Lukin and I are down from the mountains again and beginning to make our return to Bishkek along the Southern shore of Issyk Kul lake. We have one week left here before I head East to Beijing and on to Toronto from there and Lukin heads West to Kazakhstan and London before we meet back up on the other side of the world. It's been an amazing month in Kyrgyzstan. Some of my favorite bits have been: Travelling with Lukin who is up for pretty much anything and understands the equal importance of galloping across the jailoos on horseback or spending an entire rainy mountain afternoon tucked in our tent reading so that we can finish out books and trade them in for new ones nefore we leave town, sitting down in restaurants and blindly pointing to one Cyrillic entree or another and waiting expectantly for the server to arrive and unveil what I have ordered- the results have ranged from stroganoff with mashed potatoes to a bowl of mayonnaise, and looking out of the windows of some pretty bumpy bus rides on the stunningly scenic countryside of Kyrgyzstan- the 7,000 meter peaks of the Tian Shan range, the green alpine pastures studded with yurts, and the icy torrents of glacial melt streaming alongside and occasionally across the roads.
I've appreciated traveling in theis country that is VERY foreign to me for many reasons, but one that stands out been that I can take nothing for granted here. Water may cost more that the rest of your meal combined. The family in whose yard you are camped serves you free steaming bowls of hot soup because it's been rainy and they want you to stay healthy. The twin five year olds of the family told you how to get to the stream you want to fish in actually turn out to be expert fisherwomen who know all the best holes and even dig worms for you. That there are two towns named Karakol on opposite sides of the country and it's helpful to mention to your minibus driver which one you are hoping to go to. That the man in the tucked-in Nascar T-shirt who approaches you on a random Kyrgyz country road speaks brilliant English, has lived in the States and is working on his PhD in Development at George Mason University.
Being completely out of context here means that my basis for sizing up people and situations is completely out of context as well. I've been fortunate in that this has inabled me to lay down many of the tools I use to make snap judgements at home or even those that I've acquired in China. The result has been that I've been better able to approach situations and individuals with a blank slate and with curiosity. This opportunity to be honest with myself that I have no idea what is going on most of the time and need peoples help has opened me up a bit to letting people surprise me, giving strangers the benefit of the doubt, and not assuming. I hope that this is something that I can take home with me and continue to cultivate even when I fall back into familiar routines and habbits- I hope that I let my old tools of judgement gather dust for a while.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
Deep Mountain Breaths
22 hours over 500 kilometers of road pitted with pot holes the size of Volkswagons brought us from the far western oasis town of Kashgar at the farthest edge of China to the bussiest bazzar town and largest outdoor market on the Silk Road, Osh in Southern Kyrgyzstan. Osh is said to be older than Rome. Osh rests in the Fergana Valley, a pinwheel swirl of rather dizzying but important borders designed to parcel out slices of this incredibly fertile land to the nations of Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan, and Tajikistan. Osh was a step out of the East and into Central Asia. Our first hint of this was delivered over our first Kyrgyz breakfast of mutton and potato soup at 8am on a Tuesday. Our neighbors two tables over demonstrated that the proper way to cut the grease of the mutton fat was to wash down your soup with not one but two glasses (not shots but glasses!) of Stolichnaya! I guess the Union has fallen but the Soviet legacy of liquor lives on...
From Osh, the second largest city in Kyrgystan, we moved on to the third largest city, Jalalabad. We arrived after a dusty bus ride and set our bags down in a Russian hotel near the center of town. Thirsty, we headed to an empty cafe down the road and seated ourselves on a tea bed, a raised platform covered with cushions, and ordered bowls of Kumis (fermented mare's milk), the Kyrgyz national beverage. I ducked into the bathroom for a minute and when I came back the cafe was a sea of blue police uniforms. I pushed my way through the crowd to our table where I found a strange almost dream-like scene; a laughing Lukin drinking horse milk, holding court with 25 Kyrgyz cops!
Just a day in Jalalabad and then we wrangled a bus ride up to the transit town of Baazar Korgan and crammed four Uzbek men, a Kyrgyz woman, Lukin our backpacks and me into a shared taxi for the last hour or so up the foothills into the village of Arslanbob. Arslanbob is every positive superlative you can think of. The village is a fairytale. We were met in the town center by Hoyat, the local representative of the national organization CBT (Community Based Tourism). CBT's aim is to foster a kind of tourism that protectes the local environment, promotes the local culture, and puts tourist dollars into the hands of local people, not in the pockets of out-of-town real estate developers and hoteliers. One of the ways it hopes to build this kind of infrastructure is by providing housing for tourists in the homes of local people. Beds are a certain price, a tent in the garden another, meals another. The money goes directly into the hands of those who house, CBT coordinators get their paycheck from the fundraising of the national office. It is an incredible system and the family in whose garden we camped was warm and lovely. We wpent the hottest hours laying on their tea bed in thh shade of rose bushes reading books and spent the cooler hours hiking up to waterfalls, following horse trails through the ancient and enormous walnut forest for which the region is famous, or exploring the alleys of the village. It felt like we flaoted through the last three days! Tomorrow we cram into another taxi and wind our way over the mountain pass into Central Kyrgyzstan. Now, I'm headed back to meet Lukin for a Baltica Seven Beer. We ran into some of his cop friends on the street, maybe they'll join us for dinner!
From Osh, the second largest city in Kyrgystan, we moved on to the third largest city, Jalalabad. We arrived after a dusty bus ride and set our bags down in a Russian hotel near the center of town. Thirsty, we headed to an empty cafe down the road and seated ourselves on a tea bed, a raised platform covered with cushions, and ordered bowls of Kumis (fermented mare's milk), the Kyrgyz national beverage. I ducked into the bathroom for a minute and when I came back the cafe was a sea of blue police uniforms. I pushed my way through the crowd to our table where I found a strange almost dream-like scene; a laughing Lukin drinking horse milk, holding court with 25 Kyrgyz cops!
