - Alan Alda

"You can't stay mad at somebody who makes you laugh. It's as simple as that." - Jay Leno

"He deserves Paradise who makes his companions laugh." - Koran

"The human race has one really effective weapon, and that is laughter." - Mark Twain

TELEVISION: 5 Takes: Pacific Rim

2006-04-06T17:04:00.000-04:00

Have a thing for reality TV? Then have I got a show for you!

The Travel Channel has sent five travel journalists (they call them "TJs") to explore the Pacific Rim. Equipped with backpacks, cameras and $50 a day, they will visit 12 cities across Australia, New Zealand, Singapore, Hong Kong, Taiwan and Cambodia/Thailand in 12 weeks. Viewers decide where the TJs will go by posting suggestions and voting via the show's Web site:

http://travel.discovery.com/fansites/5takes/pacrim/main.html

The show is cool because it's good fun to watch their travels and interact with them online, but also because you can find a lot of good travel tips on the forums.

VOCABULARY
Vegemite: The TJs report that the famed Aussie spread is made from byproducts of the beer-making process. They compared it to Nutella and said it smells like cinammon and butter. Eating it induced much laughter and nose-scrunching among the TJs, along with this culinary analysis: "It tastes like the combination of fish scales and earwax ... it's deceiving because it smells like cinammon and buter and tastes like some kind of combination of fish scales and ear wax!"

GUEST TRAVELER: Istanbul, Turkey

2006-04-06T01:46:00.000-04:00

My friend and fellow hasher Heavy Load, aka "Jon," put together a blog after his recent trip to Istanbul. Have a look!:

http://futurebehind.blogspot.com/

Here's just a little taste from his entry titled "Listen to the sun rise":

Robert asked us how much longer we were going to be in Istanbul, and we told him we were leaving the next day, and he said it was a shame we wouldn't be able to see more. He asked what we'd liked about Istanbul, and I told him I liked all the mosques (they are all over, and Istanbul is a hilly city, so you frequently get good views of the city, and can see just how many beautiful mosques there are). He said, "Istanbul is a city where you can hear the sun rise." That got everyone's attention, and he explained that in the morning, the muslim call to prayer comes with the sunrise. So, the prayer-caller guy at the most eastern mosque will see the sun-rise first, and will start his call to prayer. And this continues from east to west across the city, and he said you can hear it progress across the city. Vincent argued with him and said you weren't really hearing the sun rise, but I thought it was a cool way to say something.

WORLD VIEW: Next time you're in Alabama ...

2006-03-31T16:22:00.000-05:00

... you might want to check out the Unclaimed Baggage Center, which buys unclaimed luggage from airlines and resells it at bargain basement prices in a retail center that covers more than a city block. While you're there, grab a cup of Starbucks and drop the rugrats off at the children's area while you get your shop on. Check it out at:

http://www.unclaimedbaggage.com/

My favorite part of the site is the Interesting Stuff (odd things that have been found in people's unclaimed luggage). Interesting Stuff features a What Is It? contest where you can win a T-shirt if you correctly guess what an unidentified item is and explain how it is used:

http://www.unclaimedbaggage.com/interestingstuff.html

The site also offers some travel tips, and I guess if anyone should know what NOT to do, it would be the good people at the Unclaimed Baggage Center!:

http://www.unclaimedbaggage.com/traveltips.html

Here are the basics, if you decide to visit the Scottsboro store (and don't forget to bring something back for me!):

The store is located at:
509 West Willow Street, Scottsboro, Alabama 35768.
The phone number is 256-259-1525.

Open
Monday - Friday 9:00 a.m. - 6:00 p.m. CST
Saturday 8:00 a.m. - 6:00 p.m. CST
Closed Sundays.

BOOK: Reading Lolita in Tehran

2006-03-30T12:59:00.000-05:00

Well, people, I can't be traveling all the time (even though I'd like to be!). But, through books, movies, music, friends' travels and other channels, I will try to continue helping us get to know the rest of the world.

To start, I'd like to recommend a novel called Reading Lolita in Tehran, by Azar Nafisi. Publishers Weekly describes it this way:

"Transcends categorization as memoir, literary criticism or social history, though it is superb as all three ... Nafisi has produced and original work on the relationship between life and literature."

As an Iranian-born woman, who received much of her education in the U.S., Nafisi returns to Iran to teach the classics of Western literature at the University of Tehran just before the revolution. This book will give you great insight into Iran, its people and our relationship to them; women's struggles under an oppressive Islamic regime (without villainizing Islam itself); and the power of fiction in a world gone mad (all worlds, really). And, watch out! Her passionate and intelligent analysis of the Western classics will make you want to read them all over again!!!

To whet your appetite, here's a little food for thought from the book:

"Is this how it all started? Was it the day we were sitting at his dining room table, greedily biting into our forbidden ham-and-cheese sandwich and calling it a croque monsieur? At some point we must have caught the same expression of ravenous, unadulterated pleasure in each other's eyes, because we started to laugh simultaneously. I raised my glass of water to him and said, Who would have thought that such a simple meal would appear to us like a kingly feast? and he said, We must thank the Islamic Republic for making us rediscover and even covet all these things we took for granted: one could write a paper on the pleasure of eating a ham sandwich. And I said, Oh, the things we have to be thankful for! And that memorable day was the beginning of our detailing our long list of debts to the Islamic Republic: parties, eating ice cream in public, falling in love, holding hands, wearing lipstick, laughing in public and Reading Lolita in Tehran."

