Is this for real?
We spent some time in class discussing the US-Mexico border and the form of travel that illegal migrants experience, risking everything to cross into this country at its most remote and dangerous point -- the Sonoran Desert. The excerpt we read from The Devil's Highway made the journey seem horrific...
But, apparently, tourists in a city in central Mexico can pay to pretend to cross the border, complete with fake border patrol guards. Their guides choose how harrowing they want their post-crossing journey to be -- whether they want to walk in the desert for an hour, or a 6-hour odyssey back and forth a river...
Illegal Immigration Simulation
Since when did border-crossing become a game? Maybe Professor Villegas can add "simulation travel" to the list of types of travel... but it just seems so ridiculous! It kind of reminds me of virtually traveling to Disneyland, via Google Earth. Or Angkor Wat. Or reading travel blogs. It's all a kind of simulation.
This article also says 6 million illegal Mexican immigrants are working in the US. That number is just astonishing.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
The "Real" India
So I checked out a slide show from the NY Times' Travel section:
Slide Show: Staying in the Real India
Accompanying article: Villagers in India Open Their Homes
So, instead of staying in 4-star hotels in New Delhi that get attacked by Pakistani terrorists, stay in rural villages for a better sense of the "real" India -- whatever that means (apparently rural, poor farmers). Great.
The problem is, when tourists visit rural places to view the great attraction that is "real" India, they tend to bring along some baggage. Observe:
* Unlike the other homes in the village, the tourist guestrooms have electricity, en-suite bathrooms with Western-style toilets and sinks with running water
* Buckets of hot water are lugged up to the rooms for bathing
* Cooks are trained in food hygiene! Good to know, since this is India, after all.
* Food is made especially less spicy. Awesome -- we certainly wouldn't want to challenge our delicate palettes.
* Daily life in the village is "humdrum" -- in stark contrast to your busy office back home!
* But you can still stare and snap photos of women farmers carrying enormous loads of produce on their backs. Suddenly the office doesn't seem so bad.
* You can even visit their religious sites. Nothing is too sacred for the intrepid tourist -- the whole world is yours to photograph, judge, walk all over, abandon, and write up in the next Lonely Planet guidebook or NY Times Travel article.
So much for the "real" India.
But then again, these people probably make good money offering homestays. The man has kids to feed, after all. I wonder if this is a trend that will catch on?
Slide Show: Staying in the Real India
Accompanying article: Villagers in India Open Their Homes
So, instead of staying in 4-star hotels in New Delhi that get attacked by Pakistani terrorists, stay in rural villages for a better sense of the "real" India -- whatever that means (apparently rural, poor farmers). Great.
The problem is, when tourists visit rural places to view the great attraction that is "real" India, they tend to bring along some baggage. Observe:
* Unlike the other homes in the village, the tourist guestrooms have electricity, en-suite bathrooms with Western-style toilets and sinks with running water
* Buckets of hot water are lugged up to the rooms for bathing
* Cooks are trained in food hygiene! Good to know, since this is India, after all.
* Food is made especially less spicy. Awesome -- we certainly wouldn't want to challenge our delicate palettes.
* Daily life in the village is "humdrum" -- in stark contrast to your busy office back home!
* But you can still stare and snap photos of women farmers carrying enormous loads of produce on their backs. Suddenly the office doesn't seem so bad.
* You can even visit their religious sites. Nothing is too sacred for the intrepid tourist -- the whole world is yours to photograph, judge, walk all over, abandon, and write up in the next Lonely Planet guidebook or NY Times Travel article.
So much for the "real" India.
But then again, these people probably make good money offering homestays. The man has kids to feed, after all. I wonder if this is a trend that will catch on?
Sunday, March 8, 2009
The Rolling Exhibition
I heard about this guy through a class taught by Joanne Woiak, called Disability and Society. Interesting class about a topic that I previously didn't know much about, which is part of the reason why I'm in college! Learning and thinking are great fun! The class provides good discussion material for me and my friends, or anyone who cares to talk about the way society's perceptions of people with impairments creates disability.
Anyway... the guy's name is Kevin Connolly. He has no legs. He travels the world while sitting on a skateboard, pushing himself down random streets, taking photographs of people staring at him. It is a unique form of travel. He has a unique perspective. I like that the people he photographs are staring at him because his unfamiliar body is different and visually arresting... but Connolly's collection of photographs shows just how wildly different ALL of humanity is. I like it.
The link:
The Rolling Exhibition
Anyway... the guy's name is Kevin Connolly. He has no legs. He travels the world while sitting on a skateboard, pushing himself down random streets, taking photographs of people staring at him. It is a unique form of travel. He has a unique perspective. I like that the people he photographs are staring at him because his unfamiliar body is different and visually arresting... but Connolly's collection of photographs shows just how wildly different ALL of humanity is. I like it.
The link:
The Rolling Exhibition
Monday, February 23, 2009
"The only real voyage of discovery consists not in seeing new landscapes, but in having new eyes, in seeing the universe with the eyes of another, of hundreds of others, in seeing the hundreds of universes that each of them sees." - Marcel Proust
I want to get dirty. I want to get so dirty, I don't recognize myself. I want get down in the mess, up close and personal. I want dirt under my nails, in my teeth, and between my bare toes. Part of life is messy and frightening and hungry and exhausted bodies and unclean and mean, and I haven't experienced enough of that. I want to sleep in it. I want to wake up in it. I want to sink my hands into the warm muck. I want to shake clouds of grit out of my shoes. I want to feel the earth pour through my fingers--from the red dust of Africa to the gray pebbles of the Himalayas. I want the ground to pound into the soles of my feet as I walk. I want the Earth to change me back as I leave footprints upon it. I want to breathe it; I want it in my soul. I want to walk past the end of the paved road, as far my feet will take me, and meet people who are intimately dependent upon the land and the water for their existence. I want to end the day as they do: sweaty and physically exhausted. And when I finally return to our society and wash off the layers of grime, when I look in the mirror, I don't want to recognize the person underneath, staring back at me.
I wish to meet marginalized people in rural settings. In these places far from the cities, where the soil is arid, the winds subzero, or the sun mercilessly hot and humid, people exist. If they do not speak my language, then I will learn their language. If there are no showers, then I will be dirty. If there is no food, then I will be hungry. If there are no roads to drive on, then I will walk. I will use local transportation as much as possible: foot, horse, or boat. I want to avoid the luxury of insulation from the grittiness of travel--the elements, the discomfort, and the people. On this journey, I propose riding through the western depths of the Himalayas on horseback, immersing myself in small holy towns along the entire length of the Ganges in India, paddling around the lower Mekong River in Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam, and getting muddy in the agricultural landscape of the Li River Valley in Southern China. Across an ocean, in Africa, I would begin by walking with the nomadic herding peoples of the Rift Valley in Kenya and Uganda, bumping along rocky roads into the remote Simian Mountains in Ethiopia, and finally ending my journey somewhere uncertain, in the south, as far as my feet will go...
In this era of new beginnings amid great uncertainty, I hope that I can join my generation emerging as a global generation, deeply concerned about the welfare of the rest of the world, passionate about our potential for positive impact, and aware that we are not morally, politically, or culturally superior by virtue of our birthright, privilege, or nationality. We can only embrace our potential for global participation by collectively moving beyond theories of our own superiority. Constructive discourse can only begin when we shed our static conceptions of non-Western cultures, immerse ourselves in the terrifying unknown, and insist upon forging living relationships based upon the inherent dignity and worth of all human beings. This requires deep humility, on the ground, in the dust. We each have a responsibility to try to understand the world from perspectives outside our own--and travel is the purest way to achieve humbling, direct experience.
