holmes away from home

A lot on my plate

2009-02-05T11:45:00.000-08:00

I've always felt that doing things is the best way to learn.

Lately, I've been out cross country skiing, downhill skiing, figuring out plans to bake bread in a woodfire oven once a week, sledding, and even started working on an upper valley drink special website. Read: very very distractable these days, not having much luck focusing on the science.

The volume of what we're here to learn limits how much room there is for active learning or creative thought. This equates to fatigue without much fulfillment. Fulfillment I will make for myself.

First Day of Anatomy Lab

2008-09-07T20:23:00.000-07:00

This is our bag.

Meeting our first patient in the anatomy lab is a whole host of introductions that all happen at once.

It’s a presentation of the deep privilege given to the members of our profession - the license to carefully examine the parts of the body and their behaviors, which align to create a complete person.

It’s an introduction to the skills of handling a tray full of tools to delicately manipulate the body. A strange capacity that will allow some of us to remove deranged tissues, welcome new people that might not be able to safely leave the womb, and to allow others to have an active life after trauma. Others of us will never again spend so much time working with the insides of a person, but will regularly use the three-dimensional understanding of anatomical relationships assembled in lab for the diagnosis and treatment of disease.

Perhaps most stirring of these introductions, meeting our cadaver is also an intimate presentation of the end of life that comes for you and me. Who he once was is who we are now. Who he is now is what we all will be some day.

When I was working with a psychiatry study looking at civilian PTSD, one of the general health surveys we administered asked participants to rank on a scale the likelihood that their health would get worse. Not one person in a year of interviews said that they expected to lose their good health. Though many of us are not mindful of our ultimate end, our cadaver was more than capable of refreshing my perspective.

Unzipping the blue tarp bag with our gloved hands revealed a room-temperature, naked, elderly man. Since we were beginning with the back, our first act was not an incision. Instead, it took all four of the members of our lab group and our professor to work to turn our patient over. After this maneuver, we began our careful dissection of the skin, muscles, vasculature, nerves and connective tissue of his back.

When I worked in an urban hospital in Quito, Ecuador, I assisted in a number of minor surgeries and a few highly involved operations. At times I would have to sit down, step back, or even leave the operating room when a squeamish feeling creeped in. The doctors used to joke with me saying “tengas phobia?” or “are you scared?” At the time, feeling woozy seemed to be a pretty natural response to watching someone cut another person.

Last Friday though, I didn’t have a touch of phobia. I don’t think it will ever stop being strange to work in a room full of dead people, but a profound interest in the material grossly outweighed any reservation. Beyond interest or reservation though, one feeling dominated the complex mix of emotions I felt working in the lab last Friday. I’m so deeply thankful for the rare gift that our patient chose to give our class, and that he decided to be our introduction to this new life.

Paging Dr. Howser...

2008-08-17T07:39:00.000-07:00

We've been learning lots during orientation for medical school. Where to get cheap scrubs, tasty suds, and how to email your buds using the campus email system called Blitzmail.

Blitzmail dates back to before the Roman empire, and was actually Phidippides' last name. It has all sorts of bugs and quirks, but my favorite feature is the ability to choose a nickname that you want to use.

And choose I did.

Friends you can now email me at doogie(at)dartmouth(dot)edu. I think I'm gonna get some business cards printed.

Classes start tomorrow. We get scrubs, text books, and order our stethoscopes. Seems like it's happening!

Blood turning green...

2008-08-11T14:25:00.000-07:00

The scheduled parts of the first day of med shul orientation are all over. All that's left is the picnic at the outdoor club, and drinks at the canoe club.

More than anything, the dominant feature of the day was an introduction to the incredible amount of support this learning community seems to provide. Not a shred of arrogance, or even mention of leagues of the ivy persuasion.

And the class is really an incredible group. I got a taste yesterday when we did a hike up Mt Cardigan in Vt. So many interesting people who have done so many interesting things, and who seem genuinely warm and concerned about other people.

Lots more to write, but I think I'm really gonna like it here.

The Dehra Dun Express

2008-05-01T00:07:00.000-07:00

After a looooong day on the Bollywood set, I walked into Mumbai CST at 10:00, the main railway station for the sprawling metropolis. To my chagrin, when I checked the schedule I couldn't find my train. Asking every other uniformed person for help (including the cranky samosa fryer), it finally became clear that the Dehra Dun express would be leaving from Bandra station, not CST. Okay, I thought, looking at the clock, which read 10:30 by this point. "How far to Bandra?" "Oh, not far, maybe one and a half hours by taxi."

Panic creeping in. I'd worked so hard for this damn ticket, I wasn't going to miss the train. Is there any other way to get there? "Sure, the commuter train runs every five minutes and will get you there in 45 minutes."

Finally after getting on my train and finding my berth, I got set up and took a snooze. Chatting the next day, I got to know Abimanyu and Chaitan, two young guys from Dehra Dun who were interested in Social Entrepreneurship and Che Guevara. This, they told me, was why they were riding second class (there's a third class mind you) - to see "how the people travel." They were really great guys though, and once we got to Dehra Dun, they offered me a place to sleep and showed me around town.

Abi took me to meet two of his aunties, one of which, the wife of a wealthy army major, insisted that I tell her all about my girlfriend. "Honestly, I don't have one right now," "no, no, don't be shy, you can tell your auntie." The other auntie took more after her father, a famous sitar player, who insisted on my coming back and staying with her for a month to learn Hindi and Sitar.

"We'll see..." is coming out of my mouth these days so much more than ever before.

After spending the night in Dehra Dun, they took me up to the hill station of Moussourrie, a popular site for Indian honeymooners. We had a lovely omelette at a highly-regarded shack before the guys helped me hop a shared jeep to Danulthi.

The hospitality here is a bit overwhelming. I can't help but feel wonder about what expectations they have for what I can offer in return.

Smiling, Talking, Silence

2008-04-30T19:44:00.000-07:00

Bad News: my camera memory chip seems to have picked up a virus. My photos seem okay, i'll just have to find a computer that I can sacrifice to upload them... The anti-virus software in the few cyber cafes I've tried haven't let me copy them. In the mean time I'll go back to borrowed pics.

Anyway, Mumbai is a wonderful town. If only it wasn't hotter than blood, and if the places I ended up sleeping weren't crawling with bedbugs (don't worry there's a photo of the awful bites that will come some day) it'd be a quaint place to spend a week. The architecture of the town blends Arab, Hindi and British styles in a way that makes the place feel like London went summering in Western India.

After I spent my first night in the worst hostel ever (see guiness book of records 1999) (just kidding) I took the boat out to Elephanta Island which made me feel much better about the place. Then I made my way to a great berry pilaf lunch at an old Parsee place. Just then, after I got back to my hostel after lunch, fate struck.

"Hey mate, want to be a Bollywood extra? We'll give you lunch and pay you 500 rupees." After a quick call to my agent (who reminded me that she is, in fact, not my agent and would I please stop calling) I signed up.

Later that night I met some guys in the hostel that were going out with a Mumbai local, who turned out to also be a Bollywood scout. She was recruiting for a big film, but it was going to go too late for me to catch my 36-hour train to Dehra Dun. I'd have to settle with the first folks.

I met my costar on the Mumbai commuter train (think of those crazy clips you must have seen of public transit in Tokyo with lots of shouting and pushing). We traveled an one and a half hours to the set and got in costume. Then we sat, stood, pretended to drink, rinsed and repeated for 13 hours. A long, but interesting introduction to the life of a Mumbai extra. Plenty of people do it professionally, and make good money. So much that they won't take a speaking part because then they can't be extras anymore in case someone recognizes them. Even foreigners do it full time. Take the shady Russian, for example, who wanted to borrow my shoes.

"No," I told him "these are my shoes."

Apparently he lives in an Extra den with six other Russians who pass their days walking back and forth, smiling and talking, silently. Which is good because that's what they shouted at us all day "Smiling, Talking, SILENCE!" It began to feel a bit like a Buddhist Koan.

a few pet peeves...

2008-04-22T07:56:00.000-07:00

People who spread their legs on the bus who get all up in my comfort zone. Back off shorty, I know when Baba in front of me leans back it's only going to get worse so just keep to your side.

Bed bugs. Ick. And Itch. And Ick. Same goes for mosquitoes.

Deet. Go figure.

Happy Journey!

2008-04-18T05:46:00.000-07:00

Oh, where to begin...

This morning, at 5:45 am, I quietly crawled out of my mosquito net cot and walked until I found a rickshaw for hire.

I didn't want to wake up my roommate, the other volunteer here at Ashraya, since this was not my first early morning trip to the railway station. In fact, it was my fifth.

Four other times I'd been to the crowded home for beggars that functions, from time to time, as a place to trick yourself into thinking you might get on a train.

At 6:15 I walked up to counter 30, which is kindly reserved for the special-needs population of India (being the handicapped, senior citizens, women and foreigners). "Great," I thought. "There's no one here. I'm first in line," which is exactly where the angry ticket salesman hinted, oh so delicately with his spittle-soaked-shouts, I should be. Thank God/Allah/Ganesh/Emory or whichever is the proper deity of obstacles for providing me with that glass window. I'd have to be number one to get my ticket to Dehra Dun.

Then a short, squat, oddjobish looking fellow taps me on the shoulder and says something I don't understand. "Tatkal?" he asks, "uh huh," I reply, "you are number eight." I turn to see the seven people that have been waiting since before 6:15 for the window to open at 8:00. I'd underestimated the mad rush for tickets too many times before, but I had to resign myself to my eighth-place fate. For nearly two hours I elbowed and was elbowed, shoved and got shoved, prayed and was prayed for to get this little scrap of paper, but I finally got it. Even the sweet lady who was number nine and praying for my trip got her ticket. It was a good morning.

Now that I have my ticket, I feel like I should frame the thing instead of using it.

Instead of a $250 plane trip to Bagdogra, or a less-civilized bus ride, I'll be riding the 36 hours to the northeast of India in sleeper-class style for the price of 613 Rs, roughly $15. I bought a couple more books today (The Argumentative Indian and Krishnamurti's Commentaries on Living Vol III).

The plan now is to bus to Mumbai on Monday, mess around there for a couple days and take my train on the 23 to Dehra Dun. From there I'll take a bus to Sikkim and look into a bit of trekking for a week or two. After that I'll work my way back west by way of Varinasi, Delhi, Maybe Rishikesh and Agra for the Taj Mahal. Then back south to Mumbai to fly home to the Atl.

I can't wait for my happy journey to start.

don't even know what to call this

2008-04-06T00:31:00.001-07:00

Apparently today is a holiday - i'm not joking here - where everyone takes sticks and branches and saris and sweets and pots and hangs them outside. i keep asking and i still don't have an answer what it's about...

Rickshaw with a view

2008-04-05T01:05:00.000-07:00

I haven't had much cause to go out beyond riding along to visit hospitals since I've been with AIC.

But when I do, it's always a treat. And that's mostly because rickshaws are fantastic.

These go karts get people around with remarkable efficiency - if not breathtakingly risky cornering. Riding in these things brings to mind the Seinfeld routine about taxis in new york. You could be up on two wheels, cutting people off and hitting pedestrians, but since you're in the back seat, it all seems perfectly safe. "Hm, wouldn't do that in my car."

Some friends from home are talking about participating in the rickshaw race that happens every january here from the south of india all the way to the north, which of course culminates in a cricket match.

Anyway, there's some photos up on flickr from a recent trip on the rickshaw. I've also included a video below with what it looks like to ride in one and a song I wrote that keeps running through my head when riding...

Ramu Power

2008-04-04T10:56:00.000-07:00

Captain planet came to visit when I was in middle school.

I know what you're thinking. "He's a cartoon... how can he walk and talk in 3D?" We were all busy wondering that ourselves when he came into inman middle school's auditorium talking about how the power was ours.

He went on to ask which power we thought was the most important. Of course, we all knew that fire was the best, especially since the guy with the fire ring was SOOOooo much cooler than the others. But fire was not why some strange man had dressed in a foam body-sculpted suit to address a group of middle schoolers as a strange cartoon. No no.

He was there to tell us that the power of Heart was the most important, the most powerful.

Anyway, for some reason, this photo of ramu, the much discussed 12-toed current celebrity of AIC, seems like he's ready to use his power of polydactyly, as he routinely does, to take off in flight or maybe just communicate with animals. Who knows? He can't talk yet to tell us what he's got planned for the rest of us.

Too bad dem toes is around for a limited time only. They's a comin off.

In the mean time, count the toes in the photo below for fun.