Just a day in Jalalabad and then we wrangled a bus ride up to the transit town of Baazar Korgan and crammed four Uzbek men, a Kyrgyz woman, Lukin our backpacks and me into a shared taxi for the last hour or so up the foothills into the village of Arslanbob. Arslanbob is every positive superlative you can think of. The village is a fairytale. We were met in the town center by Hoyat, the local representative of the national organization CBT (Community Based Tourism). CBT's aim is to foster a kind of tourism that protectes the local environment, promotes the local culture, and puts tourist dollars into the hands of local people, not in the pockets of out-of-town real estate developers and hoteliers. One of the ways it hopes to build this kind of infrastructure is by providing housing for tourists in the homes of local people. Beds are a certain price, a tent in the garden another, meals another. The money goes directly into the hands of those who house, CBT coordinators get their paycheck from the fundraising of the national office. It is an incredible system and the family in whose garden we camped was warm and lovely. We wpent the hottest hours laying on their tea bed in thh shade of rose bushes reading books and spent the cooler hours hiking up to waterfalls, following horse trails through the ancient and enormous walnut forest for which the region is famous, or exploring the alleys of the village. It felt like we flaoted through the last three days! Tomorrow we cram into another taxi and wind our way over the mountain pass into Central Kyrgyzstan. Now, I'm headed back to meet Lukin for a Baltica Seven Beer. We ran into some of his cop friends on the street, maybe they'll join us for dinner!
Monday, June 8, 2009
Blogspot is blocked here
China has put a block on blogs. This entry comes to you via an email to northern Ontario, Canada. Truly an international edition. M & D
The city we left this morning, Xining, is not really a tourist destination in and of itself, but it became one for us. Lukin and I inadvertently spent just short of a week in and around this town and grew quite fond of it. When we arrived from Beijing I had big plans to take Lukn out into the countryside to the village where I did some volunteer work with students in the fall. I recalled smiling-faced students and vast bare-rocked mountains rising out of valleys filled with mud-brick homes and barns full of baby lambs. I recalled a different face of China than that which can be seen on city streets or in crowded trains. So I dug bus numbers and transfer town names out of the back of my mind and we rode North, flagged down mini vans, and made our way to the tiny villager of Guop Er Cun. This time it was different. This time we were met with the same generosity and open-heartedness that I remembered, but we were also met with by newly imposed restriction that barred foreigners from staying in the homes of village families. This year marks the 60th anniversary of the founding of the People's Republic of China, and in addition to limiting the number of visa's issued to foreigners, the government is also regulating foreign access to potentially sensitive areas of the country. As Guo Er Cun is a Tibetan village only miles from the birthplace of the Dali Lama, it is deemed sensitive and necessitates a permit for anything more than a day trip. Damn. Lukin and I spent some time imagining what it would feel like to be told by local police who you can and cannot have as a guest in your home. The gracious family that we had hoped would house us tried to help us arrange a ride back down into town, but as it was nearing dark we found no ride and they laughed at our suggestion to set up our tent on the outskirts of the village, instead making a bed up for us in their back room insisting that one night wouldn't hurt anybody. Lukin and I slept lightly, nervous that our presence would cause trouble for the family that had been so kind to us. We woke to bowls of potato and pork fat for breakfast and shared a mini-van ride down the mountain with the father and daughter of the family who were on their way to a traditional Tibetan dance contest in a nearby village.
Lukin and I headed back to Xining and I was grumpy. Gone were my plans for a week filled with familiar faces, hikes in on the bleak mountains that slope into the valley, steaming bowls of yak butter tea, and the thought and conversation sparking contrasts between rural and urban China. Back to a gritty transit town. An afternoon in though and my mind began to change. Our town was full of Hui Muslim and Tibetan and Han people sharing a city. It was full of small tree-lined streets and brick-drab alleyways that hid noodle shops and hair salons. We were welcomed into shops and restaurants to chat and waved at by children and smiled at by groups of old men bearing bird cages as they took their birds to the park to sing. We spent three good days in Xining absorbing what was around us. I am glad that I was able to take Lukin up to Guo Er Cun, that he was able to see a bit of what life is like for the overwhelming majority of people living in China, but I also am glad that we were able to spend those days in Xining, enjoying a regular old city. I've realized through this that I've been trying so hard to show Lukin what I love about China and to take him to places that I think are special and to create an experience for us that is meaningful, that I have not been very good at letting this experience unfold as it will and at letting China speak for itself. In our last couple of weeks here, I'll endeavor to do that more.
Lukin and I are now sitting in twin red armchairs covered with taxi-driver style bamboo seat-mats at an internet cafe in Lanzhou China. Posters of The Sims 2 and World of Warcraft decorate the walls and cigarette-smoking men between the ages of 17 and 37 fill the hundred or so seats. Gaming is big in China. There are bathrooms here in this very building whereas restaurants and tea shops generally point customers to public toilets down the street. There is a boiler that dispenses hot water and ramen noodles and coffee packets are sold at the front desk. You could live here. From the lines on faces and the butts overflowing ash trays it looks as though some do. We're just here for a brief three-hour layover between train journeys. Our train journey this morning took us the three hours from Xining to Lanzhou, the capital of Gansu province in Western China. Our train journey this afternoon will carry us another 22 hours into the center of Xinjiang province, the city of Urumqi- back to the Uyghurs...