"I wrote on the board one of my favorite lines from the German thinker Theodor Adorno: "The highest form of morality is not to feel at home in one's own home." I explained that most great works of the imagination were meant to make you feel like a stranger in your own home. The best fiction always forced us to question what we took for granted. It questioned traditions and expectations when they seemed too immutable."

"We in ancient countries have our past - we obsess over the past. They, the Americans, have a dream: they feel nostalgia about the promise of the future."

" He cautiously tried to make me understand what political Islam meant, and I rebuffed him, because it was exactly Islam as a political entity that I rejected. I told him about my grandmother, who was the most devout Muslim I had ever known, even more than you, Mr. Bahri, and still she shunned politics. She resented the fact that her veil, which to her was a symbol of her sacred relationship to God, had now become an instrument of power, turning the women who wore them into political signs and symbols."

... and, she quotes an essay by Mike Gold, "Toward Proletarian Art" that was published in 1929 in the radical New Masses. It made me angry to consider art as purely useful, but then I got to thinking about it ... I wonder what you think?:

"Art is no longer snobbish or cowardly. It teaches peasants to use tractors, gives lyrics to young soldiers, designs textiles for factory women's dresses, writes burlesque for factory theatres, does a hundred other useful tasks. Art is useful as bread."

Finally: I've often wondered what is so dangerous about women that throughout time and around the world, men have tried to oppress them. I've considered many theories and I will probably be pondering the issue all my life, but this book raises an interesting point (doggone it, I can't find the exact quote!), the jist of which is this: If you educate a man, you educate an individual. If you educate a woman, you educate a family.

More photos

2006-03-13T13:16:00.000-05:00

While we were traveling, we met a really nice couple from Phoenix: Antonio and Michelle. When they got home, they sent us a link to their Kodak gallery. They shot some really beautiful pictures, so here they are, if you'd like to take a look:

http://www.kodakgallery.com/ShareLandingSignin.jsp?Uc=gxxxdb2.5cswwbjm&Uy=-3x2fap&Upost_signin=Slideshow.jsp%3Fmode%3Dfromshare&Ux=0

Safari w/photos

2006-03-02T13:08:00.000-05:00

Our safari experience wasn't quite the guns-on-the-Land Rover, life-and-death experience I had hoped it would be.

We wound up visiting the Garden Route Game Lodge, which is still building up its stock of animals and land, buying up and revegetating land from surrounding farms. So, the predator and prey animals are separated and a guide took us around on a pre-ordained track to see them. Other guides would call on the walkie-talkie, "Giraffe in sector six!" and we'd head that way. We rode around on an open-air truck with the Khaki Patrol and their kids, which became a little awkward when the male elephant decided to expose himself. Being a fan of male genitalia, I have to take a moment and tell you about this: I would say his glory was about the diameter of a dinner plate, and it hung all the way to the ground. When we saw it, a starled murmur erupted among the adults, followed by chuckles and then questions from the kids. It was a heart-warming moment as, inside, I laughed at the parents grasping at straws as the birds-and-bees talk was unexpectedly thrust upon them.

Here's the sad thing for the male elephant: Apparently, male elephants, as well as the females, come into heat. The male and female must be in heat on the same day to get in the mood. Unfortuanately for them, the elephant pair at the park were ONE DAY off, which explained why they seemed so cranky to me. The animals I got the biggest kick out of were the two male rhinos. They hammed it up for the crowd and even gave us a hard time as we tried to drive away, blocking us, then moving away, then trotting up and blocking us again. Silly rhinos! We learned that rhinos rest rump-to-rump, facing in opposite directions, so that they can get each other's back - in that position, they can see a predator approach from any direction. Lions will try to eat rhinos if they can't get something easier like a zebra or an impala. We also learned that there was someone else interested in the rhinos: the male elephant! The guides have spotted him going to town on the male rhinos more than once! They say such behavior is VERY rare, but apparently the male animals at the park are pretty frustrated - the elephant being out of sync with his lady and the rhinos lacking any ladies at all.

Here are some other animal facts we learned:

* lions are so territorial, a male will eat his own male cubs if they don't leave his turf quickly enough
* because giraffes' heads are so far away from their hearts, the pressure in their heads is much higher than in the rest of their bodies, which keeps the blood flowing up there
* giraffes may eat food from the ground, but once they get it in their mouths, they will lift their heads to chew, in order to maintain the pressure inside their heads

... and last, but not least, how did the Zebra get his stripes? Here's how the Bushmen tell it:

Long ago, the Baboon was King. He would not let any of the other animals drink from the watering hole. The Zebra, who then was a snowy white, decided this wasn't fair and all animals should be able to drink from the watering hole. The Zebra confronted the Baboon, who stubbornly and selfishly refused to share. They got into an epic battle, in which the Baboon lit a ring of fire around the watering hole to keep the Zebra out. But, the Zebra jumped through the fire, singeing his white fur and giving him black stripes. With a mighty kick, he sent the Baboon flying through the air. The Baboon landed on top of the mountain, where he still lives today, with a backside still pink from the Zebra's kick. The Zebra still has his stripes and now all of the animals can drink from the watering hole.