They don't call it Indian Style for nothin

2008-03-26T04:56:00.000-07:00

This guy in the picture is really good at sitting this way.

I am not.

The apparent chair shortage here will either - break my back - or - give me back STRONG LIKE BULL!

I'm not sure if I've written much about the Ashraya Initiative for Children yet, but this may be a good time before I tell you a bit more about how the past few days have been for me.

Liz Sholtys, along with a group of other young people started the organization to establish a home for street kids. Until a few months before I came, I thought most of their work was focused on the kids.

Emailing with Liz and Patrick though, I learned that they'd started health and education outreach programs to have greater impact. After being here a week or so now, I'm still consistently impressed by AIC's projects.

I originally thought I'd be helping out as a volunteer with their health outreach, but since lots of kids have exams coming up, I've been doing more teaching. Which has been quite a ride in and of itself. I've always loved kids, but usually in the way that I love a good book. I'm used to observing characters from a healthy distance, and then putting them down whenever I want to. Not so when you're living with the kids - or teaching them about brer rabbit and the "wonderful tar baby." Another unexpected element of working with the kids is that dada is a word for brother (i think) so i'm called dada all day...

"Dada what I doing this?" "Um, in this activity they want you to draw one less balloon than in this box." "Coloring?" "See there are five in this box, draw one less over here." "one, three FIVE!" "yes, five, draw one less than five here." "FIVE! Matching?" "Um, no draw four - one, two, three, four balloons here." "FIVE?!" "four. draw only four balloons here." "Dada?" "yes?" "what I doing this?"

So the other reason that I haven't been with the health outreach program as much is that Patrick, who normally runs that wing of the organization is still in the US waiting on a visa to return. When he was here until January, they apparently had a good thing going with office hours at the community center they run every day of the week. This has been reduced to three days a week. And, I'm concerned, may be reducing Liz. She takes care of so many folks, it's hard not to wonder who's taking care of her.

Walking with Liz is quite the experience. She's keeping a lot going right now - even with two hired live-in teachers, she is ultimately in charge right now of the 10 (plus one twelve-toed baby. pictures to come as soon as i get a camera...) residential kids, 30 kids in the education outreach program, dozens of families supported by the health outreach program (where did you go last night Liz? to the hospital again, the guy we helped back on his feet last year has nearly killed himself and we need to go to the blood bank for a transfusion. which, by the way ended up being the perfect time for a blackout and for the rickshaw we were riding in to get stuck in the mud. really.) and now... wait for it... Microfinance!

Apparently she asked around about having an interest session for a women's self-help finance club. Instead of interest, there ended up being commitment and excitement. When do we start?
I tagged along for their first official meeting yesterday, which was fascinating. I've always been interested in the way groups organize themselves. The Waghris are one of the lowest "criminal" castes, but not only do other groups not trust them, but they don't trust others. So three groups ended up forming yesterday with roughly twenty women each contributing funds to a pot that they can draw from at 2% interest. Each group was divided pretty clearly by caste, which because of the level of trust needed for something as dicey as finance, is probably not the first place to try and work on integration.

One of the most recent winners of the Nobel peace prize was a Bangladeshi man who started a huge bank that oversees several of these small loans giving credit to folks that wouldn't get it otherwise, at fair rates of interest, and a sustainable means of economic growth.

Last Thursday though, I went with Liz to help one woman get an epidural for back pain, another woman get a mammogram and a boy checked out for asthma and PTSD. The mammogram ended up being $10 with consult, which brings me to the plug. For a group that is getting so much good work done, they have the lowest operating costs I've seen. So a huge portion of donations go directly to project funding, which in turn goes a really long way given the strength of the dollar against the rupee. If you're feeling generous, there's a link to the right for AIC where you can donate online. OK, Sally Struthers is done.

Suddenly a month feels like a very short period of time. But while this stuff gets me excited about heading to school in the Fall, I'm trying to be intentional about taking it easy. Reading some. Drinking tea. Breathing. Sitting.

Holi

2008-03-22T18:28:00.000-07:00

So far, my favorite moment of each day here is just after I get out of the shower. It's hot here. Hot as blood. And, after getting up a few times in the night to give the ceiling fan a hard push to get it going again and drinking a half gallon of water here and there - the best thing in the world at that moment is to jump in a cold shower. Being covered in cold water helps life get good again. After that, I'm happy to sit with a book, the rousing birds, and my jet lag before the day starts.

I don't sleep well in heat.

Maybe sometime I'll tell you about when my family went camping in southern Louisiana in the summer. In the mean time, feel free to let your imagination work up the horror that came to pass that night.

Yesterday was the second day of Holi, which made me happy to get in the shower for another reason. Holi is the festival of color, for reasons that wikipedia doesn't really help ellucidate. The most noticeable feature of the holiday have to be children running around with water guns filled with colored water, and packets of color powder. Interestingly enough, wikipedia does suggest that these colors used to have semi-medicinal value, green coming from neem, yellow from turmeric, and red from kumkum - all plant products with demonstrated health benefits. These days though, toxic ingredients are what make up these bright dyes - not the least of which include mercury, asbestos and silica.

Still, it's fun to paint each other like easter eggs. So, that's what we did. On the roof. 10, wait, now 11, now 14 kids on the roof spraying each other with colored water. Thankfully this is how the Ashraya folks play Holi. Not in the streets.

Around town, no one, including the policeman pictured above in the BBC photo series, is safe from the little spectrum-happy miscreants. Liz, the lady in charge here, says that she's even been attacked while riding in a covered rickshaw.

After playing for an hour or so, it was nice to get in the shower again and wash the dye down the drain.

highly ranked list of waiting

2008-03-14T22:17:00.000-07:00

I often feel like I'm living my life all at once. Not sure if it's the source or result of being so laid back, but I slip into memories hourly and I rarely feel regret because often I get the sense that events are set. I joke sometimes that I'm living with the goal of being a very old man by the time I'm 40 - cane, highball of single malt, cigar, small change to pay off neighborhood kids to steal things from convenience stores - the whole time ranting about the good old days.

In my course on Confucian classics, one of the most memorable passages was when Confucius was going on about how much better things were in the past. You know, back in the 4th century BCE, before all the modernity of the 3rd century mucked everything up.

Still, I'm feeling better today about waiting for school.

I had my last interview at OHSU, and in each of the three interviews the interviewers asked where I see myself in 10 years. Oh, I don't know, 10 years older?

I called my top choice and talked with the Dean of Students and he was very encouraging. He says that they keep a pretty short wait list and usually pull several dozen into accepted status. So, depending on what I hear from the other schools, I think I may have to let two acceptances go before May 15th and then just wait until the mad rush this summer when spots open up across the country.

OHSU, it turns out, puts the majority of its interviewees on a "hold" list until it finishes interviewing. More of the Columbia style of being less rolling, interviewing everyone first and then offering seats in the class.

The waiting that I'm most excited about right now though is for a potential niece/nephew. It develops my brother and sister (in-law, we're not that southern) are going to try in august for a munchkin, and I'm tickled with the prospect of a new person coming.

Oh how I long for friction

2008-03-10T20:31:00.000-07:00

Seattle with out tread on your shoes is a death trap.

I think I'm going to look for new kicks this week.

lovely limbo

2008-02-19T06:23:00.000-08:00

I love being away from home. Getting out of the city, state, country - wherever - I think travel is wonderful.

A persistent challenge that comes with travel is finding what to do with the days just before leaving a place. I feel like I'm already in that realm of uncertainty. I've worked my last shifts at the coffee shop, i find out from my two top pick medical schools in the next few weeks, I leave for the west coast March 10th and then I'm hoping to leave for India March 17th.

I get back from India the last week of May (insh'allah) and depending on where I go to school I could have as little as two weeks to pack up my things, find a new place and move to my new home for next 4/5 years.

It sounds like a lot, but today, it's more like a lot of nothing.

The last time I went to South America, I fell in with a group of lovely canadiennes. They spent a good deal of time planning their last day together: which markets to visit, where to dance, which coffee/pancakes to savor. If I remember correctly, that last day ended up being a lot of fun, but little of what we did was originally on the list.

Which, of course, is the way it usually goes. One of the most popular interview questions for medical school is "where do you see yourself in 10 years?" While I understand you could probably gauge for narcissism (chief resident with the best handicap on the course) or careful goal setting, it doesn't seem like all that important of a probe to me.

I don't think it's right to chalk up my feelings about my present uncertainties to anxiety, and it's not necessarily as though I'm wrapped up in my expectations - this situation keeps me from having any expectations at all.

That's the present challenge. Keep the future in the future.

Rumi

2008-02-12T10:14:00.000-08:00

Don't grieve. Anything you lose comes round
in another form. The child weaned from mother's milk
now drinks wine and honey mixed.

God's joy moves from unmarked box to unmarked box,
from cell to cell. As rainwater, down into flowerbed.
As roses, up from ground.
Now it looks like a plate of rice and fish,
now a cliff covered with vines,
now a horse being saddled.
It hides within these,
till one day it cracks them open.

Part of the self leaves the body when we sleep
and changes shape. You might say, "Last night
I was a cypress tree, a small bed of tulips,
a field of grapevines." Then the phantasm goes away.
You're back in the room.
I don't want to make anyone fearful.
Hear what's behind what I say.

Ta dum dum, taa dum, ta ta dum.
There's the light gold of wheat in the sun
and the gold of bread made from that wheat.
I have neither. I'm only talking about them,

as a town in the desert looks up
at stars on a clear night.

This does not, N-O-T, not mean you suck

2008-02-11T19:20:00.000-08:00

Eddie is a saint. The man that no longer owns Eddie's Attic, but still runs the acoustic venue's weekly open mic night, finishes every week with: "before I call the last finalist of the night, I want to reiterate that if your name hasn't been called, it does not, N-O-T, not mean you suck.

I haven't played at Eddie's - but - I have spent a number of nights going just to listen.

It's brilliant. Well, in the little league soccer kind of way. So much struggle, everyone going for the metaphorical broken heart/follow your dream/nostalgia-for-something-vaguely-american-that-our-generation-never-knew soccer ball, and no one really getting anywhere, unless you count the three folks that are selected as finalists. There's no shortage of songs by sensitive, misunderstood blokes writing about what they suspect songs should be about.

To be fair, it is extremely difficult to be or do what you are - and i don't pretend to have it right.

One of the great things of hanging out at open mics though, is the chance to build a song from a group of rules of what you'd hope to never do - given how it's playing out on stage.

My buddy Christiaan has been on the road with his band pretty much since we finished at Emory in '06. His band Brass Bed played at a house party this past saturday night (of course the police came. "everybody inside" says the tipsy host, to which mike's inner monologue replies "hmmm, uh, you know what, I'm not doing anything wrong so I think we should just go. i'm getting too old for this")

The last time I hung out with Christiaan, he gave me a bit of friendly guff for not taking more time before school to play music. His friendly jabbing was about my heading to medical school as premature, citing his own backup plans of going to law school if the band doesn't work out. I want to be clear, I have no thoughts about going pro. But I don't think folks that play personally important music ever stop. Playing something that has meaning and familiarity provides a centering counterweight to daily busyness. It's worth too much to walk away from.

The past few years I've become a bigger and bigger consumer of music, always looking for the next sound that pings something simple, creative and organic without trying too hard. I doubt the playing or the listening will stop because I'm hanging out with science a bit more.

If I had to guess what Eddie liked about open mic nights, it'd be the leveling that happens in front of a microphone. Fairly regularly people playing at other venues in town would stop by open mic before their own personal gigs, but they're on the same stage with the same sound guy. They get two songs to say what you've got to say, and once in a while, maybe three times in one night, you get folks that are saying something honest and worthwhile about what living is like.

You do not ride with me, b you ride the marta bus

2008-02-04T07:35:00.000-08:00

Since I've started working at Grady one of the perks I've enjoyed the most is the commute on the MARTA. Granted, it didn't help my germ phobias, but it has really helped other parts of my mental health. This makes for a good 20 minutes each day when I get to focus on nothing, and somehow the seasick rocking along at 45 mph along Dekalb avenue is actually pretty relaxing. One of the best parts of my day even.

I've always had a hard time with commuting, and the older I get, the more difficult it gets for me. It's just that any time I have to tread OTP for something other than an overnight trip, and maybe this isn't fair or appreciated, but I get really sad that people spend this much time in their cars. Every day. And, it's human competition dynamics at its worst, stirring up feelings of anger and frustration directed towards other people after a long day of the same mix.

So, and I'm feeling a bit Barbara Kingsolver preachy about the things that I like about my life that are really easy (sure, I'll take a year off and grow my own food), this is what I love about the MARTA. Atlanta mixed in these 8'x30' boxes smellin each other and listening to whatever music is about to blow some poor guy's eardrums.