Although it is impossible to be completely prepared to face the unknown, I believe I am ready to undertake this journey now. I am ready to test myself in a new way: no grades, no multiple choice, no fill-in-the-blank. The lessons that I have taken to heart in the last 22 years of my life will guide me into the unknown, and I do not know what will happen. I have learned that getting off the beaten track is dirty, difficult, and terrifyingly uncertain, but tenacity can lead to the most amazing experiences. I am tenacious. I have pushed myself and been pushed farther in four years than I ever thought was possible. My passion for discovery has taken me to many corners of this diverse institution, and this city. I seek the unexpected. I pursue the unexplained. I hone my mind. I take the academic and I expose it to the real world. Why am I ready for this journey? I want to see if what I think I know can withstand the most intense test ever, in an environment as far from an institution as I can get, and I am willing to risk everything. I will be open-minded because I have very little direct experience with life outside Eastern Washington and Seattle--everything will be new, challenging, and frightening, and that is why this journey will be incredibly transformational.
This journey would also be very difficult. Some challenges will be logistical: language barriers, staying healthy, finding food, water, a place to sleep, and transportation. The challenge of staying healthy will require malaria prophylaxis in West Africa, and an immunization against Yellow Fever. Avoiding Dengue Fever in Africa will require mosquito nets at night. Due to my possible proximity to rivers, I must prevent water-borne diseases such as schistosomiasis, cholera, and dysentery. I must be vigilant at all times to stay safe when I am alone. I am aware that risk is inherent in travel, but risk can be minimized by proper planning, communication with locals, being aware of my environment, and making sensible choices. I am also aware that some encounters will be very culturally challenging, and I will struggle in unfamiliar and disorienting situations. I seek these interactions. I look forward to challenging the way I normally interact with the world, and learning to interact with people on their terms. For example, in some cultures, people will get very close and speak very loudly to communicate. I would not retreat from this encounter. I would adapt. It will be messy. I am also excited for this journey's potential for positive impact upon the people and places I visit. By visiting places in developing regions where there is little tourist infrastructure, I would bring capitol away from the cities and back into the hands of the people in the margins, who live their lives in the dirt and the dust, people who experience the hardship and joy of life on the edge. I will try to learn from them. They will learn from me, too. I hope to build relationships on some level of mutual understanding, wherever we can find it--whether that exchange is money, food, laughter, or shared exhaustion at the end of a difficult day. As I meet new people, I would show them a new dimension of what Americans are like, and if they feel like enlightening me, I would see a new dimension of life in the eyes of a stranger. It may not be clean or pretty. It may be the dirty laundry of the human experience. That's okay--I want to get right in it.
ITINERARY
“A good traveler has no fixed plans, and is not intent on arriving.” - Lao Tzu
Flight: Seattle to Hong Kong (no visa fee): $800
>> CHINA – 8 weeks, July/August 2009 – Total Cost: ~$3200 (including flight from Seattle)
Visa: $130, Food: $15/day, Bed: $25/day (cheaper further West)
Train/bus (Shenzen, Yangshuo, Chengdu, Xi'an, Kashgar): $300
• Li/Yangtze River Valley by foot/bike/boat – 4 weeks, $1000
• Xinjiang Region (Western China, Gobi Desert, Uighurs, horseback) – 4 wks, $1000
>> NEPAL – 4 weeks – September 2009 – Total Cost: ~$1200
Visa: $40, Food: $10/day, Bed: $15/day
Flight from China: $300, Bus: $75
• Annapurna Trek to Sagarmatha (Everest) – 3 wks
• Chitwan National Park – 1 wk
>> INDIA – 8 weeks – October/November 2009 – Total Cost: ~$2000
Visa: $93, Food: $10/day, Bed: $15/day (more expensive around Pushkar Mela - $40/day)
Train/bus/jeep: $300;
• Source of the Ganges (Gomuki) to Kolkata, Ganges delta – 3 wks
• Ladakh, Leh – 3 wks
• Pushkar Mela (Camel Fair/Religious Pilgrimage) – 2 wks
>> VIETNAM – 1 week – December 2009 – Total Cost: ~$800
Multiple entry Visa: $85, Food: $10/day, Bed: $15/day
Flight: Kolkata, India → Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) - $400
• Mekong Delta, floating markets – 1 wk
>> CAMBODIA – 3-4 weeks – /December 2009, Total: ~$1000
Visa: $25, Food: $10/day, Bed: $10/day
• Ba Hon to Voen Kham (Mekong River)
>> LAOS – 4 weeks – January 2010, Total: ~$1000
Visa: $50, Food: $5-10/day, Bed: $5-10/day
• Si Phan Don to Luang Prabang (Mekong River) – go to Burma via Chiang Mai?
>> ETHIOPIA – 4 weeks – February 2010, Total: ~$3000 (including flight from Asia)
Visa: $70, Food: $20/day, Bed: $20/day
Flight: Ho Chi Minh to Delhi - $550, Delhi to Addis Ababa - $500
• Simien Mountain Range – 2 wks
• Source of the Blue Nile – Sakala – 2 wks
>> KENYA / UGANDA – 4 weeks, March 2010, Total: $2000
KENYA Visa: $50 / UGANDA Visa: $50, Bus: $40, Food: $15/day, Bed: $25/day
• Rift Valley – Maasai herding people
>> RWANDA – 3 weeks – April 2010 – Total: $1000
Visa: no fee, Food: $15/day, Bed: $20/day
• Volcanoes National Park – mountain peoples, gorillas
>> TANZANIA – 4 weeks – May 2010 – Total: $2000
Visa: $130, Food: $20/day, Bed: $25/day
• Serengeti, wildebeest migration
>> continue south with whatever funds I saved... flight back when I run out of money: $1600
>> MALAWI – Visa: no fee >> MOZAMBIQUE – Visa: $40 >> SOUTH AFRICA – Visa: no fee
BUDGETED COSTS: $20,000
I want to get dirty. I want to get so dirty, I don't recognize myself. I want get down in the mess, up close and personal. I want dirt under my nails, in my teeth, and between my bare toes. Part of life is messy and frightening and hungry and exhausted bodies and unclean and mean, and I haven't experienced enough of that. I want to sleep in it. I want to wake up in it. I want to sink my hands into the warm muck. I want to shake clouds of grit out of my shoes. I want to feel the earth pour through my fingers--from the red dust of Africa to the gray pebbles of the Himalayas. I want the ground to pound into the soles of my feet as I walk. I want the Earth to change me back as I leave footprints upon it. I want to breathe it; I want it in my soul. I want to walk past the end of the paved road, as far my feet will take me, and meet people who are intimately dependent upon the land and the water for their existence. I want to end the day as they do: sweaty and physically exhausted. And when I finally return to our society and wash off the layers of grime, when I look in the mirror, I don't want to recognize the person underneath, staring back at me.
I wish to meet marginalized people in rural settings. In these places far from the cities, where the soil is arid, the winds subzero, or the sun mercilessly hot and humid, people exist. If they do not speak my language, then I will learn their language. If there are no showers, then I will be dirty. If there is no food, then I will be hungry. If there are no roads to drive on, then I will walk. I will use local transportation as much as possible: foot, horse, or boat. I want to avoid the luxury of insulation from the grittiness of travel--the elements, the discomfort, and the people. On this journey, I propose riding through the western depths of the Himalayas on horseback, immersing myself in small holy towns along the entire length of the Ganges in India, paddling around the lower Mekong River in Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam, and getting muddy in the agricultural landscape of the Li River Valley in Southern China. Across an ocean, in Africa, I would begin by walking with the nomadic herding peoples of the Rift Valley in Kenya and Uganda, bumping along rocky roads into the remote Simian Mountains in Ethiopia, and finally ending my journey somewhere uncertain, in the south, as far as my feet will go...