The city we left this morning, Xining, is not really a tourist destination in and of itself, but it became one for us. Lukin and I inadvertently spent just short of a week in and around this town and grew quite fond of it. When we arrived from Beijing I had big plans to take Lukn out into the countryside to the village where I did some volunteer work with students in the fall. I recalled smiling-faced students and vast bare-rocked mountains rising out of valleys filled with mud-brick homes and barns full of baby lambs. I recalled a different face of China than that which can be seen on city streets or in crowded trains. So I dug bus numbers and transfer town names out of the back of my mind and we rode North, flagged down mini vans, and made our way to the tiny villager of Guop Er Cun. This time it was different. This time we were met with the same generosity and open-heartedness that I remembered, but we were also met with by newly imposed restriction that barred foreigners from staying in the homes of village families. This year marks the 60th anniversary of the founding of the People's Republic of China, and in addition to limiting the number of visa's issued to foreigners, the government is also regulating foreign access to potentially sensitive areas of the country. As Guo Er Cun is a Tibetan village only miles from the birthplace of the Dali Lama, it is deemed sensitive and necessitates a permit for anything more than a day trip. Damn. Lukin and I spent some time imagining what it would feel like to be told by local police who you can and cannot have as a guest in your home. The gracious family that we had hoped would house us tried to help us arrange a ride back down into town, but as it was nearing dark we found no ride and they laughed at our suggestion to set up our tent on the outskirts of the village, instead making a bed up for us in their back room insisting that one night wouldn't hurt anybody. Lukin and I slept lightly, nervous that our presence would cause trouble for the family that had been so kind to us. We woke to bowls of potato and pork fat for breakfast and shared a mini-van ride down the mountain with the father and daughter of the family who were on their way to a traditional Tibetan dance contest in a nearby village.
Lukin and I headed back to Xining and I was grumpy. Gone were my plans for a week filled with familiar faces, hikes in on the bleak mountains that slope into the valley, steaming bowls of yak butter tea, and the thought and conversation sparking contrasts between rural and urban China. Back to a gritty transit town. An afternoon in though and my mind began to change. Our town was full of Hui Muslim and Tibetan and Han people sharing a city. It was full of small tree-lined streets and brick-drab alleyways that hid noodle shops and hair salons. We were welcomed into shops and restaurants to chat and waved at by children and smiled at by groups of old men bearing bird cages as they took their birds to the park to sing. We spent three good days in Xining absorbing what was around us. I am glad that I was able to take Lukin up to Guo Er Cun, that he was able to see a bit of what life is like for the overwhelming majority of people living in China, but I also am glad that we were able to spend those days in Xining, enjoying a regular old city. I've realized through this that I've been trying so hard to show Lukin what I love about China and to take him to places that I think are special and to create an experience for us that is meaningful, that I have not been very good at letting this experience unfold as it will and at letting China speak for itself. In our last couple of weeks here, I'll endeavor to do that more.
Lukin and I are now sitting in twin red armchairs covered with taxi-driver style bamboo seat-mats at an internet cafe in Lanzhou China. Posters of The Sims 2 and World of Warcraft decorate the walls and cigarette-smoking men between the ages of 17 and 37 fill the hundred or so seats. Gaming is big in China. There are bathrooms here in this very building whereas restaurants and tea shops generally point customers to public toilets down the street. There is a boiler that dispenses hot water and ramen noodles and coffee packets are sold at the front desk. You could live here. From the lines on faces and the butts overflowing ash trays it looks as though some do. We're just here for a brief three-hour layover between train journeys. Our train journey this morning took us the three hours from Xining to Lanzhou, the capital of Gansu province in Western China. Our train journey this afternoon will carry us another 22 hours into the center of Xinjiang province, the city of Urumqi- back to the Uyghurs...
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Success?
Be forewarned, it's been a while and I've been thinking a lot so this post is rather lengthy and somewhat weird:
I have been avoiding doing this. I feel like the main reason is because I've been waiting for things to improve, for conditions to be right, for there to be just the right moment when the motivation or inspiration I needed would come to me instead of having to take initiative and sit down and write. Another reason is that I feel like my January post was a bit of a pity-party about my difficulties with my malaria medication and subsequent woes, and that to write another post that is... what is the opposite of up-lifting?... down-dropping??... for me to write another post like that would not be what people would want to read. But that's not really the point- is it? To write what I project onto another as their desire? Then what is the point? Over the past few weeks there is an adage that has been floating around in my mind; if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. What a load of crap that is. If people only said nice things all the time, nothing would ever be resolved. Nice isn't about biting your tongue, nice is about using your tongue to spit out truth framed in a way that is constructive and activating. "Don't say anything at all" is a cop out. I think, then, that I will say stuff. And write it.
This semester has been hard. I am tired now and battling through some why-am-I-doing-this questions. I've been through my doubts before about helping to provide an incredible opportunity like this for kids who have lived their lives hopping from one incredible opportunity to another. I won't revisit that here. What I do want to visit here is more introspective. I'm realizing that something I have thought true of myself, and liked about my character- that I do things I enjoy and enjoy doing things just to do them, not looking for recognition or appreciation- is not all together true. I've come to realize that recognition and appreciation are really important to me, and I'm not sure how this realization makes me feel. I've been thinking about this both on the short-term scale of my current work, as well as on the long-term scale of my career overall. First the short term.
We've been struggling this semester with group dynamics. We are 8 students and three instructors and there is a very obvious split between the two. There are splits within the student group as well, and the result of this is a semester swirling with unresolved storms that brew below the surface. The layers of our experiences that we have built into our common foundation remind me of the layers of a Montana winter's-worth of snow. Different types of snow fall and build upon each other on Montana's mountain slopes; some are sticky and compact, some are lofty and bulky, some layers crusty and icy. When slopes are gradual and the temperature is cool, the frozen arms of the crystals of each type of snow reach out and grasp onto one another; the layers remain linked and stable and solid. When slopes steepen and temperatures rise, the crystals of snow begin to melt into spheres and detach from other crystals. Gravity and pressure begin to push upon the layers, powder slips on slick icy crust, the foundation loses integrity and avalanche ensues. After each avalanche we start over again, building layer by layer, each time becoming more and more cautious, biting our tongues and tip-toeing as we push the boulder of the semester up the tenuous frozen slope of our fissured mountain. Dramatic, no? It's not as bad as all that- some days are great, some days we go sledding. I've had wonderful moments with every single student, I haven't given up looking for teachable moments, I keep pouring out layers and reaching out crystally arms. But I do bite my tongue, I do tip-toe, and I proceed with the expectation that the ground will slip out from beneath my feet. That prophecy has so far been fulfilled.
