not intent on arriving

China Part 4: Gorgeous Gorges

2008-08-15T16:01:00.020-05:00

One thing that becomes clear while in China is that the Chinese government loves exhibiting its power and determination through projects of enormous scale. The Beijing Olympics is a great example: think of the Bird's Nest, or the spectacular opening ceremony. What seems impossible (or at least very improbable) becomes possible at the hands of 1.3 billion people and a determined national government. Sometimes it seems like even nature can't stand in China's way.

Perhaps no other project makes this more apparent than the Three Gorges Dam. When I was in Brazil visiting the Itaipu Dam (currently the largest hydroelectric plant in operation), I was given a handout that compared Itaipu's size to other hydroelectric plants. The comparison was almost comical--the sheer size and output of Itaipu unquestionably justified its status as one of the greatest feats of modern engineering. But there was one other hydroelectric plant mentioned in the handout that outdid Itaipu on almost every statistic: Three Gorges.

The Three Gorges Dam on China's Yangtze River (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Three_Gorges_Dam) will be the largest hydroelectric plant in the world upon its completion in 2011. At almost 1.5 miles long, the Three Gorges Dam will have 34 generators, and is expected to produce 3% of China's electrical consumption.

Being in the area and having already seen the colossal Itaipu Dam, I knew I had to see the Three Gorges Dam in person. Fortunately, Fang had already made the necessary contacts and reservations by the time we began traveling together, so that there were two spots reserved for us on a boat that traveled down the Yangtze River, all the way to the Three Gorges Dam. The trip took three nights and two days, from Chongqing to Yichang. I've marked the route between the two cities on this map in red (we traveled the section from Yichang to Wuhan by bus):

Our boat departed from Chongqing, a city of about 4 million that became industrialized during World War II. Today the city seems incredibly modern, its citizens sometimes comparing it to Shanghai. At night, Chongqing is literally glowing with neon--highways are lined with neon lights that transform from one color to another, while skyscrapers exhibit profiles of more famous buildings from around the world (such as the Eiffel Tower) on their facades.

Fang and me in front of the Great Hall of the People:

Of course, there was always time for me to enjoy my favorite drink, milk tea:

And time to enjoy the sometimes bizarre designer clothing advertisements, like this one for "Prich: Pride and Rich":

Fang had arranged for the aunt and uncle of a friend to show us around Chongqing. It turns out that the uncle is also a police officer in the city. They took it upon themselves to show us their city, introduce us to the best restaurants, and supply us with food for our trip. They even insisted on buying our boat tickets. They gave new meaning to what it means to be hospitable.

Our host took us to Chongqing's "old city," where he bargained for seafood snacks that we could take on our journey:

In the old city, this man was selling sculptures made of some sort of molasses:

Much of the old city consists of tiny shops and restaurants lining busy pedestrian walkways:

An undeniable highlight of Chongqing is hotpot. Chongqing shares the reputation for having spicy, tasty food that its provincial neighbor, Sichuan, bears. Hotpot consists of a large bowl of boiling water and spices, into which you dip vegetables and pieces of raw meat until they are cooked. Unlike the burning sensation one feels while eating, say, a jalapeño, I found that the peppers used in Sichuan hotpot made my mouth entirely numb. Weird sensation, delicious food.

Fang eyeing hotpot:

After boarding our boat, Fang and I decided to spend most of our time on the patio, where we could enjoy views of the passing towns, construction projects, and, of course, the gorges. Occasionally we passed markers that read "175m," denoting the 175 meter point at which the water will rise upon the dam's completion in 2011:

While Fang and I took the more leisurely boat, there are also futuristic-looking hydrofoils that cut the trip down from three days to a mere eleven hours:

Our boat actually got to the Three Gorges toward the end of the trip. Each gorge has a slightly different look and feel due to the height of surrounding cliffs and the length of the gorge itself. Fang and me among the gorges:

One of the gorges:

Other travelers enjoying the dramatic views:

We had a chance to do a short side-trip to an area called "Little Three Gorges." Part of the trip took place in a little motor boat, with this animated guy as our guide:

In the United States, the Three Gorges Dam finds its way into the news not only due to its sheer size, but also due to the controversy surrounding it. 1.4 million residents have been relocated as the river's waters rise to the 175 meter mark, contributing to the vast migration of Chinese citizens from the countryside to the cities. This process of migration has been dramatized, and is now performed on stage at one of the towns on the river's edge. This photo is of one scene in the drama, in which an elderly man, with the assistance of government officials, leaves the home he has known for many years:

On the final day of our boat trip, we arrived at the Three Gorges Dam. This model represents the dam:

Not understanding the tour guide's explanation at the model, I decided to start flipping through some books in the bookstore. I found this characteristic enthusiasm for the dam in the foreword of one of the books:

Of course, with so much construction going on this can be a very dangerous area, so there is no crowdingin allowed:

A view of the Three Gorges Dam with a monument dedicated to it:

Some views of the dam:

Coming up next: the solo journey begins again, speaking Chinese becomes a necessity, and I move in with a family.

China Part 3: Daggers, May Day, and Women on Logs

2008-08-11T19:37:00.018-05:00

After spending time wandering around the "Dragon's Backbone" rice terraces around Longsheng and Ping An, Fang and I traveled by bus through several ethnic minority villages, including Zhaoxing, Basha, and Xijiang. We ended this leg of our trip in the city of Guiyang. I've charted our route from Longsheng to Guiyang on this map:

At the bus station, on the way to the small village of Zhaoxing, I discovered hundreds of ducklings waiting to be transported, and a girl entertaining herself with them:

Resting among hills, Zhaoxing is a collection of wooden buildings that serve as homes and small shops and restaurants. Like Ping An, Zhaoxing is home to one of China's many ethnic minorities.

Zhaoxing during the day:

Locals doing their laundry in the stream that runs through the village:

Also like Ping An, the hills surrounding Zhaoxing have been used for generations for rice cultivation. While Ping An's terraces seemed to be similar in color, Zhaoxing's ranged from deep red to orange, brown, and green.

Zhaoxing takes on a different feel at night, when orange and red lights illuminate the village:

Following Zhaoxing, Fang and I traveled to the tiny village of Basha. While Basha is known as being home to yet another of China's ethnic minorities, it stands apart from other villages. This fact is immediately apparent in the way locals dress: males, for example, carry daggers strapped to their backs, and keep their hair in top knots. Basha's clothing is usually characterized by a deep, shiny indigo color, shiny because it is covered in eggs whites that are believed to serve as a mosquito repellent. Many of the traditions in Basha have persisted for centuries, strangely unaffected by globalization or tourism.

Local girls having popsicles:

A boy and his dad:

Working on a gun:

For the May Day festivities, Fang and I traveled to Xijiang, another ethnic minority village. The place was completely alive with activities, from dancing and singing to constructing new buildings and slaughtering pigs.

Construction workers on May Day:

Female dancers preparing for their performance:

Dresses for sale in the town center:

The local specialty: stewed fish. The man in this picture found out that I was interested in trying the fish, which was only served in enormous family portions. As a result, he invited Fang and me to share lunch with him and his family. The fish definitely deserves its reputation--it was great.

A common view in Xijiang: hanging corn

May Day performances:

Sometimes I became a bigger spectacle than the performance itself:

After hopping among ethnic minority villages, it was time for Fang and me to begin making our way to our boat that would take us on a cruise of the Three Gorges. En route to our boat, we stopped by the city of Guiyang, where we stayed with a wonderful host named Shirley, and her boyfriend, Charles. Shirley and Charles immediately invited us to join them and their family at a lakeside resort, where we flew remote control planes and helicopters, went swimming and kayaking, and did some skeet shooting. People had told me before I arrived in China, but now I know firsthand just how incredible Chinese hospitality is.

Charles with his RC helicopter:

Fang, Shirley, and helicopter:

Our little group posing with the RC plane:

The whole family and friends:

My first time shooting:

Going to dinner in Guiyang's night market was way more entertaining than we were expecting, thanks to the government-mandated English menus:

Fortunately, we found a great place that served paper thin tortilla-like objects that you stuffed and tried to eat in one bite:

One morning, while walking to breakfast, Fang, Shirley, and I ran into a large crowd of spectators on a bridge. We soon found the object of interest: a large woman performing aerobic exercises on a log floating on the river:

She noticed me and my camera, and began posing (not that she wasn't photogenic before):

Guiyang's Super Wal-Mart, entirely underground:

A large group of locals selling and trading carrier pigeons:

Next time: floating down the Yangtze, to the world's largest dam.

China Part 2: Wandering the Dragon's Backbone

2008-07-28T13:11:00.009-05:00

Following Yangshuo and Xingping, Fang and I boarded a bus and traveled to Longsheng, the gateway to the "Dragon's Backbone" rice terraces. From Longsheng, we made the short, winding trip to the tiny hillside village of Ping An, which is where we stayed while exploring the terraces. I've marked Longsheng on this map in red:

The village of Ping An is extremely old and has some beautiful wooden homes and buildings that rest on the side of some steep hills:

A grave immediately outside the town:

Like the karst hills that line the Li River, the rice terraces of the area around Longsheng have become an image immediately associated with China's landscapes. The terraces, which have been maintained for centuries, seem to be never-ending, becoming an inseparable part of the hillside.

We occasionally saw both women and men working hard in the terraces, up to their knees in mud. To maintain the terraces and provide water to the rice, locals also employ some ingeniously simple techniques, including bamboo water pipes, and miniature waterfalls carved into the terraces.

A man working next to a series of small waterfalls:

Besides being a great place to view the terraces, Ping An is also home to one of China's many ethnic minorities, which has its own unique traditions and characteristics. This is perhaps most clearly witnessed in the local clothes and jewelry, and for Chinese speakers, in the local dialect.

This woman was selling traditional shoes, and makes some darn good sweet potatoes too:

Unfortunately, many traditional aspects of the local culture are now overtly advertised as a result of the tourist boom. One example of this is the "long-hair women" who traditionally grow their hair five-feet long or more. The women now chase tourists, offering to take their hair out of its bun in exchange for a fee. In the process of running from the "long-hairs," Fang and I got really good at maneuvering through the terraces.

And next, off to Zhaoxing...

China, part 1: tandem bikes, flying fish, and neon

2008-07-14T19:26:00.013-05:00

If there is one destination on my trip that I could call the focal point, it would be China. My journey wouldn't have been complete without it.

Ever since I spent a semester in Mongolia in 2004, I've been drawn to China. Mongolians are terrified of their neighbor, convinced that the Chinese are set on devouring Mongolia's land and natural resources while sending them, in exchange, products that always seem to break on them. "The Chinese are trying to poison us," one nomadic herder told me. While I wasn't convinced, in Mongolia it was impossible to be unaware of China's immense influence on its neighbors, and the world. News stories related to China investing in Latin America, China gobbling up the world's steel, and China developing cities the size of London in less than a decade appeared almost daily on BBC News. But in spite of all the news coverage, I think China is a very mysterious country, with very few people outside its borders who really understand it. While living in Mongolia, I became very conscious of and curious about the giant that rested on the other side of the border. But rather than being afraid of China's rising power, I was fascinated by it.

When I began planning this trip soon after my college graduation, I initially considered focusing most--if not all--of my six months on China. I considered enrolling in a language school, living with a host family, and even attempting to live with Tibetan monks and herders as I did in Mongolia. I wanted some depth to my understanding of China. After all, as someone whose professional and personal interests lie at the intersection of human rights, economic development, and international business, I was sure this would not be my last interaction with the country.

And so, when it was time for me to leave Hanoi and board a bus for Guilin, I felt a strange excitement that I was not about to simply see a new country, but that I was about to begin a relationship with a country that will likely be present in many facets of my life.

I spent about six weeks in China, far less than the six months I had daydreamed about, but more than the one month I had ended up budgeting for the trip. It's probably a good idea to provide an overview of where I went, since place names can become very confusing. This map shows my route from Hanoi to Beijing (all travel by land) in red:

To give a very dizzying overview of what the map shows: I took a bus from Hanoi, Vietnam, through Nanning, China, and into Guilin. In Guilin, I met up with a friend from college, Fang, who was also traveling. From Guilin, we visited the beautiful green karst hills in Yangshuo and Xingping. From there, we continued northwest to the vast rice terraces of Longsheng and Ping An. After that, we stopped by a few ethnic minority villages, including Zhaoxing, Basha, and Xijiang. We spent a couple days in the city of Guiyang before traveling to Chongqing. In Chongqing, we boarded a boat and traveled east for three days, through the Three Gorges, to Yichang. From Yichang we took a bus to Wuhan. From Wuhan, Fang went to Beijing, and I traveled to Jiujiang, where I lived with a family. Actually, I lived with Dina's family--after Dina and I traveled around Uganda and Tanzania together, she put me in touch with them. After a week in Jiujiang, I lived with other members of Dina's family in a smaller "village" named Xiushui. From Xiushui I traveled to Nanchang, then took a train to Shanghai. From Shanghai I traveled by train to Xi'an, and from Xi'an to Beijing.

I'm planning to split these updates into segments, rather than attempting to include photos and thoughts from my entire time in China in one enormous post. This first post will cover my time in Guilin, Yangshuo, and Xingping:

So, after spending several hours on my bus, I arrived in the surprisingly modern city of Guilin. At least, as the first Chinese city I had seen (almost 1.5 million people live there), it seemed surprisingly modern. Actually, I would soon learn that this city of neon billboards and skyscrapers wasn't especially modern compared to other Chinese cities. But one thing it did have was beautiful scenery, including rolling green hills and a slow river. To get to the really beautiful scenery, though, Fang and I traveled to Yangshuo and the nearby town of Xingping.

Xingping is a small town surrounded by green hills that peek down into the town's narrow, winding streets. The view from one of the streets:

In Xingping, Fang and I boarded a small wooden raft on the beautiful, serene Li River. This area is characterized by the lush, rolling karst hills that are so often associated with China's landscapes. (By the way, don't worry...I cut off the facial hair).

It was good to know that I wasn't the only one who stood out as a tourist:

The view of Xingping from a nearby mountain:

Yangshuo, located a short drive from Xingping, serves as a hub for those traveling around the area. As a result, it is filled with small tourist shops, international restaurants (and KFC!), and lots of neon signs. This woman is working in a silk shop:

Yangshuo's neon:

On our second day in Yangshuo, Fang and I decided to push the limits. So we put on our ponchos and rented a tandem bike (Fang is more excited than I was):

Along the way, we saw a guy who was "herding" ducks. Seriously.

Beautiful scenes and lots of mud made frequent stops a necessity:

After the bike ride, we had worked up quite an appetite. So we went out for the local specialty, snails:

They're actually really good--a little spicy, a little juicy, really tasty.

This man was advertising grass sculptures he makes:

One thing that became very clear over the course of my travels is the influence "Lonely Planet" travel guides have on many local economies. A negative review in the guide can destroy a shop or restaurant, while a good review can spell prosperity (and hour-long lines) for one. The owner of this restaurant gets the point:

I was walking down the street, enjoying the shops and activity, when I saw a guy reach into a fish tank, pull a fish out, and slam it against the ground. After the thing flew four feet in the air, the guy picked it up, walked into a nearby restaurant, and handed it to a cook who started cooking it. I waited for three more people to order the fish plate before I finally (somewhat unsuccessfully) got a picture of it:

Check back soon for part 2, the "Dragon's Backbone" rice terraces.

170 days later...

2008-07-09T19:30:00.002-05:00

After 170 days, 19 countries, 9,000 pictures, 1 hospital visit, and 0 robberies, the journey is officially over. And it was an incredible one, filled with wonderful friends (both new and old), spectacular places, valuable lessons, and so much more. I don’t know if I’ll ever arrive at a point at which I can adequately put it all into words. But I think that’s the way it should be.

Back home in Orlando, Florida, I’ve been enjoying motorcycle rides, time with family, and a nice, big, soft bed. With my laptop back in my possession, I’ve been busily organizing photographs in preparation of posting them here. I have a lot of catching up to do. I’m planning to post the first of several updates on China very soon, and after that I’ll begin posting photos from my travels with my dad and brother in Europe.

I am very grateful to you all for visiting my blog, and especially grateful to those of you who sent me comments and emails—it’s a great feeling to know so many people took an interest in my wanderings (and my well-being!). I hope you learned something, and, ideally, that you found in my posts a little motivation to do some wandering of your own.

Well, as I said, I'm going to be sorting my photos and posting a first update on China soon, with others to follow. I hope you'll check back soon!

Catching up on Laos and Vietnam

2008-06-19T17:09:00.015-05:00

Greetings from Luxembourg! I hope you've enjoyed the photos and brief update on Cambodia. This post is going to be a bit different; I'm going to post photos from Laos and Vietnam at the beginning, but, because most of the details providing the background to the photos were in my April 21st post "Hanoi Syndrome," I'm re-including that post immediately after the photos. I hope you enjoy reading (or re-reading), and that you enjoy the photos from Laos and Vietnam.

From Laos:

A view of my island among the "4000 Islands" in southern Laos:

The Mekong at sunset, just after I went for a swim:

From Vietnam:

“Uncle Ho” on a billboard in downtown Hanoi:

Hanoi traffic-—I’ve seen crazy driving in many countries, but Hanoi is simply shocking. And the secret to crossing a street on foot? “Make eye contact with oncoming traffic and keep walking. Whatever you do, don’t run.” It actually works-—oncoming traffic won’t stop for you, but at least they go around you. Here’s a shot of traffic at night:

Hanoi at night:

I took a brief trip to Ha Long Bay, a UNESCO World Heritage Site where tons of beautiful green karst hills emerge from the water. The ride out:

An overhead view of a woman selling fruit from her boat to ours:

Ha Long Bay:

Taking a boat to a lagoon:

In Hanoi I was eager to hear the opinions of locals toward Americans and the American War (our Vietnam War). As a result, I visited the Hoa Lo Prison Museum (also called the “Hanoi Hilton”), a prison used to keep captured American soldiers during the war. The place was very interesting—I’ll let a few photos of the exhibits speak for the museum itself:

Photographs of buildings in Hanoi (including schools and hospitals) destroyed by American bombs:

A document carried by American pilots in case of an emergency. The document, copied in various languages, reads: “I am a citizen of the United States of America. I do not speak your language. Misfortune forces me to seek your assistance in obtaining food, shelter, and protection. Please take me to someone who will provide for my safety and see that I am returned to my people. My government will reward you.”

John McCain spent several years in the Hanoi Hilton. His belongings on display:

The plaque in front of McCain’s display:

The regulations of the Hanoi Hilton:

Photographs of famous individuals who have visited the museum, including Bill Clinton, George Bush, and John McCain:

Finally, a shot of the place where you can find Hanoi’s biggest crowds—-outside the ice cream shop:

For more details on my experiences in Laos and Vietnam, please read my "Hanoi Syndrome" post below. Otherwise, please check back soon for my posts on China. I’m wishing you all the best!

"Hanoi Syndrome" (Re-post from April 21st):

As you can tell from the title of this post, my plans changed a little: instead of heading to China through Laos, I decided to head to Vietnam from Laos, and to China from Vietnam.

Although I cut my time in Laos short, it was due to my being drawn to Vietnam rather than being bored with Laos. Laos is a very special country, and my experience there was what many travelers dream of having at some point on their journey: a chance to get below the surface, to become close with locals, to experience the "real" side of things.

Without a doubt, my time in Laos was made especially unique by the fact that my visit coincided with the Lunar New Year. In Laos (as well as Thailand and Cambodia), New Year celebrations revolve around beer and water, and last for three days (four this year, since the first day landed on a Sunday). In Laos, groups gather along the road, dancing and drinking beer, and tossing buckets of water at people passing by. It’s sweltering in the region, so I was happy to be soaked. Combine huge celebrations with a very warm and welcoming country, and I was in for a good time. On my first night in the southern town of Savanakhet, I went to a big New Year party at a club called “Dinosao” with a Lao friend I made on the bus. The party was complete with loud music, dancing, and the best beer in the region: BeerLao.

The next day the streets were crowded with people celebrating, everyone soaked with water. I rented a bicycle to be able to see some of the city farther from my hotel, but I should have just walked--before long the locals had pulled me off my bike, handed me a glass of beer, and gave me a bucket. I spent the rest of the day sharing beers and throwing water at anyone driving, riding, walking, or running down the street. Anyone except the police, who seem to be feared throughout the country (Laos is strictly controlled by the authorities; the people are forbidden to voice political dissent, and have a curfew (which seems to be loosely enforced during the New Year)). The group I joined for the water-throwing invited me to a snack of chickens' feet, then we were off in the pickup, hauling huge tubs of water in the back that we tossed at the crowds we passed. Afterward, as the sun went down, we went to a great restaurant and had huge bowls of noodle soup.

The next day, as the celebrations wound down and the remaining garbage lined the abandoned streets, I arrived in Vientiane, the capital of Laos. The city seemed exhausted following the festivities--some restaurants and shops were open, but for the most part the town seemed a little bit hungover. It was when I began contemplating returning to a coffee shop to sit and read that I realized I should move on, and a thought that's been nagging at me since I arrived in Southeast Asia returned: I should go to Vietnam.

I decided it was my obligation to go to Vietnam for a couple reasons: First, I worked with young Vietnamese immigrants and their families four years while in college. Second, as a US citizen and a student of history, I needed to see and experience firsthand the country that so significantly affected the US. So instead of returning to that coffee shop in Vientiane, I went to the Vietnamese Embassy. I got a visa in fifteen minutes, and had booked a flight within the hour. I left that evening for Hanoi.

Hanoi is a rough, tough, resilient place, but I'm very glad I decided to visit. It's difficult to travel alone here, especially as a Westerner. Within my first 24 hours in Hanoi, I was left on the side of a highway when I refused to pay a taxi driver who tried to rip me off, my paid hotel room was given away to someone else, I got in an argument with a receptionist at another hotel who insisted that I give him my passport overnight (I soon found out this is national policy, but they also accept a copy), and, to top it off, my ATM card was confiscated by an ATM machine. The locals were rarely sympathetic--it took me two hours to figure out how to take buses from the highway to a hotel since few people cared I was lost, and even fewer spoke English. But by the end of those first 24 hours, I was still fascinated by Hanoi. I felt like I was experiencing Stockholm Syndrome--even though I was beaten and bruised, I had no urge to leave. I wanted to experience more.