Diarrhea

2006-02-28T16:05:00.000-05:00

OK people, I'm going to swallow my pride and give you an education on the subject, since I seem to be the expert. I'd like for you to avoid becoming one through personal experience. TRUST ME.

The day we left South Africa, I started to feel unwell. Nauseous, cranky, out of it. I attributed this to end-of-vacation irritability and too many goodbye-Africa Mojitos, topped with pizza and a shot of Jaeger at the hostel bar with our new friend from the Mojito place. Now, if you know me, that should have raised a red flag because such consumption is entirely within my limits. Back on the ground in the U.S., the situation worsened. It took on ominous tones of the Thailand experience. Oh? You don't know about the Thailand experience? Let me catch you up on LAST YEAR'S diarrhea incident:

"On Saturday, our last full day in Thailand, we went to
Chatachuk market, literally one of the largest markets
in the entire world. They have everything you can
imagine for sale (and let me tell you, it's cheap! For
example: I bought a NorthFace trekking backpack for
only $15!) It's all packed in a maze of aisles under
hot tin roofs that cover several square miles. Three
hours into this shopping expedition, I got really sick
and had to go home. I had a raging fever, was dizzy,
nauseous, and discovered a new hobby called going to
the bathroom. I continued to pursue this hobby over
the next three days, without stopping to sleep or eat.
You can imagine how much fun THAT 20-hour plane ride
home was!

THE HOSPITAL
Back in the U.S., I go right to the hospital, where I
am promptly hooked up to an IV and greeted by two cute
male nurses, who are about my age. What luck, right!?
Even in my dilapidated state, I'm joking and bantering
with them and having fun, UNTIL they have to ask me
about my "condition" and collect a "sample." SO
embarassing. I know they see way worse stuff all the
time BUT STILL!!! I mean, come on - that's funny!
Someday, I know I will run into them at the bar!!! At
least I'll have an icebreaker, I guess!!!"

OK, now you're all up to speed on my sordid diarrhea history. So, back in the U.S. last week, I'm not feeling so well, actually worse by the hour. I'll spare you the details, but long story short, I was sick for seven days. Yesterday, I had a nice chat with my doctor and here is the advice she gave me:

* when traveling overseas, pack Kaopectate and Mylanta. The Mylanta is useful to calm your stomach if you eat something spicy that disagrees with you and the Kaopectate will "bundle your stool," which will allow you to go to the bathroom "2 times a day instead of 10."
* if you come down with the diarrhea, Gatorade is your friend. It replaces electrolytes you're losing.
* even if you don't feel like it, you still need to eat. My doctor recommends the "BRAT diet": bananas, rice, applesauce and toast. Palatable even to the nauseous and good at "stool bundling." She also said yogurt can help by boosting the "good bacteria" in your system.
* while traveling, drink bottled water, even if the water is purportedly OK to drink from the tap where you're visiting (similarly, avoid pop, ice, or other non-boiled sources of tap water)
* even if the place you're visiting doesn't require it, get up-to-date on all your immunizations. Do this ahead of time because hepatitis shots, for example, are given in a series, so it takes months to complete the immunization process.
* if you get the diarrhea, and it doesn't subside in 2-3 days, see a doctor. "You can die from this," my doctor pointed out.
* don't, like me, be cocky and think that just because you're an adventurous eater and rarely get sick at home that you won't overseas (I know I said not to be cocky, but right here I have to give my intestinal bacteria props: after last year's experience, I was determined not to resort to antibiotics this time. I wanted to conquer the bacteria and hopefully build up some kind of immunity - can you even build immunity to bacteria? - so that this will never happen to me again - yeah right. After seven days, my intestinal bacteria have soundly defeated the invader bacteria without the assistance of antibiotics and I am so proud of them. Thanks bacteria! You're the best!

Anyway, there you have it. I hope it helps! That flushing sound? My dignity going down the drain!

; )

Love you, people!

Spirit of South Africa w/photos

2006-02-23T09:52:00.000-05:00

Don't get me wrong: it's not all doom and gloom there. In fact, we were both struck by the social complexity and sense of hope and optimism only 15 years after the end of apartheid.

We saw a very moving symbol of this attitude during our visit to the Robbin Island prison, where Nelson Mandela was imprisoned for the better part of two decades. During a tour, we stopped at the hottest part of the island, at the bottom of a limestone quarry, where Mandela and 31 other men were forced to work in the ruthless sun for years. Many of them developed vision and breathing problems because the dust from the limestone got in their eyes and lungs. In the limestone wall was a cave about the size of a two-car garage. Inside this cave is where the men went to the bathroom. They were forced to dig holes and use them as toilets. But, with 32 men all using the tiny space, they invariably wound up digging up another man's waste. They were not allowed to wash their hands before they were forced to eat in the same room they used as a bathroom. This was all designed to break the men's spirits and halt their push for democracy. But, instead of succumbing to these twisted mind games, the men remained strong and used the room of torture as a sanctuary in which they discussed democracy and plotted out the future. After the fall of apartheid, the former prisoners of Robbin Island met in the quarry and each placed a rock from the quarry on a pile started by Nelson Mandela. After more than 1,000 former prisoners had added to the pile, Mandela said: Let this be a monument not to our suffering, but to hope. Let this be an example of the best of the human spirit. Can you imagine? That blew my mind. Beautiful.