In this era of new beginnings amid great uncertainty, I hope that I can join my generation emerging as a global generation, deeply concerned about the welfare of the rest of the world, passionate about our potential for positive impact, and aware that we are not morally, politically, or culturally superior by virtue of our birthright, privilege, or nationality. We can only embrace our potential for global participation by collectively moving beyond theories of our own superiority. Constructive discourse can only begin when we shed our static conceptions of non-Western cultures, immerse ourselves in the terrifying unknown, and insist upon forging living relationships based upon the inherent dignity and worth of all human beings. This requires deep humility, on the ground, in the dust. We each have a responsibility to try to understand the world from perspectives outside our own--and travel is the purest way to achieve humbling, direct experience.
Although it is impossible to be completely prepared to face the unknown, I believe I am ready to undertake this journey now. I am ready to test myself in a new way: no grades, no multiple choice, no fill-in-the-blank. The lessons that I have taken to heart in the last 22 years of my life will guide me into the unknown, and I do not know what will happen. I have learned that getting off the beaten track is dirty, difficult, and terrifyingly uncertain, but tenacity can lead to the most amazing experiences. I am tenacious. I have pushed myself and been pushed farther in four years than I ever thought was possible. My passion for discovery has taken me to many corners of this diverse institution, and this city. I seek the unexpected. I pursue the unexplained. I hone my mind. I take the academic and I expose it to the real world. Why am I ready for this journey? I want to see if what I think I know can withstand the most intense test ever, in an environment as far from an institution as I can get, and I am willing to risk everything. I will be open-minded because I have very little direct experience with life outside Eastern Washington and Seattle--everything will be new, challenging, and frightening, and that is why this journey will be incredibly transformational.
This journey would also be very difficult. Some challenges will be logistical: language barriers, staying healthy, finding food, water, a place to sleep, and transportation. The challenge of staying healthy will require malaria prophylaxis in West Africa, and an immunization against Yellow Fever. Avoiding Dengue Fever in Africa will require mosquito nets at night. Due to my possible proximity to rivers, I must prevent water-borne diseases such as schistosomiasis, cholera, and dysentery. I must be vigilant at all times to stay safe when I am alone. I am aware that risk is inherent in travel, but risk can be minimized by proper planning, communication with locals, being aware of my environment, and making sensible choices. I am also aware that some encounters will be very culturally challenging, and I will struggle in unfamiliar and disorienting situations. I seek these interactions. I look forward to challenging the way I normally interact with the world, and learning to interact with people on their terms. For example, in some cultures, people will get very close and speak very loudly to communicate. I would not retreat from this encounter. I would adapt. It will be messy. I am also excited for this journey's potential for positive impact upon the people and places I visit. By visiting places in developing regions where there is little tourist infrastructure, I would bring capitol away from the cities and back into the hands of the people in the margins, who live their lives in the dirt and the dust, people who experience the hardship and joy of life on the edge. I will try to learn from them. They will learn from me, too. I hope to build relationships on some level of mutual understanding, wherever we can find it--whether that exchange is money, food, laughter, or shared exhaustion at the end of a difficult day. As I meet new people, I would show them a new dimension of what Americans are like, and if they feel like enlightening me, I would see a new dimension of life in the eyes of a stranger. It may not be clean or pretty. It may be the dirty laundry of the human experience. That's okay--I want to get right in it.
ITINERARY
“A good traveler has no fixed plans, and is not intent on arriving.” - Lao Tzu
Flight: Seattle to Hong Kong (no visa fee): $800
>> CHINA – 8 weeks, July/August 2009 – Total Cost: ~$3200 (including flight from Seattle)
Visa: $130, Food: $15/day, Bed: $25/day (cheaper further West)
Train/bus (Shenzen, Yangshuo, Chengdu, Xi'an, Kashgar): $300
• Li/Yangtze River Valley by foot/bike/boat – 4 weeks, $1000
• Xinjiang Region (Western China, Gobi Desert, Uighurs, horseback) – 4 wks, $1000
>> NEPAL – 4 weeks – September 2009 – Total Cost: ~$1200
Visa: $40, Food: $10/day, Bed: $15/day
Flight from China: $300, Bus: $75
• Annapurna Trek to Sagarmatha (Everest) – 3 wks
• Chitwan National Park – 1 wk
>> INDIA – 8 weeks – October/November 2009 – Total Cost: ~$2000
Visa: $93, Food: $10/day, Bed: $15/day (more expensive around Pushkar Mela - $40/day)
Train/bus/jeep: $300;
• Source of the Ganges (Gomuki) to Kolkata, Ganges delta – 3 wks
• Ladakh, Leh – 3 wks
• Pushkar Mela (Camel Fair/Religious Pilgrimage) – 2 wks
>> VIETNAM – 1 week – December 2009 – Total Cost: ~$800
Multiple entry Visa: $85, Food: $10/day, Bed: $15/day
Flight: Kolkata, India → Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) - $400
• Mekong Delta, floating markets – 1 wk
>> CAMBODIA – 3-4 weeks – /December 2009, Total: ~$1000
Visa: $25, Food: $10/day, Bed: $10/day
• Ba Hon to Voen Kham (Mekong River)
>> LAOS – 4 weeks – January 2010, Total: ~$1000
Visa: $50, Food: $5-10/day, Bed: $5-10/day
• Si Phan Don to Luang Prabang (Mekong River) – go to Burma via Chiang Mai?
>> ETHIOPIA – 4 weeks – February 2010, Total: ~$3000 (including flight from Asia)
Visa: $70, Food: $20/day, Bed: $20/day
Flight: Ho Chi Minh to Delhi - $550, Delhi to Addis Ababa - $500
• Simien Mountain Range – 2 wks
• Source of the Blue Nile – Sakala – 2 wks
>> KENYA / UGANDA – 4 weeks, March 2010, Total: $2000
KENYA Visa: $50 / UGANDA Visa: $50, Bus: $40, Food: $15/day, Bed: $25/day
• Rift Valley – Maasai herding people
>> RWANDA – 3 weeks – April 2010 – Total: $1000
Visa: no fee, Food: $15/day, Bed: $20/day
• Volcanoes National Park – mountain peoples, gorillas
>> TANZANIA – 4 weeks – May 2010 – Total: $2000
Visa: $130, Food: $20/day, Bed: $25/day
• Serengeti, wildebeest migration
>> continue south with whatever funds I saved... flight back when I run out of money: $1600
>> MALAWI – Visa: no fee >> MOZAMBIQUE – Visa: $40 >> SOUTH AFRICA – Visa: no fee
BUDGETED COSTS: $20,000
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
by the way...
I had a bit of a traveler's epiphany the other day.
I had just finished applying for the most amazing Honors scholarship I could possibly imagine receiving (you know the one)... And I had to get out of my apartment.
The sun was going down, so I biked as fast as I could to Gasworks Park and arrived out of breath, exhilarated, blood pounding in my veins...
I meandered around and finally sat on a concrete wall at the edge of the water, alone, at the base of the hill.
I thought to myself, maybe the art of travel is learning to appreciate the place where you are: the people on the hill squawking about their lives... the gentle lapping of the water on a trash-strewn beach... the tinkling of dog collars on the path behind you... The funny thing about Gasworks is you don't actually see the sun set. What you see is the sun illuminating the downtown skyscrapers' glass... brilliant fire orange... blinding color, burning star in your eyes, flickering over the water, warming the colors, making brown buildings golden, making gray skies purple and pink... and the sounds! I wondered what it would be like to be deaf for your whole life, and then suddenly be able to hear! the sounds of the world are a symphony. i swear. In silence and alone, I listened to the sunset sing like angels -- nonexistent to the passerby, only appreciable to those who sit and listen to the undeniable beauty of life echoing and reverberating in the soul... watch the ripples on the water, watch the colors change... watch the boats drift by, watch the sails go down... watch the last beams of sunlight from our life-giving star glint off the windshields of cars on the freeway... watch the fire of a skyscaper burn into your eye sockets go right through your head melt down deep into the core of your being...
hear the symphony fade as the light dies... sink into the still sleep of night...