So how does this relate to recognition and appreciation? I've learned that after each avalanche I am a lesser teacher. When students draw back their hands, I draw back my own instead of pushing myself harder to reach out to them. When gossip falls like drops of dye into pool, I stew in it instead of getting up and getting out and rinsing off. In the absence of "thanks Jess" I thank less. If my requests for ideas or activities are met with dull eyes and weak efforts, I read a book or go for a walk instead of seeking out the root the apathy or the forum that would inspire others to put forth their own ideas. I get tired, I get down trodden, and I want to give up. I know that environment and culture effect the way an individual operates and performs, and that I am not above this system- but I have never taken the time to really examine the way an apathetic and indifferent environment effects me personally and professionally. It is sobering and disappointing.
Taking this out large is sobering as well, but in a slightly different way. Lukin and I had a conversation about this a couple of weeks ago and it has stuck around in my head. Is the idea of success something I can truly define for myself? By many standard I am not operating in a successful career. I work year-long contract jobs with little to not opportunity for upward mobility and bounce- often without health-care- from country to country feeding off of adventure and education and curiosity. I'm often broke, occasionally contract tropical diseases, but more often I have been incredibly lucky and have been taken under the wings of of people and cultures of or other than my own and given patient training on the many ways to be a human being. I quite love it, but have never believed that this is anything that I would call a career. In these endeavors I have not sought or expected recognition or appreciation- I've understood that my rather unconventional path through my twenties would perhaps raise some eyebrows and some doubts. But I've found reward and growth in these experiences that have left me even-eyebrowed and doubtless, and that's enough for me. Now I am turning homeward.
In recent months I have changed course from pursuing a big-impact NGO/policy work position in Kyrgyzstan, to pursuing further language studies (Spanish) and teaching certification in Austin, Texas in hopes of finding a teaching position at a high-need public school in the American South. This is a dramatic change of course and something into which I have put a great deal of time and consideration. In doing so I have come to face the fact that a significant factor in my drive to work in Kyrgyzstan was my desire to pursue a path that would be considered conventionally successful, even oddly glamorous. My aspiration was to be a big deal by working my way up into a big deal organization like UNIFEM or UNICEF to help catalyze change. I felt that if I put in that time and effort and gained a level of success like that I would not only be in a position to help others, but also in a position to prove myself- my intellect, my capabilities, my potential. That I would receive the recognition and appreciation that I sought in following that path. Then if I wanted to do something different (like teach in the rural South) after a decade or so, when I was burnt out or ready for something different, I could do so knowing that I had "made it," that I could do it, and that I was just choosing not to anymore. But a decade is a long time to spend on a proof.
Thus the doubts about my ability to define my own success. Thus the change in plans. And now I find myself trying to release myself from the illusory pressure resulting from expectations of me that I have projected onto others. I'm also escaping from the pressure of my work by reading a book about the fabricated nature of reality proposed within the Tibetan Buddhist tradition, which has doubtless contributed to the contemplative nature of this post. Funny how that happens. Enough of that.
As for right now, I am in Sichuan Province helping the students design service activities for 150 children who have been relocated to a make-shift boarding school here until their home city of Wenchuan (the epicenter of the May 2008 earthquake) is brought back on its feet. We have been here for a week or so and will stay for a few more days before we head to the mountains o of the West (many of us begrudgingly) away from the bright lights- big (13 million) city of Chengdu with it's comfy hostels and Western restaurants. It is good to be on the road and despite the difficulties I've had in sharing my passion for it with others in this group, China still fascinates and energizes and challenges me, and I am glad to be here and moving in it.
Lukin called yesterday from Yangshuo, a city in China's far south, and it was good to talk to him about his first impressions of this place. It is good to feel connected to him through the sights and sounds and smells that present themselves similarly across this big country. In just over three weeks I will be back at home in Kunming and Lukin will be there and we will begin our last couple of months of this year of globe-trotting. Though over the past few weeks I've felt like the horse who has just caught sight of the barn, I'm holding back from running. Even if I stand still, the next few months will slide quickly like snow beneath my feet.
I have been avoiding doing this. I feel like the main reason is because I've been waiting for things to improve, for conditions to be right, for there to be just the right moment when the motivation or inspiration I needed would come to me instead of having to take initiative and sit down and write. Another reason is that I feel like my January post was a bit of a pity-party about my difficulties with my malaria medication and subsequent woes, and that to write another post that is... what is the opposite of up-lifting?... down-dropping??... for me to write another post like that would not be what people would want to read. But that's not really the point- is it? To write what I project onto another as their desire? Then what is the point? Over the past few weeks there is an adage that has been floating around in my mind; if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. What a load of crap that is. If people only said nice things all the time, nothing would ever be resolved. Nice isn't about biting your tongue, nice is about using your tongue to spit out truth framed in a way that is constructive and activating. "Don't say anything at all" is a cop out. I think, then, that I will say stuff. And write it.
This semester has been hard. I am tired now and battling through some why-am-I-doing-this questions. I've been through my doubts before about helping to provide an incredible opportunity like this for kids who have lived their lives hopping from one incredible opportunity to another. I won't revisit that here. What I do want to visit here is more introspective. I'm realizing that something I have thought true of myself, and liked about my character- that I do things I enjoy and enjoy doing things just to do them, not looking for recognition or appreciation- is not all together true. I've come to realize that recognition and appreciation are really important to me, and I'm not sure how this realization makes me feel. I've been thinking about this both on the short-term scale of my current work, as well as on the long-term scale of my career overall. First the short term.