There really is something fascinating about this place; going to museums and seeing photographs of sections of the city levelled by B-52s, passing by huge billboards of a smiling Ho Chi Minh holding a baby (or, much more jolting, seeing an embalmed Ho Chi Minh resting in his mausoleum). I never shy away when people ask me where I'm from. They usually respond with an ambiguous "Oh, America! Very good, very good! Nice country!" And I wonder what complex thoughts and emotions underly those kind words. Fortunately, after spending many hours wandering in and out of restaurants, cafes, shops, and various sites throughout the city, I've met a few Vietnamese people who not only have a firm grasp of English, but who are also willing to answer the many questions I have. They emphasize that while the Vietnamese have mixed feelings toward Americans and the United States, there are few hard feelings still held concerning the "American War." They emphasize that the country has moved on. And the city itself attests to that; Hanoi is a city that is changing, and fast. Nonetheless, I can't help but notice the intense stares I get from the city's older citizens, which I don't notice from anyone else.

If there's one thing I could add to my trip thus far, it would be a visit to southern Vietnam. "The south is so much different from the north," a man from Ho Chi Minh City told me, "not only are we much better about serving visitors, but we also have a much stronger economy." Then, with a smile he said, "You know, we are also much more influenced by America than the north is." I was surprised to hear him say this, especially since I noticed a hint of pride in his voice. I remembered what a man who lives in Vietnam told me during my stay in Cambodia: "If the people in southern Vietnam have hard feelings toward America, it's not because the US was fighting there; it's because the US abandoned them."

For me, being in Vietnam prompts mixed, complex emotions that are very difficult to sort out and reconcile. At points I'm extremely frustrated, feeling like no one in the city cares about my well being. Moments later I have a knot in my throat, having seen images of screaming children running from a bombed, burning building that once stood a few kilometers from where I'm standing. Then later in the day, after following a huge crowd of people to an ice cream shop, I can't wipe the smile off my face. Kids on bicycles say "hello" to me, people are smiling, I overhear a young guy next to me say "Hi" to a girl from Taiwan. "She's so pretty!" he says to me after she walks away.

Today was a bittersweet day, as it was my last full day in Vietnam. Tomorrow morning I'll begin my journey to Guilin, China, by bus.

Catching up: Cambodia

2008-06-12T17:08:00.021-05:00

Hello from Sorrento, Italy, where I’ve been enjoying beautiful views of the sea with my dad and brother. We met up in London, rented a car in Paris, and will be driving around Italy for the next few weeks. But an update on our travels together must wait. I have some catching up to do.

After a 1.5 month hiatus, it’s time for me to follow up on my last post, made from Vietnam just as I was about to depart for China. That post (from April 21st) has a general update on my time in Cambodia, Laos, and Vietnam, and may be good to read again before looking at the pictures I'm adding in this post. Since a lot has happened since my last post, I'll make several posts following this one, each a (probably poor) attempt to fill you all in on what has been a fascinating experience. I apologize in advance if the updates are superficial or watered down—-it’s hard to summarize such a long, eventful period, and I welcome any additional questions if there’s something you’d like me to describe further.

This post will focus on Cambodia. As my previous post described, I arrived in Siem Reap, Cambodia, via train and “taxi” from Bangkok. I spent three days in Siem Reap, which is blessed with the temples of Angkor just a few miles away. Each day was packed—-I made friends with a motorcycle taxi driver who helped me make the most of each day by taking me to many, many sites.

A few photos from the Angkor temples:

Angkor Wat at sunrise, my introduction to the temples at Angkor:

Inside Angkor Wat:

A monkey lounging around Angkor Wat:

The ancient soldiers guarding the entrance to Angkor Thom:

A view of the pillars and ceiling inside the temples:

I’ve included this next photo for a couple reasons. First, this temple (Bayon, in Angkor Thom) is famous for the hundreds of enormous faces carved into it, making wandering around it a surreal--but definitely not lonely--experience. Second, you can see pieces of the temple laid out in front of it, on either side of the pathway. This is a common sight around many of the temples. Prior to the rise of the Khmer Rouge, many Cambodian and French archaeologists were busy preserving the temples, which frequently required them to partially dismantle them. The rise of the Khmer Rouge forced the foreign archaeologists to flee Cambodia, and resulted in the massacre of almost all Cambodian specialists on the temples. The effects of the reign of the Khmer Rouge are still very apparent: there are many amputees who are victims of the landmines that still cover the country today. In addition, according to statistics listed at the temples, 40% of Cambodia’s current population is under the age of 14.

Stunningly well-preserved statues in Angkor Thom:

Very steep climbs and their accompanying warning signs are a common sight:

Arriving at a temple:

The temples’ struggle against nature:

Riding in the area outside Siem Reap-—the view from the back of my driver, Vebol’s, motorcycle:

Angkor Wat at sunrise was my first view of the temples, and sunset at Angkor Wat was my last. Here, some young locals admire the view:

On my last day I had a chance to visit a floating village outside Siem Reap, a community located in the middle of a large, shallow lake. Most of the residents here are immigrants, the majority from Vietnam. A home in the floating village:

A water taxi cruising near the floating village:

Composed mainly of immigrants and refugees, it is not surprising that the floating village suffers from poverty. Here, some cheerful children float around the lake begging for money. The girl second from the right floats around in a small blue bucket, pushing herself around with a paddle:

The lake’s water, although muddy, blends in with the sky:

As soon as I have some free time and a reliable internet connection I'll post some pictures from Laos and Vietnam, so please check back soon!

breaking the silence

2008-06-09T16:35:00.002-05:00

I'm writing from Florence, Italy, where I'm finally able to access my blogspot page again. I apologize for the long silence on the blog--I spent about six weeks in China, where internet browsers are not allowed to access blogspot.com. I appreciate the concern many of you showed following the earthquake in Sichuan on May 12th, and I'm sorry that my abrupt silence on the blog caused some worry. Fortunately, I wasn't affected by the quake, and the many friends who accompanied me at various stages of my journey in China are also safe.

I am going to be organizing my photos in the near future, and creating posts on my travels following my last update from Vietnam. Please check back soon!

Hanoi Syndrome

2008-04-21T08:31:00.010-05:00

Hello from Hanoi! As you can tell from the title of this post, my plans changed a little: instead of heading to China through Laos, I decided to head to Vietnam from Laos, and to China from Vietnam.

Although I cut my time in Laos short, it was due to my being drawn to Vietnam rather than being bored with Laos. Laos is a very special country, and my experience there was what many travelers dream of having at some point on their journey: a chance to get below the surface, to become close with locals, to experience the "real" side of things.

Without a doubt, my time in Laos was made especially unique by the fact that my visit coincided with the Lunar New Year. In Laos (as well as Thailand and Cambodia), New Year celebrations revolve around beer and water, and last for three days (four this year, since the first day landed on a Sunday). In Laos, groups gather along the road, dancing and drinking beer, and tossing buckets of water at people passing by. It’s sweltering in the region, so I was happy to be soaked. Combine huge celebrations with a very warm and welcoming country, and I was in for a good time. On my first night in the southern town of Savanakhet, I went to a big New Year party at a club called “Dinosao” with a Lao friend I made on the bus. The party was complete with loud music, dancing, and the best beer in the region: BeerLao.

The next day the streets were crowded with people celebrating, everyone soaked with water. I rented a bicycle to be able to see some of the city farther from my hotel, but I should have just walked--before long the locals had pulled me off my bike, handed me a glass of beer, and gave me a bucket. I spent the rest of the day sharing beers and throwing water at anyone driving, riding, walking, or running down the street. Anyone except the police, who seem to be feared throughout the country (Laos is strictly controlled by the authorities; the people are forbidden to voice political dissent, and have a curfew (which seems to be loosely enforced during the New Year)). The group I joined for the water-throwing invited me to a snack of chickens' feet, then we were off in the pickup, hauling huge tubs of water in the back that we launched at the crowds we passed. Afterward, as the sun went down, we went to a great restaurant and had huge bowls of noodle soup.

The next day, as the celebrations wound down and the remaining garbage lined the abandoned streets, I arrived in Vientiane, the capital of Laos. The city seemed exhausted following the festivities--some restaurants and shops were open, but for the most part the town seemed a little bit hungover. It was when I began contemplating returning to a coffee shop to sit and read that I realized I should move on, and a though that's been nagging at me since I arrived in Southeast Asia returned: I should go to Vietnam.

I decided it was my obligation to go to Vietnam for a couple reasons: First, I worked with young Vietnamese immigrants and their families four years while in college. Second, as a US citizen and a student of history, I needed to see and experience firsthand the country that so significantly affected the US. So instead of returning to that coffee shop in Vientiane, I went to the Vietnamese Embassy. I got a visa in fifteen minutes, and had booked a flight within the hour. I left that evening for Hanoi.

Hanoi is a rough, tough, resilient place, but I'm very glad I decided to visit. It's difficult to travel alone here, especially as a Westerner. Within my first 24 hours in Hanoi, I was left on the side of a highway when I refused to pay a taxi driver who tried to rip me off, my paid hotel room was given away to someone else, I got in an argument with a receptionist at another hotel who insisted that I give him my passport overnight (I soon found out this is national policy, but they also accept a copy), and, to top it off, my ATM card was confiscated by an ATM machine. The locals were rarely sympathetic--it took me two hours to figure out how to take buses from the highway to a hotel since few people cared I was lost, and even fewer spoke English. But by the end of those first 24 hours, I was still fascinated by Hanoi. I felt like I was experiencing Stockholm Syndrome--even though I was beaten and bruised, I had no urge to leave. I wanted to experience more.

There really is something fascinating about this place; going to museums and seeing photographs of sections of the city levelled by B-52s, passing by huge billboards of a smiling Ho Chi Minh holding a baby (or, much more jolting, seeing an embalmed Ho Chi Minh resting in his mausoleum). I never shy away when people ask me where I'm from. They usually respond with an ambiguous "Oh, America! Very good, very good! Nice country!" And I wonder what complex thoughts and emotions underly those kind words. Fortunately, after spending many hours wandering in and out of restaurants, cafes, shops, and various sites throughout the city, I've met a few Vietnamese people who not only have a firm grasp of English, but who are also willing to answer the many questions I have. They emphasize that while the Vietnamese have mixed feelings toward Americans and the United States, there are few hard feelings still held concerning the "American War." They emphasize that the country has moved on. And the city itself attests to that; Hanoi is a city that is changing, and fast. Nonetheless, I can't help but notice the intense stares I get from the city's older citizens, which I don't notice from anyone else.

If there's one thing I could add to my trip thus far, it would be a visit to southern Vietnam. "The south is so much different from the north," a man from Ho Chi Minh City told me, "not only are we much better about serving visitors, but we also have a much stronger economy." Then, with a smile he said, "You know, we are also much more influenced by America than the north is." I was surprised to hear him say that, especially since I noticed a hint of pride in his voice. I remembered what a man who lives in Vietnam told me during my stay in Cambodia: "If the people in southern Vietnam have hard feelings toward America, it's not because the US was fighting there; it's because the US abandoned them."

For me, being in Vietnam prompts mixed, complex emotions that are very difficult to sort out and reconcile. At points I'm extremely frustrated, feeling like no one in the city cares about my well being. Moments later I have a knot in my throat, having seen images of screaming children running from a bombed, burning building that once stood a few kilometers from where I'm standing. Then later in the day, after following a huge crowd of people to an ice cream shop, I can't wipe the smile off my face. Kids on bicycles say "hello" to me, people are smiling, I overhear a young guy next to me say "Hi" to a girl from Taiwan. "She's so pretty!" he says to me after she walks away.

Today was a bittersweet day, as it was my last full day in Vietnam. Tomorrow morning I'll begin my journey to Guilin, China, by bus.

I was planning on posting photos from Vietnam, Cambodia, and Laos in this update, but the electricity went out before I could upload all my photos. As a result, I only have a few from Cambodia:

The temples at Angkor:

A woman who maintains a small worship site inside one of the Angkor temples:

The girl who I mentioned in my last post, who could speak several languages, all learned from tourists. She's holding the letter she wrote me in Spanish (sorry, I would transcribe it, but I don't have it with me right now):

Check back soon for an update from China!

Cambodia and Laos

2008-04-13T07:18:00.006-05:00

Unfortunately, there are no pictures to post--just a quick update. After my last post in Bangkok, I boarded a third class train and made the 5-hour trip east to the border with Cambodia (Aranya Prathet on the Thai side, Poipet on the Cambodian side). Third class wasn't too bad--it was packed and hot, but there were fans. It was a bit more difficult for me since I didn't sleep very long the night before, and it was impossible to fall asleep on the train. But the trip was a success--after a few hours I got off the train and was greeted by a multitude of tuk tuk drivers eager to take me across the border.

Crossing into Cambodia was very easy and uneventful. Cambodia now has a wonderful e-visa program that lets you apply for a visa online, receive a pdf reply in your inbox, and print it as an actual visa. The entire process took me about 30 minutes. Thank you, Cambodia! They should probably advertise this e-visa a bit more, though, since there was still a long line of frustrated people waiting to apply for a visa upon arrival.

Poipet, on the Cambodia side, is described as the "armpit of Cambodia" in my Lonely Planet. They weren't far from the mark on this one. It seems like everyone I met there was either smuggling something across the border (I almost hitched a ride with a couple smuggling shoes), or looking for ways to charge tourists an enormous amount for a ride in their taxis. I finally found a reasonably-priced car, and five hours later arrived in Siem Reap.

Siem Reap means "Siamese defeated," a ballsy move for a town close to the Thai border. The city is very warm and inviting, with an apparent French influence in its many cafes and restaurants. I had one of the best massages of my life there (yes, Khmer massage is better than Thai massage, in my opinion), and some great food. Siem Reap is the kind of laid back city that I could spend a lot of time in. But, unfortunately, I only had three days.

In those three days I spent the majority of my time doing what every tourist does in Siem Reap--visit the temples at Angkor! And for good reason--these temples, tons of them distributed around the area, are spectacular. I hired an incredibly friendly driver, Vebol, who advised me on what to see and when. On my first day, I saw the sun rise over Angkor Wat at 5:30. I also visited Ta Prohm, the temple that is struggling to survive against the many trees growing throughout--and on top of--it. On my second day, I returned to Angkor Wat to see the sun set.

Cambodia was very different from Thailand--not only is it significantly poorer, its people bear the very new, very deep scars of a gruesome civil war. Amputees frequently visit the town center to ask for money, since other avenues for earning an income are usually closed to amputees. Land mines still lie throughout rural areas, making solemn strolls unusually dangerous. There are multitudes of mothers and children that, instead of begging, sell inexpensive souvenirs and drinks in an attempt to make any money they can.

The children selling these items were very kind, which was wonderful as a solo traveler--there was always someone to chat with. I found that in Cambodia, children wouldn't get upset at me if I refused to buy their goods. Eating breakfast at Angkor Wat, a couple young boys selling guide books and postcards sat and talked with me the entire meal, even knowing I wouldn't buy anything from them. In the end, I usually gave kids a "tip" for their kindness, and the effort they put into selling. I imagine it would be easy for them simply try to beg, but they insist on trying to earn money.

And these children were oftentimes surprisingly smart and educated. At the last temple I visited, a less popular site where I was the only tourist, a young girl approached me with a huge smile and tried to sell me pants. I pointed to mine and told her I had some, and she said I needed Cambodian pants as well as the Thai pants I was wearing (yes, they were actually from Thailand). She asked where I was from, and before I had time to tell her, she was already listing the US state capitals. I thought I'd throw her a curve ball, so I said Colombia. She said "Bogota?" and started speaking in Spanish. She spoke Spanish extremely well, explaining to me that she learned from "turistas," that she also speaks Hungarian, Polish, and a little French, and that she's fourteen. She also tried to teach me some of her language, Khmer. She explained that although the word for father is "pa," she would say "po" because she's of a lower socioeconomic class.

On the trip back to my hostel, I imagined what this girl would do with the opportunities most American children her age have. What would she aspire to be and to achieve? What would she be able to give back to her country? It is absolutely heartbreaking to think that the abilities of this extremely gifted girl will probably go unrecognized in Cambodia, and will never benefit the girl's family or her country.

I ended up buying the pants from the girl. Afterward, I said farewell and tried to encourage her as much as I could in the few moments I had. I told her she is very gifted, and that she should continue studying hard. I also admitted to her that she's far smarter than most of the 14-year-olds I've met in the United States.

Cambodia is the kind of place that leaves visitors humbled. In spite of the horrors in its recent past (horrors that are still very evident: 40% of Cambodia's population is under 14 years old, since many adults were exterminated under the Khmer Rouge), it is never rare to see Cambodians smile. I think our world has a lot to learn from them; I'm definitely looking forward to my next, longer visit.

After too little time in Cambodia, I boarded a plane for Pakse, Laos. This morning, I took a bus to the southernmost point of Laos, near the border with Cambodia. This area is called 4000 Islands since it is where the Mekong River fans out, creating tons of small land masses. Today I enjoyed riding a bicycle around the island, and swimming in the Mekong at sunset. Today Laos (along with Thailand and Cambodia) celebrates the lunar new year with lots of singing, dancing, drinking, and soaking. That's right--I've already been shot point blank by two little kids with water guns, so I invested in one of my own.

Over the next week or so, I'll be making my way north through Laos, eventually crossing into China. A friend studying in Beijing invited me to tour southern China with her, so I'm having to hurry my trip along in order to meet her.

I hope you're all doing well. See you next time...

Last night in Thailand

2008-04-08T13:31:00.010-05:00

Welcome back! Well, it's been a really great time here in Thailand since I arrived a couple weeks ago. Tonight is my last night here, so I figure it's a good time to post an update and a few pictures. A quick disclaimer: all these pictures are unedited, so please forgive any crookedness, etc. I have a habit of tilting my photos clockwise, so I hope your neck doesn't get sore looking at them.

First, here are a few pictures I took in Bangkok after making my last post. This is the view from the "river taxi," a system of boats that cruise up and down the river:

A local I met on Khao San Road, keeping the reputation alive:

While walking to my hostel, I stumbled upon a bunch of people flying kites. Everyone was so happy and friendly--it was the perfect place to be on my last evening in Bangkok:

Kites for sale:

Having some trouble:

After spending a little longer than I was originally planning in Bangkok (during which I wrote the last update, with photos), I caught a bus down to an island in southern Thailand. Thailand is blessed with tons of gorgeous islands, but not all of them are pleasant to visit. Islands such as Phuket and Ko Samui are renowned for how "disgusting" the tourist industry has made them ("Like Khao San road on an island: full of drugs, alcohol, and prostitutes," one traveler told me, and others echoed this opinion). So I started talking with locals and fellow travelers early on, asking for recommendations on which of Thailand's many, many islands I should visit, if I had to choose just one. The response was unanimous: Ko Phi Phi.

After an uncomfortable overnight bus ride followed by a two-hour ferry ride, I arrived at Ko Phi Phi. I didn't have a reservation at a hostel, but I soon found a reasonably priced, reasonably clean place after going door-to-door. It's difficult to describe the beauty of Ko Phi Phi--of course, neither words nor pictures can do a place justice, but I've posted some pictures below to help me out. "Vibrant" is a word that I think describes Thailand well, and Ko Phi Phi was no exception. The water was many shades of blue, indigo, and green, and the beaches were almost blindingly white. But I think what attracted my attention most were the lush, green hills that jutted out of the sea. While swimming, I noticed that the waves were full of little fish that occasionally launched out of the water. Even when standing in shallow water I could hold the fish in my hands.

The little boats (or taxis) that skim around the island add to its aesthetic appeal:

On my second day, I rented a kayak and explored some of the less-populated beaches:

Simply being on Ko Phi Phi and being surrounded by its beauty was a highlight of my trip. So I guess I could describe scuba diving there as a highlight within a highlight. The diving on Ko Phi Phi is said to be world-class, so I didn't hesitate long when deciding whether or not to do it. The coral was very colorful and vibrant (there's that word again), and the fish so populous that I found myself surrounded by huge schools of them. At one point I saw a couple adult leopard sharks, each about 12 feet long, resting on the sea bottom. As I was hovering a few feet above them, they began swimming in circles around me. Although I have to admit it made me a little nervous, it was really an incredible experience.

Oh, and as a little bonus, I found out that the beach from the movie "The Beach," with Leonardo DiCaprio, actually is on Ko Phi Phi. So if you want to see footage of the island, go rent "The Beach" (I can't promise you'll enjoy the movie).

A boat we passed on the ferry back to the mainland:

After a few days on Ko Phi Phi, I decided I had to tear myself away. I headed, by bus, back to Bangkok, then by train north (far north) to Thailand's cultural capital, Chiang Mai. Chiang Mai, which is one-tenth the size of Bangkok, has the same number of temples as the capital city. It is also known to have the best food in Thailand (spicier than the south). After a few days sunbathing on Ko Phi Phi, I was due for a little cultural immersion.

I arrived in Chiang Mai in the early morning, and, initially, I was underwhelmed. Having fallen in love with Bangkok, I felt like Chiang Mai was a smaller, more dreary, less lively place than the capital. But as the day progressed, I began to see another side of the city. At the end of the day, while writing in my journal, I realized that I had experienced more "highlights" during my first day in Chiang Mai than during any other single day in Thailand. I have a hard time describing what it was about the city that I found so special. The sights and smells, the general feeling of the place, the personalities of the locals I met (from the adorable family of three that served me sugar cane juice from the back of their truck, to the university student who interviewed me outside a temple as part of her English homework)--it all combined to create a city with a deep soul that captivated me.

Visiting a temple in Chiang Mai:

Words of wisdom hanging from the trees around the temple:

In addition, Chiang Mai will forever hold a special place in my heart as the city where I learned to cook and give Thai massages. Yes, you read that correctly. While there, I enrolled in a cooking course, and another course in Thai massage. I finally graduated from Ramen noodles! And it's true--the food in Chiang Mai really is spectacular, even compared to the rest of Thailand, so I think I picked a good place to learn. I just need to find a wok...

This is the meal I cooked. Hearing "I" and "cooked" in the same sentence sounds toxic, but these dishes were really, really, REALLY good (I promise!). Clockwise from the top-left corner is steamed rice, steamed fish in banana leaves, a sauce for the coconut curry chicken, chicken with cashews, and coconut curry chicken:

Chiang Mai at sunset:

I arrived back in Bangkok by train a few hours ago. It's currently 3am, and I have a train to catch at 5am. I'll take the train to Aranya Prathet, which is on the border with Cambodia. From there I'll walk across the border, then hire someone to drive me five hours to Siem Reap. If all goes smoothly, I should be in Siem Reap, Cambodia in about 14 hours (around 5pm my time). So why Siem Reap? I decided to spend a few days in Cambodia to see the Angkor temples, including Angkor Wat. In literature and through word of mouth, I've repeatedly heard how stunning the temples are, and I've been told it would be a terrible mistake for me not to visit them while I'm in the region. So I decided to shorten my time in Thailand by just a couple days, and to head east.