It is a show. We were made to experience it. I can come up with no other reason for why we exist.
I want to see as much of it as I can.
*crossing my fingers for this scholarship*
I had just finished applying for the most amazing Honors scholarship I could possibly imagine receiving (you know the one)... And I had to get out of my apartment.
The sun was going down, so I biked as fast as I could to Gasworks Park and arrived out of breath, exhilarated, blood pounding in my veins...
I meandered around and finally sat on a concrete wall at the edge of the water, alone, at the base of the hill.
I thought to myself, maybe the art of travel is learning to appreciate the place where you are: the people on the hill squawking about their lives... the gentle lapping of the water on a trash-strewn beach... the tinkling of dog collars on the path behind you... The funny thing about Gasworks is you don't actually see the sun set. What you see is the sun illuminating the downtown skyscrapers' glass... brilliant fire orange... blinding color, burning star in your eyes, flickering over the water, warming the colors, making brown buildings golden, making gray skies purple and pink... and the sounds! I wondered what it would be like to be deaf for your whole life, and then suddenly be able to hear! the sounds of the world are a symphony. i swear. In silence and alone, I listened to the sunset sing like angels -- nonexistent to the passerby, only appreciable to those who sit and listen to the undeniable beauty of life echoing and reverberating in the soul... watch the ripples on the water, watch the colors change... watch the boats drift by, watch the sails go down... watch the last beams of sunlight from our life-giving star glint off the windshields of cars on the freeway... watch the fire of a skyscaper burn into your eye sockets go right through your head melt down deep into the core of your being...
hear the symphony fade as the light dies... sink into the still sleep of night...
It is a show. We were made to experience it. I can come up with no other reason for why we exist.
I want to see as much of it as I can.
*crossing my fingers for this scholarship*
why I write...
"Go for broke. Always try and do too much. Dispense with safety nets. Take a deep breath before you begin talking. Aim for the stars. Keep grinning. Be bloody-minded. Argue with the world. And never forget that writing is as close as we get to keeping a hold on the thousand and one things--childhood, certainties, cities, doubts, dreams, instants, phrases, parents, loves--that go on slipping , like sand, through our fingers."
Salman Rushdie
Salman Rushdie
Monday, February 9, 2009
Volunteer Park REDUX
It is cold today. It snowed last night and there is still patchy gray snow on the ground. The air stings your face and the bright sun shines weakly behind a thin screen of grey clouds. I thought the weather was getting better? I was wrong.
I was in a bad mood as I left an office-hour meeting with a professor and headed for the bus stop to Capitol Hill and Volunteer Park. This has happened before: I work so hard on a paper, I am fully committed to it, I turn it in, and it gets shot down mercilessly. He's right. When your best teachers are also your best critics, the relationship isn't always a pleasant one.
So I needed to get out.
The 49 to Capitol Hill stopped in front of a pizza place that was filled with high school students today. It's that time of day; they're just getting out of class. Almost a dozen stood outside the restaurant waiting for the 49. They traveled in groups of two or three, got on the bus, and chattered noisily. There was also a flamboyantly dressed young man with white cowboy boots and matching bleach-blond hair down to his shoulder. When a high school girl in a wheelchair got on the bus, he lifted the disabled seat so she had room. How considerate!
I got off the bus and released my bike from the rack on the front of the bus. I took the opposite way through Volunteer Park that I took the first time I visited. It was just as deserted this time around. There were about a half-dozen people with dogs wandering around, and another half-dozen joggers in jogging suits bouncing through the trees. I biked to a small playground and got out to take a look. I could see in the untouched snow that no children had played here today. Too cold. But there was an abandoned mitten, abandoned small toys. I could almost hear the echoes of kids playing here... I noticed an engraving in the ground: "Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue, and the dreams that you dared to dream once do come true."
I biked up the hill to the Conservatory to explore it again. I couldn't wait to escape the cold for some warm air. When I entered the building, the humidity instantly hit me. I breathed deeply and smelled the sweet delicate scents of flowers. There were new orchids to gaze at, and I took my time examining the intricate flowers. I noticed little sticky nubs and basin-like petals covered in delicate, beautiful patterns. Each type of orchid was unique. I could smell the palm trees and it reminded me of Hawaii, lush and tropical, warm, sweet, earthy. It's such a treat to have this place to visit, an escape from a cold day in Seattle...
I overheard a conversation between two people about intelligent design... One man thought that there was no way these plants could exist on this planet in such diversity, with such great variations that had apparently no purpose, completely by chance. The other man said, if you had a giant workshop and hundreds of millions of years to play around, it's completely possible that all this could happen on its own.
I moved on to the perennial room and again located the gardenias-- my favorite flower. I smelled the luscious gardenia flowers deeply for several minutes, relishing in the silky sweet scent, missing spring. I noticed there were many new types of flowers--including a type that was like a carpet of bright flowers. There were several pots of these flowers in different colors.
There were other people wandering around in this area, so I went to the cactus room. People looking at plants are interesting. Some snap dozens of pictures and look hard at every specimen. Others are more interested in talking to their companion, and only point out the most interesting plants. Others visit the conservatory with their kids. One little girl was so excited she kept reminding her parents, "Don't touch the sharp things!"
I left the desert room to visit the plants in the opposite wing. This time I took a closer look at the collection in the middle of the room: they were air plants! I had some of these a long time ago. They have no roots, and instead get all their nutrients from the air and rain. They send off long stems where other air plants bud off. In the wild, these plants drop their buds and the plants then grow on other parts of the host plant where they are attached. How cool!
It was getting late and I decided to head out...
I visited an art sculpture up the street that looks like a giant tractor tire. I climbed inside the middle of it and was amazed by the beautiful view of the Space Needle, the water, and the setting sun over several islands in the distance. It felt nice to be outside. Then I visited the koi pond, and noticed a man with a bag of old bread feeding the ducks and taking pictures. The man had a weathered face and old, broken-in clothes. He had a brown rucksack, and he took out his film camera to take pictures of the ducks eating the bread he gave them.
I left them in peace and decided it was time to go home and get started on my homework. So I biked down the hill, going as fast as the cars, narrowly missing potholes and wondering what it would be like if the front wheel of my bike fell off unexpectedly...
I was in a bad mood as I left an office-hour meeting with a professor and headed for the bus stop to Capitol Hill and Volunteer Park. This has happened before: I work so hard on a paper, I am fully committed to it, I turn it in, and it gets shot down mercilessly. He's right. When your best teachers are also your best critics, the relationship isn't always a pleasant one.
So I needed to get out.
The 49 to Capitol Hill stopped in front of a pizza place that was filled with high school students today. It's that time of day; they're just getting out of class. Almost a dozen stood outside the restaurant waiting for the 49. They traveled in groups of two or three, got on the bus, and chattered noisily. There was also a flamboyantly dressed young man with white cowboy boots and matching bleach-blond hair down to his shoulder. When a high school girl in a wheelchair got on the bus, he lifted the disabled seat so she had room. How considerate!