Quick example, just the other day, a polite gentleman dressed in the latest urban fashion was explaining to a young mother how he could train her toddler to be a part of the true hustler nation.

This is how I learned that MARTA actually stands for Men Actively Recruiting TrueHustlers of Atlanta.

I submit for your viewing pleasure a recent public service announcement produced by the drum majors of the Southwest DeKalb High School Marching Band.

NSFW (not safe for work)

Whatsamatta U

2008-01-29T06:23:00.000-08:00

One of my good friends from home (mutually identified hetero-lifemates) works at CNN, hoping one day to become an editor. Apparently, from time to time younger folks at CNN go abroad to film their own news segment, which can be pushed to the satellites that watch us from space if it's good enough.

I was telling him he should take a couple weeks off and come visit India while I'm travelling there. Of course, I already knew what he'd have to say about that, but half the fun of hanging out with him is provoking him to run a redheaded rant. "I don't mean to seem, you know, insensitive or anything," he begins, "but the whole AIDS in Africa, poor kids in orphanage thing is way overdone." "What I want is drug addicts - yeah, train-hopping, glue-huffing junkie graffiti artists."

At his housewarming party for his new and robotrendy loft in Grant Park, the subject came up again and it occurred to me that a segment on what's wrong with volunteers would be really interesting.

Last Sunday, working at the coffee shop, a group of cute girls that come in on the regular invited me to Five Guy's once I got off my shift. Brief preface here, there's a lot of cute girls that come in to our shop and this is one of the best parts of the job: drama-free 30 second dating. Tell a couple stories, have a good laugh, serve the latte and you're done. I got this wonderful system out of whack by taking the girls up on their invite. Talking to them about my plans for my next trip, they mentioned that they were looking at a program with a 24-year commitment. Four years of missionary school, followed by 20 years of living with a village without much contact with other people - learning their language, designing a written form of the language and translating the bible into this language. In her words "you go through the bible chronologically so they think that God is really terrible until you get to Jesus when they hear the good news and everyone gets saved."

Eeek. Fight flight fright. Though I'm always impressed that these folks can get out big words like chronologically, this brand of cultural pollution and judgment keeps me up at night.

Still, I'm sure their will be plenty of moments in medical practice when I'm the bad guy with the words from a made up language that were used to help someone that didn't want fixing.

Apparently the dean of Emory's medical school makes a point to remind each class that most medical students are high-functioning people living with mental illness.

Trying to pay more attention to my attitudes and compassion brings up words of Henri Nouwen, Pema Chodron and Rachel Naomi Remen - who all suggest that each person's brokenness or pain is what allows them to care for others. It's hard to be in that place, to stay with parts that are not where they should be. I'm still looking for how dwelling with the substance of struggle offers renewal.

One day I'll get my friend to put the film together, until then I'll stick to the overdone orphanages.

That's Dr. Howser to you...

2008-01-05T23:30:00.001-08:00

Surprisingly, no one in any of my interviews for medical school has brought up that I favor Neil Patrick-Harris.

We're well into interview season and it's starting to wind down as people and places pick one another. I've never been through a judgment process quite like this one and I'm looking forward to it being over with. Listed as one of my soul-defining facebook interests is "looking for people that don't take themselves too seriously," which I expect to be a greater challenge in medical school.

The science is exciting and entertaining to read and nothing gets me jazzed quite like spending time with people - seeing how similar and different we can be at the same time. With that in mind, I'm hopeful that I end up in a place that balances the emotional abuse of a medical education with stretching relationships and strong mentors. I should know by March where the constellation of acceptances, deposits and uhauls align.

In theory this year has been a year off. The way working people talk about taking a year off gives the impression that they're imagining MTV's life-break 2k7/8. Weighing in with the celebrity cameos though, (John Goodman in Nola) are moments when it has felt like one of my most stone-heavy gut-sink times.

I'm so thankful to be present while my family here in Atlanta changes and ages. I know that spending lots of time away from home can translate to missing weddings and funerals - it's one of the biggest hesitations I had for joining the peace corps.

There are many chapters in the Tao Te Ching, but I frequently find Steven Mitchell's translation of chapter 8 echoing in my head:

The supreme good is like water,
which nourishes all things without trying to.
It is content with the low places that people disdain.
Thus it is like the Tao.

In dwelling, live close to the ground.
In thinking, keep to the simple.
In conflict, be fair and generous.
In governing, don't try to control.
In work, do what you enjoy.
In family life, be completely present.

When you are content to be simply yourself
and don't compare or compete,
everybody will respect you.

holmes at home

2008-01-05T22:59:00.000-08:00

Most writing here has been about time away from home.

Still, I've been thinking about this blog more and more since I'm starting to plan my next trip and I have a few posts about the home I've found since being in Atlanta again, while starting to think about leaving for India.

For starters, ever since I moved in with my roommates Allen and Liz just a slizzered swerve from fashionable EAV (just ask the guy across the street that I wave to as he chugs a 22oz brown bag before getting on the main drag - you know, it's safer that way) I've wanted to broadcast some awe and wonder for the local economy. The picture here is of Nabor's cleaners, a nice place where they do unto your laundry as you would have them do unto you.

It's best not to think too hard about the spelling here, just as it's best not to worry too much about the Jehovah's witnesses that come by at least once a week to convert us young professional heathens. Much less to be concerned about a faith that sees a limit to the number of people that can get into heaven, but still tries to get more people to join... If it were me, I'd try to keep my odds as favorable as possible.

Also nearby is Ann's snack shack, voted best burger in the nation by USA today, and best burger in Atlanta by Creative Loafing. What first drew my attention before all that though was the carefully airbrushed sign out front, proclaiming the rapidly-approaching-40-year-old trailer as home of the world famous ghetto burger (pictures and stories to come soon). World famous? Well, I had to have a piece of that. Did I hear you say hamburgers are cultural exceptions to vegetarianism?

MCAT - or - Mike Charging At Test

2007-03-22T21:34:00.000-07:00

Hi Dear Friends,

I hope this note finds you well and enjoying the little perennial surprises crawling out the ends of dogwood branches and cherry trees.

I am in the final stretch of my studying for the Medical College Admissions Test, which I have registered to write on April 7th in Augusta. I started studying when I was living in Ecuador last fall, thanks to Oon Cho's gently worn Kaplan books with distracting korean notes in the margin. When I got back I (more legitimately) started with Kaplan's prep course in November with weekly classes.

Lately I've been living a bit more of a monastic lifestyle. Simply reading, eating and sleeping, with days full of contemplative practices of the scientific persuasion. Some of you know that I thought pretty seriously about joining a monastery for a while, (to learn to make the world's best beer if nothing else) so I've been quite comfortable in this routine and have yet to notice any sign of stress aside from the annual assault of plant lovemaking that makes my eyes itch a bit.

I've been working at Caribou Coffee to placate my belly and buddy landlord, and have more than enough caffeine to maintain directed attention, so I don't really need much.

That said, I'll probably be pretty scarce for the next couple of weeks, but I'll still be thinking of y'all a lot. And if you subscribe to that sort of thing, I'd appreciate your thoughts too. It's a long road, but I'm really excited about finding more and more how well medicine fits with how I see myself being in the world.

I look forward to seeing/talking with y'all soon after my test, and cutting loose until things really gear up again in the Fall of 2008.

Do well, Be well,

-Mike Holmes

home again

2006-11-02T13:03:00.000-08:00

why is it that no one else is concerned with pumpkin dental hygiene?

last monday, i walked up to the buddy pass wait line in the airport in lima, peru (one of my favorite cities in the world see: charming puno). already waiting was a family of 4 that had been waiting since the previous wednesday. this did not look good for mikey. but, remembering my lesson from last year i ditched almost all the clothes in my bag, the mate tea that i was planning on bringing back and all my gels, liquids and creams with some street kids outside the airport, and suddenly, had nothing to check. thankfully, it was enough to earn me a seat, and i was on the midnight flight for GA.

So i've been back for a bit more than a week now, poor, living with the folks and looking for a job (know anybody hiring a travel writer?). It hasn't been too rough of a readjustment this time, maybe because i've had lots of time on my own to take it easy. But more than anything it's been nice to get back to brick store, visit the guys at sweetwater, see anjie preach, and visit with some old friends. Not to mention that it feels like a really long time since i've enjoyed fall as much. Most days i've been able to walk or ride my bike for a few hours just taking in fall colors, smells and chilly breezes.

machu picchu and me

2006-10-22T06:37:00.000-07:00

one of the funniest things about being a traveller is how you react or relate to other travellers. If you're in close proximity, usually they're pretty quick to bond, find amazing similarities in their lives, world views, sometimes shoe sizes. But, from a distance, it's a bit akward. I've been trying to think about why for a while. I think if you walk around and all you see are indiginous folk, all you speak is spanish, if you see another gringo they really stick out and i think it peels away the illusion that you too might be blending in. Somehow this amplifies other tourists' jokes and comments mundanity. I think I've also got a bit of natural inclination to be by myself especially when i'm wandering. These two factors together made me pretty resistant to the idea of the inca trail.

It had been talked up as one of the most amazing things to do in the world, unforgetable scenery, mind-expanding vistas etc. And I couldn't think about how it could possibly measure up, especially with all of those other gringos crawling all over the place like ruins of a McD's playplace for retirees.

But it did.

But I think the trail is really what made it for me. Getting to spend four days with these incredible mountains was quite the blessing. It's clear why the Incas called this area the sacred valley. It was difficult not to stop, bow and pray every five minutes. More photos are online at www.flickr.com/photos/holmeslightfoot.

I love argentinians.

2006-10-20T19:24:00.000-07:00

On the way back to Cuzco, Perú from La Paz, Bolivia, I stopped for a night with a couple of israelis in Copacabana, Bolivia. No, no. Not that copa, but it's pretty cool all the same. In the day light the streets are packed with handicraft-making argentine hippies. The funny thing is, the more you buy and wear, the more you become like them. They're like hippie borgs. In fact, I ran into some of Betsy's friends from Grinnell on the bus from Copa to Cuzco, and two of them were actually pursuing ambitions to start their own craft business. Truth be told, i was their first customer. I bought a pacha mama necklace... we'll have to see who's lucky enough to get that one.

So aside from hanging out with the argentinians, chillin in the awesome vegetarian cafes, or waiting for your boat to isla del sol (where you can of course check out the post for the bolivian navy... anybody else notice this country is landlocked?) pretty much the only other thing folks do is climb the neighboring mountain with stations of the cross leading to the best sunset in bolivia. Pictures will be up soon.

My israeli friends taught me a couple of helpful phrases in hebrew i thought i'd share with you guys. Ata hamoud ata means you sweet you (at hamoud at for ladies), which was apparently the catch phrase of a popular politician. It's a great way to win an israeli's favor. This of course is helpful, because they have travellers' notebooks hidden in restaurants and hostels across the continent. You don't actually need a lonely planet if you can read hebrew... or win over an israeli... thus the password i thought i'd share with you guys :)

Here's a couple other good ones:
At Hamuda - You are cute (for a girl, think it would be Ata hamuda for a guy)
Rotsa Lirkod - want to dance?

titicaca... it's not a dirty word

2006-10-10T07:42:00.000-07:00

It's actually quechua for "puma rock." A reference to the giant rock on Isla del Sol, where Manco Kapac, the first Inca, supposedly was born.

Titicaca is more than just a word that makes you giggle. As the world's highest navigable lake (s. america is full of qualifier-loaded superlatives, see cotopaxi) it's quite literally breathtaking to trek around its islands and chat a bit with folks from each of the culturally distinct islands.

The photo is of an Uro woman from whom i bought a wall hanging. The Uros are a group of folks that, in looking to escape the imperalistic incas, developed the technology of floating islands. Using native reed plants and roots, they make the very ground they build their houses on. And it's one of the wackiest places i've ever been. They can't fish or hunt birds anymore because the lake has been given protected status, so now they rely completely on tourism. They also use their reed technology to make huge boats (now just used to move tourists from one island to the next), but it's folks from this area that Thor Heyerdahl contracted to construct a raft to sail across the pacific, and in spite of everyone's doubts, they made it to indonesia.

We stayed for a night on Amantani island, which has only had tourists visiting for some 16 or 17 years. In talking to the family, they said they only leave the island to buy some supplies in Puno. It was a blast staying with these folks, they dressed us goofy gringos up in traditional ponchos and knit caps and we had ourselves a bit of an island sock hop. The dad of the family gave us the warmest tightest hug when we left it was one of the sweetest parts of this trip by far.