And Shashi, you asked about the presence of the U.N. in the townships: we did not see the U.N. or any other international aid agencies (to be fair, we were only there for one day). But, let me tell you about the man who conducted our tour, Sam. Sam grew up in the Langa township. He was the fifth of nine children, which gave him an advantage; as his older brothers and sisters found work, they were each able to contribute toward the household and toward his schooling. This enabled him to attend a boarding school and go on to college, where he earned a business administration degree. In turn, he has helped his younger siblings get an education and gives back to the community through his tour business. For example, he took us to visit a center that began as a children's hospital and blossomed into a trade center for the children's moms, where the women learned to weave beautiful rugs and tapestries and sell them. All of us on the tour made purchases there.

As much as it's not all doom and gloom, it's not all hunky-dory. During our tour, we also saw the site where American exchange student Amy Biehl, who was working on a voter registration project, was beaten and stabbed to death. She wound up at the the wrong place at the wrong time: her path crossed that of a rally by radical Pan Africanist Congress members who were militant and believed they could get redress of their grievances from the former apartheid government through violence against whites. The perpetrators were brought to trial and faced the death penalty (which has since been abolished in SA). Bieh's parents were asked to weigh in on the men's sentences; they asked that the men's lives be spared. Instead, her parents created a foundation to further her work, rehabilitate prisoners and expand literacy; the men now work with Biehl's parents through the foundation. Here is an excerpt I found on a Web site about Biehl (http://www.rjgeib.com/heroes/amy/amy.html):

BEGIN EXCERPT<<
"How do we link arms in friendship and do something?" Mr. Biehl (her father) asked a hushed room of journalists during a press conference in South Africa. "We, the Amy Biehl Foundation, are willing to do our part as catalysts for social progress. Are you, the community of South Africa, prepared to do your part?" It is one thing to kill people in the name of freedom and justice; quite another to day-after-day build a country of educated and responsible citizens through education and leadership. We shall see how South Africa chooses her future.

Testifying before the Truth and Reconciliation Commission on July 8, 1997, Mr. Biehl read a passage from a book by biologist/humanist Lewis Thomas that Amy had herself used in her high school valedictorian speech:

The drive to be useful is encoded in our genes. But when we gather in very large numbers, as in the modern nation-state, we seem capable of levels of folly and self-destruction to be found nowhere else in all of nature. But if we keep at it and keep alive, we are in for one surprise after another. We can build structures for human society never seen before, thoughts never heard before, music never heard before.
END EXCERPT>>

That is the spirit of the South Africa we met.

AIDS w/photos

2006-02-18T11:20:00.000-05:00

*THESE PICTURES ILLUSTRATE OUR VISIT TO THE TOWNSHIP, NOT MY COMMENTS ABOUT AIDS. WE KNOW NOTHING ABOUT THE HEALTH OF THE PEOPLE IN THESE PICTURES.

Let's talk about AIDS. From all accounts we've heard here, more than 50% of adults in South Africa are infected. I kind of knew that when I came here, but I didn't realize how truly dire the situation is. Yesterday, we went on a tour of four of the Cape townships. FYI: Townships are the areas where the government decided to move black Cape residents when they reconfigured the city and under apartheid. Remember what I wrote about District Six? We're talking about people who before the upheaval lived in lovely, productive communities. Can I say the townships are uproductive? No, people are all over the place trying to work, but, they still are beset by grinding poverty and overcrowding.

For example, let me tell you about the preschool we visited yesterday. When we walked in the door, we were positively MOBBED by children. To the point that three or four kids would be trying to climb up you for a hug all at once and if they didn't get a hug, they were in tears. A HUG, I'm telling you. They were holding onto you for dear life. Hmmmmm. Maybe I should reset so you understand even more. This preschool was your typical, small, one-room, one-teacher/one-cook preschool. I counted about 75 kids in this room. There is no way on earth this one teacher could EDUCATE all these children. I do believe that it was all she could do (god bless her) to keep them in the room. And forget education, there's no way these kids are getting individual affection. Teachers mobbed, parents trying to work ...

Now, realize that in the townships where these kids are growing up, there are the further problems of about 35% unemployment (because the government has forcibly, artificially moved people around, so there are areas where there are waaaaaaaay too many workers and other where there are now not enough), women who aspire to have children (where isn't this the case, really?), shebeens (aka, pubs where men drink; again, where isn't this the case?), and an educational system compromised by overcrowding and misinformation (aka, president Thabo Mbeki, who in the past has asserted that HIV is not the cause of AIDs and who has fueled conspiracy theories, true or not, about the role of western pharmaceutical companies in the spread of the disease).

On overcrowding: We visited what is called a hostel - originally built for men who were forcibly moved to the area from other parts of South Africa to serve as forced laborers. Hostels, which in the U.S. would comfortably house two people, now house THREE FAMILIES. People are on top of each other all the time. As our tour guide Sam ever-so-subtley put it, "There is no privacy." If you get his hint.