After Cambodia, things are going to get tricky. My plan is to fly into southern Laos (flying really simplifies the visa issue since I can get one on the spot at the airport, instead of waiting several days elsewhere), and to travel north into China using land transportation. The tricky part is that in a couple days Laos, Cambodia, and Thailand will begin celebrating the lunar new year, and won't stop for a couple weeks. That means not only will everyone be carrying water balloons and a water pistol (they celebrate by attacking each other with water--it'll be nice since it's so hot here), but also that transportation will be running much, much slower than usual, if at all. Worst case scenario: I'm stuck in a tiny, desolate town in Laos for two weeks, waiting for the next pickup north. But honestly, even that's not such a bad scenario. I'm pretty grateful to be able to experience the lunar new year here. All the locals are talking about it, and the little kids are already walking around with (empty) water guns. I hear it's a pretty big deal.

Farewell until next time.

photos from Thailand

2008-03-29T04:25:00.014-05:00

Finally, I've caught up to posting pictures from Thailand. I apologize if the order I've posted my pictures is confusing. If you want to view the photos chronologically, this is the order of my travels:

Tanzania
Zanzibar
Zambia
Namibia
South Africa
Thailand

Just follow the title of the blog post to find pictures from each country.

And now for Thailand!

Ahh, the food. Spectacular, and cheap--hands down the best I've had on this trip. From coconut chicken soup (tom kha gai) to curry fish, they have all your favorites, anywhere in the city. And it usually won't cost you more than $3:

I took the next few photos in the Ko Ratanakosin area, which Lonely Planet accurately describes as "a veritable Vatican City of Thai Buddhism:"

Thailand's largest reclining Buddha:

The seafood market near Wat Pho (an area also famous for its massages):

Even on an average weekday, the famous (infamous?) Khao San Road is packed with people and activity:

My friend, Manuella, and me sampling the selection of insects, from grasshoppers to worms and cockroaches:

Here we are indulging in grasshoppers topped with a delicate hint of chili powder:

Fight night! Last night was one of Thailand's biggest muay thai tournaments of the year, featuring ten rounds, each showcasing a champion fighter. Anthony, a friend from Hong Kong who happens to be a huge fan of Thai boxing, invited me to the event:

Just to give you some background information, muay thai fighters are usually about 20 to 25 years old, but can compete as young as 15. They are generally between 100 and 130 pounds, and must be at least 100 pounds to compete. Most fighters come from very poor families, and earn a meager $5 their first win. Training is their life; they generally do not go to school. From an early age they train fourteen hours a day, waking up at 5am, running 10 to 15 kilometers, then training until dinner time, with breaks for meals.

The fighters preparing for the fight:

A young fan admiring the champion belt:

The ring:

Fighters punch, kick, and are even allowed to use knees, elbows, and even occasionally head butt. The fights are intense when compared to boxing in the US--for example, even with blood rushing from a young fighter's forehead into his eyes, the referee refused to pause the fight (I was sitting in front of a Japanese woman who was horrified at the sight and started screaming). Fighters are often tripped and thrown to the ground. Some shots of the fights:

In an area near the fighter's corner, there is a section reserved for family members and friends. Not surprisingly, they are among the loudest fans in the place, leading cheers that follow every connected kick or punch:

Thailand's champion fighter receiving some advice:

Following the fights, fighters are very friendly and welcoming toward fans. They usually spend a good amount of time posing for pictures, which I took advantage of:

The final highlight of the night was Anthony's and my waittress, Mimi:

Well, the sun has set since I've been in this internet cafe, and I'm starting to get hungry. I think it's time to head out into Bangkok to see what I can find...

Until next time, I'm wishing you all the best!

photos from Tanzania, Zanzibar, Zambia, and Namibia

2008-03-29T02:18:00.018-05:00

Continuing with my picture-posting marathon, I'm posting a few photos from Africa (Tanzania, Zanzibar, Zambia, and Namibia) below. They're posted chronologically, beginning with Tanzania. I took many pictures before Tanzania, of both Uganda and India, but I sent those memory cards back to the US. Unfortunately, I'll have to wait until later to post those pictures.

For now, though, some shots from Tanzania:

While cruising around the Serengeti, Dina and I found a few cheetahs stalking their prey (unfortunately, they weren't successful):

Other shots from the Serengeti:

We were there during the wildebeest migration, which is impossible to capture in a photo:

The Maasai strolling along the plains:

The next couple photos were taken in Ngorongoro Crater, near the Serengeti. Dina described the crater, which was incredibly lush and full of wildlife, as being like Eden:

When we made a bathroom break in the crater, this family of monkeys was guarding the building:

This woman was afraid to leave the bathroom:

Our campsite in Ngorongoro (this is where Dina and I almost ran into a water buffalo, literally):

After visiting the game parks in northern Tanzania, Dina and I traveled to the beautiful "Spice Island," Zanzibar.

The locals enjoying the perfect water:

The famous doors of Zanzibar:

More lounging around on the beach:

After traveling back to Dar es Salaam, Tanzania, I boarded the Tazara Express train and headed to Zambia. These are a couple friends I made on the two day ride, Moudy and his daughter, Cherry:

The first class lounge, where I spent most of the trip:

View from the train:

At every town we passed, locals would run outside their homes to wave and greet us:

I eventually crossed the border into Zambia, and, after a day of taxis and bus rides, I finally arrived at Victoria Falls:

There are few guardrails in the park, so you can get very, very close to the falls:

I had lunch with a couple friends, Emily and James, at a hotel that kept zebras on their property:

The view of the Falls from the bridge:

From Livingstone (the town near Victoria Falls), I took a bus to Namibia. These next photos are from the first half of my time there (I posted pictures from the second half yesterday):

A drinking spot in the Kalahari Desert:

The Kalahari grasshopper:

My group and I visited a reserve that takes care of orphaned animals, including cheetahs. I was shocked when I was invited to walk inside the cheetah's area during feeding time, but it was an amazing experience:

They also take care of warthogs and three-legged pugs:

Sunset at the quiver tree forest:

The trees are called quiver trees because the indigenous people used the bark to store their arrows:

Photos from South Africa

2008-03-28T14:36:00.010-05:00

I took the next few pictures after a 2-hour hike to the top of Table Mountain, which overlooks Cape Town:

The "tablecloth" rolls over Table Mountain:

Lounging around with the penguins in Simon's Town, in the south of Cape Town:

The next few photos are from a township (the equivalent of a shantytown) in Cape Town. I wish I could enlarge this first one; the woman is splitting a goat head with an axe, preparing a popular food in the area:

Getting ready to sip some homemade beer in the township:

I'm not sure what the hand signals mean, but I'm pretty sure they're not offensive:

A few friends I made in Cape Town; the three on the left traveled with me for the first few days of my road trip:

Planning my travel route at the hostel in Cape Town:

The view from Hogsback, a village of 1500 people in the hills of south-central South Africa:

A few shots taken while hiking around Hogsback:

Arriving on the Wild Coast--this is the beach in Chintsa:

A friend I made in Chintsa volunteered at a local game reserve, helping to raise lion cubs. She invited me to play with the cubs one afternoon, making for one of the highlights of my trip:

These little ecosystems exist in holes eroded into boulders lying on the beach in Chintsa--they were the home of crabs, snails, and even fish:

In Coffee Bay, a quiet beach town along the Wild Coast, I took a hike with a group to a place called "A Hole in the Wall." These are some photos from the hike:

The locals splashing around near A Hole in the Wall:

There's a reason it's called the Wild Coast--there are more cows sunbathing than people:

And here it is...the 1.4 liter asphalt igniter that successfully got me across South Africa:

More photos from Tanzania, Zambia, and Thailand will be coming soon...

Bangkok and...photos!

2008-03-28T02:04:00.011-05:00

Hello from Khao San Road in Bangkok, the backpackers' mecca represented in "The Beach" (that movie with Leonardo). Shops, hostels, and street vendors line the street, which, even on the average weekday is packed with both travelers and locals. Bangkok is a very captivating place that finds an interesting balance between a booming tourist industry (I recently read that 11.5 million tourists visited Thailand last year), and a rich culture. This is a place where you can be surrounded by tourists from all over the world on one street, and on the next be lost among closely-packed traditional homes lining a small, slowly-flowing river, with not a foreigner in sight. You can choose to eat in Burger King and sip Starbucks coffee, or to indulge in traditional phad thai and Thai coffee (or, if you’re not hungry enough for a full meal, you can always munch on roasted grasshoppers, worms, and cockroaches that street vendors sell). Bangkok is overflowing with life and activity--there is constantly something going on, a new place or event to be discovered. And, with many bars and restaurants open 24 hours, this city truly never sleeps.

Being one of the most popular tourist destinations in the world, I was expecting Bangkok to be heavily westernized, having lost much of its traditional nature to the demands and influences of an overwhelming tourist industry. While the negative consequences of the tourist industry here are glaringly clear and oftentimes hard to escape, the Bangkok I’ve found has been, for me, an incredibly positive and beautiful surprise. From the outstanding food that costs $2 a meal (to Al and the Callahans, every time I eat phad thai or tom kha gai soup I think about you guys—it’s indescribably good), to the intense muay thai boxing tournaments, the passion and intensity of Thai culture is apparent. My first evening here I took a “water taxi” along the river that flows through Bangkok, and as the boat splashed along I was in awe of the things we passed: the Buddhist temples on the river’s banks that literally sparkled, the multitudes of markets selling unknown delicacies and trinkets that would take days to navigate and become familiar with, and the brightly illuminated streets pulsing with life and activity. I felt almost lightheaded as I imagined all the things to be discovered and experienced in Bangkok, and how much time I could spend here exploring the city. Bangkok is raw, rough, and intense, but also beautiful and immensely captivating. It’s almost like a drug that can easily engulf you if you’re not careful.

Even after only a couple days, I have lots to say about Thailand. But instead of writing more, I'm going to take advantage of the fast connection I have to post a few pictures from Namibia. I plan to post more pictures from Tanzania, Zambia, South Africa, and Thailand soon, but I have a muay thai boxing tournament I need to head to, so the other pictures will have to wait.

And now, a few unedited photos from Namibia:

They call this place “Giant’s Playground,” and for good reason. Not only are the rocks stacked like toy blocks, but the trees are like miniature trees.

Fish Canyon, the second largest canyon in the world. I bet you know which is first…

These next few pictures are from Kolmannskuppe, an old diamond mining town that was abandoned about 60 years ago.

They actually let me bowl here

Namibia’s coast

Testing the camera…

Our group taking a break on the coast

Sunset on the dunes at Sossusvlei, the tallest dunes in the world

A storm approaching Sossusvlei

Dinner!

Lounging around at our campsite

Sitting on the dunes

The next few photos were taken at about 6am, as the sun rose above the dunes at Sossusvlei.

Jan distracts us from the sunrise

A group of Swedes (who backpack around Africa in a huge, bright pink tour bus) watching the sunrise

Taking a break with the group after a long hike up the dunes

Unfortunately, I ran out of water on the way

Now that’s parched earth

Looking out over Deadvlei (Dead Valley)

The next few shots are of Deadvlei—a place that’s really photogenic and hard to stop shooting

illuminating the taillights

2008-03-22T11:53:00.004-05:00

I'm writing from Durban, South Africa, on the tail-end of my road trip that began in Cape Town almost two weeks ago. Renting a car and traveling at my own pace, with the windows down and my music on the radio, was a very refreshing break from public transportation. With South Africa's (usually) well-maintained roads and civilized drivers, this was a good country to drive. And since I was driving one of the most popular routes in the most visited country in Africa, there was always someone nearby to chat and share experiences with.

To briefly outline my trip, I left Cape Town on the 12th, about twelve days ago. You can use the map above to get a general idea of where I was, although the smaller towns aren't on the map. In general, I followed the red line that goes from Cape Town east along the coast, all the way to Durban.

On the first day I drove about nine hours, ending up just outside Knysna, a beautiful beach town on the coast. That night I went to a reggae concert in a nearby township (the South African term for a 'slum' or 'shantytown').

The next day, I drove from Knysna to nearby Plattenberg Bay, a smaller town with an equally impressive beach. That night I went to bed with a headache, which I thought would disappear after sleeping. In the morning, I still had the headache, and it was worse than before. It didn't keep me from driving from Plattenberg to Jeffrey's Bay, the mecca for South Africa's surfers (and many shoppers, too). On the way to Jeffrey's Bay (which I thought was a really nice little town, with a laid-back surfer vibe and several nice little coffee shops), I passed the world's highest bungee jump. I had previously had my heart set on doing the jump, and I was even considering doing it even with a splitting headache. But my head was getting worse, and I decided to wait on the bungee jump. That night in Jeffrey's Bay, my sickness spread from my head to my stomach, and I spent a good part of the late night with a trashcan in my lap.

The next day, feeling a little better than the night before, I left Jeffrey's Bay and drove to Port Elizabeth, one of South Africa's larger cities. I decided that this city would offer the best hospitals in the region, so I decided to go into one to find out what was wrong with me. After running the requisite malaria tests, they reassured me that while I did not have malaria, I did have a virus that was spreading throughout the region. They recommended that I take aspirin. Since it was the early evening when I left the hospital (and since Port Elizabeth is a pretty average place), I decided that I could still make some good progress along my road trip. I left the hospital and, after a couple hours, arrived at the small, inland college town of Grahamstown.

In Grahamstown I stayed at one of the most interesting hostels I've been to: The Olde Gaol. The Olde Gaol, decades ago, was actually the town's jail. Today, it is a bar and hostel--after walking in through the large iron front door, I found my room in what was formerly a jail cell. To make the experience a bit more eerie, the place was almost empty, so I had a large dorm including eight beds all to myself. Although Grahamstown is located a short distance from the coast, it has a completely different, almost enchanted feel to it. And for such a region, there wasn't a better place to stay than an old jail.

In the morning, I checked out of the jail and wandered to the nearby university, where I had an amazing spinach and feta omelette. Being near the university made me feel studious, so I read some of the two books I'm reading: "The State of Africa," by Martin Meredith (really great book, if you're interested in understanding the recent history of Africa), and Dostoyevsky's "The Idiot" (also a great book).

After leaving Grahamstown, I wandered farther from the coast into what might be called South Africa's hill country. The landscape gets greener, waterfalls begin appearing, that eerie "enchanted" feeling becomes stronger, and the roads get worse and worse. In the late afternoon I arrived at Hogsback, a tiny mountain village of 1500 people. After checking into a hostel called "Away with the Fairies," I started to realize just how bizarre this village is. It has an area called "Hobbiton," and it's liquor store is called "The Ring." People in Hogsback claim it was the influence for Tolkien's "Lord of the Rings," and I think I believe them. Wandering around the many hiking trails running near the village, I almost expected to see a fairy. Instead, I was followed by families of monkeys and the smallest hummingbird I've ever seen. Eventually, I stumbled upon a large, beautiful waterfall, where I sat to write in my journal and watch the river crabs walking nearby. I think Hogsback is as close to enchanted as the real world gets.

Unfortunately, Hogsback also left me with a flat tire, so, first thing the next day, I drove to the largest nearby city, East London, and spent my afternoon at a shopping mall (that had an electricity outage) near the mechanic. A new tire and a few hours later, I was on the road again, heading to what is known as the Wild Coast.

South Africa's coastline is divided into several different regions, the most popular being the Garden Route. The Garden Route, which begins near Cape Town, is heavily touristy, with well-developed towns, shops, and roads. Along the Garden Route, it's oftentimes hard to meet locals, since foreigners work at the hostels and, oftentimes, even at restaurants. The Wild Coast, in contrast, is definitely wild--the towns are oftentimes very isolated and out of the way. There were a couple times I went hungry since there were no restaurants nearby. But, on the upside, the Wild Coast is closer to what is called "real Africa." In fact, the reason why the towns along the Wild Coast are less developed is because the region belongs to one of the various tribes that populates South Africa.

After changing my tire, I drove to my first destination in the Wild Coast, Chintsa. The tiny town of Chintsa looks onto a gorgeous bay. Rather than lying in the sand, I preferred to sit on some large rocks that projected into the ocean and allowed me to be surrounded by crashing waves. The waves have eroded large holes in the surface of the rocks that are submerged during high tide, and that leave isolated natural aquariums at low tide. It was fascinating to sit by these holes and watch the tiny, independent ecosystems that lived inside, filled with coral, crabs, and snails.

In Chintsa I met another American (Bostonian) named Anita, who had just finished volunteering for several weeks at a local game reserve. She invited me to visit the lion cubs she helped to raise, which made for one of the most amazing experiences I've had in South Africa. The three female cubs, being three months old, were already too big to be picked up, but letting them lick my hand, gnaw on my watch, and playfully scratch me with their huge claws was something indescribable, and unforgettable.

I ended up tearing myself away from Chintsa and driving to Coffee Bay, another tiny coastal village. In Coffee Bay I felt closer to the local community than I had at any other point along the road trip--I hiked around the area, meeting several people and lots of their livestock.

After Coffee Bay, I drove to my final Wild Coast destination, Port St. Johns. Even though the weather had deteriorated to the point that it was impossible to enjoy the beach, I think Port St. Johns would have been my favorite destination along the route--the nearby town is active and full of life, the hostel I stayed at was laid-back, colorful, and had tons of character, and the beaches were beautiful.

Yesterday I left Port St. Johns and arrived here in Durban, South Africa's third largest city. Durban is also, I believe, South Africa's most diverse city, being home to members of various tribes, and the largest Indian community outside India. I've really enjoyed Durban--I'm staying at a beautiful, comfortable hostel (the Hippo Hide), and I've been able to explore the city a bit. Today I walked up and down Durban's coastline, watching everything from a skateboarding competition, to dancing minibus drivers jamming to their booming stereo, to an X-Games style motorcycle jumping competition.

Tomorrow I'll leave Durban, drive through the Drakensburg Mountains, and eventually arrive in Johannesburg, South Africa's biggest, baddest city. I've been repeatedly warned about how dangerous Johannesburg is, but I'm looking forward to experiencing firsthand the city that encapsulates so much of what is South Africa. On Monday morning I'll have to say farewell to my VW CitiGolf. On Tuesday morning I'll take a taxi to the airport, where I'll check in for my flight to Bangkok and begin the next chapter of my journey.

south africa

2008-03-12T06:10:00.002-05:00

I'm going to add another place to my list of favorite cities: Cape Town. Since arriving here a few days ago, I've had a great time hiking, swimming in the ocean, sitting on a beach next to penguins, eating great food (including crocodile, warthog, kudu, springbok, incredible seafood, and the best lamb I've ever tasted), reading in cafes, and stocking up on supplies and new books at the city's many extremely large and nice malls. Cape Town really has it all. I could definitely live here, and I wish I could stay longer!

Cape Town was made even better when I met up with a South African friend from college, Andrew. Spending time with Andrew, reminiscing about college, and learning about Cape Town and South Africa through his eyes was invaluable. He took me to a beautiful beach, where we swam in the frigid but refreshing Antarctic current, showed me where to find the best lamb the city has to offer, introduced me to South Africa's drink of choice (brandy and Coke), and even cooked me a traditional South African dinner (he even inspired me to learn how to cook!).

Today I'm leaving Cape Town, or, more accurately, tearing myself away from Cape Town. In about an hour I'll be driving a couple hours to the wine country, then making my way to the coast. I'll be making the journey in a white 1.3 liter VW Citi Golf I rented a couple days ago. I'm doing well learning how to drive on the wrong side of the road (rotaries get confusing sometimes), but honestly the hardest part is trying to maneuver a car with no power steering. I'm going to be making the journey to the wine country and coast with three girls I met here in the city (from Germany, Belgium, and Spain), so it'll be great to have some company on the road. The path I'll be following along the coast is a popular one, so meeting people along the way and sharing a ride is a common thing. It's funny that even though I'm technically traveling solo, I don't think I've been alone on this trip yet--there's always someone to share a ride or conversation with, whether for a couple minutes or a week.

I'll be posting more on my trip along the coast as I make stops along the way. I hope you're all doing well!

Africa with a touch of Germany

2008-03-07T08:12:00.002-05:00

Yesterday I returned to Namibia's capital, Windhoek (pronounced like "wind hook") after spending one week on a guided tour of the country. Our group, which consisted of six people from the US, Germany, Holland, Italy, and New Zealand, had a great time together.

On our first day, we visited a cheetah sanctuary that rescues orphaned cheetahs (orphaned due to hunting, usually). I was fascinated by watching the cheetahs up close, but I was stunned when a young woman opened the tall wire gate with a bucket of horse meat, walked right into the cheetah's territory, and then invited me to follow her. For the next half-hour or so, I walked with the cheetahs, getting within inches of them as they fed, and at one point even getting to pet one. It was really a spectacular experience, especially after seeing the cheetahs from a distance in their natural environment in the Serengeti.

In addition to walking with cheetahs, the group and I got a wonderful introduction to Namibia, which is really a beautiful, clean, and naturally spectacular country. In Namibia there is a very strong, obvious German influence (which I mentioned in my last post), from street names (I'm staying on Johann-Albrecht Strasse), to food (lots of great German bread and fudge). In addition to that, though, Namibia is the home of various tribes that live the same as they did during the Stone Age. While traveling around the country, I met the San people, the original inhabitants of southern Africa, and other indigenous communities, and in the process I learned a few of the 'clicks' that characterize some of the native languages here. One girl used all four of the clicks as she invited me to a dance that evening in her native language (I was sad to find out there wasn't actually a dance--she just used the invitation to teach me the clicks).

Along our journey, we visited the second largest canyon in the world, Fish Canyon (the Grand Canyon is the first). We also visited what is probably Namibia's most notable natural site: the sand dunes in the Namib desert. These dunes, formed by sands blown in from the nearby Kalahari desert, are the largest in the world, rising close to 1000 feet. Climbing them is every bit as difficult as you probably imagine, but the views from the top and rolling down the side of the dunes makes the climb more than worth it.

Near the dunes, in the southern region of Namibia, we visited an abandoned diamond mining town that used to be the center of Namibia's booming diamond trade. Abandoned in the 1950s, the town had been very well preserved by the sands, which now flood the homes and buildings, providing an eerie ambience to the place.

Another spectacle of Namibia is its skies, both during the day and at night. We saw some spectacular sunrises and sunsets while camping in the middle of the desert, and the night sky, free from the pollution of city lights, is spectacularly bright with stars. At one point I saw two shooting stars within one minute, and it wasn't uncommon to see a satellite slowly making its way across the sky. It's amazing what we miss by living in cities!