We then went to taquile island, the other big island on the peruvian side. These guys also depend on tourism, but have been running since the 70s. The main cultural difference between Amantani and Taquile is that apparently a spaniard from barcelona made his way to the island and afterwards, all the guys changed their style. They wear 16th century spanish peasant fashions, and these delightful floppy knit caps that make everybody look like a bunch of elves. They come in three styles, first for single, divorced or widowed guys, second for married gents, and third for administrators. When we were waiting for lunch, they were having a meeting in the main plaza on the island where some buddy from Lima was rambling on about how they need to participate in national elections becuase ("i promise," he says emphatically, "really i do") politics in lima can change life on the island... maybe he didn't notice they were wearing clothes from 500 years ago... they didn't seem too quick to change to me.

The last island i went to on lake titicaca was Isla del sol. This is the spot where the incas say the first inca, Manco Kapak was born from the puma stone - thus titicaca. There's a temple to the sun, an old sacrificial table and a separate island for keeping virgins until sacrifice time... you know, the works. I stayed overnight here too, met a few lovely americans, a development economist from s. africa and an awesome bunch of kids. The thing about these kids was that they're told to get money if someone takes their photo. I'm of the opinion though that these guys are way too young to be making the decision to get into the business of selling themselves. So, instead of money or even giving candy, it seems much better to play a game or teach a song, thus when they ask for more, it's something that's fun for everybody and it's natural kid stuff. Anyway, we played a couple rousing halves of an hour long soccer game and one of the americans i was with wanted to take a photo of our new bunch of amiguitos. But immediately after, the mood of the bunch took a 180. They started asking for money. We asked "we're friends now right?" some nod yes, some shake no. We wouldn't have caved to give them money except from the look on their faces, it was clearly a rule from on high (ma + pa) and it was too difficult to qualify the situation for them. But it was really one of the most beautiful, calm and quiet places i've ever been.

charming puno

2006-10-07T19:53:00.000-07:00

so... i'm not sure if any of you have ever been to lima, but if you have, i'm sorry.

my bus trek to get from quito, ecuador to puno, perú took me from quito to guayaquil, ecuador (7 hours) to lima, perú (26 hours) to arequipa (15 hours) to puno, perú (6 hours), all told, some 54 hours on a bus (by the way, the drivers of ormeño bus lines would like to inform you that the bathrooms will only be available for urnation... WHAT? i'm sorry, but that's less humane than making someone sit through a william shatner sing-a-long). so, my judgement may have been a bit skewed, my critical eye for a town's flare drowsy, my patience, exhausted. but man does that place suck mono tail.

i got out to have a drink of water and catch up a bit on internet stuff, sorry to whoever caught me while i was there, i was a bit more than cranky. but here's an unbiased account.

i go to an internet cafe in a rival bus company just up the road from wonderful ormeño, where they have a prominantly displayed mastercard sign. "i'd like a half hour of your finest world wide web access please." "how will you be paying sir?" "why, funny you should ask, with my sultan of all credit cards, mastercard." "i'm sorry monkey gut, we don't accept tarjetas de credito (loosely translated to we poo on your perception of reality, and did you like our joke about the mastercard sign on the window?)" "very well fools, could you direct me to your nearest dispensary of currency?" "certainly, just down the road."

i go to the atm, get out some cash, which is fine because i needed soles anyhow, and return to try again with my mashed potato brained friend. "i have returned to request once again your services as internet monger," "very well, have you any cash?" "why yes, i have lots of your local currency now, and would like to begin contributing to your economy without delay!" "oh, i'm sorry we don't have any change," "you don't have change for 50 soles? (translation, how does any business not have change for the equivalent of roughly $15?)" "no, why don't you ask at the bus terminal?" "good idea kind sir,"

"i'm sorry," says the uniformed bus chica, "we simply don't have any change" "oh, that's interesting (read: weasel dung! i just waited behind 4 groups of passengers buying tickets for your so called bus, how could you possibly not make change for $15?!)" "sorry sir, you'll just have to go someplace else." so i did. eventually i got change but man, on top of it being one of the most polluted cities i've ever been to, i couldn't wait to get out.

so as you can imagine, it was nice to finally arrive in puno, with crazy rickshaws and cheap hotels. i leave tomorrow morning for the floating islands of lake titicaca.

making my way south...

2006-10-04T21:41:00.000-07:00

so i just saw andy and ben off yesterday. it was really a blast to have them here, hopping on random buses, putting back a couple cheap brahmas and taking just about every form of transportation they've got to offer here. We spent four days in the jungle, cuyabeno national park to be more precise, where we saw a dead anaconda, caught a few pirahna (really just ben did this, master ichthiologist that he is), ate them, saw four types of mokeys, a few cayman eyes at night, and tons of big nasty spiders.

Probably the most notable moment was when we were supposed to head out looking for caymans after dark. The family's normal sturdy fiberglass boat was out on a trip so we set out in the smaller, wooden canoe loaded down with just about everybody that was left at camp - some seven or eight folks. Any time one of us moved, the rest of us tried to compensate making for a very shakey ride. And as if this wasn't enough, the boat was sinking. yes. sinking. i turned on my light to look at the water level inside only to notice a gaping hole through which water was pouring into the boat. Sometime around this point patrick, a delightful german fellow noted "this is just like the titanic" only, perhaps it more closely resembled an Evel Knievel stunt given that the water was full of caymans, pirahna and watever microbial beasties we had no idea how to avoid... Our guide divided his time between paddling and bailing us out and eventually we had to stop and wait to hop on the motorboat as it was due back from "town" (read bridge with a shop and a park station). Luckily it was before anything got a bite of us!

here's a quick video of some incredible flintstone style technology...

anyway, it was a blast having them here as it's always better to share a place with someone else. now i start the rest of my trip, making my way south to peru for a few days, possibly bolivia, and possibly chile... we'll have to see. me mum always says to let her know when i'm leaving the state, guess the same goes when i cross national borders...

me blog is over the hill...

2006-10-04T21:33:00.000-07:00

i was just about to write a regular blog entry when i saw on my entry counter that this is the 50th post to holmes away from home. we'll have to postpone pyrotechnic displays and parades, but in the mean time, i hope you guys have been enjoying what there is here. it'll keep coming as long as i keep living this cartoon away from the states.

dos fiestas

2006-09-18T11:30:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite things about latin america is the fiesta. Granted, after having travelled a bit, i'm not too big a fan of romanticizing what one culture has over another. We've all got wacky things that we take for granted that make life incredible. Westerners/Gringos in particular seem blind to the fact that we, too, have culture (elusive though it may be in the midst of day after-blank sales)

Cultural relativism aside, me likey the parties.

Last weekend was when the quaint little town of Guapulo just outside of Quito has its fiestas. I went with my delightfully anglican roomie Tim (he watches his home football team every saturday morning grunting go on, go on! only to be followed by a dissapointed sigh... they have yet to win a game since i've known him) and his ecuadorian novia Monica, clopping and plodding down the steep incline of the neighboring mountain like clydesdales reined in by a tipsy coachman. It's funny watching our legs trying to negotiate this new face of gravity, challenging befuddled ankles and knees.

It was clear how to get to the epicenter of the fiesta, following the sounds of music and firecracker explosions as unpredictable as the backfire of public buses here. We arrived at the town square dimly lit by unshaded incandesent 40 watts, densly packed with people around a bandstand the way that 6 year old soccer teams crowd the ball. We made our way through the crowd, Tim and I both intensly eyeing the street food (me from curiosity and fanatical penchant for challenging my gut, Tim from disgust and disdain) pushed by mongers only half visible in the partial party light.

We ended up at a dance circle, and we joined in to have a go. Only, no one would let me leave. I kept trying to nudge away, to no avail. I was having fun too until they started joking about meeting the rest of the family and, ahem, planning a wedding date... Gotta go. They chilled out after a bit and then the real fireworks started.

The two most notable features of the spectacle were the vaca loca and the huge exploding tower. The vaca loca is a wire framed, paper mache cow rigged with eplosives that some nut puts on his shoulders. The loon then proceeds to charge through the crowd raining sparks on the delighted bystanders. The tower is a 30 foot tall wonder that they spin in a circle as the fuse makes its way to the top with increasing explosive splendor. Half the folks present at the fiesta insist on dancing in a circle around the tower, including my new found matchmaker friend. Vamos! He shouted and before i knew it i too was in the thick of it. I've got wonderful holes singed in my blue striped shirt to prove it.

The next day was the mmhfff (insert unintelligible spanish word) of the oranges. Trucks packed with people and oranges parade down the steep alleyways escorted by kids costumed as gorrillas, grandmothers, cowboys and the occasional clown. The whole way down, they pelt perfectly good oranges at the crowds waving as they go by. From the balconies too, oranges are lanced like shotputs - at times 4 or 5 at once. Great fun, i ended up with a grocery bag full and didn't pay for juice for a week!

The other fiesta i wanted to write about is the Festival de Esperanza, that is, the festival of hope. You see, Billy Graham's son is coming to town. I know, i know, it's almost too much to bear in one blog. Fireworks, shotput oranges, and... Franklin Graham. But they've rented out the giant soccer stadium in town for three days. And, my spiritually permiscuous self simply can't wait to see what they're gonna do with all that space. Maybe the giddeon's will come and shotput new testaments... better yet, maybe they'll shotput each other in a jesus-praising-gravity-defying feat of faith? It's just a shame that I won't be able to share this with anyone as me brother Andy and a church buddy Ben arent coming until next monday. Think of me and mini Graham this Thursday, Friday and Saturday.

¡tengo una lechugita!

2006-08-31T17:40:00.000-07:00

¡I have a little lettuce! Well... kind of.

When we were last in touch, i was pretty anxious about how everything was going to go at this dance. High pressure to date this girl. cute as she is, i don't know much about her. We went, listened to quality andean pan flute music, danced some merengue, some salsa and a bit of reggaeton. I also talked a lot with my buddies from physical therapy, my great canadian buddy jessica and a bunch of german volunteers from the hospital. Notice anyone missing? So did I.

Lechugita didn't talk much more than you'd expect a head of lettuce to. It was bizzare, I asked her tons of open-ended questions and threw her tons of opportunities, but she just smiled or giggled at every chance to talk. "she's just shy" they said "she really likes you a lot!" Donkey snot. If you like someone and you're talking one on one and you don't bite at a single one of nearly hundreds of questions, that's pathological. Well, I thought that was a bit harsh and premature, so we decided to give it another shot. We went for drinks and crepes at La boca del lobo here in the mariscal, and had a bit of a better time. Definitely more conversation, it develops ice cream and french pastries are the key to an ecuadorian woman's heart... and mouth. Anyway, she's decided after that date (does that even count as a second date? me thinks no) that we're getting married. She sends me crazy as chuck text messages about our future and asking when I'm going to come back to ecuador...

I was beginning to get really worried about what I'd gotten myself into when, of a completely honest coincidence, I lost my cell phone. Sweet relief! I've never felt so good about losing a personal electronic device like this. Well, I'd feel terrible about what this might do to my leafy friend if i just dropped off the face of the earth, so I'm gonna find her number one way or another, but it's going to be tough. She and all her friends are on vacation now, and she's out of quito for the week.

So that's the deal with lechugita.

¡vamos a la peña!

2006-08-25T10:33:00.000-07:00

let's go to the dance! a bunch of med students are putting on a dance here and invited me and some of the other volunteers along... i have no idea what to expect other than they're trying to set me up with one of the girls. i hope they know mikey's not trying to marry a quiteña he just met a few days ago... Anyway, it's a good thing i've been taking salsa lessons since i've been here so i'll have something to do to at least try to keep up! Over a few drinks they were interrogating me with a veritable barrage of preteen quesitons, "what kind of girls do you like?" "which one of us do you like?" "what do you think of latin girls?" It was everything i could do to squeak out some words in spanish, my face was so tight from smiling streched cheeks and my tattletale of a flushed face giving away my embarrassment. They asked me to say some nice things about them in french and the first thing that popped to mind was "ma petite chou," my little cabbage, a nice pet name which doesn't translate very well. "Lechugita!?" they exclaimed, and a nick name was born. They tell me that gringos aren't the best dancers because even when they know the steps they're a bit rigid. This is almost too much pressure, i feel like an ambassador for my people, i'll report back with details.

it's going to be two guys and five girls from quito that i've known for a week now, four chicas from germany and a great guy from australia that's living at our house for a week or two working on picking up spanish.

wish me and mi lechugita luck i'll need everything i can get!

¿tienes phobia?