On misinformation: We visited a "healer." OK, while healers are respected and part of tradition, this was a dude in a shanty that does not get electrical service who grinds up bits of snake skins and bone and uses that to cure people's ailments, INCLUDING HIV. Today, while we were in the market, one of the vendors was telling us about the meanings of all the carved stones he was selling, including the marijuana leaf. He told us it was used to CURE HIV. Sam told us that the townships are also beset by violence and that adds to the problem. Some of the residents take the attitude that if the HIV/AIDS doesn't kill them, violence will, so what is the point of getting educated about it?

It is such a spiral that I can't even opine about it. All I can think about is how it felt to be hugged by children who have nothing, want nothing but your affection, and who face an uncertain future.

Cape Peninsula w/photos

2006-02-16T15:15:00.000-05:00

Well, we just got back from the Labia. ?!?! What?! The labia?! Yep, that's the name of the mall around the corner from here where the movie theater is! We just had a delicious Indian dinner there after a very long day. I am so tired right now, that as far as coherency goes, this entry may be less so than the drunken blog. On the upside, I am the proud new owner of a nonfunctioning rental car remote, something I never thought I'd be when the day started out.

We woke up, refreshed after our side trip and a good night's sleep, ready to hit the Cape Peninsula in all it's glory. The first place we stopped was Simon's Town to visit "The Boulders," where there is a colony of penguins. You can scramble right up next to them. D had a field day taking their portraits and they really hammed it up for the camera. It's amazing how social they are. Farther down on the beach was an area where people were swimming and laying out, with penguins waddling around right next to them! The penguins were cute and all, but what I thought was even cooler were all the little tidal pools that had formed all over the boulders. They were little worlds unto themselves, inhabited by anemones, starfish (hard to the touch), little fish and snails. We also saw a giant jellyfish (think a little bigger than the size of a deflated basketball) on the beach; it was squishy to the touch.

After Simon's Town, we kept up our journey down the peninsula and wound up in Cape Peninsula National Park, where we climbed all the way to the tippy top of Cape Point at the very tip of the peninsula (check it out: http://www.capepoint.co.za/). It was really a hike and there were people from all over the world along the way. At the top, outside the lighthouse, there was a post with signs pointing in all directions of the world with different distances, so we took some pictures of D under the sign pointing to New York. : )

Then, we headed over to the tidal pools, which, for those of you who aren't familiar with them (I wasn't before I got here) are (roughly) Olympic pool-size areas of ocean cordoned off with cement walls to protect you from the rocks and creatures of the sea, but still allow you to swim. We were sooooooo excited to swim after our long, sweaty climb. But, oddly, the pool was totally empty of people when we got there. So, I ran down and put my toe in to find out if maybe it was just cold (the wind was whipping up a storm) and boy was it! We decided to just hang out in the car and take in the view for a while. As we sat, watching, a rotund, reddish-pink man wearing a Speedo and carrying a thermometer trotted down to the water from a picnic across the way. He spent the better part of 15 minutes taking the water temperature, putting his toe in, taking it out, walking away, coming back, and finally getting in the water, in what we decided was a big fuck you to me, after he'd seen my wussy one-toe-in performance. He was going to show me how it's done. D named him "The Big Baby" because he kind of toddled around like one and his Speedo really did bear a striking resemblence to a diaper. Sad as we were that we didn't get to swim in the tidal pool, watching The Big Baby's antics made the stop worth it.

We left the park then and headed back up the peninsula, parking on a cliff along the way to watch some guys paragliding and parasailing in the wild ocean - amazing! We decided to wrap up the day in Sea Point at the top of the Cape Peninsula. At one point, South Africa was vying to be an Olympic host city and in their bid to win the honor, built their Olympic swimming and diving facility in Sea Point right on the beach. I mean steps from the ocean. Unfortunately for SA, they didn't get the Olympics, BUT, they did get to keep the pools, which they opened to the public and that's where we wound up this afternoon. I jumped off the high diving board and even though I had no skillz like the other jumpers, it was still a rush. We lazed about in the kiddy pool and swam a lap in the gigantor lap pool. It was the perfect end to a great day. OR SO WE THOUGHT!! We got back into the car, talking about what we were going to eat, how tired we were, how good a shower would feel, etc. Key in the ignition, ready to hear the motor turn. Nothing. Again, Nothing. We finally figured out that I'd put the keys in the pocket of D's swim trunks and the alarm remote had gotten wet and now the car was permanently armed, therefore preventing us from starting it. So, we had to use the pay phone to get in touch with the rental company, only, the pay phone kept spontaneously hanging up on us in the middle of conversations as we stood in our soggy pool gear on the side of the main drag while the sun went down. Finally, Codwell, the very nice man from the rental car place showed up (bedecked in a lovely suit!) to rescue us and we were once again on our way, thankful our breakdown came in this situation instead of out in the middle of the desolate rocky plains we'd traversed the day before.

Now, we're home, fed and ready to shower off and hit the sack so we can wake up early tomorrow to visit Robben Island (where Nelson Mandela and thousands of others were imprisoned) and several of the Cape townships.

Today's vocab:

bathing suit = costume

We love you guys!!!

: )

Cross-country drive w/photos

2006-02-15T02:37:00.000-05:00

Hello from Paradise! Backpackers Paradise, that is, our hostel here in Outdshoorn (about an hour and a half inland, midway along the southern coast of South Africa)!