Now back in the capital, I'm stocking up on biltong (beef and game jerky, which, by the way is INCREDIBLE here) in preparation for my bus trip this afternoon. In a couple hours I'll be leaving Windhoek for Cape Town, South Africa. The trip will take about 20 hours. I've been told that as I go further south, Africa becomes increasingly European. My experience so far has definitely supported this. So I'm expecting South Africa to be even more European than Namibia. Even so, the mix here in Namibia is very interesting, and, from my perspective, a bit bizarre. Walking around the city, I see children with bright blonde hair sharing the sidewalk with African women in centuries-old traditional dress. And both call themselves Namibians. One thing that has struck me is that the history of Namibia--and Africa in general--is so apparent in the everyday scenes and events that take place on its streets. Walking through Africa is truly walking through history, and experiencing the interactions of peoples and cultures.

Windhoek on a whim

2008-02-28T04:37:00.005-05:00

Since boarding the Tazara Express in Dar es Salaam, it seems like I haven't stopped moving. The forty-hour train ride was wonderful--the mix of scenery, travel companions, and overall comfort made it one of the most enjoyable train rides I've been on. After becoming friends with a Tanzanian man who uses the train on a regular basis, we convinced the conductor to upgrade my ticket from second to first class. The first class section was great--we had four beds to each train compartment, and in the caboose was a bright red lounge with very comfy chairs (unless I was sleeping, this is where I was). The train passed by a couple game parks in Tanzania, which offered views of elephants, giraffes, and warthogs. Because I was sitting in the lounge with my nose buried in "Angels and Demons" (which I finished on the trip), I unfortunately missed the wildlife show out my window. One thing I didn't miss, though, was all the children running alongside the train, shouting, waving and laughing. From Tanzania's coast to central Zambia, the children in each village never tired of running alongside our windows.

To me, traveling by land is usually a great experience; I love seeing how the landscape and people change as I leave one place and approach another. Looking out my train window, I watched tiny villages, beautiful national parks, tall mountains with waterfalls, and the occasional well-populated town pass by.

I arrived in Kapiri Mposhi at about noon, two days after first boarding the train. Once there, I purchased a (very expensive) visa and found a taxi that agreed to make the two-hour trip to take me and a few friends from the train to Lusaka. Once in Lusaka, my friends (siblings James and Emily, originally from the UK) and I made our way to the city's main bus station with the goal of finding a bus to Livingstone, located eight hours southwest of Lusaka. I hope this bus station was Zambia at its worst, because it was a dirty, incredibly hectic place with someone trying to take advantage of us literally every step we took in the station. Fortunately, James, who lives in Malawi, has been to the station once or twice, and knew how to navigate the chaos pretty well. We eventually boarded a bus for Livingstone that, we were promised, would be leaving soon. It left four hours later.

After waiting for the bus to leave for four hours, then being on the road for eight hours, James, Emily, and I arrived in Livingstone, the gateway to Victoria Falls, at about 3am. Fortunately, even early in the morning we were welcomed into Jolly Boys Hostel. In spite of the name, Jolly Boys is one of the best hostels I have ever stayed at, complete with a pool, pool table, a bar, a nice pillow reading area, and a kind of treehouse feel to the whole place. And it costs $8 a night! While visiting the Jolly Boys restroom, I noticed an advertisement for a trip to Namibia, a neighboring country that is extremely difficult to navigate without a tour group or your own 4x4. The tour was so attractive, well-priced, and convenient that the gears in my head immediately started turning.

In the morning I visited reception. They reassured me that, with only one month, traveling from Livingstone to Cape Town via Namibia would be a much better idea than making my way to Cape Town via Mozambique. After a bit more research, I booked my ticket to Namibia's capital, Windhoek. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Before noon, I put all my necessary items in a ziplock bag and headed to Victoria Falls with James and Emily. These Falls, traditionally called the "Smoke that Thunders," are intense. Because we are currently in the rainy season, the enormous curtain of water (1 mile wide and 108 meters tall) and the mist coming from it were much heavier than normal. The Falls are fed by the Zambezi River, which also serves as the border between Zambia and Zimbabwe. On the Zambian side, the best place to see the Falls is from an island that sits directly in front of the enormous curtain of water. Even standing directly in front, it's extremely difficult to comprehend the size of Victoria Falls--due to the heavy mist, it is extremely hard to see the Falls in their entirety unless viewing it by air.

Having been to Niagara and Iguazu, I can say that Victoria is definitely the least developed park. In a way, that was a good thing--I was able to sit on the banks of the Zambezi with my feet in the water, literally ten feet from where the water plummets off the edge. For much of the park, there are no guard rails, only dirt trails that lead to the river's edge. Victoria is also definitely the wettest waterfall. Standing on the island in front of the Falls, the "mist" comes in like powerful rain in all directions--from above, from in front, and even from below your nose. Standing in the mist of the Falls, in awe of its sheer size and power, was a highlight of my time in Africa thus far.

After returning to the hostel, packing my things, getting a good night's rest, and getting advice from James on my further travel through South Africa (he lived in Johannesburg), I boarded my bus for Windhoek, Namibia. Though the battered, grey bus was far from posh, the wind blowing in the cabin, the occasional elephant sighting, and some very friendly Norwegian passengers made the ride very enjoyable. I also had a chance to read a good amount of my new book, Nabokov's "Pnin."

Arriving in Namibia, I can honestly say this country is one of the biggest surprises I've encountered since leaving the US. Perhaps the surprise was amplified by the fact that I arrived from Zambia, an extremely poor country with a reported HIV/AIDS infection rate of 30%. Immediately upon crossing the border into Namibia, I saw big, clean gas stations and enormous supermarkets that would have been at home in Florida. There were picnic areas along the road. And all of a sudden German started appearing all over the place. As I learned, Namibia was colonized by the Germans, and the country only gained its independence in 1990. As some Germans on the bus told me, some parts of Namibia are more German than Germany, simply because they have retained German traditions better than Germany itself has.

Namibia's capital, Windhoek, presented me with even more surprises. This city of about 250,000 has beautiful German architecture, wide outdoor malls, and Mercedes and BMWs all over the place. In a way, I feel like I'm in a city modeled on a ski village in Colorado. This morning I smiled when a brand new BMW GS motorcycle passed me. After walking around a bit, I found myself in the middle of a beautiful street market, complete with arts and crafts, restaurants, coffee shops, and even several spotless malls. Needing some medicine, I wandered into a pharmacy where a German pharmacist advised me. Earlier in the day, my taxi driver told me, "We are like a little Germany in Africa. We have Lamborghinis!" This beautiful little Germany in Africa is truly bizarre, but I'm very glad I discovered it.

Because I've heard from friends back home and here on the road that Namibia is a gorgeous, fascinating country, I decided to book a spot with a one-week camping tour that goes throughout the southern region. I will be leaving early tomorrow morning, and returning the afternoon of March 6th. Having chosen the tour on a complete whim, I'm really not sure what's in store for me, other than getting to see the tallest sand dunes in the world and a few German towns by the sea.

My plans after my tour have also changed. Rather than making a 'J' route down the coast of Mozambique, further down the coast of South Africa, and finally to Cape Town, I have decided on a 'backwards 'J.'' First, I will take a bus from Windhoek to Cape Town. Once in Cape Town, I'll either take buses or rent a car and make my way eastward along the coast, finally reaching Johannesburg. From Johannesburg I will (time permitting) take a bus to Mozambique's southern beaches, which are supposed to be a highlight of that country. I will then return to Johannesburg and fly to Asia for the next chapter of my journey!

Sorry for being a bit long-winded. I've discovered it's harder to find time for the Internet than I was expecting, so my thoughts keep accumulating in my head until I can share them on here.

In general, I'm enjoying the backpacker lifestyle, skimming the surfaces of various countries, getting a brief snapshot of their cultures and lifestyles. It is definitely a contrast to the kind of traveling I've done before, which was almost always tied to work and, thus, a single specific place. When I was working in a single place, I was slightly jealous of those people I met backpacking across the continent. Now that I'm the one backpacking, I realize I would probably be very unsatisfied with this experience if I hadn't previously immersed myself for an extended amount of time in a single foreign country and culture. Driving by thatched-roof villages, I find myself wondering what it would be like to live in such a home, to share their food, and to become a temporary member of their family. My memories of Mongolia, Chile, and Uruguay temporarily calm my curiosity and keep me from getting off the bus, halting my journey, and spending the next few months in a village in rural Africa.

train delays in Dar

2008-02-23T04:00:00.002-05:00

I'm currently in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania, waiting to board a train to Kapiri Mposhi, Zambia. The train was supposed to leave yesterday, but 'mechanical difficulties' caused a one day delay. Apparently delays in Africa's train system are pretty normal.

Dar isn't a bad place to be stuck for a day. I have a basic room at the local YWCA with a bed, mosquito net, and sink. It's pretty comfortable, but the midnight curfew was a bit annoying. Last night I saw "Gone Baby Gone" at a mall near the university. Seeing movies while traveling is always an enjoyable experience for me--it's like getting a little taste of home. I've also been reading a lot lately. I'm making my way through Dan Brown's "Angels and Demons," which is entertaining. I'm looking forward to beginning some of the other books I recently bought (a couple books by Nabokov, Turgenev, and Tolstoy). In my room at the YWCA I also found "The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and clay," which I'm looking forward to starting. I left "Animal Farm" in its place for the next visitor to room 9.

My train should leave at 3pm today (7am EST I think). The trip from here to Kapiri Mposhi, Zambia, will take just over forty hours. In Kapiri Mposhi, I'll find a bus to Lusaka (Zambia's capital), then to Livingstone, the gateway to Victoria Falls. After Victoria Falls, I plan to take public transportation back to Lusaka, then to Malawi's capital, Lilongwe. From there I'll head east to Mozambique (I got a 2-month, multi-entry visa without any problems). I plan to make my way down Mozambique's coast to Swaziland and South Africa. But I should be posting again long before that.

I hope you're all doing well. I got to see a good friend from Florida, Katie, here in Dar. She's studying abroad here, and invited me to explore a bit of the city, and to visit an English class she teaches for local craftsmen. It was a wonderful experience, and I was very impressed by their dedication to their studies.

Dina left for New York City a few days ago, which means I'm now officially on my own. It's a bittersweet transition, but I'm excited about the adventures that lie ahead, and the new friends I'll make. Backpacking usually provides a constant supply of interesting and unique characters.

I hope you're all doing well! I'll be back soon with an update.

Tanzania, Zanzibar, and the next chapter

2008-02-17T14:18:00.008-05:00

Hello from Zanzibar! I just took a few minutes to include links to some maps that I hope you'll find useful--the links are in the sidebar on the right side of the screen (over there------>>>>>). Thanks to UT-Austin's Perry Castaneda Library Map Collection, definitely the best I've come across. I've left the Fulbright-related links up in case anyone decides to read my older posts from Uruguay.

It's strange to think that a few months ago I associated Zanzibar with Tenacious D and Disney World, and now here I am wandering around its busy markets and resting on its beaches. For those who are like I was, the island of Zanzibar is part of Tanzania, and is located a short distance off the shores of the mainland part of the country. I've posted a map of Tanzania--Zanzibar is just off the coast.

Zanzibar is a great place for resting--it is a unique paradise with beautiful beaches with bright blue water (comparable to Cancun), amazing food that showcases the many spices grown on the island, and a very strong Islamic influence that is apparent in the various calls to prayer one can hear echoing throughout the city and the apparel worn by both men and women. The people are very friendly, and Stone Town (the section of the city where I'm staying--a UNESCO World Heritage Site) is a great place to get lost among the many winding alleys. At almost every turn I'm tempted to take a picture of what I see--Zanzibar is incredibly photogenic, from its architecture to its inhabitants, and, finally, its beautiful sunsets over handmade boats that sail along its shores.

The past couple weeks have been filled with amazing experiences, which I'll try to summarize while still doing them justice. Dina and I arrived in Zanzibar early yesterday morning (just as George Bush was wandering around Dar es Salaam, a short distance away). For the week before our arrival, we were wandering around the game parks located in the northern part of Tanzania (very close to Kenya). We were very near to Mount Kilimanjaro and the city of Arusha, which you can see on the map (as a side note: contrary to what Toto sings in their hit song "Africa," Kilimanjaro is not visible from the Serengeti). To be more specific, we spent one day on Lake Manyara, three days in the Serengeti, and a couple days in or around the Ngorongoro Crater. All three places were spectacular.

Dina and I really lucked out. We arrived at the safari company we booked with to find out that no one else had signed up for our trip--it was a private trip with just us, our guide, and a cook. Voyaging around the parks in a beefed-up Land Cruiser was a magical experience. At Lake Manyara, a large family of about thirty baboons wandered along the road with us, a couple babies lagging behind to roll around next to our truck. Elephants and giraffes blocked our route on several occasions.

Ngorongoro Crater, the result of the collapse of an ancient volcano, is breathtaking not only due to the animals that live there, but also due to its sheer size and beauty. Inside the crater I felt as though I was wandering around either dinosaur territory or a fantasy world--a land that seemed untouched by humans. There were large, green hills, a mirror-like lake covered with flamingos, and, constantly in the distance, the enormous walls of the crater. I have a hard time describing Ngorongoro; Dina called it "Eden."

The Serengeti lived up to its reputation. At this time of the year, millions of wildebeests migrate through the Serengeti National Park, and many of the animals give birth there. As you can imagine, this provides a ton of food for the lions, cheetahs, and other predators that inhabit the Serengeti. Watching the drama that plays out is like being in an interactive show on the Discovery Channel, or really several shows--we wandered from "Leopard Country" to "Elephant Country" to "Lion Country," and each region in the Serengeti's over 14,000 square kilometers had a distinct character.

We watched as hundreds of thousands of wildebeests grazed along the vast Serengeti plains, as a pair of cheetahs gnawed at their kill while ducking from buzzards that hovered above their heads, and as hippos fought with each other only a few meters from the shore where we stood. At one point, we found three cheetahs gazing into the distance, looking for food. We followed them for an hour as they stalked a family of gazelles, only to be noticed and left hungry. In defeat and searching for another target, they wandered right by our truck, only ten feet from us. While watching the way the cheetahs stalked, walked, and waited, I understood just how different it is to see them (and all the other animals) in their natural habitat instead of up close and caged in at a zoo.

Each night we found a campsite and put up our tents. There are no barriers between the campsite and the rest of the park--at night we could hear the sound of hyenas wandering around our tents, and one night I literally walked within feet of a grazing water buffalo. Once, at 4am, I awoke to the sound of water buffalo "mooing" in the nearby wilderness. Suddenly, this sound was followed by a roar--in the morning my guide told me he had also been woken up by the sound of lions hunting the buffalo.

And so, carrying tons of memories and hundreds of pictures, I left the parks of Northern Tanzania and arrived here in Zanzibar. I only plan to be here a few more days--just long enough to visit the beaches along the northern coast and to plan the next leg of my trip. Dina will be flying back to New York in a couple days, which means I'll soon be forced to begin my journey as a solo traveler. It's been wonderful traveling with Aditya and Avani in India and Dina here in Africa, and now I'm excited to see what kinds of experiences I'll have on my own. Of course, I am going to be taking a few precautions--tomorrow I'll be visiting a tailor to have pockets sown inside my blue jeans, and on the underside of my belt.

Although my plans are very tentative at this point, here's what I'm thinking (I hope this map helps!):

I plan to fly from here to Dar es Salaam later this week. From Dar es Salaam, I'll take a train west to Zambia, where I'll visit Victoria Falls (which is on the border with Zimbabwe, south of Lusaka). From the Falls, I plan to go back east to Malawi's capital, Lilongwe. Once in Lilongwe, I'll find a bus and head south to Blantyre, where I can take another bus to Mozambique's border. Once across the border, I'll make my way further east, all the way to Mozambique's coast where I'll arrive at Ilha de Mocambique (supposedly a beautiful island). Once in Mozambique, I'm planning to make my way south along the coast, past Swaziland and into South Africa.

Of course, all these plans are tentative, but I'll do my best to keep you all posted on how things play out. Since arriving here in Zanzibar, I've received some advice (and inspiration) from some of the people I've met, including social workers, Peace Corps volunteers, and even a man who backpacked from Cairo to Cape Town. No matter how much I travel, I'm always impressed by the variety of people I run into. I'm going to stay flexible to the advice and information people share with me, which, in addition to my guide, will be the main influences on where I go from day to day.

I hope you're all doing very well, and I'm wishing you the best.

a quick update

2008-02-09T09:35:00.000-05:00

Hello everyone! I have only a few minutes here in Kampala, Uganda to write, but I'll start by saying that things are going very well. Uganda is a beautiful country, with rolling, green hills, tons of flowers and vegetation, and some of the friendliest people I've ever met. Riding in a taxi, all the kids wave and yell "mzungu!" which means "white person!" Fortunately, Uganda is very stable, and the people seem to take a very active interest in the events of their neighbors. This has given me some great opportunities to learn about the turmoil that often affects Africa from a perspective I've never had before.

Last week, Dina (my college friend and travel companion) and I went hiking in the Bwindi impenetrable forest to track down a family of mountain gorillas. The experience was spectacular and unforgettable--we got within 10 feet of the gorillas, including a silverback. They were incredibly docile as they munched their leaves, and seemed to only be mildly curious in us.

Yesterday was another highlight, as we went rafting the Nile. We rafted about four class 5 rapids (the highest allowed for rafting). Contrary to what I was expecting, the experience was really intense. Two times our raft was flipped, and I was held underwater for about 15 seconds (the first time only to come up under another raft!). The second time a kayaker had to rescue me--I was coughing up water for about five minutes. It was pretty awesome!

Tomorrow Dina and I will fly to Kilimanjaro, in Tanzania, in preparation for our trip to the Serengeti and Ngorongoro Crater. Following that, we will head to Zanzibar, where I will plan the next five months of my journey!

I'm wishing you all the best--I'll write again when I get a chance!

namaste

2008-01-31T01:56:00.000-05:00

I'm writing from the airport in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, a very bright and sunny place. On the flight here from Delhi, I was upgraded to first class, after being incorrectly told by the airline representative that my reservation had been cancelled since I didn't re-confirm it. So I ended up having a great flight in the almost empty first-class section, complete with an omelette and champagne. The highlight of the flight was waking up to a beautiful sunrise in a perfectly clear sky. Below us were vast sand dunes and not a single sign of civilization. The stewardess told me we were flying over Oman.

After having an enjoyable three weeks in India, I'm left with that frustrating feeling that I only got a small sample of a truly vast and fascinating place. With such a small amount of time, I limited myself to the western region of Rajasthan, which also happens to be the most touristy region in India (40% of tourists who visit India head to Rajasthan). As a result, I was constantly on the beaten path, struggling to see "real" India and being haggled by people used to dealing with tourists. The sites I saw were beautiful, and quite a few of the locals I met were kind and colorful, but I know I left a world untouched. I keep telling myself it's a good thing that I left something for the next time I visit!

I haven't done a very good job of keeping you all updated while I visited the "Three J's" (Jaipur, Jodhpur, and Jaisalmer, the three main destinations in Rajasthan along with Udaipur, which I wasn't able to visit). I first visited Jaipur, a pretty large city a few hours from Delhi that is known for its pink Old City. The highlight of being in Jaipur was spending time with Aditya and Avani, who were doing work there. Together we had wonderful food, did a little bit of exploring the Old City, and went to an interesting carnival complete with local food, traditional dances, and even elephant rides (which I thought were surprisingly comfortable). While not with Adi and Avani, I spent most of my time wandering around the Old City's markets, seeing notable sites including the City Palace and Amber Fort (a huge fort just outside the city), and talking a bit with locals. It was while in Jaipur that people first greeted me ("Namaste!") without the intent of selling me something. This was refreshing. Coincidentally, I also met a French guy about my age who has been traveling in India for the last four months. Having volunteered in a hospital in Calcutta, he gave me some very valuable information on doing volunteer work. By inviting me for a cup of chai tea, he also helped to break in my fear of sampling India's street food.

After a couple days in Jaipur, I took a bus to the blue city, Jodhpur. The bus departed at midnight, and was scheduled to arrive in Jodhpur seven hours later. These turned out to be the worst seven hours of my trip, and some of the worst in all my travels. Prior to the trip, Avani and I decided to have a very large, tasty meal from a street cafe. One hour into my trip, on the dark bus where I was crammed in a small seat near the window, I got sick. Needless to say, the next six hours of the trip were far less than pleasant. I finally arrived in Jodhpur, and spent the first part of the day doing laundry and recovering from the trip. Then I determined to make the most of my one day in the blue city. I'm glad I did.

Jodhpur was a beautiful city--the blue was more of a deep indigo, and made the city glow in the sunlight. Straying from the busy markets I got lost among the tiny pathways lined by blue. Children ran up and greeted me, inviting me to throw a ball with them. A few adults smiled and asked where I was from. I finally found my way to Mehrangarh, an enormous, spectacular fort that overlooks the city. The fort, which looks more like an huge, intricately detailed palace, seems to have been carved directly into the mountainside on which it rests. I spent most of the day there, wandering around the fort's many rooms and balconies. I sat, wrote in my journal, and had a cup of soup (my first food--excluding a chocolate chip cookie Avani gave me before my departure--since I got sick).

While writing in my journal, people would stand next to me and watch me write. I asked them if they could read what I was writing, and they never could--they just wanted to see my handwriting. Once, a whole family--a father, mother, uncle, and three small children--stood over my shoulder watching me write. They asked a few questions about me, then they each thanked me and shook my hand. Meeting people helped to reinvigorate me after my bus trip ordeal. I was again excited about traveling, in spite of its inevitable risks and discomforts. I was also reminded of the element that is most important to me in my travels: the people I meet.

Interestingly, after this reminder new friends regularly started crossing paths with my own. On the seven-hour overnight train ride from Jodhpur to Jaisalmer, I sat with a couple older Australian women whose passion for India was contagious. They shared some traditional Indian sweets with me, told me about the latest in Bollywood gossip, and further convinced me how essential it is that I see more of India.

I slept very well and woke up in the desert city of Jaisalmer. Made of sandstone, this is known as the golden city. It is also much smaller than my previous destinations in India, having less than 100,000 inhabitants. The focus of the city is its fort, which is still inhabited and full of life, containing eclectic shops selling leather journals, books, colorful clothing, and spices.

I decided to spend my time in Jaisalmer escaping it all, so I hired a guide to take me into the nearby Thar Desert on a camel for three days and two nights. The Thar Desert, which borders Pakistan only 30km from where I was, is not the dune-filled desert you may imagine. It does, however, provide some beautiful sunrises and sunsets, and amazing views of the stars--views that vividly reminded me of Mongolia for maybe the first time since leaving there in 2004.