2006-08-19T15:17:00.000-07:00

my volunteer position with the hospital is pretty flexible. i've got eight weeks in total, and i'm starting my fourth week next monday. it's hard to believe how quickly it's going by. my first two weeks were with men's internal medicine. a bit of the run of the mill hospital life. hanging out, passing out pills, taking temperatures and chatting with the characters on the ward.

this last week was with minor surgeries. it's great because doctors have to be there and there's no where for them to hide so i'm seeing a lot. they don't have any nurses, just a guy named johnny that's a med student taking some time off to make some money. He's a fantastic guy though. We spend a fair amount of time chatting and working on his english. He showed me where i can find free lunch in the hospital if i bring my own spoon.

The first two or three hours of every day involves taking vital signs for the day's patients. I've learned a lot and can corral folks and get the info we need almost as well as johnny now. The rest of the day is watching as doctors meet with their patients evaluating either the need for surgery or their progress in recovery post-op. Lots of taking out stitches, though i'm not quite there yet. two or three times a week we've got minor operations. This is the toughest part for me and one of the reasons it's really good for me to be here.

The first day we had a woman with a hurnea. I was supposed to assist, handing gause and scalpels etc. but it was a bit much to take in and i had to sit every ten minutes or so. Cold sweats, pale in the face, the whole nine yards. Eek. Thankfully everybody's got a fantastic sense of humor and we could joke about it. Everybody loves talking about my phobia now though i really don't think it's that fair of a characterization. If i was afraid, i wouldn't be in the room. It's just the physiological response i get when people are cutting other people. I think that's perfectly normal. The second day was much better. A cute nine year old girl had a fibroid tumor on her arm, which they took out in a jiffy. Hopefully I'll be super tough next week.

After next week, I'll have to see what's next. I'm hoping to see a few births while i'm here so I may take a rotation on neonatology, but I'm really curious about the pediatric ward here and the challenges of the E.R.

a nice dinner in tena

2006-08-18T18:06:00.000-07:00

one of my amazing canadian buddies, heather, is volunteering in a clinic in the jungle in a town outside of tena. we went to visit last weekend and ended up having a number of outside the lines adventures.

the six hour bus ride from quito is a thrilling survey of the eastern offerings of ecuador's topography and climate diversity. distinct mountains become severe ranges, gradually thickening in flora to denser and denser rainforest on lower foot hills. The trip is broken only by the occasional rest stop and passport check, and by personal election card games and shakey book reading.

after arriving and orienting a bit on friday night, we hit the hay to get out to misahualli(pronounced ms. hawaii) early the next day where heather spends most of her time. We helped out filling prescriptions, filing patient histories and wrapping tongue depressors to be sterilized. In the meantime, we practiced taking each others' vital signs. After having such a blast with the doctor and nurse (who was satisfying the national requirement for all health professionals to serve a year in the jungle or the coast) we couldn't turn down their offer to come back and dance at the salsa bar in the middle of the jungle. We went back to tena to gather our things and grab a bite. Dinner was much more than we bargained for.

Five dollars bought filet mignon in a red wine sauce with baked potatoes and steamed veg. It was amazing. Absolutely amazing. Just as we were finishing and thinking about dessert, a rustling on the wall above our table caught my eye. Looking at the fuzzy form for a bit, i eventually registered the creepy crawly as a sloth. Yes. A sloth. it crawled from one hiding spot to another some four feet away, moving like it had a different allotment of space and time than the rest of us. We got so worked up by the sight of it we had to ask the owner if there were more, to which he replied in proud broken english, "yes. i have another in back. it is - how do you say - extinction?" "endangered!?" we asked "oh yes, that is what i meaning, there only 200 left in jungle." And he had one in his restaurant. He brought it out and the little pygmy sloth peed on his shoulder in silent protest.

We went back out to Misahualli by taxi, found our clinic folks and went out dancing. At some point i some how got paired off with a girl named Belgica. After a couple rounds of salsa, i went to buy another round and the whole staff had their eyes on me. After a bit, the youngest among the staff asked with eyes darting around sheepishly, "are you belgica's boyfriend?"

Uh oh. Decided it'd be safer just to dance within our own group.

The next day we worked a bit more in the clinic before heading out. It was a lot busier, so we filled more prescriptions and I helped take out stitches on an especially tough munchkin. I'm quite jealous of the scar he's going to get.

making chocolate at a hostel called cocoa

2006-08-06T15:28:00.000-07:00

Me canadian pals had heard of a hostel called cocoa run by a tour operator in town. It's an amazing place right on a river, just down the road from an old fruit farm that's just used for tours these days.

After talking the bus driver into letting us on (yes, we can see it's sold out, can't we just sit on the floor in the back?) we rode the 4 hours through mountains and cloud forest to Puerto Quito the nearest town to the hostel. A drive with high-traffic upholstered seats dampening our road trip chatter on the floor.

It's so nice to get out of Quito. As much as I love it with all of it's sleazy shawarma joints and live music, it's still city and it's always a treat to get out.

At cocoa, we had a tour of the fruit farm, a huge spot with bananas, pineapples, at least 5 types of citrus, passion fruit, cocoa, coca and more - it was a foody's dream to spend an afternoon walking around eating organic produce straight from the plant. Afterwards, we went back to make some chocolate. It grows in these pods pictured above which are either purple or orange depending on the variety. The seeds are pulled from the pods and furmented for 8 days in a tank and then dried for 2-3 days depending on the intensity of the sun. We picked up at the next step, which is roasting the beans to improve aroma. We did this standing on a fire next to the river. The roasted beans are shelled and then ground in a meat grinder, the grounds are then added to boiling milk and cane sugar for the freshest purest chocolate i've ever had.

After dinner (which of course came after the chocolate), we went down to the river again to salsa dance for hours. After working up a sweat (it being almost as humid as georgia's summers), we cooled off with a dip in the river. It was nice enough just to swim a bit in a pool retained by a rock dam, but sitting on the other side in the middle of the rapids was like a natural jacuzi.

Somehow i made it back, though they need volunteers and i might have to disappear for a week or two :)

a few stories from volunteering

2006-08-04T15:47:00.000-07:00

for the last three weeks i've been volunteering at hospital pablo arturo suarez, in the north of town.

It's a public hospital and is a bit of a madhouse at times. right now, i'm just in the men's internal medicine clinic but still, something wild happens every day. thought i'd share a bit. still working on photos, will try to get some of my buddies that are patients.

These days I'm working mostly with the nurses, so I do a lot of cleaning, talking, bathing and wheeling around in wheelchairs. On one of these sojourns, I had to take a patient down to have an ultrasound. On the way back up to the ward, the elevators broke. Both of them. One with people inside screaming and freaking out folks in the hallway. While we were waiting for them to come back around, three med students came up, and in typical fashion, decided repeatedly tapping the button would be of some help. I almost started counting how many people came by and thought that the more the button was pushed, the faster it would come. Some things know no cultural lines.

Anyway, these three guys started joking about how they should carry our four-wheeled friend up the stairs. He seemed okay with it, they didn't ask of course, but he told me it would be okay. I told him we didn't have to do this and that they'd have the elevator fixed soon, but i think he really trusted the med students. So when they couldn't lift him in the chair, they told him he had to walk. I negelected to mention this guy was a heart patient, and we're six flights of stairs down from the ward. He winced with every step, but once we'd started, it'd be just as bad to turn back. We made it up, but what a terrible course of events.

Another friend in internal medicine doesn't have much family and has been there for a while. They've run a bunch of tests on him, and it sounded like they said they even told him that he has HIV, which the tests showed he didn't. One of his many symptoms, among pussing sides and loss of function in his legs, is a horrible eye infection that has swelled it shut for weeks now. I wheeled him down to talk to the optomologists and an american doctor volunteering in the hospital recognized that his symptoms matched with toxitis. he ordered some more tests, and creams for his eye. After the first day, no one had run the tests, i asked all the nurses and they insisted they'd take care of it. After the second day, still nothing so i talked to the nurses again and some of the docs on the floor, again, more guarantees. After the third day, i took out his history and walked the med tech folks on the floor through the orders and insisted that we get this guy taken care of, it was only then that they said oh, yeah, we don't do those tests here. And they'd be $50 that he doesn't have anyway. at least his eye is better.

estoy vomitando!

2006-07-30T13:47:00.000-07:00

I didn't want to give too many details about this Cotopaxi climb before I left, partly because I didn't want to worry anyone, partly because I didn't really know them!

The summit is around 5,900 meters, roughly 3.7 miles high, or 19,360 feet. They don't keep much air up there so most folks don't even make it. As it turns out lots of people get sick even just staying in the refuge before the climb. My first experience with Cotopaxi was my freshman year in a class on globalization and shamanism that went to ecuador for 10 days. On a flight on a cloudy day from Quito to Cuenca, the only thing above the clouds we could see was Cotopaxi. It wasn't until later that I heard that folks climb this beast, then last year i met a group that was planning on making the ascent without a guide. This is like trying to eat cheerios without a spoon. Some people have done it, some even like it, but it's not normal.

Well we got all our gear and had a quick lesson on how to use our ice axe and crampons (spikes that strap on to your shoes to help you stand on snowy mountains) before bed. Normally they have a practice session but it was snowing so hard we couldn't really go outside. A good sign the night before a climb...

They woke us up at 12, we had breakfast and started climbing. The air's so thin that you can really only make a step every second or two if you're not completely acclimated. One of the best things about a night climb is the headlamps of the groups going before you snailing up the curves of the volcano. Comfort in strangers that have gone before you and accomplished their aims.

We really only took breaks every hour or so, and made it up to the top of the glacier when I started to feel ill. The trail blazers quit switching back and forth to help with the incline and decided to head straight up. So for two hours we're throwing everything we've got at this trail. But this was just as the sun came up so it made for amazing tricks with the snow, clouds, ice and neighboring mountains. I could almost forget how sick i felt.

We stopped for one break near the top of the glacier and the powerade I had been drinking was just entirely too much sugar and not enough water and my body decided to pull out the veto. So, while our guide was fixing his gloves or something i started puking of the side of the mountain. After the second or third iteration, our guide says "listo?" - "ready?" and all i could shout back was "no! estoy vomitando!" - "no! i'm vomiting!" he didn't seem to notice and kept going. we caught up with him after a quick clean up and made it to the summit. I'd upload the exact same picture at the top, only featuring me but I can't put my hands on my camera cable... I'm sure you get the idea though.

After we got back, it occured to me that my heart hadn't stopped racing to push oxygen to all the parts of me since we'd gotten to the refugio and we'd been hiking a formidable incline for some 9 hours straight. My buddy Joff and I were the only ones to make the summit in a group of 6, which is partly because it's so tough, but also because it's a total crap shoot how your body will react to the altitude. I think I know what a marathon feels like now. I can say without hesitation that this was the hardest thing I've ever done but it was such a blast.

i think i can, i think i can...

2006-07-28T19:59:00.000-07:00

First thing tomorrow morning, I'll get up, have a huge breakfast and hop on a bus to this volcano, Cotopaxi. It's the world's tallest, snow-capped, active volcano, and we'll be heading for the summit. We've tried on all our gear, bought gatorade, apples and chocolate, batteries for the headlamps and made sure our phones and cameras are all charged (these are all supposed to work at the summit).

The deal is we drive up, have lunch and practice braking and climbing all afternoon, have a big dinner and hit the hay. We get up at midnight and start climbing, aiming to reach the top between 6 & 8 am - just in time for sunrise. Apparently, any later than that and the snow starts to melt in the sunlight making it a much tougher and less-pleasant hike.

Wish me luck!

I wanted to sleep

2006-07-22T10:41:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I went out to visit Stuart at the funcacion and had a really great time. We went out to Otovalo to drop off some volunteers that were going to their host families for the first time, and got to shop around a bit. That night we cooked up a big curry with fresh bread and the Ecuadorian staple - pilsner. After eating, drinking and talking for hours we hit the hay, only to be stirred from sleep with haunting noises coming from the ceiling.