I got off the bus and released my bike from the rack on the front of the bus. I took the opposite way through Volunteer Park that I took the first time I visited. It was just as deserted this time around. There were about a half-dozen people with dogs wandering around, and another half-dozen joggers in jogging suits bouncing through the trees. I biked to a small playground and got out to take a look. I could see in the untouched snow that no children had played here today. Too cold. But there was an abandoned mitten, abandoned small toys. I could almost hear the echoes of kids playing here... I noticed an engraving in the ground: "Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue, and the dreams that you dared to dream once do come true."
I biked up the hill to the Conservatory to explore it again. I couldn't wait to escape the cold for some warm air. When I entered the building, the humidity instantly hit me. I breathed deeply and smelled the sweet delicate scents of flowers. There were new orchids to gaze at, and I took my time examining the intricate flowers. I noticed little sticky nubs and basin-like petals covered in delicate, beautiful patterns. Each type of orchid was unique. I could smell the palm trees and it reminded me of Hawaii, lush and tropical, warm, sweet, earthy. It's such a treat to have this place to visit, an escape from a cold day in Seattle...
I overheard a conversation between two people about intelligent design... One man thought that there was no way these plants could exist on this planet in such diversity, with such great variations that had apparently no purpose, completely by chance. The other man said, if you had a giant workshop and hundreds of millions of years to play around, it's completely possible that all this could happen on its own.
I moved on to the perennial room and again located the gardenias-- my favorite flower. I smelled the luscious gardenia flowers deeply for several minutes, relishing in the silky sweet scent, missing spring. I noticed there were many new types of flowers--including a type that was like a carpet of bright flowers. There were several pots of these flowers in different colors.
There were other people wandering around in this area, so I went to the cactus room. People looking at plants are interesting. Some snap dozens of pictures and look hard at every specimen. Others are more interested in talking to their companion, and only point out the most interesting plants. Others visit the conservatory with their kids. One little girl was so excited she kept reminding her parents, "Don't touch the sharp things!"
I left the desert room to visit the plants in the opposite wing. This time I took a closer look at the collection in the middle of the room: they were air plants! I had some of these a long time ago. They have no roots, and instead get all their nutrients from the air and rain. They send off long stems where other air plants bud off. In the wild, these plants drop their buds and the plants then grow on other parts of the host plant where they are attached. How cool!
It was getting late and I decided to head out...
I visited an art sculpture up the street that looks like a giant tractor tire. I climbed inside the middle of it and was amazed by the beautiful view of the Space Needle, the water, and the setting sun over several islands in the distance. It felt nice to be outside. Then I visited the koi pond, and noticed a man with a bag of old bread feeding the ducks and taking pictures. The man had a weathered face and old, broken-in clothes. He had a brown rucksack, and he took out his film camera to take pictures of the ducks eating the bread he gave them.
I left them in peace and decided it was time to go home and get started on my homework. So I biked down the hill, going as fast as the cars, narrowly missing potholes and wondering what it would be like if the front wheel of my bike fell off unexpectedly...
Thursday, February 5, 2009
The Frontier
Ran Hennes said some interesting things in class on Wednesday that got the wheels turning in my brain, but I didn't have anything good to say at the time.
He asked us if there were any frontiers left for the traveler. There is no more honorable death at the top of the highest mountain in the world, or forging toward the South Pole for the first time. The only new frontier is space. Adventurers must go deep under the Arctic ice in the winter to find new adventures nowadays. Where once intrepid wanderers were automatically travelers simply by visiting foreign lands, today it has all been done, and we are all tourists. That is Fussel's view. Hennes said that he had friends who were so cynical of tourism that they refused to travel.
This is how I should have replied:
Yes, the frontier is changing. There is no more New World, there is no more uncharted South Pole. Every inch of the earth has been mapped by satellites and put on the Internet, where it is easily accessible in the comfort of your living room. The only uncontacted people only stay uncontacted because there are strict laws prohibiting the flood of tourism. Many economies depend on tourists, cater to tourists, and their culture revolves around the tourist industry.
So what is left to discover? Why travel?
I think in this era of increased human connection, we have an unprecedented opportunity to forge new bridges with people who were once inaccessible due to language or location. We have new opportunities to learn from people who can challenge the way we view the world. In this way of traveling, we discover as much about ourselves as the places we visit. It is a way of traveling that can give back to the places you visit--by discovering the humanity that unites us, by celebrating life, by sharing what we have and bringing joy in communion.
This frontier never gets old.
To the people who do not travel because they do not want to be tourists, I say, stay home. The anti-tourist is an elitist, incapable of discovering the joy of sharing a meal with a stranger, watching the sunset and the stars, swimming in the ocean or sleeping on a beach--finding your humanity outside your closed universe. If the world outside your home appears cold and dead, then something inside your soul has died. There is always something to find, something to learn, something to inspire--if you look. But looking requires humility. It requires accepting that your bounded life is not a monopoly on the human experience. Once this is accepted, millions of worlds blossom...infinite encounters, infinite spaces to discover, infinite opportunities to go where no one has gone before--because the world changes in the blink of an eye. And suddenly, the world opens up...
So what if you aren't the first European to venture into the Far East?
So what if you will never plant the first flag on the South Pole?
You are the first YOU to visit those places -- and the only question is, what do you do with your only opportunity? Anything is possible. You are a traveler, your life is your journey, and that is your frontier.
He asked us if there were any frontiers left for the traveler. There is no more honorable death at the top of the highest mountain in the world, or forging toward the South Pole for the first time. The only new frontier is space. Adventurers must go deep under the Arctic ice in the winter to find new adventures nowadays. Where once intrepid wanderers were automatically travelers simply by visiting foreign lands, today it has all been done, and we are all tourists. That is Fussel's view. Hennes said that he had friends who were so cynical of tourism that they refused to travel.
This is how I should have replied:
Yes, the frontier is changing. There is no more New World, there is no more uncharted South Pole. Every inch of the earth has been mapped by satellites and put on the Internet, where it is easily accessible in the comfort of your living room. The only uncontacted people only stay uncontacted because there are strict laws prohibiting the flood of tourism. Many economies depend on tourists, cater to tourists, and their culture revolves around the tourist industry.
So what is left to discover? Why travel?
I think in this era of increased human connection, we have an unprecedented opportunity to forge new bridges with people who were once inaccessible due to language or location. We have new opportunities to learn from people who can challenge the way we view the world. In this way of traveling, we discover as much about ourselves as the places we visit. It is a way of traveling that can give back to the places you visit--by discovering the humanity that unites us, by celebrating life, by sharing what we have and bringing joy in communion.
This frontier never gets old.
To the people who do not travel because they do not want to be tourists, I say, stay home. The anti-tourist is an elitist, incapable of discovering the joy of sharing a meal with a stranger, watching the sunset and the stars, swimming in the ocean or sleeping on a beach--finding your humanity outside your closed universe. If the world outside your home appears cold and dead, then something inside your soul has died. There is always something to find, something to learn, something to inspire--if you look. But looking requires humility. It requires accepting that your bounded life is not a monopoly on the human experience. Once this is accepted, millions of worlds blossom...infinite encounters, infinite spaces to discover, infinite opportunities to go where no one has gone before--because the world changes in the blink of an eye. And suddenly, the world opens up...
So what if you aren't the first European to venture into the Far East?
So what if you will never plant the first flag on the South Pole?
You are the first YOU to visit those places -- and the only question is, what do you do with your only opportunity? Anything is possible. You are a traveler, your life is your journey, and that is your frontier.
Travel Quote
“Adventure is a path. Real adventure - self-determined, self-motivated, often risky - forces you to have firsthand encounters with the world. The world the way it is, not the way you imagine it. Your body will collide with the earth and you will bear witness. In this way you will be compelled to grapple with the limitless kindness and bottomless cruelty of humankind - and perhaps realize that you yourself are capable of both. This will change you. Nothing will ever again be black-and-white.”