The highlight of the trip, though, was spending time with the other travelers who were also along for the ride--three adventurous 19 year-old Australian students. Spending time with these three was great. Their kindness, joy, and sense of adventure was contagious. Even though they were only 19, they gave me advice on traveling China, Laos, Cambodia, Thailand, and Vietnam, and they wanted my advice for a year-long trip they plan to spend in Latin America. Although I wish we could have traveled together longer, we had to part.

And so here I am in Ethiopia! Having only been in the airport, I can't say much other than that it is definitely a cool feeling to set foot in Africa for the first time!

Leaving for Rajasthan

2008-01-21T13:54:00.001-05:00

Thanks to Avani's help, I am right now holding three train tickets that will allow me to explore Rajasthan, India's western region of deserts and palaces, and also the region that borders Pakistan. The region is famous for its "Three J's: Jaipur, Jodhpur, and Jaisalmer," three cities each with its own unique look and flavor. Jaipur is the pink city, Jodhpur the blue city, and Jaisalmer the gold city, which seems to arise out of the desert like a mirage. I will be gone about exactly one week visiting each of the three cities; here's the itinerary (you can find good maps here: http://www.lib.utexas.edu/maps/india.html):

January 22:
Leave Delhi at 6:10am
Arrive at Jaipur at about 11am
See Jaipur

January 23:
Jaipur

January 24:
Jaipur
Leave Jaipur late night (around midnight)

January 25:
Arrive at Jodhpur early morning (about 6am)
See Jodhpur
Leave Jodhpur at 11:25pm

January 26:
Arrive at Jaisalmer early morning (about 8am)
Go on camel safari in desert
Spend night on dunes

January 27:
Return from camel safari
See Jaisalmer

January 28:
Leave Jaisalmer at 4pm

January 29:
Arrive in Delhi at 10am
Leave for Kampala, Uganda, late that night

I'll send more details of my travels in Rajasthan as soon as I have an internet connection and some free time. For now, I'll leave you with a few of the pictures I've snapped so far...

Images from Jama Masjid, one of the largest mosques in India:

Delhi:

The view in a rickshaw:

My backpack is delivered!

Hamayun's Tomb (like walking into a fairytale):

Me and Avani:

Sunrise on the way to the Taj Mahal:

Aditya rapping to "Intergalactic" on the way to the Taj Mahal:

The trio at the Taj:

Monkeys at the Taj (there are monkeys running all around Delhi, too)!:

Good night!

playing the game

2008-01-16T16:12:00.000-05:00

If you've ever wanted to be shown all the ways you can possibly be ripped off, come to India. One could pack a decent-sized book with all the scams one may encounter here: taxi drivers tell you your hotel has burned down just so they can take you to another hotel that pays them a commission; individuals approach you at free museums claiming you forgot to buy an admission ticket, which they happily collect for; when you finally find a rickshaw with a working meter (most of them work; the drivers just claim they don't), the drivers take you three times the distance to your actual destination, claiming they misunderstood where you wanted to go. My guide even tells of a scam that occurred before the police cracked down on it: restaurants would poison the food of tourists so that they would be sent to a local hospital. The hospital would then reimburse the restaurant a part of the insurance money.

Arriving, finding your hotel, navigating the public transportation system, and finally stepping into that park or museum you've been looking forward to is a trying process in any foreign country. When there are numerous individuals at every step of the process trying to make money off of you by feeding you false information, it's easy to become daunted. I reached a low point yesterday.

I had decided to walk between two relatively close sites in Delhi. Unfortunately, a bridge for only vehicles blocked my path, and forced me to hire a middle-aged man to take me the ten-minute ride in his rickshaw. "How many rupees?" I asked him. He promised me, in fluent English, that he would use the meter. Once in the rickshaw, comforted by being able to watch the progress of my fare on the meter, the man began telling me about himself. He explained that he has lived in Delhi his whole life. He shared his favorite parts of India, which he travels every year, and why those places mean so much to him. He told me his son collects coins, and I offered him a quarter from the US. His son would be visiting tomorrow, and would be very happy to find the coin waiting for him. He was even planning a big celebration for his son. "You can ask me anything about Delhi," he told me, "I will give you an honest answer."

I opened up to him too, seeing no reason not to since I had my current fare right in front of my face--no reason to worry about the possibility of this open, nice guy ripping me off, right? Wrong. I should have known things weren't as they seemed when he acted like he misunderstood my destination and headed in the wrong direction. I caught him in the act, but decided, instead of turning around, to go to another site I wanted to see in the direction he took.

We finally arrived, and I thanked him for the ride and conversation as I withdrew money to pay the 67 rupee fare. "Sixty-seven rupees," I said. He responded: "Oh no, sir. The meter is only a gauge for distance. You need to multiply that number by five." Multiplying 67 rupees by five means I owed this guy eight dollars--at least two times more than any conceivable rickshaw ride around the city could cost, not considering the fact that he even went the wrong way. I told him that price was entirely unfair, and that I thought 100 rupees would be more than fair. He looked at me in the eyes and said, "Sir, that is simply not enough. This meter does not show your fare; it needs to be multiplied by five." I told him I would only give him 100 rupees and he said the words I have already heard and been confused by several times: "Sir, I have never wanted money. I will accept what you will give me, but I ask that you be fair." I swallowed my pride (and my common sense), thought about the good conversations we had about him and his family, and handed him 200 rupees. "If I give you any more, I'm going to have to walk home," I told him. He accepted.

Walking away from the man, I was furious. I was frustrated that I had been ripped off once again. But, even more, I was upset that someone had gained and betrayed my trust so overtly. I wanted to be able to trust people, to listen to and believe what they told me about themselves. I took it personally.

While fuming, I stepped into a nice statue shop, where I was greeted by a reserved young man. I looked for a few minutes, then began to walk out when the man said, "Please know that we will give you 40% off of anything in the store. That is just how it is done here in India." For some reason the man's words resonated with me. It is an assumption in India that things are listed as being more expensive than they are; it is an assumption that they will be bargained down. These assumptions are part of India's culture and society, and here I was taking them as personal attacks and betrayals of my trust. I decided I could either be frustrated with this aspect of India, or I could learn about it and play along. Considering how useful the ability to bargain would be while traveling through my next destinations (Africa and China), not to mention in life in general, I decided I would learn to play along.

Realizing there was no shame in getting the lowest price possible, and that I had little to lose if I tried to offer a price too low, I went to work. I wandered into a packed, chaotic underground market and decided to go shopping for the first item on my shopping list: tape. I only needed a piece, and I eventually found one at an electronics shop. The guy wanted 100 rupees--yes, $2.50 for a piece of tape. After a minute of bargaining, I walked out of the store with a free piece of tape (the guy told me he was only kidding with me--that he didn't actually want me to pay for it. That's after he asked me for 100, 80, and, finally, 50 rupees).

It was only a piece of tape, but it was like a big shiny trophy to me.

When it was finally time to go home, I walked to the rickshaws, knowing that I would pay no more than 100 rupees for the ride back home. "How much to take me to Vasant Vihar?" I asked. "150 rupees." "I'll give you 60." "No way," the first driver told me. "Okay, thank you," I said, and walked away. After this conversation repeated itself with three drivers, I decided I was probably shooting too low. In the end, I got home for a fair price to both me and my driver. From what I've heard from the locals, a foreigner getting a fair price on a rickshaw is a pretty big deal.

Earlier tonight I went out with the interns working with the Clinton Foundation here in Delhi. One of them shared her perspective on being ripped off in India. She considered that India is packed with people, each of whom is on his or her own. Many of these people are extremely poor, and on a daily basis watch people who bought a trip to India for a small fortune that could change their lives forever. Is it really any wonder that they try to earn an extra few rupees off of these foreigners?

I suppose, in the end, that I'm grateful that Indians give foreigners a chance to use bargaining to defend what they have. In many of the other countries I've visited (Chile, Colombia, and Brazil stand out), violence is viewed as a much more effective tool for getting one's hands on a foreigner's wallet.

By the seat of my pants

2008-01-14T13:29:00.000-05:00

As some of you have already heard, I've once again decided to let my wanderlust get the best of me. Motivated by the desire to see new parts of the world, the need to do some serious introspection, a confirmed spot in law school, some gracious invitations from friends, and eight months of free time on my hands, I decided to leave home and dedicate the next few months to living out of my backpack. Here's the tentative plan:

January 11th - 20th: Delhi and Agra, India (Taj Mahal)
January 21st - 28th: Rajasthan, India (Jaipur, Jodhpur, Jaisalmer, maybe Udaipur)
January 29th: Fly to Kampala, Uganda
January 30th - February 6th: Gorilla trekking in Uganda
February 6th - 9th: Explore Kampala, Uganda
February 10th - 15th: Safari in Tanzania (Serengeti, Ngorongoro Crater, etc.)
February 16th - March 31st - Zanzibar, Ethiopia, Zambia (Victoria Falls), Botswana, South Africa
April 1st - 30th: China (with possible trips to Taiwan and Hong Kong)
May 1st - July 1st: Southeast Asia (Thailand, Cambodia, Vietnam, Laos)

I apologize for the details becoming vague in the later months--unlike most of my other trips, I'm planning this one on a day-by-day basis, by the seat of my pants, relying on recommendations of people I meet along the way and nice travel deals I might stumble upon.

======================

Last Friday I boarded a plane in Orlando, Florida and flew to what is probably the polar opposite of "tranquilo" Montevideo, Uruguay--Delhi, India. Minutes after finding out my airline lost my backpack (aka my lifeblood for the trip) and boarding a bulky, 50s style taxi with red and blue flashing lights that darted through traffic while constantly honking, I had a strong urge to yell "YEEEHAAAAW!!" That wouldn't be the only time I'd have that urge here in Delhi--this fascinating place is not for the tame. Never before have I seen such a level of poverty, chaos, and potential risks to my health, from the existence of TB that requires me to gargle with hot water, to traffic chaos that puts vehicles on sidewalks, flying through red lights, and going the wrong way, to absolutely prohibited food and water "that will give me cholera" (words of my truly generous host, Adi).

But amidst all the chaos and confusion, I'm having a great time. It's actually not hard to in a place where monkeys hang out on the sidewalks. But, more importantly, in Delhi nothing is cushioned--you are faced with raw reality, in all its pain and beauty.

Today was my first day actually experiencing Delhi, and already I have some unforgettable memories. Toward the top of the "unforgettable memories" list is my first ride in a rickshaw! Also, I visited a beautiful, enormous mosque, where I had a chance to chat with some of its more regular visitors about topics including Islam and Uruguay.

Today much of India celebrates the start of the harvest, a holiday (oftentimes compared to our Thanksgiving) that sees many people giving food to those less fortunate than themselves. In the spirit of the holiday, Avani (a friend who lives here), her mom, and her sister kindly invited me to join them this morning as they distributed bags of rice and lentils to poor individuals throughout the city. We arrived at a location with many homeless individuals and asked them to form a line so we could distribute the food. As soon as a line formed, one individual ignored it and grabbed a bag of rice. In an instant chaos broke loose--everyone lunged for the food, forming a large pile of people clawing at each other. Because I was holding a grocery bag containing many bags of food, many people swarmed toward me, fighting with anyone in their way--some went so far as to try to bite my legs. I immediately got back into our car, and listened as pieces of rice hit it--the bags of food were being torn apart as people fought over them. One handicapped woman used her crutch to beat others over the head in an attempt to get some food.

That plan having been abandoned, we decided to instead drive through the city and give bags to poor families and individuals along the way. This plan, which allowed us to share food with several mothers and quite a few children who probably would not have fought through the earlier crowd, was a success. I don't know if it's possible to imagine a more potent, illustrative example of why the method of distributing help to the poor is just as important as what is distributed.

It's getting late here, so I should sign off. I'm not sure how often I'll be able to update this blog, since I'm not sure exactly where I'll be. But I will try to update it as often as possible, and if I can figure out a way to post some of my pictures, I will!

By the way, earlier tonight the airline (KLM) delivered my backpack to my room, and disaster was narrowly averted.

Good night!
Dustin

despedidas

2007-11-27T23:11:00.000-05:00

Being back home in Orlando, looking back on my eight months away, I can definitely say my time in Uruguay flew by. Looking through and organizing my pictures for this post was a real pleasure, since it took me back to my last couple weeks in Montevideo, including the CeRP in Atlantida, the Alianza, and my elementary school in Montevideo. Being back home is nice, but in many ways it was only once I returned home that I truly began to appreciate the opportunities and experiences I had in Uruguay.

In all honesty, I couldn’t be happier with the way my time in Uruguay ended. A couple weeks before my departure, I ran the Montevideo Nike 10K through downtown and along the beautiful shore with about 7500 other runners. Here we all are in our blue shirts, waiting at the start on the rambla (I borrowed this picture from Nike's website on the event):

Patricia and Magdalena, who actually run our Fulbright program in Montevideo, invited the teaching assistants to a great retreat in Minas, a state in eastern Uruguay. The site, called Salto Penitente, had all sorts of great activities including horseback riding, hiking, and a zip-line that ran about 200 feet above a ravine. They even served wild boar for lunch, which was great! Although you can't see it, in this picture we are standing in front of a beautiful little waterfall that feeds into a small pool where we enjoyed a swim:

My students at the private institution, the Alianza, invited me out for pizza after our final class. Here we are in our classroom, which was made to imitate an American Airlines office:

The students at the institution for future teachers in Atlantida threw a picnic with chop suey for me, James, and Liz, the other two Fulbrighters teaching there. Here we all are gathered outside on what was really a beautiful day:

And then there was the cherry on top of it all: my elementary school students in Montevideo really know how to throw a farewell celebration! On my last day at the school, I arrived to the sound of a large group of students running through the hallways chanting (loosely based on the rhythm of a frenetic soccer chant), “No se va, Dustin! No se va!” (“Don’t leave, Dustin, don’t leave!”).

Then, when one of my coworkers invited me into her classroom, the students were not only yelling their chant, but also lifting tables and chairs and pounding them into the ground in unison with the chant’s rhythm. It felt like I had just walked into the middle of a huge soccer game.

That display of affection ended when the teachers yelled at the students, but I was equally impressed by another display the students put together for me: they literally covered the chalkboards in chalk proclaiming farewells, thank you’s, and lots of drawings loosely related to our classroom activities.

Then they really impressed me when they put on two short plays about me leaving. One play was about how the main characters, which included a duck and an elephant, were sad I was leaving. Their solution was that they would accompany me to the airport.

It is truly a gift to be able to return home with all these wonderful memories. But they are only the icing on what was a truly amazing eight months.

Although my posts on this blog will most likely become less frequent now that I’m back home, I am planning to post occasional updates, especially so that my Uruguayan students can have an idea of what life in the United States is throwing at me. So while I hope that you all continue to visit my blog, my deeper hope is that you will not hesitate to keep in touch with me via email: dustin.saldarriaga@gmail.com. Thanks for visiting! I’m wishing you all the best!

beach bums

2007-11-06T20:31:00.000-05:00

If Uruguayans had a Top Ten list of things to do while in Uruguay, taking a trip along the coast would almost be at the top, falling second only to "Drinking mate." I think locals began recommending that I visit the coast on my first day here back in March.

And it's not only the Uruguayans making the recommendation, either. It seems like every time I go to Buenos Aires I run into a Porteño who asks if I've been to Punta del Este. Hordes of Argentines flood Uruguay's beaches every summer, but they aren't alone. Even in Rio de Janeiro the locals asked me if I had been to Uruguay's beach resorts. They apparently had been there--Uruguayans tell me they can immediately spot who the Brazilians on the beach are, since the men are always wearing Speedos (or "sungas").

Since we experienced an especially long and harsh winter this year, people understood when I explained that I unfortunately hadn't been to the beaches, but I would go there before leaving. That excuse was acceptable in July. Now, spring is here, the weather is heating up, and people are heading to the beach. So when my roommate, Carolina, popped into my room and asked if I would like to take a road trip along the coast with her and a few of her relatives, I didn't have to think long before answering.

On this map you can trace our trip: on Friday we left from Montevideo and Las Piedras (where Carolina's family lives), and had lunch in Punta del Este. The next red dot to the right of Punta del Este is La Paloma, where we rented a bungalow and slept both Friday and Saturday nights. The dot farthest to the right was our final destination, Cabo Polonio, where we spent most of Saturday. On Sunday we drove back to Montevideo.

From this image of Uruguay and Buenos Aires, you can understand why people from Montevideo and Buenos Aires go to the beaches along Uruguay's coast. As you can see, the water near both Buenos Aires and Montevideo is brown freshwater, flowing into the Atlantic from the Rio de la Plata. Just past Montevideo, the muddy freshwater becomes clear as the salt water from the Atlantic mixes with it. Thus, by the time we arrived at Cabo Polonio (our final destination, which is the easternmost red dot on the image), the water was blue, crisp, and clear.

Carolina and I were joined by Carolina's cousin (Elisa), Elisa's son (Nacho), and a 16-year old exchange student from Germany who lives with Elisa and Nacho (Manuel). Here we all are eating lunch en route, in Punta del Este (from left to right is Elisa, Carolina, Nacho, and Manuel):

Departing from Montevideo, Punta del Este was our first stop. This beautiful city that slightly resembled a mix of Miami and Chile's Viña del Mar seemed to be entirely based around tourism--enourmous, glamorous hotels abound, as do nice restaurants and fancy cars. Interestingly, most Uruguayans I've talked to about Punta del Este claim it is owned by wealthy Argentines who have invested in these ritzy sites. Carolina and Elisa echoed these opinions and explained to me that Punta del Este is really for tourists, and doesn't reflect Uruguay or the Uruguayan way of life at all. It wasn't until later in the trip that I understood what they meant.

Several hours after leaving Punta del Este, we arrived at La Paloma, where we rented a bungalow and immediately headed out to the beach:

The feeling in La Paloma was completely different from Punta del Este. The town was much smaller, containing the local bakery and grocery store, and lots of modest but beautiful houses. Along the beach, fisherman rested and drank mate. Whereas in Punta del Este I felt as though I had been transported back to the United States, in La Paloma I felt like I was back in Uruguay. There were no enormous and gaudy hotels overlooking the sea, and scooters outnumbered sports cars.

Carolina, Elisa, Nacho, Manuel, and I had a good time resting and strolling along the beach in La Paloma:

As you can see from the pictures, Manuel and Nacho have become pretty good friends since Manuel arrived a few months ago. It was great getting to know these two; Manuel's ability to speak Spanish, English, German, and French was useful and entertaining, and I felt like Nacho was my little brother since we both share a passion for dangerous activities like motorcycle racing.

The next day, we hopped in the car and drove a few hours farther east, to Cabo Polonio. I had heard from many people that Cabo Polonio is a very unique place, and it definitely was. This beach town is not accessible by car--you must hire people with enormous 4x4 trucks to drive you through the sand dunes to get there. A couple pics from the ride:

Once I arrived in Cabo Polonio, I found myself in the middle of a community of colorful homes and a few shops selling groceries, food, and jewelry made of seashells. To me, Cabo Polonio felt like an entirely different world, and I find it difficult to explain exactly why. I felt unhurried, like time stood still. And it was inspiring to see a community that lived as if it existed outside time, as if all that mattered was family and the ocean.

Nacho found some dried "witch fish" being sold as decorations:

This boy was carefully painting a local store:

The magical feeling of Cabo Polonio was greatly enhanced by the presence of sea lions along its shores. I picked out a rock not far from them and sat for several hours reading and taking in the scenery.

One of the things that struck me most about Cabo Polonio was how the colors of the sea, the shore, and the houses contrasted. This effect was only amplified by a storm that arrived just as we were leaving.

Even with a sunburn, I arrived back to Montevideo refreshed and very impressed by the beautiful places I had visited. With only a week left, I'm very glad I was able to experience Uruguay's coast--I only wish I had more time to spend there!

applying to law school: an introspection

2007-10-26T19:34:00.000-05:00

I've now completed all but two of my applications to law school. Essentially all of my application materials are finalized. Like many things in life, though, while you're busy completing something, you are blind to its mistakes. It's only after you've finished it that you begin to see the glaring flaws it has had all along.

Compared to other graduate programs, like medical school and PhD programs, applying to law school is pretty easy. There's no eight-hour MCAT, no required sample of your academic writing, no required work experience. You just have to graduate from college, take the three-hour standardized test (the LSAT), get a few recommendations from your professors, type up a resume, fill out some general information about yourself on applications, and write a personal statement on what you want the law schools to know about you. This last part, though, is driving me nuts.

I mean "nuts" in a good way and a bad way. A bad way because I am obsessing over it. I've written about ten drafts of my personal statement, and have had five very good writers edit it. Nonetheless, and even though I've already submitted it, I still know my statement can be improved, and how. After four months of writing it, though, (my statement is two pages, double-spaced, by the way), I've accepted that I just need to say "that's it" and submit it--flaws and all. Writing samples can always be improved--it's just a matter of saying "when."

I mean "nuts" in a good way because this little, two-page snapshot of my life is causing all kinds of criticisms, speculations, and general introspection into my experiences, goals, and motivations. It's because of this that I've decided sharing with all of you may just be the therapy I need. So someone start the timer. My therapy session begins...now.

If someone asked you to tell them the most important thing there is to know about you in two pages (double-spaced) what would you write?

I thought deciding what to write in my personal statement would be the easy part. I wrote outline after outline on working in microfinance in college and in Chile, traveling with nomads and living with Buddhist monks in Mongolia, teaching here in Uruguay, and even overcoming struggles within my family. I settled on a specific experience in Mongolia that initiated my interest in human rights work and poverty alleviation, and I began writing. I thought things were going really well--I had picked a topic that revealed my love of travel, my consciousness of international interdependency and cultural diversity, my questioning of my religious convictions, and even the reason I want to go to law school in the first place: human rights. Several people edited it, I edited it, then I sent it to law schools. Then I read it again.

I realized, for the first time, that what I had typed onto the pages was void of the essence of the experience--void of the passion that has initiated and guided my commitment to social work the last three years. The experience I had described--the experience that is so important and personal to me--had become a story that anyone could tell. It had become a cheap short story. Taking it from my memory and putting it into words had ruined it.

While preparing to write my statement, I had read personal statements of other people applying to law school, just to be aware of what styles and topics other people were using. I soon discovered that it is very, VERY hard to find a quality personal statement; most of them are absolutely horrible. Most applicants tried to link their life-changing experiences to a universal lesson using clumsy statements that were so vague they ultimately became meaningless: "I will fight for a better tomorrow;" "I will share my blessings with those who have nothing;" "I believe everyone deserves a chance." It was only after I looked back at my statement that I began to wonder whether these statements were so terrible because their authors were trying to put the unexplainable into words.