The fundacion hosts volunteers, but it's got a pretty big campus so they host groups too. This week it's an Ecuadorian brand of Buddhists on a retreat from the outside world. At 4 they ring a bell and walk silently to a roped off area where they spend all day looking at the ground. This goes until nightfall when they file back in to the dorms which are located directly above Stuart's spare bed - where I was sleeping. So when 4 came around this morning, they decided that it was critical to get a real jump start on the day with some heavy furniture moving, ram horn blowing and dropping of large objects. I mean, who can blame them, buddha said lots of wise stuff so who's to say he can't be credited with "nothing says good morning like a toot of the ol horn?" I had just gotten back to sleep when it was time for round two at 7. Rinse and repeat?

volunteering is costly

2006-07-19T19:42:00.000-07:00

So, the internet is apparently not the way to find hospitals or doctors to volunteer with. It develops that nearly every program costs several thousand dollars in good ol' administrative costs. In the mean time though, i've met a lot of dissatisfied volunteers who recommended some hospitals that I could approach in person and sidestep the man. I've also met some cool kids who just got out of university here with degrees in ecotourism that need a roommate... looking good so far! It develops that laundries are fantastic places for finding apartments, at least in the Mariscal, (which locals call gringolandia).

The good news is that there doesn´t seem to be any shortage of hospitals. And from what i hear from volunteers, for many of them, volunteering comes down to shadowing physicians every day - experience that is equally invaluable and tough to come by in the states. Luckily, one of the ladies that works at my hostel is a physiotherapist and it sounds like she might be of some help finding contacts. All this work makes me want to write a guide on how to do this and get around all of these ridiculously costly organizations. The model that most of them use is a major diversion of funds away from hospitals and the local economy.

After I check out a couple of places today, I'm gonna head out to the boonies tomorrow and see my buddies out there, hopefully get the skinny on these fiestas coming up in September...

I ate this animal

2006-07-17T21:07:00.000-07:00

I just got back from visiting Chris, one of my best buddies from college and I had an amazing time. Talk about one of the best ways to get ready to head out of the states - see more than just my hometown bars i mean - i had a full-on introduction to life on the Chassahowitzka river.

We went out fishing, didn't catch much so we took a break to snorkel a bit around the reef, and Chris's buddy ross found a scallop. From then on out, it was on. We grabbed our masks and dive bags and floated for some 4 hours picking of les fruits de la mer. I had no idea what they look like, but they've got the most incredible blue eyes that watch you from the bottom of the flats. All told, we must have nabbed some 100+ scallops, cleaned 'em on the boat ride back and cooked 'em that night. Nothing better in this world than knowing your food.

Other than diving for scallops, we made it out to the chilly spring-fed underwater caves and dove through tunnels that have been carved out of limestone by years of natural flow from aquifer to ocean. Not to mention meeting some of the coolest characters I've ever talked to in person (including Chris's dad... did he have to spit on that teenager?). It was like some sort of Louisiana bayou charicature that you know had to be real because it didn't have the same level of awareness of self that can be found in the big easy.

We spent last night at Chris's new place cooking up all those scallops and some spanish mackarel a neighbor had caught some time before. We were up until 4 in the morning eating, talking and cajoling what sounds we could from Chris's dad's amazing gibson 45.

And here I write from home, packing and preparing to fly out at 5 tomorrow after a great sendoff from Raymond, Julia and all the Woodworth generation prime - ben, andy + anjie. Wish me luck, it's my currency of choice these days.

bottoms of my feet itch

2006-06-22T14:23:00.000-07:00

A Community of the Spirit
Rumi

There is a community of the spirit.
Join it, and feel the delight
of walking in the noisy street,
and being the noise.

Drink all your passion,
and be a disgrace.

Close both eyes
to see with the other eye.

Open your hands,
if you want to be held.

Sit down in this circle.

Quit acting like a wolf, and feel
the shepherd's love filling you.

At night, your beloved wanders.
Don't accept consolations.

Close your mouth against food.
Taste the lover's mouth in yours.

You moan, "She left me." "He left me."
Twenty more will come.

Be empty of worrying.
Think of who created thought!

Why do you stay in prison
when the door is so wide open?

Move outside the tangle of fear-thinking.
Live in silence.

Flow down and down in always
widening rings of being.

I'm heading out again tuesday. Things are a bit up in the air, as my friends' parents have been quick to demonstrate with a constant barrage of the standard wrong questions. Do I have a place to stay? not yet. Do I have a job, well no, that's why I picked up trash for two months this summer, to pay for rent, street food and dollar brahmas. Although I will miss the emory recycles folks - John, Claire and the guys made that place a blast. But up in the air or not, I'm gone.

I'd be lying if i said I'm not excited about fiestas, salsa lessons surprises and mountains. I think what feels strange about leaving this time is what i'm leaving. My roots feel a bit like a potted plant's - it's easier these days to pick me up and live elsewhere. But i've gotten a lot worse at connecting to people, and as time gets on i catch these glimpses of a stale and terrifying boredom just over the horizon. I have itches that are polar opposites: on one side "get out! what are you still doing here?! your time is wasting!" on the other, "get your act together! contribute! settle (down)!" They feel more and more urgent as I stick around in limbo, but a wise friend had great words about rushing into the future.

So while I've got the time, i'm looking for some surprises, awe, relief from ambition, huge meals, side-splitting laughter and a few good stories.

Advent in Dakar

2005-12-09T07:37:00.000-08:00

Last year, I remember appreciating the weeks of Advent a bit differently than I had before. It could very well have been the changes that come with getting a bit older and new years presenting chances to look at events in new ways. It could have also been my thought pattern last year.

I was feeling a bit stuck in something of a quarter-life crises - a phrase I had used a few times as a joke but I've been hearing it much more often from my generation lately. Not sure of what kind of sails I had, what kinds of winds there were, and how much that would change before I was supposed to start doing things like other grown-ups.

So what I really appreciated in a new way last year was the waiting. More than just the journey itself being the destination, I appreciated a different value being highlighted each week in preparation for good to come. We've got some pretty strong sails in love, peace, joy and hope.

So Advent has come back around again, and i didn't have the foggiest idea this time last year that I'd be spending these four Sundays in Dakar, Senegal. Once again though, I'm finding a chance to think about them in a new way.

I'm waiting to come home, but it's the type of waiting that we have to do for a lot of different types of things a lot of the time. I'm certain, beyond a reasonable doubt as they say, of getting home and what some things will be like. Just as certain as I am that I'll be graduating in May, eating dinner tonight or will have to get a new driver's license in January. I know what I'll have to do to get there and what that will mean when those days come.

But there's another type of waiting too that I enjoy about Advent. I've got a date set, but in going home, I'll be leaving another one that I've made here. And in some way, I'll be waiting to find out when I'll come back to my home in Dakar.

In waiting for Christmas, I know there is a great news of good to come. But what that goodness looks like has morphed over time for me. In waiting for this great good to arrive, the good things that I have already become brighter and clearer. That's what's great about Advent for me - each week, it's articulated "hey, we've got peace," or "you aren't so numb, we hope, that you can't be overcome by the joy from time to time." All of these other goods that we already have present with us gather together in new and stronger ways every year. And without exactly realizing it's happened, a great good is here with us too. Not a milestone, nor anything foreign really, more of an organic culmination. I'm finding this to be a charge of growing older, to seek out these hidden ways.

It's a flavor of uncertainty, chance, and surprise, something I'm thankful and tickled to be able to continue to find in life, and I look forward to waiting for more :)

me going to get me hair cut

2005-12-05T03:52:00.000-08:00

So I'm not sure if it was apparent from the pictures on flickr, but my hair was gettin long. I'm talking Garfunkel long, so really maybe more tall and rebellious than long per se.

So I started asking around with different folks on the program to see if anyone had cut a guy's hair before and I had a few possibilities lined up. But while I was waiting for the logistical bits to fall into place - time, place, whether or not to layer - I met a delightful young lady on the street corner where we hang out for tea from time to time.

It just so happens that she's a coiffeuse, or hair stylist, and she's trying to learn english. Hmm, we thought, we both have something the other is looking for. This sounds like a fair trade, my skills for yours. We decided an english lesson was roughly equivalent to one hair cut. Maybe a little too roughly.

So we met up yesterday, Ewan, hair-cut lady, and I - all on the street corner. We exchanged pleasantries and made our way to Ewan's place. We talked a bit more and then she got right to it. Asked how I wanted it done. This is, of course, after Ewan double checked that she knew how to cut white folks' hair and that she had scissors with her.

"Oh, just a little off the top," with the enthusiasm one employs to move along a routine task like brushing teeth. "And shaved in the back and around the sides," she asked sweetly? "Yeah, that sounds perfect." What was that line about talking without listening? I should probably also say that this was in french. We weren't really aiming to gamble my new hair doo against the results of our English class.

Buzzz.... man, this feels great. I can feel my head tingling with freedom and the taste of fresh air. Buzzz... free at last, free at last, thank god almighty, enfin les cheveux sont libre! Buzz... hey, isn't that razor gettin a little high? Buzz... ummm... say, delphine, you do have scissors with you yeah? Buzzz... where are those scissors by the way? Buzzz... oh. you don't have scissors, just a whole new look for mikey holmes.

Yep, buzz is the word. All that's left on my head is the length of hair that a number three guard protects from the buzzing blades of a philips razor. It is awfully refreshing though. And it does go rather nicely with my new prayer beads from our trip to touba, the holy city of the mouride brotherhood.

My family loves it, they were overjoyed to see my new Senegalese look.

Update on my stuff

2005-11-23T03:23:00.000-08:00

acacia
Originally uploaded by Mikey Holmes.

So, when last we talked about the missing iPod and the creepy crawling through the window, the whole picture wasn't very clear. Now, it's a bit more apparent what happened.

My iPod had actually been gone since Korite - testament to my absent-mindedness. I hadn't been able to find it, and knew this since I was going to play something on it for Beth when she was here, but my mind was on other things so I didn't worry about it too much.

It would be one thing if all of this stuff had stopped with the iPod. But while I was gone on the rural visit last week, after it was already apparent that someone had broken in to my room and we were already suspicious of Makhow, he broke into my room again. He took my cell phone, cell phone charger, french dictionary, all the cash from my wallet and my personal favorite - antimalarials and antibiotics for explosive diarrhea. What's more, after he took all of this stuff, he packed a bag and split, and didn't come home. That was last Tuesday. And the whole time he was gone my family didn't sleep, didn't laugh or talk very much, and spent their nights driving around town looking for some sign of their son.

Well, after we had figured out everything that was missing, my brother and sister told my host dad the grand total. A few minutes later, he came to my room wearing one of his nicest boubous, and explained that they had had trouble with Makhow in the past, but they thought all of that had passed. What's more, the kid hadn't been to school in 3 years. He apologized profusely and said that he believed his son was going to die somewhere in the street. He then handed me enough cash to cover what money was stolen. This was last Sunday when I got back from my trip to the village.

So Monday, I talked with the program directors about everything and they explained how the kid is "a thief, it's as simple as that," and that they just needed to threaten calling the police. This kinda went against everything I knew about deviance being a bit more complicated than that. What's more, when the director and housing coordinator came and spoke with my dad, he started going on about how he thought that his son would surely die in the street and if he didn't then his son would be taken straight to the police as soon as he came home. Strong words from a father.

So I started to feel like I was the only one on this kids side and was really worried about the future that seemed to be developing for him. This worry peaked on the next day when he came back home. The whole day I was at school wondering where he was and if what types of things would be happening to him as he went through the senegalese judicial system. But when I came home, Makhow was still around. And the next day he was still around. Then his friends came over and they were all laughing and joking together.

It was when his friends came over that they found the iPod. Apparently one was just wearing it like an accessory even though the battery had died completely. They recovered the headphones and iPod and gave those back to me and asked if that was everything that was missing. I explained that there was a link cable too, which surprised my family and they went to yell at Makhow and got that back too.

So, lemme recap the wind changes here. Break-in to room. Parents saying i should have locked my window better (not possible), not claiming responsibility, older brother saying it was probably Makhow and we would talk more when I got back from my trip. Second break-in, phone, charger, dictionary, meds + cash stolen, siblings apologizing, parents apologizing, no longer shifting blame. Parents insisting if he comes back, to take him straight to the police, essentially giving up on their son. Makhow comes back, still no apology from him, no action from parents other than paying me and apologizing on his behalf. New, completely different plan of sending Makhow back to school appears, no change in Makhow's shadyness. Me feeling sorry for Makhow, his future and his poor judgment, then confused about parents' judgment in not punishing him.

So all the stuff has been replaced, but things are still up in the air. I still have yet to talk with Makhow.

Malick Sy

2005-11-22T09:01:00.000-08:00

Malick Sy
Originally uploaded by Mikey Holmes.

In a word - spunky. In three words - crazy as hell. In essence - sweet as can be. Malick Sy, the marabout of the village of Diagenne (sp?) was one of the many friends we made during our rural visit.