- Mark Jenkins
"There is no happiness for him who does not travel... Living in the society of men, the best man becomes a sinner... Therefore wander! The fortune of him who is sitting sits; it rises when he rises; it sleeps when he sleeps; it moves when he moves. Therefore wander!"
- Aitareya Brahmana (600 BC?)
"Like all great travelers, I have seen more than I remember, and remember more than I have seen."
- Benjamin Disraeli
"May all your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view, where something strange and more beautiful and more full of wonder than your deepest dreams waits for you."
-Edward Abbey
"The only real voyage of discovery consists not in seeing new landscapes, but in having new eyes, in seeing the universe with the eyes of another, of hundreds of others, in seeing the hundreds of universes that each of them sees."
- Marcel Proust
"Yes there are two paths you can go by
but in the long run
There's still time to change the road you're on"
- "Stairway to Heaven" , Led Zeppelin
"Stripped of your ordinary surroundings, your friends, your daily routines, your refrigerator full of food, your closet full of clothes - with all this taken away you are forced into direct experience. Such direct experience inevitably makes you aware of who it is that is having the experience. That's not always comfortable but it is always invigorating."
- Michael Crichton
"So many people live with unhappy circumstances and yet will not take the initiative to change their situation because they are conditioned to a life of security, conformity, and conservatism, all of which appear to give one peace of mind, but in reality nothing is more damaging to the adventurous spirit within a man than a secure future. The very basic core of a man's living spirit is his passion for adventure. The joy of life comes from encounters with new experiences, and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each new day to have a new and different sun. If you want to get more out of life you must lose your inclination for monotonous security and adopt a helter-skelter style of life that will at first appear crazy. But once you have become accustomed to such a life you will see its full meaning and incredible beauty."
- Alexander Supertramp, aka Chris McCandless
- Mark Jenkins
"There is no happiness for him who does not travel... Living in the society of men, the best man becomes a sinner... Therefore wander! The fortune of him who is sitting sits; it rises when he rises; it sleeps when he sleeps; it moves when he moves. Therefore wander!"
- Aitareya Brahmana (600 BC?)
"Like all great travelers, I have seen more than I remember, and remember more than I have seen."
- Benjamin Disraeli
"May all your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view, where something strange and more beautiful and more full of wonder than your deepest dreams waits for you."
-Edward Abbey
"The only real voyage of discovery consists not in seeing new landscapes, but in having new eyes, in seeing the universe with the eyes of another, of hundreds of others, in seeing the hundreds of universes that each of them sees."
- Marcel Proust
"Yes there are two paths you can go by
but in the long run
There's still time to change the road you're on"
- "Stairway to Heaven" , Led Zeppelin
"Stripped of your ordinary surroundings, your friends, your daily routines, your refrigerator full of food, your closet full of clothes - with all this taken away you are forced into direct experience. Such direct experience inevitably makes you aware of who it is that is having the experience. That's not always comfortable but it is always invigorating."
- Michael Crichton
"So many people live with unhappy circumstances and yet will not take the initiative to change their situation because they are conditioned to a life of security, conformity, and conservatism, all of which appear to give one peace of mind, but in reality nothing is more damaging to the adventurous spirit within a man than a secure future. The very basic core of a man's living spirit is his passion for adventure. The joy of life comes from encounters with new experiences, and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each new day to have a new and different sun. If you want to get more out of life you must lose your inclination for monotonous security and adopt a helter-skelter style of life that will at first appear crazy. But once you have become accustomed to such a life you will see its full meaning and incredible beauty."
- Alexander Supertramp, aka Chris McCandless
John Lennon: The Lost 1969 Interview on Peace
1969 interview of John Lennon by a 14 year-old kid who snuck into Lennon's hotel and asked him about the meaning of peace.
My generation will be the institution someday. What will the world look like? Will we be fixing the problems created by our parents, who were trying to fix the problems created by their parents? Will we make the world a better place? What would that look like?
Monday, February 2, 2009
thoughts
Does the history of travel writing illustrate the history of Western expansion and perceived moral, political, and cultural dominance?
These are people going to places where fresh European and American minds have never been before, experiencing places, telling their tales, profiting from their tales, and moving on to bigger and better journeys... Gradually expanding Eastward, and Westward, until the entire planet has virtually been conquered by travelers. What are they seeking? What do they learn? Is there ever any critical feedback into their home cultures, do they ever absorb a different way of living and bring it back? Or do they just seek visceral gratification in sights, sounds, tastes, perpetuating the system of elite/servant?
Why doesn't Fussel include travel writing from any perspectives other than European and American? What might the 'other' side of travel writing look like? What would it look like if a Saharan nomad won $20,000 and the freedom to travel the world?
I would read that book.
These are people going to places where fresh European and American minds have never been before, experiencing places, telling their tales, profiting from their tales, and moving on to bigger and better journeys... Gradually expanding Eastward, and Westward, until the entire planet has virtually been conquered by travelers. What are they seeking? What do they learn? Is there ever any critical feedback into their home cultures, do they ever absorb a different way of living and bring it back? Or do they just seek visceral gratification in sights, sounds, tastes, perpetuating the system of elite/servant?
Why doesn't Fussel include travel writing from any perspectives other than European and American? What might the 'other' side of travel writing look like? What would it look like if a Saharan nomad won $20,000 and the freedom to travel the world?
I would read that book.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Links!
I just stumbled upon this and am quickly getting sucked into the writing... Brave New Traveler
Also, in case anyone is looking up budgeting for rail journeys or ship journeys, this site is quite useful: Seat 61 - How to travel by train or ship in many parts of the world
Travel Pod! - Read thousands of blogs of people who have gone almost everywhere.
WikiTravel! - The Wikipedia of travel information. Of course whatever you find here is dubious, but it's definitely a great starting point. They have pages on lots of places!
And then if you hear of a cool place and want to see what it looks like...
Flickr! - Type the name of the place you want to check out in their search. Can be biased toward pictures that people with cameras would take - for example, I was looking at Kinshasa, Congo, a while back and was surprised to see lots of nightlife pictures. This site really puts a human face on a lot of travel destinations!
Also, in case anyone is looking up budgeting for rail journeys or ship journeys, this site is quite useful: Seat 61 - How to travel by train or ship in many parts of the world
Travel Pod! - Read thousands of blogs of people who have gone almost everywhere.
WikiTravel! - The Wikipedia of travel information. Of course whatever you find here is dubious, but it's definitely a great starting point. They have pages on lots of places!
And then if you hear of a cool place and want to see what it looks like...
Flickr! - Type the name of the place you want to check out in their search. Can be biased toward pictures that people with cameras would take - for example, I was looking at Kinshasa, Congo, a while back and was surprised to see lots of nightlife pictures. This site really puts a human face on a lot of travel destinations!
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Sal Paradise at 50
Today I asked why Kerouac wasn't assigned in the reading. I love Kerouac. The prose ignites on the page, it's impossible to read the story without your soul catching fire too, feeling the beat and the excitement and the spirit of the time. I think I know why he wasn't assigned-- the story isn't so much about the places he travels as the people he meets and the things they do. It isn't so much travel writing as it is the voice of a generation taking flight on the road...
Note: I love the book, but I don't glorify Kerouac or Moriarty. If you want a more accurate portrayal of the two womanizing, deadbeat dads, read Off The Road by Carolyn Cassady, wife of Neal Cassady who is portrayed as Dean Moriarty in Kerouac's road book. She talks about how he was constantly leaving her penniless and alone with their young sons, how he would bring back strangers, raid all the food in the house, and then leave for days... cool guy, huh?
Anyway...