But are these experiences really so deeply held and personally significant as to be unexplainable? I wonder how "Casablanca," portraying a simple relationship between a man and a woman, has succeeded in captivating generations of audiences who never personally knew--and can probably hardly relate to--Humphrey and Ingrid. Anyone can tell a story about a man and a woman loving each other. What made "Casablanca" and its storytelling so special? What was the essence "Casablanca" captured, and how did it do so?

And there's also Vladimir Nabokov. Anyone interested in reading an author who can turn the mundane into the magical should read a few of Nabokov's short stories. A piano recital becomes the focus of the universe when a man in attendance sees a beautiful woman. The protagonist of another story captures the essence of living a full life while waiting at a bus stop for a woman who dumped him. So what does Nabokov do in his short stories that I can't in my personal statement?

Every once in a while, I do find a well-written and captivating personal statement. The characteristic that usually makes these statements stand out is that they portray the overcoming of an authentic and significant personal struggle. These people are not describing how in Mongolia they were moved by a starving person begging for food. They aren't talking about how their socioeconomically disadvantaged students are physically abused. They are writing about how THEY went hungry after their father abandoned his family. They are describing how THEY learned to find meaning in their lives after having been abused.

And again the introspection comes. I wonder if I have been nothing more than an observer all this time--observing children who live in the street in Mongolia; observing families in wooden shacks in Chile; observing students who are abused by their parents in Uruguay. Sure, I've tried to make a difference in the lives of these people. But one of the haunting questions that essentially all social workers must face is "what difference am I really making?" Or, in other words, "when do I move past being an observer, and become an influence?"

I would never have guessed a two-page paper could cause me so much turmoil. If that's the goal of law schools in assigning a personal statement, well, they have succeeded. It's just unfortunate that my personal statement probably didn't contain half the raw emotion I've included here. Don't get me wrong--I'm proud of my personal statement, and I consider it to be a great piece of writing. The problem is that I know it doesn't reveal the most important aspect of me...at all. That aspect will have to remain inside me, kept snugly in my memory, free from all the questioning and criticisms in the world...except my own.

giving more than they had, they lifted up the sun

2007-10-19T21:23:00.002-05:00

Yesterday I went for a 10 kilometer run along the coast in preparation for the Nike 10K that will take place here on November 11th. In addition to finding some beautiful new beach spots where wind and kite surfers congregate, I had some time to let my thoughts wander. I found they wandered toward a topic that has been following me quite a bit lately: my responsibility to those who suffer due to factors outside their control. It seems that the songs I've been listening to, the articles I've read, and the movies I've watched over the past few weeks have all been trying to reinforce the idea of "helping those who can't help themselves."

These songs, articles, and movies picked an opportune time to start reinforcing--I've noticed that, since coming to Uruguay, I've let myself increasingly slip into dreaming about starting salaries, penthouses, and sports cars. Perhaps this happened because I've been thinking about law school so much lately, or perhaps becuase I'm missing those luxuries that are rare in Uruguay but all-too-common in the United States--I'm really not sure. The fact of the matter is that all my daydreaming about speedboats and fast cars has distracted me from the issues and ideas that not only make my heart beat faster, but also fill me with a feeling of purpose.

I put on my headphones the other day, and these were the words that quietly screamed in my ears:

"And though they were sad
They rescued everyone
They lifted up the sun
A spoonful weighs a ton

Giving more than they had
The process had begun
A million came from one
The limits now were none

Being drunk on their plan
They lifted up the sun"

And with these words I was reminded of a belief I hold that has, in recent months, been mitigated from a fundamental motivation to an occasional interest: the belief that we are not constrained by the limits of the past; that today we have resources to counter our world's most serious injustices that were never available before; that ending these injustices is possible; and that we, the most fortunate and able of our generation, are the ones who have the most responsibility to end them.

Several days after first listening to the lyrics above, I was sitting in front of my computer screen while eating a late-night salad. For reasons unknown, I decided to type "Harvard commencement address" into the Youtube search box, and I proceeded to listen to the speech Bill Gates gave to Harvard's Class of 2007 last June. I found its relevance to the song lyrics to be uncanny. In his speech, Gates said, "When you consider what those of us here have been given – in talent, privilege, and opportunity – there is almost no limit to what the world has a right to expect from us." The following several paragraphs are pieces of what preceded and followed in his speech:

"Humanity’s greatest advances are not in its discoveries – but in how those discoveries are applied to reduce inequity. Whether through democracy, strong public education, quality health care, or broad economic opportunity – reducing inequity is the highest human achievement.

If you believe that every life has equal value, it’s revolting to learn that some lives are seen as worth saving and others are not. I asked: 'How could the world let these children [dying of preventable diseases such as malaria] die?'

The answer is simple, and harsh. The market did not reward saving the lives of these children, and governments did not subsidize it. So the children died because their mothers and their fathers had no power in the market and no voice in the system.

But you and I have both.

We can make market forces work better for the poor if we can develop a more creative capitalism – if we can stretch the reach of market forces so that more people can make a profit, or at least make a living, serving people who are suffering from the worst inequities. We also can press governments around the world to spend taxpayer money in ways that better reflect the values of the people who pay the taxes.

If we can find approaches that meet the needs of the poor in ways that generate profits for business and votes for politicians, we will have found a sustainable way to reduce inequity in the world. This task is open-ended. It can never be finished. But a conscious effort to answer this challenge will change the world.

I talk to skeptics who claim there is no hope. They say: 'Inequity has been with us since the beginning, and will be with us until the end – because people just ... don’t ... care.' I completely disagree.

I believe we have more caring than we know what to do with.

All of us here, at one time or another, have seen human tragedies that broke our hearts, and yet we did nothing – not because we didn’t care, but because we didn’t know what to do. If we had known how to help, we would have acted.

The barrier to change is not too little caring; it is too much complexity.

To turn caring into action, we need to see a problem, see a solution, and see the impact. But complexity blocks all three steps.

I’m optimistic. Yes, inequity has been with us forever, but the new tools we have to cut through complexity have not been with us forever. They are new – they can help us make the most of our caring – and that’s why the future can be different from the past. The defining and ongoing innovations of this age – biotechnology, the computer, the Internet – give us a chance we’ve never had before to end extreme poverty and end death from preventable disease.

When you consider what those of us here have been given – in talent, privilege, and opportunity – there is almost no limit to what the world has a right to expect from us.

I hope you will come back here to Harvard 30 years from now and reflect on what you have done with your talent and your energy. I hope you will judge yourselves not on your professional accomplishments alone, but also on how well you have addressed the world’s deepest inequities ... on how well you treated people a world away who have nothing in common with you but their humanity."

After listening to the speech, I went to sleep reminded of the humanity we share with every individual in this world, and our responsibility to never overlook this common humanity, but to let it be the basis of our actions. But I didn't fall asleep feeling burdened by this responsibility; I was elated. I was filled with optimism by the prospect that we possess this burden because we are able to finally discard it. It is truly inspiring to think that during our lifetimes we may see the widespread alleviation of the worst problems that have plagued the world since its beginning and confounded even our most distant ancestors. It is even more inspiring to realize that this alleviation can happen because of you.

===================================

By the way, the song lyrics are from "A Spoonful Weighs a Ton," by The Flaming Lips.

I encourage you to visit Youtube and watch the speech Bill Gates gave in its entirety. It's divided into five parts and can be found at:

http://youtube.com/watch?v=AP5VIhbJwFs

Saldarriagas in the Southern Cone

2007-10-09T15:35:00.001-05:00

I’m still alive! Life has been good lately—I’ve settled into a quiet routine that presents few surprises. It’s largely for this reason that I haven’t been updating my blog as much as I should. For that I apologize. To briefly summarize, I have been working two days a week at the institution for professors in Atlantida (where future teachers are trained), and two days a week at the public elementary school here in Montevideo. I recently led a couple classes at the institution that I especially enjoyed: one on differences between British and American English, and the other on Ebonics and its historical and social context. I learned a lot from preparing both classes. At the public school, I generally assist with activities in various classrooms and grade levels. These activities range from reading stories to playing hangman or vocab tic-tac-toe. I’ve also given a few presentations on life in the US of A, and my experiences living abroad. Since these presentations are often targeted at older students who aren’t taking English, I’ve become good at giving these presentations in Spanish.

By the way, the 1.5 hour trip out to Atlantida is still draining, but I am getting used to it. Plus, I’ve found it’s a great opportunity to catch up on reading “El Viejo y El Mar” (good practice!), watching episodes of Lost on my laptop (I finished all three seasons, so the addiction has resided until February), or listening to my new Flaming Lips CDs ("Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots" is especially good).

In addition to working at the teachers’ institution and elementary school, I’ve begun leading conversation classes at a local private institution called La Alianza. This is a well-respected school that has a close relationship with the US embassy. I work there once a week, leading discussions on various topics from David Sedaris’ “Me Talk Pretty One Day” to what my students did the day before. This week I’m going to base the discussion around the theme of dissent; I plan to share some Neil Young and Rage Against the Machine lyrics, and also to look at parallels between society’s reactions to Vietnam and Iraq.

That reminds me to mention something that struck me before, but that I forgot to mention: I have been shocked by just how deeply Uruguayans (and, by extension, foreigners in general), were struck by 9/11 as it was happening. All my students—in both Salto and Montevideo—remember exactly where they were and what they were doing when the towers fell. Oftentimes I feel as if I’m talking to a fellow US citizen while I listen to the Uruguayans’ memories of the event.

To break up the little routine I’ve developed here in Montevideo, Tía Maria and my dad, Al, traveled all the way from Florida a couple weeks ago, just to say hi! And, of course, to take me around the Cono del Sur as their private tour guide. We spent two weeks together, having a great time traveling around Uruguay (Montevideo, Salto, and Colonia del Sacramento), Buenos Aires, and the waterfalls at Iguazu. One of the most effective ways to change one’s perspective on a place is to change roles from resident to tour guide. Taking my family around Uruguay and introducing them to my home for the past seven months was a ton of fun (and a bit surreal), but it also opened my eyes to many aspects of Uruguay that I hadn’t noticed before.

Our trip together began in Montevideo, where we visited my schools, the Fulbright office, and, of course, El Mercado del Puerto. What’s “The Port Market”? Well, it’s where you can find the best food in Montevideo, especially if you have cravings for seafood, chorizo (sausage), morcilla (blood sausage), riñones (kidneys), molleja (salivary glands), chinchulin (intestines), or just good old-fashioned beef (trust me, all this is more appetizing when it’s sitting on a plate in front of you, and you don’t know what is what). Needless to say, we ate a lot, and sampled Uruguay’s finest beers and the famous “Medio y Medio” (a sweet mix of champagne and white wine).

Following Montevideo, we took a bus north to Salto, the town that turned me from a gringo to an Uruguassshhhho (as Tía Maria pronounces it). Aldo, my good friend and Spanish teacher, took us on a tour of the city, then we visited the teachers’ institution where I worked. There, my family had a chance to chat with all thirty of my students. When I first arrived in Montevideo from Salto, I kept seeing the faces of my students in Salto at my new schools, so actually seeing my students in Salto was a wonderful (and, again, slightly surreal) experience! Also, in Salto I experienced what was definitely one of the highlights of the trip for me when I took my family to the public school where I worked. Olga, the headmistress, took us around the school, then the teachers welcomed us with a roasted chicken lunch—exactly the kind of delicious food I had become accustomed to at the school. After lunch, I visited each classroom to share my email address (the school recently got a connection to the Internet). Al and Maria got a chance to say “hello” as well. The children responded with big smiles, and by smothering us with hugs and kisses. It was a wonderful but very bittersweet experience…much sweeter than bitter, though.

From Salto, we boarded another bus for a tiring, nine-hour trip to Colonia del Sacramento. The well-preserved colonial town was beautiful, but rainy weather made it a bit difficult to appreciate it in all its glory. Nonetheless, it was great to take it easy and sit around some quiet coffee shops and restaurants. It was here in Colonia that I had an arugula salad, and my addiction for arugula was reignited (and soon receded once I realized I am allergic to it). A few shots of Colonia:

From Colonia, we took the ever-popular Buquebus, a high-velocity ferry, to Buenos Aires. As always, Buenos Aires was a pleasure to visit, in spite of the grumpy taxi drivers. My dad pointed out how much cleaner the city was than when we last visited two years ago. Much of the graffiti that had been painted on statues and buildings had been removed, for example. In addition to strolling around the city with the family, I have to list two additional experiences that were highlights, the first being a Boca Juniors soccer game.

While talking to the hotel concierge about good Italian restaurants, I noticed a poster advertising a soccer game between Boca Juniors (arguably Argentina’s best, most popular soccer team) and the São Paulo Futebol Club (arguably Brazil’s best soccer team). In spite of Al and Maria’s decision to go to what was expected to be an exquisite Italian restaurant, I decided to embrace a hamburguesa and chori-pan and head to the soccer game. It was a great decision. The energy at the game was incredible, with fireworks going off (set of by the crowd), constant chants, and incessant yelling. The fans seemed to be manic depressive, praising their players one moment and cursing them the next. In the end, Boca defeated Sao Paulo 3-2. Leaving the stadium thirty minutes after the game, I noticed the fan section of the stadium was still inside, banging drums and singing chants. Come to find out, the fan section is locked in the stadium until everyone else has exited—apparently the stadium’s managers found this effective to stop the post-game riots and fighting. Indeed, Boca Junior soccer games are known to be some of the most violent in Latin America.

I will sum up the second highlight in five words: LA CABAÑA DE LAS LILAS. Universally and unanimously recommended; best steak you will have in Argentina. It's in Puerto Madero.

Some images from our time in Buenos Aires:

Maria posing with one of the ancient trees:

Inside a cathedral:

Recoleta cemetery:

A church in Recoleta:

Caminito!:

Taking it easy in front of the Casa Rosada:

Returning to the waterfalls at Iguazu was also great. It’s funny to think that the last time I was there (last May), I asked myself if I would ever have the chance to see the Falls again. [Brief interjection here: I just looked at the man sitting at the table next to mine, and he is reading a newspaper, looking at a full-page image of the Falls. Coincidence?] Anyway, the Falls, as always, were gorgeous, and unable to be contained in a description or a photograph.

The moment my dad was almost eaten by rabid coatis:

Crossing borders at the Itaipu Dam:

An image of a turbine from the tour I wasn't able to do the first time I visited the Dam:

Al's first time in a helicopter:

Back at the cataratas!:

Al and Maria returned me to Montevideo refreshed and ready to finish my last couple months strong. It’s hard to believe time has passed so quickly. Until the next post, good night and best wishes!

Heating Up

2007-09-08T17:08:00.000-05:00

After a long and unusually cold winter, the weather finally seems to be heating up in Montevideo. Today we had a high of over 80 degrees--the second time the temperature has passed 80 in the last week.

With the change in weather has come a change in the city's atmosphere. Montevideo seems to be more alive, more colorful, and more vibrant. There are people swimming and kayaking just off the shore, people sunbathing, and live bands playing cumbia. I can imagine that what I've seen thus far is only a glimpse of the activity that takes place during the peak months of Montevideo's summer.

My work at both the elementary school and university is going well. I have given several presentations at the elementary school, and have led various games and activities. The children are very sweet, and have welcomed me with open arms into their soccer team(s). Compared to my students in Salto, the children in Montevideo are noticeably better off. The dirty tunics and deteriorating teeth I became accustomed to in Salto are not common at the school in Montevideo.

At the university, I have become more of an assistant than I had been at the university in Salto. Whereas in Salto I regularly led discussions or lectures, in Montevideo I find myself instead observing the classes of other professors. On the positive side, I've learned a lot about the history of the English language. (Did anyone else know that in England "jail" is spelled "gaol"?)

A couple weeks ago I was fortunate enough to visit my family in Medellín, Colombia. As always, I had a wonderful time there. The lush, green mountains were a stark contrast to Montevideo's flatter terrain, and it was especially interesting to hear the differences in Colombian Spanish. People will argue to no end over which Spanish dialect or accent is the more correct, or more appealing. In my humble opinion, both the Colombian and Rioplatense accents are two of the more beautiful ones I've heard.

Until next time, here are a few photos from Medellín:

Back in the saddle

2007-08-11T21:37:00.000-05:00

Well, it's winter here. Most people don't associate cold weather with Latin America, but let me tell you--it gets cold. The worst part isn't necessarily the actual temperature outside. It's that central heating is rare. Unlike places like Boston, going indoors to escape the cold usually isn't an option here. But on top of a lack of central heating, it actually IS cold outside. A few weeks ago, it snowed in Buenos Aires for the first time in about fifty years. Here in Montevideo, there is frost on the ground in the morning. "That never happens here," the Uruguayan sitting on the bus next to me said after seeing it. Global climate change rears its ugly head once again.

Fortunately for me, my apartment does have central heating, and is a great place to retreat from the cold. I have a wonderful view, a great roommate, and one of the cutest dogs I've seen. The little guy is really a wolf in sheep's clothing--he bites my leg every time I enter the apartment. His name is Tincho:

This is the desk where I do my work (it's not usually this messy):

My bedroom:

And the view from my bedroom:

In spite of the cold weather, I've been able to keep an active schedule here. On top of starting work at the elementary school and teachers' university, I visited Hugo Chavez, went to the horse races, and even made significant progress on my law school applications. But first things first: work is going very well.

At the elementary school, just when I was starting to miss my students and friends in Salto, I learned that my supervisor and one of my coworkers here both went to school with my supervisor in Salto. One difference between the two schools that I immediately noticed is that my students here speak English much better than my students in Salto. I was shocked when the third graders could form a complete question for me. In addition, my students here are in much better economic standing than those in Salto. In Salto, it was common for students to come to school with dirt covering their clothes and body. Here in the city that rarely happens. The affection the students show me, though, is one trait that both schools share. I think some of that has to do with the fact that I am now a de facto member of the fourth grade "men's" soccer team.

The thing I've found most difficult to grow accustomed to here in Montevideo is the distance to the teachers' university. Every Monday and Thursday I get up at 5am, catch a bus at 6, and arrive at the university an hour and a half later. Located to the east of Montevideo, in a seaside resort town called Atlantida, the university trains teachers of various disciplines, most of whom live on campus. My students, in general, possess a strong command of English, and are eager to practice with me and the other two Fulbrighters who work there with me. Fortunately, they are also eager to help me practice Spanish. Unlike Salto, it has been hard to spend time with the students outside class, simply due to the amount of time it takes to get there.

A couple weeks ago, the other Fulbrighters and I were invited to Maroñas, the horse track, to watch Open Hark run. Open Hark is owned by the brother-in-law of my supervisor at the university in Salto. Unfortunately, Open Hark didn't win. Fortunately, the family also owns another horse, Lagrima GG, which is on a winning streak. I'll watch her run on the 19th of this month.

Maroñas:

A pic I snapped at the races:

You may have heard in the news, but right now Hugo Chavez is busy visiting his neighbors. He spent time in Argentina purchasing bonds, and when fellow Fulbrighter James and I heard he would be visiting Uruguay, we began asking around about the possibility of seeing the controversial leader in person. Purely by chance, James learned when Hugo would be arriving at the Radisson Hotel downtown. So, the day of Hugo's arrival, surrounded by news crews from Uruguay and Venezuela, James and I found ourselves in the lobby of the Radisson. Unfortunately, we were all about five hours early.

But, at midnight, Hugo arrived and made the wait [somewhat] worth it. Surrounded by his entourage--some of whom touted shotguns--Hugo first spoke with a group of loyal supporters who proudly carried a Venezuelan flag. I captured this shot of the group before Hugo arrived:

Because the relatively lax security team decided to focus its efforts on me (I'm not sure why), I was only able to see Hugo from a distance. James, on the other hand, almost ran into him. Oh, and for my family back home, Hugo was about 5'11", from what I could tell.

This next week, the weather is supposed to get better. I need it to--I promised myself I would run the Nike 10k here in November, and I need to start training. Lately, running around Montevideo has reminded me of the cold I endured while training for the Boston Marathon, which has been a real disincentive.

For now, keep on keepin' on.

a saudade segue...

2007-07-29T14:23:00.000-05:00

The process of settling into Montevideo is going well. Although I have had only a couple days to search for an apartment, I was fortunate enough to have found (thanks to the help of a wonderful Uruguayan friend) a beautiful place located right on the beach, which I am sharing with an Uruguayan student studying accounting (and who, fortunately, speaks no English). I will begin work tomorrow at the university for teachers, and on Tuesday at the public school. My second post on Brazil had been delayed by a Fulbright conference I attended in Buenos Aires last week, but since I'm now back in Uruguay, and especially since I'm sure I'll have plenty of news for you all as I begin my new jobs and life in the city, I figured I should finish my posts on Brazil.

In this post I am going to describe my experiences in three very different Brazilian sites: the booming, capitalist mecca São Paulo, the historic Salvador da Bahia, and the relaxing island of Morro de São Paulo. I've decided to include a map in this post, with red dots on the places I was: the red dot farthest south is Montevideo, the next one up is São Paulo, then Rio de Janeiro, then Salvador da Bahia:

Against the advice of my friends in Rio, who seem to believe Rio is the only Brazilian city worth visiting, I boarded a bus for São Paulo about one hour after Lenny Kravitz closed the Live Earth Concert on Copacabana beach. Although many Brazilians and fellow travelers couldn't understand why I wanted to go to the "city of concrete," I was actually excited about visiting São Paulo. I was looking forward to seeing the most populous city in the Western Hemisphere (the city itself--not metro area--has over 11 million inhabitants, compared to New York's 8 million), and the Latin American city with the most significant economy (according to Wikipedia, the state of São Paulo, of which São Paulo city is the capital, is the biggest economy of South America, and, compared to all of Latin America, is the second largest economy after Mexico's). I had heard stories and seen National Geographic television shows about how helicopters are becoming the preferred mode of transportation for the city's wealthy. And I was looking forward to visiting the various neighborhoods that preserve and showcase the various cultures that comprise one of the most diverse cities in Latin America.

A picture from the top of one of São Paulo's tallest buildings--the buildings continued as far as I could see:

Unfortunately, I chose to visit São Paulo on one of the city's holidays, so I actually didn't get to see the normal activity there. There were few taxis racing around, not many people on the streets, and no helicopters. On the other hand, though, the neighborhoods were especially active, presenting cultural shows and tons of stands selling great food and other items.