We wound up here after visiting the Garden Route Game Lodge, where we went on two safaris and saw elephants, giraffes, zebras, rhinos, lions, etc. (more to come later). Last night, we visited the national landmark Cango Caves (http://www.places.co.za/html/cango.html), which were amazing and went out for Valentine's dinner, where our waitress spoke five languages and had worked as an English teacher in South Korea and New York.

On our way to the park from Cape Town, we took a southerly turn to visit the southernmost point in all of Africa: Cape Agulhas. The town itself, I likened to an African Laguna Beach. And, really, much of what we've seen along the coast looks soooooooooooo much like SoCal! Cape Town has that feel, and D adds, a touch of the Bahamas. But, I've got to tell you, driving inland, it's nothing like what we expected (i.e. grassy savannah bending and swaying in the wind with sturdy trees dotting the horizon and lions and zebras peeking out). There are three different landscapes we keep seeing.

1) Eroded fields that stretch as far as you can see, where the land was cleared of its native vegetation for farming by the Dutch and now looks like the face of the moon, with only a few blades of dried grass here or there and sheep around every bend.
2) Breathtakingly beautiful, awesome (in the true sense of the word), Middle Earth-looking mountains painted with striking colors: Bright blue, bright green, slate gray, white boulders. As we drove into the mountains, we saw some baboons just hanging out on the side of the highway and later on, we saw sheep scrabbling up along the craggy top of a mountain.
3) Idyllic famlands in the valleys of the mountains, green grasses blowing in the wind, blue skies, windy little rivers and ostriches around every bend.

Let's talk about ostriches. They love their ostriches here. This morning, we had fresh, scrambled ostrich eggs for breakfast and they were quite delicious! We ate with a British couple who told us about the failed efforts to farm ostriches in the wet climate of Norfolk, England, when ostriches were "all the rage." There are all kinds of things made out of ostriches here (besides the food), including leather, decorative eggs, feather dusters, key chains, you name it! There are ostrich farms you can tour and they have ostrich races too (yes, people ride ostriches). But, there is a worrisome cloud on the ostrich horizon: As we've been driving, we've been listening to the South African public radio, which is abuzz with news about bird flu in Nigeria and elsewhere in Africa. Check it out:

http://www.cnn.com/2006/WORLD/africa/02/12/nigeria.flu.reut/index.html

This morning, we're getting ready to head out for a tour of the winelands on our way back to Cape Town! Hope you all had a good Valentine's Day!

Love you!

Leslie

Notes from the market w/photos

2006-02-13T01:49:00.000-05:00

This one'll be a quickie.

Just in case we aren't able to check in for the next few days, here's what we'll be up to: We're driving to a game park today (wish us luck driving on the left-hand side of the road) and we'll go on a safari tonight and another in the morning. Tomorrow afternoon we're going to go goof around at the beach at Mossel Bay on the Indian Ocean and then drive north to Outsdhoorn, where we'll spend the night and then go cave diving the next day. After that, we'll be driving home through wine country. We should get back to The Backpack on Wednesday or Thursday night.

Just a couple notes from yesterday: We woke up early and headed over to the market to buy presents. Here are some tips about these kinds of markets I'd like to offer:

1) Take a variety of change. A common scam: Say you agree on a price of $80 and give the vendor $100. Sometimes they will say they have no change and try to screw you. Avoid this by having exact change handy.
2) Throw a couple newspapers in your bags when you're packing. That way, if you buy something fragile, you can wrap it up so that it stays safe on the way hom.
3) You are going to see the same crap a million times over, so you don't need to start buying stuff up like a maniac straight out of the gate. Get a feel for what they're charging for stuff so you know what to bargain for.
4) If you engage a vendor in a bargaining battle and agree on a price, you should complete the sale. It's really rude to just walk away at the point, so unless you plan to buy, don't start a full-scale bargaining episdoe.

After the market, we came home, assessed our wares and then walked down to long street and split a pitcher of "The Green One" (lemondade, vodka and apple schnaps) and watched people walk by on the sidewalk. A beautiful lazy afternoon. There was a really good DJ playing a lot of Marley and the like and a hilarious picture of two mating rats casting a shadow on the wall entitled, "Two dirty fucking rats." Afterwards, we walked across the street to a little Mexican hole in the wall and had some DEE-lish food. Then, we came home and relaxed.

LOVE YOU!!!

Vocab:

traffic light = robot
gas station = garage or petrol station
gas = petrol (which, by the way costs about the same here)

Cape Town and Table Top Mountain w/photos

2006-02-12T00:38:00.000-05:00

OK, I think we've all learned a lesson from my last post: Do not drink and blog. My apologies for that stroke of genius. Another piece of business before I tell you about yesterday: If you're in The D, make sure you go down and visit THE DIRTY SHOW (http://www.dirtyshow.org/) - hope it's a great one Robin!

We had another great day yesterday. In the morning, we walked downtown, to the scene of the previous night's crimes to get some cash from the ATM. You have to be careful around here about taking cash out from the ATM because they say there's a lot fraud (or so we've been told). There are police officers all over the place who guard the ATMs and also, oddly, there are "parking marshalls," whose necessity we can't quite understand. They just stand along the sides of the road and tell people how to park (like they can't figure it out themselves?); it's like those people in bar bathrooms who expect a tip for handing you the napkin you could have pulled down yourself. In defense of the parking marshall, they do make it easier to pay your parking tickets: you can do it right there on the side of the road.