Some guy wrote an awesome op-ed for the NY Times a long time ago called Sal Paradise at 50. It's a great article. I read it and fell in love with the last sentence:
"Someday some hypermanic kid will produce a moronically maxed-out adventure odyssey that will spark the overdue rebellion among all the over-pressured SAT grinds, and us grumpy midlife critics will get to witness a new Kerouac, and the greatest pent-up young-life crisis in the history of the world.” - David Brooks
Note: I love the book, but I don't glorify Kerouac or Moriarty. If you want a more accurate portrayal of the two womanizing, deadbeat dads, read Off The Road by Carolyn Cassady, wife of Neal Cassady who is portrayed as Dean Moriarty in Kerouac's road book. She talks about how he was constantly leaving her penniless and alone with their young sons, how he would bring back strangers, raid all the food in the house, and then leave for days... cool guy, huh?
Anyway...
Some guy wrote an awesome op-ed for the NY Times a long time ago called Sal Paradise at 50. It's a great article. I read it and fell in love with the last sentence:
"Someday some hypermanic kid will produce a moronically maxed-out adventure odyssey that will spark the overdue rebellion among all the over-pressured SAT grinds, and us grumpy midlife critics will get to witness a new Kerouac, and the greatest pent-up young-life crisis in the history of the world.” - David Brooks
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Lost In Seattle
11pm, at the bus stop outside Macy's--you know, where all the 70s stop to go from Downtown Seattle to the University District... an interesting sight: a young man and a woman my age with a boombox pounding the Notorious B.I.G., dancing unashamed, rocking hard to the beat, singing, lost in their own hazy world... and 10 feet away, two white-haired white women standing stiffly, clutching their purses, eying the dancers warily... Such great cultural distance between these two pairs! Right next to each other! In the same city, at the same bus stop!
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Why We Travel
New York Time's online travel section is fun to peruse occasionally. Normally they do "36 Hours in ___"-type travel writing. Or they'll have a piece like "A Seattle That Won't Blend In" -- (Fremont, of course) . Interesting attractions, etc. Not too deep.
They also have a slide show section, which I look through more often than I read their travel writing. A while back, I came upon this slide show. It ties into our discussion on the first day, about types of travelers and traveling:
Why We Travel
Enjoy! :)
-Sarah
They also have a slide show section, which I look through more often than I read their travel writing. A while back, I came upon this slide show. It ties into our discussion on the first day, about types of travelers and traveling:
Why We Travel
Enjoy! :)
-Sarah
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Volunteer Park
Seattle is a miserable place to live in the winter. You go weeks without seeing the sun and months without seeing stars. Everything dies. Everything is wet. The clouds are constantly overcast; a heavy slate-gray blanket compresses the city and chases people into warm bars, bright cafes, sweaty shows, friendly kitchens. This city in January is wet gloom punctuated by miracles of color and warmth--hard to find, tucked away, but there for those who seek it.
Today is January 12. It is about 2 o'clock in the afternoon.
I am taking a bus to Capitol Hill. I have my bike. I am vaguely headed to Volunteer Park. I might get lost or sidetracked, but that's usually when the interesting stuff happens anyway. I travel to lose myself and find something I never expected.
I am standing at a bus stop on the corner of 15th and 43rd, across the street from the University of Washington Law School. The 49 arrives, finally. My first obstacle of this journey is getting my beloved bike (red/silver Specialized Hard Rock) on the front of a Metro Bus. The bike rack is alarmingly rickety and I spend most of the ride up to Capitol Hill on the edge of my seat, waiting to see it bounce off and crushed under the tires of the bus. I relax only long enough to observe the unemployed midday crowd: a scruffy college guy with blond hair halfway down his back, an elderly Asian woman and her friend, a man with tribal tattoos on his chin and the sides of his face.
I ask the college guy if he knows where Volunteer Park is. He tells me to get off at the next stop and go up the hill.
I get off and release my bike from the jaws of death. As I stand on 10th waiting for traffic so I can cross the street, the sun breaks through the clouds and I shift so it's directly on my face and I close my eyes and I feel my cheeks slowly get warmer and I smile. Finally. It's been days since I have seen the sun. The people on the sidewalk, hunched in their dark coats, are suddenly out of place. The gritty streets and grimy storefronts selling cheap food are suddenly disgusting, illuminated in the sun. But it lasts only minutes. The clouds return and envelop the world and the palette fades to gray. Grit and grime are natural in this state.
I ride up the hill to the park.
I ride past brick mansions big enough to be hotels, but there are no signs in front.
I ride until I find the reservoir.
I find some kind of large, moss-covered monument in a stand of trees, comprised of a broad cobbled platform to approach a 10-foot block of granite with statues of a man and woman either side. The inscription reads, Thomas Burke. The same Burke of the Burke-Gillman Trail? The same Burke of the Burke Museum? Probably. One of Seattle's greatest heroes, apparently. The faces are dusted with moss, but still striking with the powerful stare and posture of a god and goddess. The inscription around the monument reads "Faithful unto death in the promotion of understanding and amity among nations." Embedded in the platform are two stone mosaic maps: one of East Asia, and one of the Pacific Northwest. I am now curious why this man is so revered, and reminded once again how little I know about this city after three and a half years of living here. I am frequently surprised.
I push onward. I find a koi pond, and toss bits of food to a fish with vibrant orange and black scales. It reminds me of a tiger. A man pushing a stroller walks up next to me and we say hello. One of his three kids asks me what I am doing, and I show him the bread. I ask the man if this is Volunteer Park. He says yes. He points in the direction I should go to see the rest of it. He says there is a Conservatory that is free to the public.
So I go in that direction. I go past the Tractor Tire, where four high school kids are sitting and smoking cigarettes, out of class for the day. I go past a large grassy lawn that slopes down to an amphitheater. The expansive slope is deserted, except for a woman walking her large, fluffy black dog nearby. I continue until I see what must be the Conservatory. It looks a lot like the Conservatory in Golden Gate Park in San Francisco, but smaller, and free. A white building with glass walls and ceiling, with a large dome in the center and two wings.
Inside, I am greeted with hot, humid air and the smell of flowers. A rainbow of orchids burst from either side, their spindly petals unearthly yet alluring. Tall palms with leaves the size of umbrellas loom over my head. I can smell moist, fertile earth. Like the rest of the park, the Conservatory is nearly deserted. I take my time wandering among the plants. I move through a door to the wing on the right. Instantly I smell gardenias. The sun comes out again, and through the tinted glass ceiling I again feel my spirits lift. There are flowers all around me--I haven't seen this many flowers since the summer. There are neon pink ones with large upright petals, white ones in bunches, tiny yellow ones with round petals, flowers glistening with the soft, crisp freshness of new life. I find the gardenias, and spend minutes with my head bent, smelling them, remembering spring. Eventually I move on. I smell something new. It reminds me of home. It smells like dry air, dry earth. The cactus room is the most amazing. Cacti tower above my head. Some are tiny round things, others pointy, others look more like bulbous, fuzzy white mold. Some seem furry, others have sinister curved black spines. A towering thin cactus, resting on an upright stone, shocks me with its blueness. A blue plant? They are utterly alien and exotic; from Swaziland, Mozambique, Kenya, Bolivia, Mexico. Utterly foreign in Seattle. They are glimpses into a world so much different from my own.
When I leave the Conservatory, I notice a cemetery on the other side of a fence. I ride my bike around and find myself alone. It's odd to visit a cemetery alone when you don't know anyone inside. Maybe I was not so alone. It's hard to feel truly alone in a cemetery. Walking among the tombstones, I feel like the people under these stones are competing for my attention. The spirits of the dead beg me to visit the tallest tombstone, the shiniest, the one with angels all over it. I get lost and find some old stones, flat white ones so worn they are barely readable; two people who died in 1879. 130 years ago. I wonder when I will be in a place like this, I wonder who I will be next to, I wonder if someday I will bury the people I love.