We've been struggling this semester with group dynamics. We are 8 students and three instructors and there is a very obvious split between the two. There are splits within the student group as well, and the result of this is a semester swirling with unresolved storms that brew below the surface. The layers of our experiences that we have built into our common foundation remind me of the layers of a Montana winter's-worth of snow. Different types of snow fall and build upon each other on Montana's mountain slopes; some are sticky and compact, some are lofty and bulky, some layers crusty and icy. When slopes are gradual and the temperature is cool, the frozen arms of the crystals of each type of snow reach out and grasp onto one another; the layers remain linked and stable and solid. When slopes steepen and temperatures rise, the crystals of snow begin to melt into spheres and detach from other crystals. Gravity and pressure begin to push upon the layers, powder slips on slick icy crust, the foundation loses integrity and avalanche ensues. After each avalanche we start over again, building layer by layer, each time becoming more and more cautious, biting our tongues and tip-toeing as we push the boulder of the semester up the tenuous frozen slope of our fissured mountain. Dramatic, no? It's not as bad as all that- some days are great, some days we go sledding. I've had wonderful moments with every single student, I haven't given up looking for teachable moments, I keep pouring out layers and reaching out crystally arms. But I do bite my tongue, I do tip-toe, and I proceed with the expectation that the ground will slip out from beneath my feet. That prophecy has so far been fulfilled.
So how does this relate to recognition and appreciation? I've learned that after each avalanche I am a lesser teacher. When students draw back their hands, I draw back my own instead of pushing myself harder to reach out to them. When gossip falls like drops of dye into pool, I stew in it instead of getting up and getting out and rinsing off. In the absence of "thanks Jess" I thank less. If my requests for ideas or activities are met with dull eyes and weak efforts, I read a book or go for a walk instead of seeking out the root the apathy or the forum that would inspire others to put forth their own ideas. I get tired, I get down trodden, and I want to give up. I know that environment and culture effect the way an individual operates and performs, and that I am not above this system- but I have never taken the time to really examine the way an apathetic and indifferent environment effects me personally and professionally. It is sobering and disappointing.
Taking this out large is sobering as well, but in a slightly different way. Lukin and I had a conversation about this a couple of weeks ago and it has stuck around in my head. Is the idea of success something I can truly define for myself? By many standard I am not operating in a successful career. I work year-long contract jobs with little to not opportunity for upward mobility and bounce- often without health-care- from country to country feeding off of adventure and education and curiosity. I'm often broke, occasionally contract tropical diseases, but more often I have been incredibly lucky and have been taken under the wings of of people and cultures of or other than my own and given patient training on the many ways to be a human being. I quite love it, but have never believed that this is anything that I would call a career. In these endeavors I have not sought or expected recognition or appreciation- I've understood that my rather unconventional path through my twenties would perhaps raise some eyebrows and some doubts. But I've found reward and growth in these experiences that have left me even-eyebrowed and doubtless, and that's enough for me. Now I am turning homeward.
In recent months I have changed course from pursuing a big-impact NGO/policy work position in Kyrgyzstan, to pursuing further language studies (Spanish) and teaching certification in Austin, Texas in hopes of finding a teaching position at a high-need public school in the American South. This is a dramatic change of course and something into which I have put a great deal of time and consideration. In doing so I have come to face the fact that a significant factor in my drive to work in Kyrgyzstan was my desire to pursue a path that would be considered conventionally successful, even oddly glamorous. My aspiration was to be a big deal by working my way up into a big deal organization like UNIFEM or UNICEF to help catalyze change. I felt that if I put in that time and effort and gained a level of success like that I would not only be in a position to help others, but also in a position to prove myself- my intellect, my capabilities, my potential. That I would receive the recognition and appreciation that I sought in following that path. Then if I wanted to do something different (like teach in the rural South) after a decade or so, when I was burnt out or ready for something different, I could do so knowing that I had "made it," that I could do it, and that I was just choosing not to anymore. But a decade is a long time to spend on a proof.
Thus the doubts about my ability to define my own success. Thus the change in plans. And now I find myself trying to release myself from the illusory pressure resulting from expectations of me that I have projected onto others. I'm also escaping from the pressure of my work by reading a book about the fabricated nature of reality proposed within the Tibetan Buddhist tradition, which has doubtless contributed to the contemplative nature of this post. Funny how that happens. Enough of that.
As for right now, I am in Sichuan Province helping the students design service activities for 150 children who have been relocated to a make-shift boarding school here until their home city of Wenchuan (the epicenter of the May 2008 earthquake) is brought back on its feet. We have been here for a week or so and will stay for a few more days before we head to the mountains o of the West (many of us begrudgingly) away from the bright lights- big (13 million) city of Chengdu with it's comfy hostels and Western restaurants. It is good to be on the road and despite the difficulties I've had in sharing my passion for it with others in this group, China still fascinates and energizes and challenges me, and I am glad to be here and moving in it.
Lukin called yesterday from Yangshuo, a city in China's far south, and it was good to talk to him about his first impressions of this place. It is good to feel connected to him through the sights and sounds and smells that present themselves similarly across this big country. In just over three weeks I will be back at home in Kunming and Lukin will be there and we will begin our last couple of months of this year of globe-trotting. Though over the past few weeks I've felt like the horse who has just caught sight of the barn, I'm holding back from running. Even if I stand still, the next few months will slide quickly like snow beneath my feet.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Back in the Game
Tonight we will board a bus to travel for a week in the northwest corner of Yunnan. We will head first to the Naxi village of Nanyao where we will work in the local school and on a tree planting project for the Yunnan Eco Network. I've been back with the students and Mark and Ann
ie (my co-instructors) for two weeks now. Though it was a bit of an awkward entry, joining a group that had already been together through two weeks of adventure, I'm finding my groove and trying to spend time with each student to build individual relationships. The students are good- they are here for reasons that vary from parental pressure, to love of Chinese language, to the wish to turn their world upside-down. They are working through culture shock, they are discovering that there is no "normal" way of doing or being in the world, and they are figuring out how to call each other out when they feel someone is shirking a role or responsibility as a group member. They are learning. So am I.