After living in Salto for four months, a town that has absolutely no Asian cuisine of any kind, I was very eager to visit Liberdade, the area where a great majority of the Asians living in São Paulo immigrated. Every Sunday (which is the day I arrived), there is a market in Liberdade, where tons of people walk around eating authentic Asian food, buying handmade items, and even learning to play traditional musical instruments. It really was an interesting experience, especially seeing firsthand the fusion of various cultures.

In this picture of the gates marking the entrance to the area, you can see the crowd that packed the streets, as well as the decorations. There were decorations hanging above our heads, and people placed pieces of paper with prayers on them in surrounding trees and bushes.

After visiting a couple markets (one of which showcased the paintings of local artists, who sat next to their very impressive works), I wandered down to what some say is the pride of the city: Ibirapuera Park. Many people draw a parallel between this park and Central Park in New York. In addition to this, many other parallels between the two cities can be drawn. I really feel that São Paulo is the New York City of Latin America, with respect to its cultural diversity, population, position in terms of the national economy, and many other aspects.

While in the park, I saw quite a few of these "motorcycles" parked nearby. Juan and Al, this is for you guys:

São Paulo provided a nice weekend adventure, but I decided to spend a longer amount of time in Salvador da Bahia. This city has a very interesting history, being Brazil's first capital and the site where a majority of Brazil's slaves arrived from Africa. The influence of this persists: the city and surrounding region is defined by African culture, which is apparent in the food, dance, religion, and, of course, skin color of the people living there. For example, some of the snacks served on Salvador's streets can still be found in markets in Africa. Additionally, candomble, the religion practiced by many in Salvador and which I had a chance to observe in a Salvadoran favela, is a form of African voodoo.

This is a picture of my first meal, which I was pretty excited about. It was complete with some traditional Bahian food, and one of my favorite drinks in the world, Guarana (a sweet soda made from an Amazonian fruit):

While in Salvador, I lived in Pelourinho, the historic section. Pelourinho apparently means "whipping post" in Portuguese, and refers to the site where slaves were beaten and auctioned. The area is undeniably beautiful, featuring extremely old churches (one was literally coated in gold!) and cobblestone streets. These photos show Pelourinho; the actual spot of the whipping post is at the top of this hill, in front of the blue and yellow buildings:

Although beautiful, Pelourinho was slightly overwhelming. Because of the heavy tourism there, I couldn't walk more than a few minutes without being approached by someone trying to sell me something. And these people were persistent--a "no" never sufficed. Spending a night in Pelourinho presented a whole new set of problems, since the area is by no means safe, and prostitution is extremely common. Because of all this, I soon decided to "escape it all" and head to a nice little island by the name of Morro de São Paulo.

Being only a two-hour ferry ride away, this island is popular with tourists, but it still has its little island charm: for example, there are no cars or motorcycles there, and people use wheelbarrows to transport things. For me, the place was pretty ideal, since I could choose between beaches that were heavily populated or almost entirely isolated. In addition to reading several John Grisham novels, I watched Brazil beat Argentina in the Copa America soccer championship (complete with yelling and fireworks after each goal). Here's a picture of one of the many beaches there:

One of the highlights of my time at Morro was taking a small motorboat around the island with a group of Brazilian tourists from all over the country, and a couple of girls from Barcelona. We got pretty close, and before long it was as if there were no language barrier between us at all.

Here's a pic of our group, bonding over raw oysters:

The boat trip included various stops, which allowed us to go swimming in natural pools, wander through the rainforest, and see some very old, isolated towns. We ran into this girl in one such town; she was carrying around a basket of live blue crabs:

An interesting view of the shore I captured while the boat was bouncing off the waves:

It was very nice to be at a place where I wasn't pushing myself to see new sites. I could just sit around and waste time, which is something I rarely do. At night I crawled into the hammock outside my hotel room door, and fell asleep there. I was woken up each morning by the sun rising.

A couple views of my room:

Looking at a map of Brazil, and the places I visited, I can't help but realize how painfully little of the country I actually saw. But I think this is an important realization to have. Moreso than many other countries, it is incredibly difficult to capture or understand Brazil in one or two visits. Since coming back to Uruguay, I've spoken with Fulbright scholars in Brazil, who amaze me with their stories about what life in Brazil is really like for those who live far from its beaches or tourist zones. In the future, I hope that I will have the chance to better understand this contrast in lifestyles. For now, though, I have been blessed with the opportunity to get beneath the surface of Uruguay, and to live and work with its citizens. Tomorrow, after a long vacation filled with incredible experiences, I will begin work again. I'll be sure to put up a post soon to let you all know how things are going.

For now, I'll leave you all with a view of a sunset from my little island:

Saudade...

2007-07-19T18:18:00.000-05:00

In Brazilian music, song lyrics often contain the Portuguese word "saudade." The word has no direct translation into English, but it basically means intense longing, or nostalgia. When the word is used in Brazilian music, it is sometimes used to refer to a person, but it is also frequently used to refer to one's longing for Brazil. After spending a few weeks in Rio, São Paulo, and Salvador, making some good friends and unforgettable memories, I now have a much better understanding of why the word "saudade" is used so often by Brazilians.

One of the most important reasons I wanted to spend my winter vacation in Brazil was to demystify the romantic, idealized perception of the country I had been retaining for the past couple years. I wasn't always interested in Brazil, though. During the first couple years of college, while studying Latin American history, I purposefully avoided classes on Brazil in order to dedicate more time to Spanish-speaking Latin America. Then I saw "City of God," and my entire impression of Brazil changed. An interest in the country was ignited, and hasn't died down since. Acting on an impulse, I decided to take a Portuguese class my senior year. With this class, my perception of Brazil continued to be developed, until, eventually, I discovered I had actually fallen in love with Brazil. My love was fueled by images of the perfect beaches of João Pessoa, the smooth, flowing sound of Portuguese, and by Brazil's torn but impassioned history and society, which was represented in City of God, now my favorite movie.

Needless to say, I greatly anticipated my arrival to Rio de Janeiro, the city I chose to fly into from Montevideo and to use as my "hub" as I traveled to and from other Brazilian cities. Not only was I excited, trying to imagine what Sugarloaf and Christ the Redeemer would look like from my airplane window, but I was also scared to death. While packing, I looked at each item I placed in my backpack and imagined how I would feel at the moment it would be stolen from me--my journal, book, camera. As a solo traveler in Brazil, to me it wasn't a question of whether I would be robbed, but when.

My first couple of days in Rio were tinged by this fear. I was staying at a hostel in Ipanema, which is a very safe part of Rio, even at night. For the first couple days, I constrained myself to "safer" parts of the city, and even in those places I refused to take my camera. My actions were justified by the various stories I heard from other travelers, and even Brazilians: two of the people I lived with at the hostel had been mugged at knifepoint the week while I was living with them. It wasn't long before I noticed that holding on to this fear was altering my perception of the city in a negative way. As soon as I made this realization, I promised myself that I would not allow "being responsible" turn into "being paranoid." And it was after this that my trip really began.

Of course, I still spent time visiting the "touristy" spots. I hiked up to Christ the Redeemer (Cristo Redentor), and saw Rio from Sugarloaf (Pão de Açucar). From these spots, two of the highest in the city, it's easy to understand why Rio maintains a reputation as being one of the most gorgeous cities in the world.

This is the view from Christ the Redeemer. The hill on the right is Sugarloaf, which always has boats sitting in the bay at its base.

He has a pretty good view, huh?

After seeing Rio from Christ the Redeemer, I went over to Sugarloaf to see the view from there at sunset. This is the view from the gondola that travels up the hill. The beach on the left is Copacabana:

The view is dramatic since the sun sets right behind Christ the Redeemer (the statue is located at the top of the highest mountain):

Hang gliding provided a different view of Rio, since we ran off a ramp located over some of the less frequented beaches. This is the ramp I ran off, with one of our assistants napping on it:

Honestly, hang gliding didn't provide the adrenaline rush I was expecting, although it did provide some impressive views. I guess I'll just have to wait to go skydiving. While the views from these high places were stunning, I think the real beauty of Rio is most easily found on its beaches. Whereas most of the more beautiful beaches I've visited in my life (Cancun comes to mind) are mostly notable because of the perfectly blue water, or immaculate, white sand, I found Rio's beaches to be especially beautiful because of the landscape surrounding them: dramatic hills frame Rio's beaches, while, looking out to the ocean from Copacabana or Ipanema, one sees numerous little green islands dotting the sea.

This is a view of one of Ipanema's calmer sections. A little farther down the beach it becomes packed.

Of course, no description of Rio would be complete without mentioning the beauty of Rio's locals, called "cariocas." They spend so much time on the beach and/or practicing soccer that it should be no surprise they are usually very fit and perfectly tan. Not only that, they drink tons of juice--there's a juice bar on at least every other block in the beach neighborhoods. One of the things I really enjoyed in Rio was taking part in their healthy lifestyle--going running, then lying on the beach drinking açai (a thick juice made from an amazonian fruit--it tastes amazing!). I felt like my health improved immediately by me just being in Brazil. Speaking of juice, even on the beach there were tons of people walking around selling it, in addition to other items. One man walked around wearing a hat filled with pineapples--he would sneak up to an unsuspecting group, then yell "AAAABACAXI!!!!" (pineapple!). Watching him and people screaming at him provided lots of entertainment.

Seriously, though, it's hard to imagine just how athletic the Brazilians are. I always enjoyed sitting on Ipanema beach and looking along the shore, where, even in the winter, there were so many people that it was sometimes hard to see the sand! But something that always made me smile was that in this enormous crowd of people, there were innumerable soccer balls flying in the air. The most popular game on the beach is to stand in a circle with about six people and to just juggle a soccer ball without letting it touch the ground--like hacky-sack with a soccer ball. It wasn't uncommon for a group to go ten minutes without their ball touching the ground. There was one guy I would specifically look for--I swear he must be some sort of professional soccer player. He would balance the ball on his foot while coaching the others in his circle. Then he would point to his temple, kick the ball up, and balance it there. Then he would balance the ball on his forehead, then his other temple. Then he would rotate it to the back of his neck, and using just his head and his neck, toss then ball 30 feet in the air, then he would catch it behind his neck again! Nuts.

This Brazilian commercial (in Portuguese, if you want to hear what the language sounds like) shows Ronaldinho doing the moves I saw on the beach. Before I was in Rio I thought only players like Ronaldinho could juggle a soccer ball like this, but I actually saw these moves on the beach in Ipanema:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ju0rVtLwlTo&mode=related&search=

Several people have asked me what I would say was the highlight of my time in Rio. While sipping juice and caipirinhas on the beaches was wonderful, a few other experiences come to mind. One night, I went on a boat party in Rio's bay with some friends from the hostel, where we were served unlimited caipirinhas (similar to mojitos, but made with a sugarcane alcohol called cachaça) and Brazilian barbeque. After the boat party, we went to Lapa, one of the more popular spots to experience Rio's nightlife. Cariocas know how to party--the clubs were overflowing, and the party had moved into the street, where people walked around selling tequila shots from trays they carried. Inside a club, all types of music were played, from hip hop to salsa to the modern trend in Brazilian music, funk (pronounced "funky;" Brazilians tend to add the sound "ee" to many words they've adopted from English, which means rock is pronounced "hockey" and rap "happy"). And the Brazilian sensuality definitely persists in the clubs--people dance very, very close, and aren't afraid to get low.

Attending the Live Earth concert on Copacabana beach was another highlight, more because of the atmosphere than the performances (although it was fun to dance to Lenny Kravitz's "American Woman" and Pharrell's "She Wants to Move"). In the audience of about 750,000 people (the Rio concert was the only one that was free, so it drew an enormous audience), favela kids joined businessmen, and I found myself in a group of people from Amsterdam, South Africa, Argentina, and Chile that I had met before on the boat party (I was surprised that I didn't see many tourists from the US during my trip).

I think, though, that if I had to name only one highlight--not necessarily the most fun experience, but one of the most unforgettable--it would have to be my visit to Brazil's largest favela, Rocinha. "Favela" is the word the Brazilians use for a community similar to a shanty town, but with its own distinct culture. For an impressively accurate depiction of life in a favela (featuring actors that actually live in the favelas), see the movie "City of God." The tagline for the movie is "Fight and you'll never survive..... Run and you'll never escape," which echoes some of the feelings I heard from individuals living in Rocinha.

Basically, these huge communities developed as displaced communities illegally claimed land as their own. As shacks gradually filled every available square inch of land, people began selling their roofs, which resulted in many of the buildings having different colored floors. Unfortunately, this also resulted in the frequent collapsing of homes, due to unstable foundations meant to support only a single-level home.

The government and society largely turned their backs on the favelas, allowing them to develop their own culture and primitive infrastructure. With no official law enforcement, waste management, or education system, it's not hard to imagine that these communities are filled with waste, drugs, and violence. It is estimated that one-third of Brazil's population lives in favelas (they exist in most, if not all of Brazil's larger cities, not only in Rio). For more information, see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Favela and http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rocinha.

One example of how the people living in the favela get by without basic utilities from the government is electricity. Basically, someone acquires access to electricity, and everyone piggybacks. The same occurs with water, which is channelled into the favela from a nearby jungle. In these photos you can see the multitude of wires that accumulate as more and more people take electricity:

Today, people living in Rio outside favelas generally have a negative, fearful perception of those who live inside favelas--oftentimes they are seen as violent drug dealers and lawless robbers. This negative perception is somewhat justified. Favelas, being the ever-present symbol of the enormous and blatant split between Brazil's wealthy and poor, are often located right next to some of the wealthiest parts of the city. As a result, people living in the favelas oftentimes go into these wealthy sections and mug or pickpocket individuals. A good example of this occurrence is Copacabana, which, although very wealthy, is bordered by two favelas. People living in the favelas oftentimes walk down to Copacabana to prey on individuals, which has made Copacabana a dangerous place to explore at night.

In spite of this negative aspect of the favelas, people frequently fail to realize that those who live in favelas play a very active and beneficial role in Rio's economy and everyday life--they oftentimes have jobs in the wealthier parts of the city, at restaurants and hotels, for example. Many people living in favelas are trying to show individuals on the outside that living in a poor, violence-ridden area does not make them bad individuals. For this reason, the favela of Rocinha has begun receiving visitors who are interested in seeing the way of life in the favela, and the truth behind the rumors and stereotypes.

I traveled to the favela of Rocinha, which, as I said before, is the largest favela in Brazil, with a small group and a guide who was familiar with the community. To get into the favela, we took a bus to a point along a main road in the city, then got off at the foot of a very steep hill. Once there, we had to hire a small army of motorcycle taxis to zip us up the hill, which, while shooting through traffic and on the wrong side of the road, was way more of an adrenaline rush than hang gliding (far cheaper, too). Eventually we reached a level area, got off the motorcycles, and we found ourselves in the heart of Rocinha.

These views of Rocinha show just how closely-packed the homes are:

Things were bustling. There were small shops all around--not those catering to tourists, but shops for people needing plumbing or electrical supplies, cheap clothes, or a quick bite to eat. There were many people out walking to and from the shops. The roads were very narrow and winding. One of the first things our guide pointed out to us was three letters painted on the side of a nearby building: "ADA," which stands for "Amigos dos Amigos" ("Friends of Friends"). This is the name of the gang that controls Rocinha, not only by providing some form of corrupt "justice," but also by funding schools, for example. Because the government has largely turned its back on the favelas, these gangs have adopted the role of providing organization and basic services to the favela, but they maintain their power through violence and drug dealing. To learn a little more about the ADA, see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amigos_dos_Amigos.

Venturing off the main road, my group and I began walking along a narrow, winding, and oftentimes steep sidewalk, which, although it only served foot traffic, was referred to as one of the four main "roads" through the favela. Walking along the road, we visited individuals living in the favela, a day care center, people who owned shops such as bakeries, and even an art gallery that showcases work by children and other artists living in Rocinha.

Before seeing Rocinha firsthand, I had the impression that people living in the favela were very hardened individuals, wearing thick skin that shielded them from a daily life filled with violence (not unlike my perception of individuals living in the poorer areas of New York City). As a result, I was surprised by the kindness of the people I met there. People were very friendly, constantly smiling and welcoming me with a "good afternoon." Children eagerly approached me and the others in my group, saying "hello" and asking us to take their picture. The children believe that if their picture is taken by an American, they will become famous in the US. Something I found funny was that the kids will ask to see their picture afterwards, and if you don't have a digital camera and can't show them the image, they call you "poor gringo."

These boys were practicing a drumming routine they were going to play at the opening of the Pan-American Games in Rio. I wish I had a video--they were really getting into it!

Along the main street, there are various children who sell their paintings and other items they've made, such as bracelets. They have been discouraged from begging, and told that they need to use their creativity and ability to earn money. This boy is showcasing one of his paintings:

One of the most popular activities among children in the favela is to fly small kites, which this little boy is holding. His mom saw me walking along and asked me to take a picture of her son:

Two little boys I ran into along the way:

I saw the filth that characterizes the favela--garbage is oftentimes collected and left to rot in enormous piles sitting right next to people's homes, and waste oftentimes simply flows along the sidewalk to an unknown destination. But I also saw the closeness of the community, which, I was told, is something that keeps many people in the favela and not eager to leave it. "If you offered them a job and a life in a nicer part of town, any of them would take it," my guide told me, "But if you told them they had to take the initiative and work hard to get it, most of them would simply opt to stay here in their community." With this I was reminded of the huge importance of education. Describing the dreams of the children in Rocinha, my guide said, "If you ask the children what they want to be when they grow up, all the boys will tell you they want to be a soccer star, and all the girls want to be models or actresses."

In order to get back to the main road, my group and I had to walk along a pathway with heavy foot traffic that is known as the center of the drug trade in Rocinha. It is also where the military police heavily patrol and frequently conduct their searches and arrests. My guide told us before arriving at the road that we absolutely cannot take pictures of two things: the men wearing yellow shirts (who were managers overseeing the buying and selling of drugs), and the military police. Both groups are extremely corrupt. On a previous trip, my guide and her group were actually detained at gunpoint and searched by the military police, who were convinced they were in the area to buy drugs. My group didn't experience such action, but I did see the military police pinning men against a wall and searching them for drugs. A common topic in Rio's newspapers is the crackdowns in the favelas, where the military police will invade and assassinate any number of people it believes are associated with the favela's gangs. Because Rio was hosting the Pan-American games while I was there, which brought a higher level of international attention to the city, the military police had been stepping up its efforts to "clean up" Rocinha and present a more positive image of Rio, whether successful or not.

It's about time I bring this post to a close, but I'll continue my next post with some photos and experiences from São Paulo, Salvador, and Morro de São Paulo. Out of these places, I must admit that Rio was, by far, my favorite. I felt at home there, and the landscapes never ceased to stun me. I have definitely been left with "saudade," but I'm telling myself that I will return, probably to study Portuguese. Even after only a few weeks, my Portuguese significantly improved, and, by the end, I had no problems carrying on a conversation with someone. Even with all its problems, Rio is a stunning place, and I really can't wait to go back.

2007-07-08T06:22:00.000-05:00

Hi everyone! I have a few minutes free and decided to put up a quick update from Brazil:

I´m safe and having a really amazing time here. For the past five days I´ve been living in Ipanema in Rio (one block from the beach), which is considered to be one of the more beautiful, safer sections of the city. I´ve been keeping my schedule busy--I explored the outdoor markets of downtown Rio, saw Christ the Redeemer and Sugarloaf, went hang gliding, took an old trolley through the Bohemian section of town, and even visited a favela, which, specifically, was an especially memorable experience. Last night Rio hosted one of the Live Earth concerts on Copacabana beach (there were something like eight of these concerts held around the world to promote awareness of global warming and other environmental concerns). There I saw Pharrell, Macy Gray, Lenny Kravitz, and several Brazilian musicians play to an audience of about 750,000. It was really interesting to see the diversity of the crowd--many people living in the favelas came down, as did many residents of the affluent neighborhoods (and a good number of foreigners were there, although very, very few were from the US).

I´m really having a great time. I decided to travel Brazil alone, but I´ve met lots of very, very nice and interesting people from all over the world. Rio really draws a diverse crowd. And my interest in learning Portuguese has grown since my arrival here, although I´ve had no problems at all getting around on Spanish and English alone.

I hope you´re all doing well! When I return to Montevideo I´ll post pictures of some of these experiences. I´m especially looking forward to posting photos of the favela and the sunset from Pão de Açucar (Sugarloaf).

I´m wishing you all the best!

Farewell, Salto!

2007-06-28T18:45:00.003-05:00

In three hours I will be boarding a bus for Montevideo, which will be my new home for the next five months. I've said goodbye to my elementary school students, fellow teachers, friends, favorite waiters, and even my taxi driver...and as hard as it may be to believe, I've even finished packing.

At the elementary school, the teachers had chicken catered for lunch yesterday (my last day there), and, afterward, I was almost crushed (in a good way) beneath a huge group of children giving me farewell kisses. In one of the fourth grade classes, each student wrote me a farewell card, complete with a colorful drawing. It was really a great farewell!

The university students reserved their largest residence to throw a farewell party for us last night. The English teachers and students were all there, dancing and serving unlimited hamburgers and cake. Apparently, after four burgers and two pieces of cake, my insatiable appetite is now legendary.

Of course, in spite of all the celebrating, any time like this is bittersweet. In a conversation club (the English class we lead for high school Engish teachers) last week, one of the teachers asked me what I've learned since coming to Salto. I couldn't give her an answer, not because I haven't learned anything, but because there are so many ways I could answer the question. In addition to being my introduction to everything Uruguay (the language, mate, traditions, people, and much more), Salto is also the smallest, most isolated place I've lived for more than a few weeks. There is a lot to learn from living in such a place. One of the things I've learned is how intimate a small town is. The negative side of this is that everyone knows everything about everyone else (I mean everything). The positive side, though, is that it is not difficult to get to know people here on a very personal level. Some of my most cherished experiences here have been visiting the homes and families of my friends and coworkers, and immediately being taken in as a close friend. Just this week I interviewed an ex-guerrilla (who was wearing a Rolex, which I thoughts was interesting), who, following the interview, invited me to a bar-b-q at his house, then offered to let me stay there any time I visited Salto. The friendliness of the Salteños is amazing!

