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...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)