But I digress. Once we had cash in hand, we hopped on the the Hop On/Hop Off bus (which only costs $90R, which is about $15 - we think, and D points out that, and I think this goes without saying, that NEITHER of us are a math whiz). Anyway, this double-decker bus with an open-air top goes in a loop around the city, up the mountain and out along the coast while a guide narrates the key points along the journey. It's a really good value and yesterday's guide made me a lot less angry than the first day's Eurocentric, sweaty, make-up running-down-her face, sausage-fingered guide. An example.

Sausage fingers: And, to our left, you'll see the first tree ever planted in Africa! The Dutch planted it in 1688!

New guide: And, to our left, you'll see the first tree the Dutch planted here, in 1688.

The Hop On/Hop Off is a favorite of what D affectionately calls the "Khaki Patrol" (he is so jealous of their style): The older crowd, mostly Europeans, who come in what appears to be a uniform that they've agreed upon before traveling to this country. It's pretty standard, but there are a few variations because some of them like to get a little flashy. You MUST wear khakis (preferably pleated) and if you're feeling saucy, you can wear khaki shorts. You will either wear sensible orthopedic-looking shoes or Teva sandals with socks underneath. You will either sport gigantic wrap-around sunglasses or a huge wicker or khaki fabric hat (D describes as the "Indiana Jones" hat) with a little drawstring pulled up all the way to your chin. You will wear either a neutral-colored shirt (light blue is popular) or a T-shirt that says "Cape Town." A camera will dangle around your neck OR a fanny pack will adorn your fanny. FYI: Some British people in our hostel were mocking a Canadian they met for using the term "fanny pack," but I didn't catch the word they thought you should use instead. (One more style note: It seems like the bra is not too poplar with people who live here. We've seen all kinds of dangly jubblies bouncing and swinging around and I have seen more women's nipples/aeriolas through their shirts than I'd see if I leafed through Playboy. And, we're not just talking about young, attractive women here. But, I must admit, I'm coming to understand them and fantasize about letting the girls loose. It's hot man!)

So, we took the Hop On to the District Six museum, which was at the same time heartbreaking and inspiring. Apartheid has definitely left a scar on "The Rainbow Nation." Driving in from the airport, we passed an area coming into the city that looked like a war zone or (and I apologize to Detroit for this, but I'm trying to give you a visual) a decimated part of Detroit. Land full of rubble, falling-down apartment buildings with no cars parked outside, barbed wire. It was eerie (sp?). Our first day on the Hop On we found out it was District Six, a once-vibrant neighborhood where residents of mixed-race or who were black lived and worked. In 1966, the goverment decided to reconfigure the city in a modern, geometric grid and set about relocating the District Six residents to the outskirts of the city (called townships). Then, they razed most of the houses and busineses, destroying an entire community (not just houses, understand, but a community: jazz groups, beauty shops, etc.). Yesterday, when we went to the museum was the 40th anniversary of the relocation effort. There was a man touring the exhibits alongside us with what appeared to be his daughter, taking her past every picture, telling her about the people in them and his personal knowledge of the district. His family had lived there and their house had been destroyed. One of the displays talked about a maternity hospital that was one of the very few buildings spared the wrecking ball. A nurse testified that after the demolition of the district, there were no longer any buildings or plants to prevent erosion and terrible winds would whip up sand storms that forced them to stay inside, even as the sand crept in under doors and through cracks (and remember, this country is HOT, the sun in burning, blinding, blazing and the only way to keep cool is to have the breeze blowing through open doors and windows). The most twisted thing about it all is that the government eventually decided to give the district back to the original residents or pay them restitution. So in the end, all these people's lives were ripped apart to accomplish nothing. But, I said the museum was also inspiring too: At a certain point, the people had finally had enough. They weren't going to take any more. They were going to risk their lives to reclaim their autonomy and dignity. There were restrictive pass laws that required them to carry ID books at all times. If they didn't have their ID book on them, they'd be taken away and thrown in the slammed. One of the resistance leaders came up with the idea for everyone to show up on one day at police stations across the land without their pass books and demand to be arrested, in an effort to clog up the jails. During a sister act of protest in Sharpeville, chaos broke out and police shot and killed 69 protesters. But, by then, the resistance movement's momentum was unstoppable. It would be many years before the fall of apartheid, but the ball was in motion.

Next, we took a cable car up to the tippy top of Table Mountain. This is the part of the day where I started to become delirious (remember, we'd been out at the bar until 4:00 and woke up around 7:00, it was very hot and I may still have been drunk when we started out). For example: I pointed at a cloud shadow on the mountain in front of us and excitedly exclaimed to D, "Look at the dog!" The ride up was magnificent and a little scary. The cable cars were really cool because the floor rotated so everyone got a chance to see all the views. Up at the top, we took some great pictures - you can see forever, all the way out across the plains ... one woman said, quite authoritatively, to her boyfriend, "You can see for millions of miles."