A major reason why leaving Salto is a bit easier for me is that I will only be moving six hours away, to Montevideo. I am certain I will come back, and I'm looking forward to doing so. Nonetheless, leaving Salto is definitely bitter. There is, though, a sweet side. Moving to Montevideo is going to provide me with a completely new and distinct view of Uruguay. The Uruguayans have emphasized this to me. There is a significant difference between Montevideo (the "exterior") and the "interior," which includes the rest of the country. Montevideo is seen as industrial, international, and dangerous, while the interior is agricultural, local, and "tranquilo." To people living in Salto, Montevideo is a completely different animal, filled with fast-paced lifestyles, frequent crime, and a huge population. The funny thing, though, is that Montevideo is a much safer place than the cities in which I've lived in the US, and isn't much larger either. Compared to Salto, though, Montevideo is pretty much exactly as the people of the interior describe it.

And that is another aspect I will miss about Salto. Without any exaggeration, it is the safest city in which I've lived, so my time here has been very refreshing in that respect. An entertaining story:

Late one night during my first week here, I had been working in an internet cafe with my laptop, and at 2am I decided to walk back to my hostel. With my laptop in my backpack, I was walking down a quiet, dimly lit section of the main street when, a short distance ahead, I saw a group of about twenty people. My immediate thought was that the group consisted of wayward teens, and that they would undoubtedly give a gringo a hard time, if not try to take his laptop. As I approached, I saw the group was painting something on the street, then I noticed they all had long hair. Come to find out, it was a group of high school girls painting messages for their friend's 15th birthday. Laughing at myself was all I could do to attempt to preserve my pride.

The whole town is like that! People just don't worry about being mugged, or anything of the kind. In fact, the people here have been shocked when I describe how in some US cities there is violence simply for the sake of violence (drive by shootings, for example). I'm definitely going to miss this aspect of Salteño life.

But there are many, many other things I´m going to miss about Salto, most of them being close friends I've made over the past few months. Now, though, it's time for me to look forward to life in Montevideo.

I'll be settling into Montevideo this weekend, attempting to find an apartment (or at least a hostel). I'll keep you all posted on that process. Next week and the following week are Uruguay's winter break, which means I have a very long vacation. I've decided to put these two weeks to good use to schedule a trip I've been dreaming about for several years now--Brazil!

Next Monday, I'm leaving for Rio de Janeiro, where I'll be for about five days. I'll be staying on Ipanema beach, and visiting such sites as Cristo Redentor and Copacabana. I'm also going to try to go hang gliding over Rio one day, and to visit Buzios, the "Ibiza of Brazil."

During the following weekend, I plan to visit Ouro Preto, an old colonial town and UNESCO World Heritage site located to the north of Rio. The next day, I'll take a bus to São Paulo, the largest city in South America (about 20 million people live there).

Following my weekend in Ouro Preto and São Paulo, I'll fly to the northeastern city of Salvador de Bahia, which is one of the oldest cities in Brazil, and the point where many of Brazil's slaves arrived from Africa. I have been told that the feeling of northeast Brazil is very different from that of other parts--it has a very strong African influence that is apparent in the food, music, and dance, for example. I plan to spend about four days in Salvador, learning about the city's history and, of course, spending plenty of time on its beaches. I've heard Salvador has some pretty cool diving opportunities, too, which I'm planning to take advantage of.

The following weekend (my final weekend in Brazil), I'm planning to take a bus to another northeastern city, Recife. This city has an old colonial section called Olinda, which is my real reason for visiting.

I'll be returning to Montevideo via Rio on July 17th, and I'm sure I'll have plenty to share with you all about my experience!

I should get off the Internet and get ready to leave for Montevideo. The United States is playing Argentina right now in the Copa America (the score is 1-1), and the Uruguayans are supporting the US. Also, some friends from the university just stopped by the hotel to wish me a good trip. I'm going to miss this place!

Bella Unión: The Birthplace of the Tupamaros

2007-06-23T15:16:00.000-05:00

Not long after I finished typing the final, slightly frustrated statements in my previous journal entry, I decided to go to the far north of Uruguay to visit the birthplace of the revolutionary movement that shook Latin America during the Cold War--the Tupamaros. The name of the town where the Tupamaros originated is Bella Unión, which lies at the point where Argentina, Brazil, and Uruguay meet. Upon deciding to travel north, I spoke with a couple students at the university who live there, Andrea and Mayra, and asked them to help me find a place to stay and people to interview. They were both incredibly helpful--within a week I had a place to stay and a wonderful list of interviews lined up. This journal entry is about my time in Bella Unión, which is where Mayra lives. I also visited Artigas, Andrea's home, as well. Here's a map so you get a better idea of where I was (Bella Unión is the red dot on the left, and Artigas is the dot on the right):

Bella Unión surprised me. First of all, with only 12,000 people, the town was less than half the size I thought it would be. When, on the bus ride there from Salto, I asked the attendant when we would arrive at the bus terminal, he laughed at me and said Bella Unión doesn't have a bus terminal. I was dropped off on the sidewalk. Nor does it have a taxi service. Mayra picked me up on her scooter (which she let me drive!) and took me to my hotel--the only hotel in town. Here we are soon after my arrival:

Only about fifty years ago in the tiny town of Bella Unión, Raúl Sendic organized a group of revolutionaries into the Tupamaros. Bella Unión would also be where the repression under Uruguay's military government would be harshest. As I soon learned, even today the legacy of political struggle and the Tupamaros is an inseparable part of Bella Unión.

The monument to Sendic:

With only about 12,000 people, it is difficult to believe that Bella Unión's scars are not more blatant than they are. Mayra told me she had not spoken with anyone in her hometown about the repression and torture there, and it was precisely for this reason that she was so interested in and eager to help me set up and listen to my interviews. In the same conversation, Mayra revealed an example of how deep the town's scars really are. Mayra told me there is a doctor in the town who, during the dictatorship, had the responsibility of deciding how much torture each prisoner could endure. Although there was not enough evidence to convict the doctor of his crimes and role during the dictatorship, most of the people in Bella Unión know who the doctor is and what his role was. Nonetheless, the doctor, along with the people of Bella Unión, go on with their lives. The doctor still practices, and patients still visit him.

This example reveals a lot about Bella Unión--except for occasional monuments dedicated to Raúl Sendic, the history of the town isn't immediately apparent. But if you dig a little beneath the surface, you will find a rich history with not only pain and fear, but also hope and optimism.

Prior to founding the Tupamaros, Raúl Sendic organized Bella Unión's sugarcane workers into the UTAA or Unión de Trabajadores Azucareros de Artigas (Artigas Union of Sugar Workers).

The UTAA held strikes and other activist events in order to fight for improved working and living conditions for the workers, or "peludos." This group is seen as the forerunner to the Tupamaros, and a profound influence on the formation of the guerrilla movement. For this reason, I decided to begin my visit to Bella Unión by going to the sugarcane plantations that still exist around the town. This was my view while heading to the plantations:

The plantations are also known for the annual burning of them, which I got to see very briefly:

This is one of the homes located on the plantation. There are many homes like this. You can see the sugarcane in the background.

One of the workers:

On my way to the plantations, which are not far from the town center or the borders with Brazil or Argentina, I saw worse poverty than I have seen since arriving in Uruguay three months ago. There were one-room shacks made of sheet metal and broken pieces of wood that housed families of five or six people. Uruguayans use the word "rancherio" to describe the small shanty-towns, although I was reminded of the term the Brazilians use to describe their cities of poverty: "favela." The poverty is a result of the town's economy being reliant upon the sugarcane plantations, which, depending on the world economy, sometimes lay off large numbers of people. Almost fifty years after the revolutionary movement of the Tupamaros, the peludos still live in conditions of poverty that do not appear to be significantly different from the conditions under which they lived before the movement. I tried to imagine the thoughts and emotions of Raúl Sendic in the last days of his life, with the knowledge that the everyday conditions of poverty of the sugarcane workers to whom he dedicated a large part of his life--and for whom he endured torture--is not very different from the days during or before the revolution and the dictatorship.

Here are a few pictures of some of the homes I saw while near the plantations:

After seeing the plantations, I interviewed, individually, three men who were politically active and experienced repression under the dictatorship firsthand. While talking with these men, I began to see that Sendic's perspective could very well have been one of hope rather than desperation. Of the three men I interviewed, each one had an optimistic perspective toward the current and future of Uruguay, its people, and the Frente Amplio political party that is currently in power (which, by the way, is led by several former Tupamaros).

The first man I interviewed is a writer and literature professor. He lived in Bella Unión during the repression, and his brother was executed there at the hands of the dictatorship. Today, he identifies himself as a strong supporter of the Frente Amplio.

The second man was an active member of the Communist party in the years before the dictatorship. At that period, immediately following the success of the Cuban Revolution, people who dreamed of political and social change in Latin America felt that anything was possible. Under the dictatorship, he was imprisoned and tortured, and this dream was demolished.

The third man, who faintly resembles Raúl Sendic, was from a family of sugarcane workers. He was imprisoned thirteen years under the dictatorship. While incarcerated, he learned to read and write, and he focused his attention on the importance of preserving human rights. Following his release from prison, he began to write books on politics, as well as children's books.

Each of the three individuals I interviewed had a different experience and perspective, but from each I acquired a sense of hope and optimism. I asked them about how their revolutionary dreams during the Cold War are still relevant today. In response, they told me the world context has entirely changed since the Cold War, and now Uruguay should better integrate itself into the world economy. Cooperation with the United States is also necessary, they said. These men, each a former revolutionary, told me Uruguay does not need a Hugo Chavez, but a country that plays a more active role in world affairs.

With respect to the road to achieving this goal, these men spoke about the Frente Amplio with hope. I asked them how they would respond to the criticisms of the Frente Amplio that many Uruguayans are voicing (see my previous post for more on these criticisms). One man responded, "If this government had already solved the 'serious problems' of Uruguay in the two years since it has been in power, it must have been a lie that the problems had ever been that serious to begin with." After stating that change needs time and patience, he asserted, with a hopeful smile, his belief that Uruguay is on the path toward realizing these changes.

The night the people took to the streets

2007-06-13T13:16:00.000-05:00

A few days ago, I had the opportunity to interview a political figure here in Salto who works with one of the two traditional parties--the Colorados. Historically, barring the dictatorship, either the Colorados or their political opponents, the Blancos, have held power in Uruguay. As of 2006, though, a new political force was elected into power, the leftist Frente Amplio (Broad Front). This group, which consists of various political groups including the Tupamaros, identifies itself as primarily socialist.

In many ways, the election of the Frente Amplio was an example of the Latin American political pendulum in action once again--the same device that regularly sees conservative leaders followed by liberal ones, and vice-versa. Following the military dictatorship, the Colorado party once again found itself in power. Due largely to the economic crisis preceding the 2006 elections, the people wanted a change. As I have been told on various occasions, even many of those who had supported one of the two traditional parties decided that perhaps 2006 was the time for a change...and the Frente Amplio was elected.

But, as the people soon learned, many of the promises of the socialist Frente Amplio party were hollow. Arriving on the scene carrying the baggage of its revolutionary past, the party found itself in a new millennium, and in a completely new context that had forgotten the Cold War and had embraced capitalism. While many people criticize the Frente Amplio for not pursuing the social and economic policies it had promised--and, additionally, for the corruption that plagues the Uruguayan government in spite of the party in power--some others have a more historical basis for their criticism.

A few weeks ago, while in Montevideo, I was walking to an evening movie when I noticed flyers littering the busy sidewalk and street.

I picked one up and read "The Revolutionary Socialist Party" along with the primary demands of the "party":

As I continued walking, I found another, somewhat different flyer, which contained a stark image of one of the individuals who was protesting Bush's visit earlier this year. Apparently, the man was arrested for protesting the visit, and the flyer was attempting to arouse criticism of the man's punishment:

As I continued walking to the movie, I found myself face-to-face with an enormous group of people marching down the street--there must have been tens of thousands of people, and, needless to say, the streets had been completely blocked. The somewhat shocking thing, though, was that the protestors were mostly silent, and only made a significant sound when they sang the national anthem. As I observed the march, I learned that the two flyers I found portrayed the two primary issues the manifestation was attempting to bring to light: the empty promises of the current government, and the preservation of the people's ability to protest.

One of the issues that emphasizes the disparity between the Frente Amplio's rhetoric and its actions is that of the "desaparecidos," or those individuals who disappeared under the military dictatorship. These people were purposefully imprisoned, tortured, and executed by the authoritarian government, but their files have never been disclosed. This has left an open wound in Uruguayan society (and the societies of Argentina and Chile, which also experienced vast "disappearances" under their respective dictatorships). When many of the individuals who are currently serving in the government were Tupamaro revolutionaries, they were directly threatened by these disappearances, and during their campaign it was an issue that was harped upon. Once in power, though, these same individuals have been forced to consider the practical and economic consequences of digging into their country's history and attempting to resolve this tragedy--an action that is even more controversial considering that the Uruguayan military has been given amnesty, and many people would like to put the period behind them, in spite of (or because of) the terror they suffered.

Many of the thousands of protestors that I ran into, though, were part of the group that would rather the government follow its rhetoric with action, and work to reveal the history of their disappeared loved ones. It is true that many individuals were marching simply to remember their lost loved ones so that such a tragedy never occurs again, as is apparent in the faces and signs that they carried:

For many others, though, the march signified an attempt to push the current government toward acting upon the promises it has made throughout its history. As the flyers revealed, the majority of these promises were made in a different context, and reflect demands that would have been valid during the Cold War. But are they still valid today?

This is the question I faced as I watched the march, and read the flyers that portrayed a persecuted man beneath the Golden Arches: is the United States still at fault for the difficulties Uruguay faces today (poverty, for example)? As an American, what is my role and responsibility in this? As I reflected upon these questions, I came to the realization that the people protesting the US were not only doing so because of difficulties they faced, but also because of sympathy they have for those who are suffering--namely, Iraqis. US imperialism is something that wounded Uruguay during the military dictatorship, and something that has left a scar ever since. In many ways, this experience has caused Uruguayans to be more sensitive when they perceive the influence of the US being used malevolently in other countries.

While interviewing the man I described at the start of this post, I asked him how he would change Uruguay's current society, if at all. He told me that he wishes the Uruguayan people could focus their attention on the future and how they can improve their country, rather than dwelling on the mistakes of the past.

In the months preceding my college graduation, I decided to use the time immediately after college to experience firsthand the suffering that many people in this world endure on a daily basis. I had tasted it in Mongolia, and a bit in Colombia, but I wanted to experience it further, believing it would affect me in a way that is necessary if I am to dedicate my career to human rights and development. Through the influence of various factors and forces, I eventually found myself in Uruguay, where, although I hear about this suffering occasionally (in the form it took under the dictatorship), I am about thirty years too late in seeing the suffering firsthand.

While visiting Paraguay a couple months ago, and being struck by the poverty there, I wrote in my journal the following thoughts, which were only reinforced last night as I watched an NBC special on the genocide in Darfur: "I sometimes wonder, when I see the utter poverty and suffering of another country, why I'm working in Uruguay, in complete comfort and security. I wanted so much to work toward alleviating that suffering, and still I find myself so far from it."

motos, mongols, y música

2007-06-01T22:54:00.001-05:00

I can't believe it, but more than two months have passed since I arrived in Uruguay, and I now have less than one month left here in Salto.

The past week has been a whirlwind of events and experiences. Unfortunately, it seems as if I'm just now finding my role as a teacher at the university--over the past couple months there have been occasional cancellations of classes, frequent teacher strikes, and, additionally, it has taken some time for the professors at the university to discover and decide how to best use Holly, Liz, and myself in the classroom. But, now that they have, I've been endlessly (but happily) busy preparing lesson plans on immigration in the US, Transcendentalism and education, diversity in the US, and the US Civil War.

Over the past three days I have given four lectures at the university on immigration (with Liz and Holly) and Emerson. The immigration lesson was complete with images of the border, songs from Mexico's Los Tigres del Norte (such as "Orgullo Mexicano" about a man who illegally immigrates to the US, finds a job, but will always have a red, white, and green heart), and real-life stories from individuals who have attempted to cross the border.

I also led a handful of classes in Spanish on the cultural and geographic diversity of the United States at a couple of high schools in the area. Once given the opportunity to teach on the topic, I asked myself, "what better way to portray this diversity than through my experience riding the motorcycle around the country?" The presentation was an instant hit. The kids especially loved the pictures of California's coast, the redwood forest, and 1200cc's of raw power cruising the wide-open road. The presentation was spiced up by my inability to express certain feelings and emotions in Spanish, which came out in such expressions as "Después del viaje, no podía sentir el culo." And they absolutely couldn't believe me when I told them the motorcycle I ride could go from a stop to 60 mph in 3 seconds. After class, they led me outside and started pointing to the 50cc scooters parked nearby, and claimed each one as their own. Then they begged me to send to Uruguay the motorcycle I rode in order to trade it for their scooter. The teachers, on the other hand, just asked me to send my dad to Uruguay.

In one high school class--which lasted a full two hours--after lecturing on how to tame the curves in the Blue Ridge Mountains, I gave a presentation on living in Mongolia. The kids (and teacher) especially liked seeing the Mongolians in their traditional clothing--which they related to gaucho clothes--and the small huts and teepee I lived in. I think the presentation made them appreciate how developed Uruguay is. In a moment of inspiration, unable to resist, I shared with them my experience watching the castration of a sheep. They loved it.

In the past, before coming to Uruguay, I had never thought I had a special ability to teach. The experiences and feedback I've had here, though, have been so encouraging and inspiring that I'm beginning to think that perhaps I should take advantage of any opportunities I have to teach in the future, including being a teaching assistant for some law school courses. On many occasions teachers who are overseeing my lectures here have pulled me aside after class and told me I have a unique ability to lead a classroom and teach--an ability some teachers feel even they and many of their fellow teachers lack. In one of the most touching moments I've experienced in the classroom, a class of my oldest students at the university applauded me once I finished a lecture on Emerson's philosophy toward education. After class they told me that the lecture, which (in a very watered-down summary) emphasized the importance of each student and the teacher as the culminator of creativity and self-reliance, arrived at the perfect moment, when many of the individuals in the class were struggling academically and second-guessing their purpose as teachers.

On a slightly unrelated note, the university celebrated its 10-year anniversary last Saturday with a semi-formal dinner, concert, and dance party. The dinner was nice, the concert entertaining, and the dance, which drew students and professors alike, an all-out rave. My inability to dance with any one girl for more than five minutes earned me the name "picaflor," and the director of the university, who I also danced with, said, at the end of the dance (6am), that it is clear that I have Colombian blood in me. I call that a successful night.

the waters kept rising...

2007-05-23T23:48:00.000-05:00

Recent events in Uruguay have made the headlines in publications far beyond the country's borders:

"Flooding has caused thousands of people to evacuate their homes in Uruguay after the worst flooding to hit the country for half a century." (http://www.itv.com/news/world_bdd998df33750455b8e0d07e315f5bfc.html)

"(AP) - MONTEVIDEO, Uruguay-Lawmakers on Thursday declared a "national emergency," speeding relief aid to more than 12,000 people left homeless by floods." (http://news.lp.findlaw.com/ap/o/55/05-10-2007/2f360008c36bd48f.html)

"The United Nations is mobilizing a Disaster Assessment and Coordination (UNDAC) team for deployment to Uruguay early next week in the wake of the worst floods to hit the country in half a century." (http://www.un.org/apps/news/story.asp?NewsID=22525&Cr=uruguay&Cr1=)

A topic that comes up in conversation regularly here in Uruguay is that of global warming. I've already mentioned a couple of instances in this blog--a conversation I had with a university student about the melting of Argentina's Perito Moreno glacier; the abundance of butterflies at Iguazú and the now unpredictable wet and dry seasons. But, since my arrival to Uruguay, the issue of global warming had never been placed so directly before my eyes as it was when I visited Mercedes.

Mercedes is a small city of about 40,000 people, situated in southwest Uruguay on the banks of the Rio Negro. I marked it with a little red circle on this map, and I also highlighted the other districts most affected by flooding with a red square (as well as the nearest dam to Mercedes):

Since arriving in Uruguay, I have made several friends who were born and raised in Mercedes. All of them proudly told me the same thing: "Mercedes has the most beautiful promenade in Uruguay." The normally beautiful area running along the Rio Negro is a source of pride for people from Mercedes, and judging by the pictures I've seen, their pride is justified. Unfortunately, pictures are the only images I have of the promenade, since the area immediately surrounding the river was completely under water when I visited.

The small city experienced the worst flooding it had seen since the 1950s earlier this month, just before I visited. Some distance up the Rio Negro, there is a dam, followed by a large lake located in the center of the country. Heavy rains caused the lake's water levels to rise dramatically. When the floodgates were opened, Mercedes felt the consequences.

When I was in Mercedes, the water had already begun to recede. You can see the former water level where the line along this building is:

These people were in the process of moving their belongings back into their homes after the water had receded:

Just before I left Mercedes, the people there received news that the floodgates would again be opened, and the river's level would rise again. Some of the homes and businesses that were most affected by the flooding are owned by the wealthy citizens of Mercedes, and will gradually be rebuilt. Unfortunately, though, many of the homes belonged to some of the city's poorest. Those individuals will be forced to find ways to support themselves and their families as they find a new home, or rebuild the one they had. For information on some of the relief efforts, please visit the links I included at the start of this post. Uruguayans tend to find great pride in their hometowns, and, as a result, many of the individuals who were forced from their homes by flooding refuse to move anywhere else, and insist on remaining in their home city in spite of any risk posed by natural disasters.

There is a commercial I've seen on Uruguayan television that shows images of recognizable parts of the country submerged in water. The beautiful beaches at Punta del Este are nonexistent, replaced by ocean; the historic, cobblestone streets of Colonia del Sacramento have been devoured by the rising tide; the administrative buildings of Montevideo are visited by individuals in rowboats. The producers of the commercial used computer graphics to achieve the images, but their anti-global warming message is clear. Vast, severe flooding that used to occur once every forty years has already struck Uruguay several times this year. People have noticed the change, and their fear, as well as their surprise, is apparent. Predictable wet seasons and dry seasons no longer exist. Seasonal and climatic cycles have been thrown off, producing erratic weather and the consequences that stem from that. Walking along the streets of Montevideo, one is accompanied by a literal cloud of thirty or more mosquitoes, a phenomenon that the locals swear never occurred this season in previous years.

In spite of the flooding, I thought Mercedes was a beautiful little city. I hope, though, that the promenade will be visible the next time I visit, and that I'll be able to walk along it and experience what many residents of Mercedes are so proud of. But the flooding in Mercedes is just the tip of the iceberg. Last night I was looking at pictures of my trip to Patagonia a couple years ago, and it scared me to realize that the next time I see the Perito Moreno glacier, it may be drastically different. I hope it won't be. But I can't help but wonder what other consequences we and our children will face in the coming years, consequences resulting from a force powerful enough to drown cities, and melt ancient glaciers.