Marabout is an interesting word and requires a quick explanation. There are at least three different types of marabouts in senegal. First, traditional animist spiritual guides acting as a shaman for big questions and healing. Second, there are grand marabouts, which are the leaders of the spiritual brotherhoods of Islam in Senegal. And third, there's the smaller marabouts, which act as spiritual guides rooted in islam, and usually have schools to teach the koran to kids. These places are full of young boys that are forced to beg to collect money for the marabout's gain, but that's a different story altogether.

Malick was somewhere in the middle of the first and third type since he practiced traditional medicine, and led his community in their journey of faith, but he seemed to have his own creative spin on Islam - something that isn't exactly encouraged officially, but is common in rural areas. For example, when he was giving us a tour of his peanut field on our first day, he stopped to pray and came back holding out his prayer beads. He proceeded to explain "this is my portable [phone] with Allah." That much is pretty normal, but when he was showing us around his house later that night, he started going on about how Ewan and I were going to be sleeping that night but he was going to be praying. And with what we might ask? With the longest strand of prayer beads I've ever seen. He could barely hold on to the whole thing it was so huge, and he held them with a great big smile and booming pride.

When Ewan got a bit sick to the stomach, Malick prayed a number of times for his recovery. Ewan is better now, Alhumdulilahi.

So another part of village life aside from getting sick that Malick helped us with was the endless attention. It was exhausting being in the village - having to talk in Wolof, whack piles of peanuts, explain why we didn't want to give our camaras away (a surprisingly tough challenge), explain why we couldn't take anyone's baby back to the states even if we wanted to, try to stop eating after 3 rounds of ceebu jen ~ fish with rice, and trying to keep it a surprise that we were going to give them the soccer ball we brought - so tiring that when it came time to rest, it was a bit of a surprise to see the 20 kids surrounding us in a circle when we sat up. Anyway, Malick had been out working all day, and came back to find us desperately trying to rest. So, quick as a flash, he flew after the kids, elegant boubou flowing behind him, bare feet kicking up sand and yelling "demleen" ~ go! or alternatively "ashaa," which is the word they use to encourage horses and donkeys to move. He came right back to fix us Ataayah, and talk a bit about our day.

waves

2005-11-14T08:04:00.000-08:00

waves
Originally uploaded by Mikey Holmes.

I love walking on the beach. It's got to be among my favorite things to do in the world. Just below bodysurfing and just above making my own beer.

The feeling of the sand is great - the rough and abrasive salt in the back of the throat - the occasional sting from a broken shell that wasn't apparent and my favorite - flirting with the water as it comes in and out. For the most part, it's predictable how far and quickly the water will come in. But every now and then some turn of events from the moon or the rocks just on the edge of the continental shelf or maybe chance, a big wave comes along and splashes everything. Makes it dirty, wet and knocks out any thoughts in my head just as well as it covers up those broken sea shells that come back to sting later on.

Sometimes things happen that knock expectations for a heading or direction of events way off course.

Anyway, so I've been missing my iPod for a couple of days - and given that I'm a bit absent minded, I thought I'd give it a chance to turn up. But for the same amount of time (in hindsight) I've been getting mosquito bites for the first time since I've been here.

Then on Saturday morning, I noticed that the screen on my window outside my room (looking into the open-air, second-story hallway) had been ripped from the nails securing it to the frame. I didn't think much about it, but later on that afternoon, just before we left for our weekend excursion to the Siin Saluum delta, my older brother Boga brought it up.

He asked if I had done it, which I hadn't of course, and then asked if I was missing anything. I didn't mention anything at that point. He then showed how it could be possible to slide out the panes of glass in my window, and crawl through and take a pick of whatever was in my room. Crash - wave - everything looks dirty and wet.

Still, I thought about it and decided it might be best to wait a couple of days and give the iPod another chance to show up. So I asked how someone could have gotten in, and Boga said it was possible for someone to climb in from the salon, but more likely, it could have been my younger brother Makhow. So, now that I'm back from our trip, I'm gonna get to talk about this with my family.

The worst scenario will be my family feeling guilty and ashamed and deciding to replace the iPod, when that's gonna be much more money than they can easily cough up. What's more Makhow isn't the most honest guy in the world, so there's the chance I'll never know for sure.

The best case scenario is he's just listening to it in his room or he's sold it to one of his buddies and he can get it back in a couple of days. Or I still could have misplaced it... Not likely.

Anyway, would appreciate some warm vibes for the next couple of days. We leave tomorrow for our week-long rural visits, so I'm gonna have to discuss this theft stuff tonight.

Love you all. Jamm ak xeewel ~ peace and luck

Avoiding more narcissistic pictures...

2005-11-12T06:02:00.000-08:00

Goree Doorway
Originally uploaded by Mikey Holmes.

So I thought I'd put in a quick entry about how I'm doing since I've apparently dropped off the map for a lot of folks.

Small stuff: I've been playing a lot of guitar lately and my family has been really sweet to listen and say nice things about my songs from time to time. They compared me to Bob Dylan, a result I'm sure, of their vast experience with American folk music. On the other hand, they also told me I have too much time on my hands. Probably true...

Played the songs for a friend's host sister that asked me to write them, and her main comment was "hmm, that's not very african." no kidding, have you taken a look at me lately?

Finally got an internship. It's with a phenomenal group called AcDev - Action and Development, which does a whole host of activities centered around nutrition and lowering child mortality. So we have cooking classes to show how to make traditional foods more nutritious, lessons on what foods provide what vitamins, weigh munchkins, and give vitamin a suppliments and vaccinations to the munchkins too. It's exactly what I was looking for and I've already learned a lot in the three days I've worked there. Gonna try and volunteer with the GBGM also with a bit of the rest of the free time which I apparently have too much of.

Eating well now that Ramadan is over. Much happier with my mid-day bonbon.

Bigger stuff: not going to Ecuador next semester, gonna finish up school and work some. I spend a fair amount of time every day now day dreaming about what could happen next year. It ranges from making money next semester and going back to Ecuador on my own bill for the summer and fall, to joining up with a trappist monastary in belgium and learning how to make the world's best beer while studying for GRE/MCAT, to sending out a couple of ads and interviewing folks to try and make something out of the farm...

Who knows?

Why are you speaking wolof? Do you want to be Senegalese?

2005-11-12T05:48:00.000-08:00

Give me money!
Originally uploaded by Mikey Holmes.

Hmmm... good question. Before I jump into another entry I should probably mention how busy I've been or some other easily forgivable excuse for why I haven't written lately. I guess I have been busy, but I've been really tired too. Lots of things have changed but most things have stayed the same. I guess that's how it usually goes huh?

So... why am i speaking wolof and do I want to be Senegalese? These were the questions these two munchkins asked beth and I when we were visiting Isle de Goree. It was a bit nutty of a time to come since it was Korite, or the festival for the end of Ramadan. Which, everyone makes a huge deal about but really it's mostly eating with their families and visiting friends to say baal ma, or excuse me. This is to ask for forgiveness for transgressions for the past year, even the ones that were too small or uncomfortable to discuss openly. It's really a fantastic day and reminds me a lot of Thanksgiving.

To prepare, I went out a bought a boubou with my brother and some of these funny pointy turkish slippers and borrowed me pop's gray fez. Pictures will come soon.

For the rest of the weekend we went to Goree like i said, and spoke with some of the Baay Fall that live there about Amadou Bamba. Will post the paper I wrote about the movement pretty soon - I keep talking about the Baay Fall and not describing them... Beth and I also visited a great beach, had some tea with Stephanie's friends and made some music on the patio on the roof as bats flew overhead.

Anyway, it was great to get to share what has been my home for the past three months with someone in person, since there's so much that can't really be communicated. Also, it was really comforting to visit with a bit of home, which Beth definitely is.

Jamm ak xeewel ~ peace and luck

Getting a glimpse of Senegal outside Dakar

2005-10-13T11:18:00.000-07:00

Just for the Blog...
Originally uploaded by Mikey Holmes.

Stephanie and I are getting our plans and things together for fall break.

Saturday morning, the plan is to make our way to the sept-place station. These are station wagons cleverly named sept-places because of their seven-places. We'll pack our hiking packs with a bit of food and water, sleeping sacks and water filters plus a few extras. Then, around 6 or 7 in the am, score a couple seats and wait for the other 5 to fill up.

We'll take the first trip to Tamba counda, then depending on how we feel, down to Kedougou, a base town for hiking and biking in the "lush and mountainous" southeast. We'll just have to wait and see how big a misnomer that is.

There's not much to know about the area as the Lonely Planet isn't incredibly helpful and the internet isn't much better either for details. The general advice seems to be "just get down there, hike a bit, stay with some families, bring lots of cola nuts and have a good time." So, that's what we'll do. Sometimes this type of nonchalance can be tough to accept, but really - what good are plans anyway? They become more and more useless the less and less predictable limiting factors are (like roads, bike availability, etc.).

One definite about our plans is stopping by the Peace Corps house in Kedougou, where the volunteers in the area are based. We're hoping to meet some cool folks, get their take on the program and maybe find some lesser-known bits of the area.

Some other hopes for the trip are to run into the Bissai, a group that's still completely animist and a two-day hike to the border with Guinea. It's through the mountains and there's no official border post - just like the Sound of Music. I should google that line to see how many other folks have made that connection in their travel advice...

Once we're broken in from this trip, I'm hoping we'll all have a taste for domestic travel in Senegal and can make our way up to St. Louis, down to the Cassamance and maybe sneak into The Gambia.

Burning the Flesh

2005-10-11T07:02:00.000-07:00

Burning the flesh. There are a number of reasons why muslims fast for Ramadan but the original meaning of the word, burning the flesh, suggests a sort of self-destruct. Hopefully encouraging renewal. Muslims hold true that it is through the flesh that one is tempted - thus it is through a deliberate denial of the flesh that one is cleansed. Denial of the flesh - that's one thing, but burning...

Why fast? Like any other question, it has plenty of answers. Especially here. Some say that the Prophet Muhammed spent time wandering in the desert near Medina, an Oasis town in Saudi Arabia that he called home. And it was while the Prophet himself was wandering, fasting and burning during the lunar month of Ramadan that the Qu'ran was revealed. Some fast to remember that time in the wilderness like Jesus's temptation remembered during lent.

I was talking to my brother Boga, the 30-something divorcee that has plenty of insight into islam and the life of a baay fall. I was explaining that when I've fasted in the states I haven't really gotten up for the morning meal and prayers and was wondering about his experience. He said that it depends for him since he doesn't really eat much any way, but on top of practicality, he says that Senegalese get up in the morning to fill their tummies - otherwise, it leaves too much room for jinnies, or naughty spirits, to sneak in.

Every morning I get up at 5 and go get a baguette or two from the boulangerie just down the road, making my way through the other half-asleep zombies stumbling along to the calls from the mosque megaphone. The getting up isn't hard - what is hard is the cold, peppery T-BONE STEAK that my mom here served the first morning, let me remind you, 5 am. I ate what I could and without event or complaint hoping to forget it. Little did I know the steak would be back. The next morning what I couldn't eat was back on the plate with friends - what looked like the bits that my brothers and sister couldn't eat either. I stuck to bread that day. Day three, more steak. Day four, no steak, just bread served with a bit of relief. Day five no steak, but opens the breakfast pot and there's all the bones from the days before, um... does she want me to suck the marrow? It's become my little joke - one you have to have with yourself - she offered the same bones again this morning, but bread will do me fine thanks.

In reality, I really like the fast a lot, it's my 4th year and it's become really important to me. I've never done anything that's quite as thorough a behavior check - food, drink, words etc. Plus, after noon every day the emptiness is strangely centering and compelling to prayer. It's easier to bow and pray and harder to get up and do something else.

Mommy wow, I'm a Marabout now...

2005-10-06T11:02:00.000-07:00

Fallou Galace Mbacke
Originally uploaded by Mikey Holmes.

So when folks come to Senegal it's a habit of the locals to come up with a Senegalese name that fits you, will help you, or will honor someone like their niece. My name is Fallou Galace Mbacke, the Grandson of Cheikh Amadou Bamba Mbacke, the founder of the Mouride Islamic brotherhood. It was given by a guy I met in passing, but it's opened all sorts of doors rather unexpectedly.
For example, I was hanging out and having ataayah, the traditional tea here, with Sajo Diallo the guy that sells stuff from his cart on a main road near my 'hood. It's become a habit now, he's such a nice guy, the tea is so cheap (free), and so much goes on at this intersection that it's hard to tell what will happen next. Anyway, while we were making tea, this fellow came up and asked my name and after I told it to him, he got super excited and ran off to go get something.
After a few minutes he came back with an amulet with a picture of Fallou on it. It's got verses of the koran inside of it and special blessings to protect the wearer from harm. The one instruction that was critical to follow when using this thing was not to wear it to the bathroom because "come on he's a marabout," as the fellow pointed out.
Well, we've got another week of class and then fall break is coming up soon. I'm gonna be heading for the southeast, home to Senegal's only mountains and waterfalls. Will be taking this guy along with me.