At this point, I'd developed quite the case of the verbal diarrhea. I COULD NOT STOP TALKING. Without even thinking, I heard myself say, "You know what?!" as though I had a story to tell, only, there was no story. I had nothing. While we were waiting for the Hop On, D put me on a talking timeout, which I was forced to break in order to share a brilliant Baskin&Robbins rap I wrote in my head to the tune of 50 Cent's Candy Shop. A couple choice bits:

"burn a little greenery" = come on down to the ice creamery

"50's in the house, bounce" = 32 flavors in the house, bounce

We took the Hop On to the waterfront, had lunch/dinner, missed the last bus and walked through the city back to our hostel. The walk, even though long and while we were exhausted, was nice. We went through the marina and saw sailboats heading out to sea and through a craft mall (like Gibraltar Trade Center but without the rednecks and gun and knife show; don't worry, the astrologers and tarot card readers - some things never change), and of course, the weather is always brilliant, so it feels good just to be outside and alive. When we got home, we laid down in a little alcove outside our room and read some magazines while we intermittently watched clouds creep in over the mountain and napped. Finally, we went inside and passed out early.

Today's a new day! Can't wait to see what it will bring!

Love you!

A little vocab:

Katsup = Tomato sauce (a side note: I kept ordering katsup and every time, they kept saying, "Oh, you mean tomato sauce?" So, finally, yesterday, I decided to aks for tomato sauce, and the guy responded, "What? You want Schmirnoff?" What?! When did I say anthing about Schmirnoff? I mean, I did drink a Mojito at 11 a.m. the first day we were here, but I just don't want a Bloody Mary right now, man. I replied, "Tomato sauce" (pointing at my fries). He retorts, "Where are you from? Oh ... the U.S.? You know, we know what katsup is. You can just order katsup."

Bacon-and-egg roll = Egg sandwich with (Canadian) bacon

Coloured = South Africans of mixed race

Drunken post w/photos

2006-02-10T19:58:00.000-05:00

HALOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

OK, people we've been down on Long Street for a few hours; it's the main street for partying in Cape Town, and we've indulged in a few different bars, with my amiable traveling companion indulging me in dancing!!! For those of you who know me well ... imagine my pleasure! The day has been fantasic _ we fi sooooooooooooooiooooo much in!! Walked around the city, seeing the Green Market, the Company Gardens (where we saw photog taking pics of a woman in fire-engine red bondage gear), the South Africa National Gallery, where we say a lot of moving art, to the point that I cried, BUT, that was all made up for with a graphic and literal piece called "Horse on Man on Horse on Man," which reallly compensated for any melancholy. Let's just be honest, horses are HOT. So much more to say ... we took the Hop on Hop Off (aka rewrite shitty-ass history bus so that it's cheery happy by making it sound like the whole fucking country is happy about racial and otherwise injustice. AKA: (as narrated by our tour guide: "the coloreds were moved, but, the happy news is, tomorrow isthe 40th anniversary and they are being allowed to move back (because a taboo developed and none of the whites would move into the neighborhood); however, some of them (the displaced coloreds) are not happy. They say what has been taken can never be replaced, even by $1,7000 R (which translates .

But, that's not to make it sound like it was all bad! It was amazingling beautiful! We woke up to a view of blazing blue skies under Table Mountian and a calico cat winking outside our window, which we slept with open all night. We ate a breakfast of ostrich steak (mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmMM!), poached egg, toast, fruit salad, tea, coffee and juice at the foot of the mountian.

Then, we went out walking around town, to Green Square, where all the artisans sell their wares, and then we sat down on the stairs off a church to consult the map and plot our next move. We were confronted by a man who said to D, "Hey, my brother, why are you sitting on these steps? That is not good. I am so disappointed in you." We were so admonished by the gravity with which his words were delivered that we skedaddled. Later, we came to find out that the church was one where Archibishop Rev. Tutu had preached many of his sermons.

Really, that was just the start of a long, happy day, so I will wind up for now and give you the details later.

P.S. D and I went dancing. For anyone knows me: i am happy - ecstatic!

I LOVE YOU ALL!!!!!!

ALWAYS!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Leslie

Finally here!

2006-02-09T17:57:00.000-05:00

Loved ones!!!

After a looooooooooooooong journey across three continents and an ocean, we are sitting in an open-air bar in our hostel, feeling the warm breeze at the foot of Table Mountain, drinking some cold, delicious beers and listening to some great music. It is very close to heaven. We are excited and happy and will be back with more details tomorrow! Just wanted to check in and let you know we're safe and sound and ready to explore!

Leslie

Vacation excitation

2006-02-07T20:20:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow at this time, I should be on the bird, flying to South Africa. There'll be a three-hour layover in Amsterdam - but we figured we'd wind up spending the whole vacation in the Red Light District if we tried to fit it in! And, I certainly don't want to miss out on what's planned (and unplanned!): A stay at The Backpack hostel in Cape Town, with visits to Robben Island, the townships, Table Mountain and wine country; a drive along the Garden Route; a visit to Addo Elephant Park; and, hopefully, a romantic Valentine's Day in the beach town of Port Elizabeth, which is on the Indian Ocean. Then, we'll return to Cape Town for more fun in the sun, surf lessons and whatever else we can sink our teeth into!

I hope you'll all come along with us (at least electronically)! I'll try to post news of our adventures every day or two on this blog and I'll be checking my e-mail!

Love you!

Leslie