I am trying to be conscious and not to hold these students to a higher set of expectations based on where the last group left off. I've heard a lot of the teacher mentors in my life talk about how difficult it is to spend the months of a school-term gradually building a strong group dynamic and individual relationships with students, to help students build a foundation of knowledge and a comfort to express themselves and to challenge me, and then the term ends and another begins and you find yourself back at square one. It feels a bit Sisyphean, except for I get to make it to the top of the hill and my boulder rolls down to the foot of another.
The next boulder roll will take us to Nanyao and the Naxi. Naxi people are descendants of Tibetan Qiang tribes, are matrilineal and matrilocal, and are the authors of a 1,0
00 year-old pictographic script (the only hieroglyphic script still in use). Though technically not a matriarchal culture as the village rulers were traditionally male, matriarchal influences are apparent in the Naxi language. Nouns are augmented or diminished through the addition of masculine and feminine suffixes- the resulting change is different of than the ways in which we gender language in English and the Romance languages. In the Naxi language you take a word like "stone,"add a feminine suffix and the word becomes "boulder," add a masculine suffix and you get the word "pebble." In English, mainly through words adopted from the romance languages, a different change of meaning takes place when you have a word that changes from a masculine to a feminine meaning by adding a diminutive suffix, for example, "bachelor" to "bachelorette." I am far from a linguist and can not put names or technical links to these constructions. Interesting. I can learn so much about my own cultural structure and hierarchy from being exposed to the ways in which other societies and cultures are organized and expressed. My hope for this week is to help the students discover this kind of learning too.
ie (my co-instructors) for two weeks now. Though it was a bit of an awkward entry, joining a group that had already been together through two weeks of adventure, I'm finding my groove and trying to spend time with each student to build individual relationships. The students are good- they are here for reasons that vary from parental pressure, to love of Chinese language, to the wish to turn their world upside-down. They are working through culture shock, they are discovering that there is no "normal" way of doing or being in the world, and they are figuring out how to call each other out when they feel someone is shirking a role or responsibility as a group member. They are learning. So am I.I am trying to be conscious and not to hold these students to a higher set of expectations based on where the last group left off. I've heard a lot of the teacher mentors in my life talk about how difficult it is to spend the months of a school-term gradually building a strong group dynamic and individual relationships with students, to help students build a foundation of knowledge and a comfort to express themselves and to challenge me, and then the term ends and another begins and you find yourself back at square one. It feels a bit Sisyphean, except for I get to make it to the top of the hill and my boulder rolls down to the foot of another.
The next boulder roll will take us to Nanyao and the Naxi. Naxi people are descendants of Tibetan Qiang tribes, are matrilineal and matrilocal, and are the authors of a 1,0
00 year-old pictographic script (the only hieroglyphic script still in use). Though technically not a matriarchal culture as the village rulers were traditionally male, matriarchal influences are apparent in the Naxi language. Nouns are augmented or diminished through the addition of masculine and feminine suffixes- the resulting change is different of than the ways in which we gender language in English and the Romance languages. In the Naxi language you take a word like "stone,"add a feminine suffix and the word becomes "boulder," add a masculine suffix and you get the word "pebble." In English, mainly through words adopted from the romance languages, a different change of meaning takes place when you have a word that changes from a masculine to a feminine meaning by adding a diminutive suffix, for example, "bachelor" to "bachelorette." I am far from a linguist and can not put names or technical links to these constructions. Interesting. I can learn so much about my own cultural structure and hierarchy from being exposed to the ways in which other societies and cultures are organized and expressed. My hope for this week is to help the students discover this kind of learning too.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Occasions happen
There are some occasions when traveling and living abroad is not all swirls of new flavors and cultures and excitement. There are some occasions when traveling and living abroad is being lonely and uncertain and craving familiarity and comfort. Though these occasions are not the most enjoyable moments, there is an incredible amount of learning and empathetic growth and visceral understanding that occurs within them. One such occasion was the revenge of street food in Kolkata. Another was leaving Lukin for another three-month stint of an echo-ridden-few-and-far-between Skype relationship. And I'm in the midst of another of those occasions now. I am sitting in my pyjamas sipping peppermint tea with my friend Lucy- who was my roommate in Taiwan many years ago- in her home in Beijing. Lucy has been a good friend and a good nurse over the last few days as I've been recuperating from a reaction to the malaria medication I was taking in India.
I'm dealing with some of this medication's side effects including dizzy spells and bouts of anxiety, and came North from Kunming see big city doctors in Beijing. Happily, I've have had the chance to spend some time with Lucy while I'm here as she has opened her home and here DVD collection to me while I heal. The doctors all say that my symptoms are temporary and will go away with time, which is good to hear. It might take a while as the half life of mefloquine (the anti-malarial I was taking) can be anywhere from 10 to 40 days! This is where the empathy and understanding come in. Being dizzy is fun when you're 8 and spinning around with your forehead on an upended baseball bat before trying to run in a straight line (or even when you're a fully grown woman spinning around with your fully grown brother, both with foreheads on bats) but it is a difficult state of being to incorporate into a daily routine in land where something as mundane as grocery shopping is a major endeavor and apartments and classrooms are all on the seventh or eighth floor of elevator-less buildings. It has been and still is a reminder to me of the amazing state of being that is a clean bill of health and a clear head. Though I'm certainly not pleased to be spinning about China, I am trying to be appreciative of this opportunity practice empathy towards folks who are chronically affected by this type of thing, and to not take clear-headed grocery shopping for granted. As for anxiety, well, I've never dealt with anything like anxiety. The baseless sinking feeling and concurrent rise of nervousness, as though panic is being poured into you. It comes out of nowhere and it lasts only minutes at a time, but it's awful. Fortunately for me, my anxiety symptoms are rapidly decreasing in both frequency and duration will eventually disappear, unlike folks who struggle with anxiety that has no half-life. To understand on a gut level the sad fear of this affliction has been sobering and mind-broadening. I hope to take these pieces of learning forward from this experience and be more conscious of and sensitive to people who carry with them burdens that are hidden in their heads.