The cemetery is filled with hundreds of crows. They attempt to caw in unison, fighting for control of the beat. caww-ah-ahh-cawww...
I remember that I have a granola bar in my backpack. I am curious to find out what will happen if I feed an enormous flock of crows one granola bar. As I take the food out of my backpack, the crows basically ignore me. When I open it, they stare at me. When I break off a small piece and throw it on the ground ten feet away, the entire flock suddenly takes notice and many swoop down shrieking to nab the food. They surround me and start posturing and cawing at each other, figuring out their place in the pecking order. I break off more chunks and quickly run out of food. The crows perch around me on all sides and I can see more flying around above me. I decide that it is time to go. I pour out the crumbs in the bottom of the package and leave. As soon as I am a safe distance away, dozens of crows fall upon the crumb pile and in seconds the ground is bare. Crows are scary.
My camera runs out of battery and I decided that instead of riding the bus, I will bike down Capitol Hill and home. The hill is steep and long and I go so fast my face goes numb and my eyes tear up and the entire world blurs around me except the road in front of my tire. It is terrifying and exhilarating at the same time, which is why I love riding. I have never gone so fast on my bike before.
God it's good to be alive.
Today is January 12. It is about 2 o'clock in the afternoon.
I am taking a bus to Capitol Hill. I have my bike. I am vaguely headed to Volunteer Park. I might get lost or sidetracked, but that's usually when the interesting stuff happens anyway. I travel to lose myself and find something I never expected.
I am standing at a bus stop on the corner of 15th and 43rd, across the street from the University of Washington Law School. The 49 arrives, finally. My first obstacle of this journey is getting my beloved bike (red/silver Specialized Hard Rock) on the front of a Metro Bus. The bike rack is alarmingly rickety and I spend most of the ride up to Capitol Hill on the edge of my seat, waiting to see it bounce off and crushed under the tires of the bus. I relax only long enough to observe the unemployed midday crowd: a scruffy college guy with blond hair halfway down his back, an elderly Asian woman and her friend, a man with tribal tattoos on his chin and the sides of his face.
I ask the college guy if he knows where Volunteer Park is. He tells me to get off at the next stop and go up the hill.
I get off and release my bike from the jaws of death. As I stand on 10th waiting for traffic so I can cross the street, the sun breaks through the clouds and I shift so it's directly on my face and I close my eyes and I feel my cheeks slowly get warmer and I smile. Finally. It's been days since I have seen the sun. The people on the sidewalk, hunched in their dark coats, are suddenly out of place. The gritty streets and grimy storefronts selling cheap food are suddenly disgusting, illuminated in the sun. But it lasts only minutes. The clouds return and envelop the world and the palette fades to gray. Grit and grime are natural in this state.
I ride up the hill to the park.
I ride past brick mansions big enough to be hotels, but there are no signs in front.
I ride until I find the reservoir.
I find some kind of large, moss-covered monument in a stand of trees, comprised of a broad cobbled platform to approach a 10-foot block of granite with statues of a man and woman either side. The inscription reads, Thomas Burke. The same Burke of the Burke-Gillman Trail? The same Burke of the Burke Museum? Probably. One of Seattle's greatest heroes, apparently. The faces are dusted with moss, but still striking with the powerful stare and posture of a god and goddess. The inscription around the monument reads "Faithful unto death in the promotion of understanding and amity among nations." Embedded in the platform are two stone mosaic maps: one of East Asia, and one of the Pacific Northwest. I am now curious why this man is so revered, and reminded once again how little I know about this city after three and a half years of living here. I am frequently surprised.
I push onward. I find a koi pond, and toss bits of food to a fish with vibrant orange and black scales. It reminds me of a tiger. A man pushing a stroller walks up next to me and we say hello. One of his three kids asks me what I am doing, and I show him the bread. I ask the man if this is Volunteer Park. He says yes. He points in the direction I should go to see the rest of it. He says there is a Conservatory that is free to the public.
So I go in that direction. I go past the Tractor Tire, where four high school kids are sitting and smoking cigarettes, out of class for the day. I go past a large grassy lawn that slopes down to an amphitheater. The expansive slope is deserted, except for a woman walking her large, fluffy black dog nearby. I continue until I see what must be the Conservatory. It looks a lot like the Conservatory in Golden Gate Park in San Francisco, but smaller, and free. A white building with glass walls and ceiling, with a large dome in the center and two wings.
Inside, I am greeted with hot, humid air and the smell of flowers. A rainbow of orchids burst from either side, their spindly petals unearthly yet alluring. Tall palms with leaves the size of umbrellas loom over my head. I can smell moist, fertile earth. Like the rest of the park, the Conservatory is nearly deserted. I take my time wandering among the plants. I move through a door to the wing on the right. Instantly I smell gardenias. The sun comes out again, and through the tinted glass ceiling I again feel my spirits lift. There are flowers all around me--I haven't seen this many flowers since the summer. There are neon pink ones with large upright petals, white ones in bunches, tiny yellow ones with round petals, flowers glistening with the soft, crisp freshness of new life. I find the gardenias, and spend minutes with my head bent, smelling them, remembering spring. Eventually I move on. I smell something new. It reminds me of home. It smells like dry air, dry earth. The cactus room is the most amazing. Cacti tower above my head. Some are tiny round things, others pointy, others look more like bulbous, fuzzy white mold. Some seem furry, others have sinister curved black spines. A towering thin cactus, resting on an upright stone, shocks me with its blueness. A blue plant? They are utterly alien and exotic; from Swaziland, Mozambique, Kenya, Bolivia, Mexico. Utterly foreign in Seattle. They are glimpses into a world so much different from my own.
When I leave the Conservatory, I notice a cemetery on the other side of a fence. I ride my bike around and find myself alone. It's odd to visit a cemetery alone when you don't know anyone inside. Maybe I was not so alone. It's hard to feel truly alone in a cemetery. Walking among the tombstones, I feel like the people under these stones are competing for my attention. The spirits of the dead beg me to visit the tallest tombstone, the shiniest, the one with angels all over it. I get lost and find some old stones, flat white ones so worn they are barely readable; two people who died in 1879. 130 years ago. I wonder when I will be in a place like this, I wonder who I will be next to, I wonder if someday I will bury the people I love.
The cemetery is filled with hundreds of crows. They attempt to caw in unison, fighting for control of the beat. caww-ah-ahh-cawww...
I remember that I have a granola bar in my backpack. I am curious to find out what will happen if I feed an enormous flock of crows one granola bar. As I take the food out of my backpack, the crows basically ignore me. When I open it, they stare at me. When I break off a small piece and throw it on the ground ten feet away, the entire flock suddenly takes notice and many swoop down shrieking to nab the food. They surround me and start posturing and cawing at each other, figuring out their place in the pecking order. I break off more chunks and quickly run out of food. The crows perch around me on all sides and I can see more flying around above me. I decide that it is time to go. I pour out the crumbs in the bottom of the package and leave. As soon as I am a safe distance away, dozens of crows fall upon the crumb pile and in seconds the ground is bare. Crows are scary.
My camera runs out of battery and I decided that instead of riding the bus, I will bike down Capitol Hill and home. The hill is steep and long and I go so fast my face goes numb and my eyes tear up and the entire world blurs around me except the road in front of my tire. It is terrifying and exhilarating at the same time, which is why I love riding. I have never gone so fast on my bike before.
God it's good to be alive.
Monday, January 12, 2009
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