I'm heading back to Kunming for another week of rest before I rejoin my co-instructors and students for a semester of study and travel. I'm looking forward to diving once again into an 18 year-old-world and seeing China through the eyes of travelers here for the first time. I learn a lot from my students. I am also looking forward to spending some time with my Kunming homeys and sharing stories of what we've been up to these past couple of months. It will be good to get back to a place that feels like home. In hopes of sharing the past couple of months with you, I've posted a few pictures that signify some of the amazing occasions of traveling that help even out the not so amazing ones.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Turning Thirty
Lukin and I have spent the past week in the seaside town of Mamallapuram. We left Sadhana early for a variety of reasons and made our way to the sea for a beach holiday. It was a good decision. I turned thirty in this town- just yesterday. The day could not have been better, seriously. I want to describe it in detail, and I am going to, but it feels a little awkward to do so as it was really amazing and it feels like bragging- but permit me the thirtieth birthday concession of a bit of a brag because I do want to share the experience with all of you (who were on my mind throughout the day). Lukin and I woke before dawn to watch the sunrise over the beach. waking up before dawn has been pretty easy to do this week as temple music begins to blare from the loudspeakers at around 5:00 in preparation for the Pongal holiday. The music followed us down to the sea where we sat in the sand and watched fisherman push their boats into the water and dog families digging holes in the sand hunting crabs. The sun rose and the music ended and we went for birthday cups of coffee. Real coffee. No Nescafe for the birthday girl.
I made an early morning mistake of eating six pieces of toast at breakfast. Six pieces! Of course, I felt ill for a while after breakfast and rested up a bit . Lukin bought me a birthday Ayurvedic massage which helped finish off the toast quease. Reading and lounging followed. At around one o'clock Lukin and I walked to the home of a man we call "Uncle" from whom we rented a room on our first night in town. Uncle is a martial arts master, a masseur, and a fisherman. He's also a really nice, really goofy guy. When we walked through the door he greeted us with a big smile and a bunch of birthday balloons. Uncle and his wife "Auntie" and their son and nephew ushered us into the house and seated us a the table where platters full of fish, prawns, crab and rice were laid out for lunch. Uncle had caught lunch that morning in his nets. We cracked crab claws with our teeth and flaked fish off the bones with our hands. It was amazing.
We had a fair amount of cake left over so on the walk back to our room we stopped by the stall of a stone-carving friend (Mamallapuram is known for the skill of its phenomenal stone-carvers whose chisel clinks twinkle throughout the day). He gave me a birthday carved elephant and we gave him a piece of cake. The rest of the cake we shared with our neighbors, a French family of four who are here for three months of holiday and home-schooling. The eldest daughter told us to guard our pieces carefully because earlier in the week a sea crow had swooped in and stolen a biscuit from her. The youngest daughter smiled at us through a smear of chocolate icing.
I bought myself the birthday gift of a yoga lesson and spent an hour and a half of the late afternoon in inversions and twists that made me realize how long it has been since I last did those kinds of inversions and twists. It was nice to reconnect with my body and my breath though; it is something that is easy to neglect during travel- I hope to make time and space for myself in the next three weeks, and the next three decades! Lukin met me to enjoy our final sunset walk on the Mamallapuram beach.
We worked up enough of an appetite to head to a beach-side restaurant for dinner. As we sat down at our table that looked over the water, the enormous orange full moon rose out of the sea. It couldn't have been timed better. Under its light we shared tiger prawns and tuna steaks that were caught in the net that was spread out to dry on the beach below our table. Again, amazing. When the bill came, the waiter also delivered a gift of a journal that Lukin had left with him earlier. The waiter had taken it upon himself to wrap it and put a ribbon on it. We walked back on the sand to our room.
So that was turning thirty. And this morning I opened an email box full of greetings and love and virtual hugs. Thank you all so much for your thoughts and wishes and know also that you are in my thoughts. I have been in this internet cafe for hours now and it is time for us to catch the bus that will take us on to the next place in our journey. I'll try to post some pictures soon!
I made an early morning mistake of eating six pieces of toast at breakfast. Six pieces! Of course, I felt ill for a while after breakfast and rested up a bit . Lukin bought me a birthday Ayurvedic massage which helped finish off the toast quease. Reading and lounging followed. At around one o'clock Lukin and I walked to the home of a man we call "Uncle" from whom we rented a room on our first night in town. Uncle is a martial arts master, a masseur, and a fisherman. He's also a really nice, really goofy guy. When we walked through the door he greeted us with a big smile and a bunch of birthday balloons. Uncle and his wife "Auntie" and their son and nephew ushered us into the house and seated us a the table where platters full of fish, prawns, crab and rice were laid out for lunch. Uncle had caught lunch that morning in his nets. We cracked crab claws with our teeth and flaked fish off the bones with our hands. It was amazing.
We had a fair amount of cake left over so on the walk back to our room we stopped by the stall of a stone-carving friend (Mamallapuram is known for the skill of its phenomenal stone-carvers whose chisel clinks twinkle throughout the day). He gave me a birthday carved elephant and we gave him a piece of cake. The rest of the cake we shared with our neighbors, a French family of four who are here for three months of holiday and home-schooling. The eldest daughter told us to guard our pieces carefully because earlier in the week a sea crow had swooped in and stolen a biscuit from her. The youngest daughter smiled at us through a smear of chocolate icing.
I bought myself the birthday gift of a yoga lesson and spent an hour and a half of the late afternoon in inversions and twists that made me realize how long it has been since I last did those kinds of inversions and twists. It was nice to reconnect with my body and my breath though; it is something that is easy to neglect during travel- I hope to make time and space for myself in the next three weeks, and the next three decades! Lukin met me to enjoy our final sunset walk on the Mamallapuram beach.
We worked up enough of an appetite to head to a beach-side restaurant for dinner. As we sat down at our table that looked over the water, the enormous orange full moon rose out of the sea. It couldn't have been timed better. Under its light we shared tiger prawns and tuna steaks that were caught in the net that was spread out to dry on the beach below our table. Again, amazing. When the bill came, the waiter also delivered a gift of a journal that Lukin had left with him earlier. The waiter had taken it upon himself to wrap it and put a ribbon on it. We walked back on the sand to our room.
So that was turning thirty. And this morning I opened an email box full of greetings and love and virtual hugs. Thank you all so much for your thoughts and wishes and know also that you are in my thoughts. I have been in this internet cafe for hours now and it is time for us to catch the bus that will take us on to the next place in our journey. I'll try to post some pictures soon!
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Different Living
Yesterday evening I sat in the community hut and talked with a man named Raj from Rajasthan. We had met earlier in the morning and talked about languages as we mulched seedlings in the reforestation zone. Raj is a musician and a romantic poet who learned Urdu and Farsi in school along with English. Urdu and Farsi are written with the Arabic, as is Uyghur. We sat with notebooks and pens and I wrote out some Uyghur words and phrases and he wrote out some Farsi words and phrases and we read from each other's notebooks, amazed at the power of script. I sang Raj a Uyghur song about a nightingale (nightingale is bulbul in Uyghur, and Urdu, and Farsi) and he translated it back into English for me. Raj- poet that he is- said that he studies languages because when you learn to speak the language of a different culture, you involve your heart in thinking about that culture.
Sadhana Forest, is full of language. About 50 volunteers stay in the thatch huts that surround the reforestation ares. A Czech man rode his bicycle here from Prague. A French mother and her three children are spending their holiday months learning about compost. Six environmental-planning students from Plymouth State college in Massachusetts are here for a Jan-term class. There are garden projects and energy projects as well, but the main aim of the cooperative is reforestation and water conservation. Through the construction of earth dams, water catchment pits, and tree planting the water table beneath the area has risen 6 meters in the past 6 years. 6 meters!
Lukin and I will stay at Sadhana for two weeks. We woke up this morning in our hut which is constructed of bamboo, palm thatch, and rope. Breakfast was porridge and papaya cooked over energy-efficient conical "rocket stoves" constructed to fit one pot and use a minimal amount of wood (one billet feeds 50!). Our food scraps are converted into soil which Lukin and I spent yesterday afternoon spreading on the garlic and gerbera daisy beds. Human waste is separated into bins; the liquid variety is processed into fertilizer and the solid broken down into soil using sawdust from the building projects. The entire endeavor, the 50 of us probably produce in one week the amount of garbage I alone produce in one day of my life in the city. It's inspiring to be immersed in and learning about the possibilities to do things differently. Lukin and I are taking notes!
Of course in all of this aspiration towards sustainability, there is the consideration of the cost. Today we took the bus into the nearby city of Pondicherry and drove past piles of plastic litter and homes of corrugated tin and thatch. The up-front cost of conversion to an off-the-grid life is unthinkable to most. The amount of space that Sadhana uses to produce and break down its food and waste is unavailable to families of 6 or 7 who live one room. The access to grants and start-up capital that have helped Sadhana take flight are accessed through years and grands worth of education. I think about all of this as I mulch seedlings and munch on organic carrots. But there is something to be said for the innovation, and the trial run of it. I read in the Times of India this morning that sales of solar panels in California are higher than they've ever been- in spite of, or because of the recession. Demand increases, prices decrease, accessibility increases... slowly slowly on the large scale. On the small scale, my individual knowledge of what is possible has increased and my skepticism of composting toilets has decreased. I hope that in the coming weeks I take from my time at Sadhana a soil-like ability to absorb the ideas and information that come from immersion in a different way of living.
Sadhana Forest, is full of language. About 50 volunteers stay in the thatch huts that surround the reforestation ares. A Czech man rode his bicycle here from Prague. A French mother and her three children are spending their holiday months learning about compost. Six environmental-planning students from Plymouth State college in Massachusetts are here for a Jan-term class. There are garden projects and energy projects as well, but the main aim of the cooperative is reforestation and water conservation. Through the construction of earth dams, water catchment pits, and tree planting the water table beneath the area has risen 6 meters in the past 6 years. 6 meters!
Lukin and I will stay at Sadhana for two weeks. We woke up this morning in our hut which is constructed of bamboo, palm thatch, and rope. Breakfast was porridge and papaya cooked over energy-efficient conical "rocket stoves" constructed to fit one pot and use a minimal amount of wood (one billet feeds 50!). Our food scraps are converted into soil which Lukin and I spent yesterday afternoon spreading on the garlic and gerbera daisy beds. Human waste is separated into bins; the liquid variety is processed into fertilizer and the solid broken down into soil using sawdust from the building projects. The entire endeavor, the 50 of us probably produce in one week the amount of garbage I alone produce in one day of my life in the city. It's inspiring to be immersed in and learning about the possibilities to do things differently. Lukin and I are taking notes!
Of course in all of this aspiration towards sustainability, there is the consideration of the cost. Today we took the bus into the nearby city of Pondicherry and drove past piles of plastic litter and homes of corrugated tin and thatch. The up-front cost of conversion to an off-the-grid life is unthinkable to most. The amount of space that Sadhana uses to produce and break down its food and waste is unavailable to families of 6 or 7 who live one room. The access to grants and start-up capital that have helped Sadhana take flight are accessed through years and grands worth of education. I think about all of this as I mulch seedlings and munch on organic carrots. But there is something to be said for the innovation, and the trial run of it. I read in the Times of India this morning that sales of solar panels in California are higher than they've ever been- in spite of, or because of the recession. Demand increases, prices decrease, accessibility increases... slowly slowly on the large scale. On the small scale, my individual knowledge of what is possible has increased and my skepticism of composting toilets has decreased. I hope that in the coming weeks I take from my time at Sadhana a soil-like ability to absorb the ideas and information that come from immersion in a different way of living.
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