What a week

2005-09-21T05:00:00.000-07:00

Effective Flood Control
Originally uploaded by Mikey Holmes.

Well last Friday was the fishing trip, and then the next day we got up crack o dawn and head out for Toubab Dialaw, a bit south of Dakar on the petit cote. It's a small artist community with a few amazing hostel type places and shops along an amazing beach. This was some of the best body surfing I've gotten into in a long time. The architecture is the type of fun and exciting style that is so exciting to run around and explore as a munchkin. So many hidden corners and private spaces for resting or reading - all with their own feast for the eyes. And what's more, the trees that provided the shade for the walkways were full of nests of birds that were hopping from branch to branch negotiating nesting politics.

During the day we had the option of classes of some sort. I opted for the batik fabric dying class since I'd drummed a bit before and needed something for the walls of my room, which are pretty bare. That night we ate what we could - including couscous and vegetables - glorious fiber-rich vegetables that our GI tracts had been begging and pleading to have for weeks now - and even cake with a rich chocolate sauce! After dinner we lounged a bit and enjoyed some more drumming and dancing. We then chatted with the folks that work there over tea for a couple of hours. Tea here is great. It's tastes wonderful and has such a process to it that I'll describe sometime.

The picture is of the road into Dakar which floods pretty regularly during the rainy season. After taking this back to town on Sunday I went and played frisbee with some folks at the field owned by the American Embassy. It's funny how much it felt like America to be there.

Well, it develops that while I was gone my oldest brother's wife had a daughter! This of course means that this coming Sunday there will be a baptism - so now we're gonna have to find a goat to sacrifice for the naming of the munchkin. And on top of that, the maid quit yesterday so the whole family has just been exhausted.

This Saturday I'm going out again with the fishing guys - wish me luck!

A few notes and quotes

2005-09-21T04:43:00.000-07:00

Archway to the beach
Originally uploaded by Mikey Holmes.

"So... anyone else notice our french teacher has six fingers?"

"Oooh, this one looks good. Granted, the first ingredient is lard, but we can look past that."

"Well the thing about genetics is that it all comes out in the wash."

"On the way back, the waves will be twice as high because of the wind. See how every one else has gone back already?"

Some of the everyday sensory elements of living here that build on each other are the call to prayer 5 times daily, incense being burned and food being cooked in so many open places that it's hard to tell where these smells are all coming from, at night there seems to always be some sort of celebration or baptism somewhere - in the street or on a rooftop patio people are drumming or chanting together with a rhythm that builds on itself and has a life grander than sum of the contribution of each individual.

If any of you haven't had the chance to check out the links to other folks' blogs on the menu on the right, Michelle updates hers with religious regularity. She's a great writer and includes more photos.

it's time to pray wheer of fish!

2005-09-20T11:28:00.000-07:00

En Mer on the Pirogue! 023
Originally uploaded by Mikey Holmes.

For those of you who don't know, one of the parts of this program that was the strongest drawing factor was the internship component. Something I had been having limited progress with for some time - until now.

The original hope was to get my feet a bit wet with the world of food security. This is described in a number of ways in a number of different places, but it's not a new idea. At its core, it's a holisitic way (meaning they understand the complexity of this issue and are examining it from a perspective that includes anthropologists, nutritionists, economists etc) of looking at food systems (food production, aquisition and consumption) with the ultimate aim of ensuring health of people. What's especially neat is that after some decades of arguing about what nutrition means and how it should be addressed (caloric intake vs vitamin content etc) groups have been working towards preserving traditional diet but perhaps increasing the nutritional value of these traditional foods through changing or enhancing techniques at each of the three levels of food systems.

So what?

Well I had a great meet with the potato lady (she spent some time working with the international potato council that keeps seed banks of 90%+ of the world's potato breeds - now that's power) who is getting started on a slightly different project but has put me in the right direction of contacting some folks over here. If nothing else, I'm gonna hang out with her more.

So if none of the alleys that have presented themselves work out, one remains - one that may end up being the most promising.

A buddy who found her internship the second or third week that we were here was writing an article on the largest fish market in Dakar. In walking around and talking with folks, she ran into a guy that wanted to take her out on one of the traditional fishing pirogues but she didn't feel comfortable going by herself so she asked the biggest, beefiest, most-intimidating guy in the country to go with her... me.

My brother came along to double check that they were good folks before i got on and they ended up being the same sect of this brotherhood of islam so he knew they was good people.

It was amazing! We went more than 10km out in the ocean and I caught just as many fish as they did! And after telling them about being a student and wanting to learn as much as possible while i'm here, they insisted that i come out with them again and make a habit of it. Anyway, they're great buddies now and I should be learning a fair amount about fishing by line in the ocean! And, I checked it out with the folks in charge and if nothing else works out, that's gonna be my internship.

Anyway, the picture is of one of the guys' mom's cleaning table, one of the ones i caught is there on the block. She didn't want to be in the photo, so she just ducked down! you can see a bit of her blue bum just to the right of the chopping block.

Le Roi du Mermoz

2005-09-15T05:48:00.000-07:00

Moussa
Originally uploaded by Mikey Holmes.

This guy is totally in charge of my hood. He's got heart trouble so he can't run around with the other kids - and when he talks he gets this stutter from being short of breath. So instead of getting into trouble, he just keeps track of everyone else's bidness. He lives in my neighborhood with his aunt since his parents are dead and it's closer to the hospital here.

He really is a great kid and has been super patient with practicing wolof and introducing me to other folks in the area.

Just recently he's started asking if I can invite him to come back to the states. This seems to be something of an inevitable course for many relationships.

It's always tough to explain that
a) the US has tons of problems too and that politicians are corrupt everywhere.
b) life can be hard in the states too. maybe even harder since the troubles are so much more subtle. it might be easier to find a job, sure, but life can be much faster and more taxing. These folks complain about how rude and hurried the people of dakar are when compared to the rural senegalese, but they're still much more accomodating and open than your average city-dweller in the states.
c) lots of immigrants make it to the states and are truly unhappy but can't tell anyone at home since whole families usually scrounge to gather the cash to send someone. it's not cool to break the image of the states as a worker's paradise because it devalues the gift of being sent to the states and it kinda squashes a bit of the hope and dream that a lot of folks still hold in the states.

so in the mean time i'll just keep dodging his hints and talk about food instead :-)

Ndank ndank mooy japp golo ci naay

2005-09-01T10:08:00.000-07:00

Ndank ndank mooy japp golo ci naay ~ slowly, slowly one catches the monkey in the bush. This of course meaning step by step one accomplishes one's goal. I myself would like to catch a monkey, but I'm not so sure they have those around here. Lots of geckos and iguanas though. Not to mention the bats. Well, maybe I should mention the bats.

The bats are incredible! They're those great big fruit bats that you see on tv sometimes and every night just before the 4th call to prayer, they come to feed on the flowering baobab tree in our courtyard. Usually 4 or 5 at a time, they come in and fly away. Sometimes circling our roof-top patio that gives us such a great vantage point of their feeding. I still get a bit giddy when they come by every night - a bit like the german family (my parents hosted last spring) freaking out about all the squirrels in town. Once it starts to get closer to morning, they all fly back to their homes in the caves of the coastal cliffs.

As for the rest of my family beyond the bats, they're great too. My host dad here is a Wolof writer, editor and professor which is definitely coming in handy. We joke a lot since his English is only slightly better than my wolof - so we usually stick away from french just for kicks. The mom is great too. She's got such a fun attitude and can usually be found lounging around the house or joking with her oldest son. In total, they have 5 children, 4 guys and a lady ranging from 16 to mid-30s. Everyone lives at home of course.

Skip following paragraph if not interested in family details -
oldest son - Pape has lived in paris for the last 15 years or so working on his PhD in computer science so he's completely westernized. at meal times no one is supposed to talk, touch food with the left hand or look up, but the first night i ate with him he was chattin' it up, lookin around and passing food with the left hand. The rest of the siblings don't like him because he's given himself the authority to tell folks how to live even though he's never in town except for the rare vactation.
second oldest son - Cledor is a divorced, 32 year-old Baay fall. He has a daughter from that marriage that has only come to see him 3 times. As for being a Baay fall, this is a group within the Mauride brotherhood of Islam that are kinda like Rastas. I'll post something about them later, these guys are really interesting folks. He studied law, but teaches high school now because he doesn't want to be a judge since that's too serious of a gig.
daughter - Bijou didn't talk to me at first, but apparently that's a sign of respect? And I thought she might hate me because she and the third oldest son were screaming at each other and dropping my name a bit, but apparently my Wolof teacher thinks this means she likes me... Hmm... She has actually gotten nicer as time has passed... We'll just have to see.
third oldest son - Soer teaches munchkins in elementary school. He's a bit thugged out, but loves kids so it's clear that he's a good guy and has a taste for simplicity. We get along pretty well which is good since we probably hang out together the most. Judging from the direction a number of our conversations take, it seems that one of their main motivations for hosting a student was to show them that life is much harder in Africa than in the states... I'm not gonna say they're preaching to the choir, I'm just hoping they'll pick up some of my feelings about this stuff so they can see a bit more of the complexities that are in the layers of folks from the states.
youngest son - Makxo didn't really talk to me either at first but now we're buddies. This is good. He's the same age as boy and really likes video games.

En Ville

2005-08-30T07:25:00.000-07:00

Downtown Dakar is quite the happening place. The streets are much more packed than what you can see here on the left, especially when we're walking around. Merchants flock over and follow for what can end up being hours.

One thing i've noticed is a lot more hostility towards folks like us when we decline to buy anything. We were taking a walking tour of down town and when we came to the craft market, a number of artisans approached. When we said we were just looking but would be back in french, they responded in english "you're not going to buy anything?" "get out of here if you're not buying anything!" Not exactly welcoming. But understandible all the same - a bit of a tease when these guys are working so hard and very likely have to pay a bit of money to be on that street.

It's also funny to watch other folks' wanderings in markets. Some have never been in an environment anything like this and feel a need to apologize for not buying anything and others completely ignore everyone.

Anyway, markets are always a great time - such a reliably exhausting sensory explosion.

Il pleut

2005-08-29T15:59:00.000-07:00

It's the rainy season here in Senegal. There’s a couple of bouts a week at least where the sky goes from partly cloudy to dark velvet gray to oops I’m wet all over. I guess a bit like a distracted munchkin that wets its pants. That’s the sky in Senegal these days.

But that’s okay! It’s just more time to hang out with my host family or other students. Both of whom by the way are great. They’ve both got dynamics that are taking a lot of getting used to.

With the family, I’m the youngest and I think that’s probably much more of an adjustment than the cultural stuff. I mean, sure we eat on the floor – sometimes with our hands – don’t exactly use toilet paper, stay out regularly well past 3 or 4 in the am (everybody except me I promise, it’s been exhausting so far keeping up with conversation), and speak one of two languages that isn’t English. But I’m really quite used to there being someone younger than me. Other notes about the family… we live on this great neighborhood courtyard that appears after a stroll down a robo-sketchy alley (it develops the graffiti on the walls along the path was all done by my brother).

As for the other students, I’m one of two guys out of some 30 odd kids on the program and this hasn’t exactly been easy. I've always been interested in the way that groups work out some sort of organization to them. But some of these girls were really nasty to each other. Very quick to say things about people that they didn't even know. I think it's much more the type of cut-downs fashioned to build each other up than to really criticize folks' character, but it still makes me kinda shut down. It's okay, getting better as time goes on. It's such a small group that being exclusive is its own punishment.

Hut yo mouth

2005-08-28T21:12:00.000-07:00

We had the day off so a bunch of kids got together and made for the beach. I'm not exactly sure about them for 3 reasons:

a) there are flies that hang out in the sand so if you lay directly on the sand for an extended period they crawl into you and lay eggs, which end up being these huge boils.

b) during my oral french placement exam, the one place the guy said should be completely forbidden was the beach.

c) most families will give a sketchy reaction if they know you're going to the beach, because that's where a bunch of folks sit around and smoke and hollar at women. It's also a bit Nak jom, which is a cultural expression I'll explain sometime.

Anyway, taking all of this into account, it's still the beach, and they have some of the best waves i've ever seen here. Too much to miss. I still didn't swim this time since I wanted to check it out first, but I can tell it's a good group since lots of folks wanted to drag me in.

The only down side to going out ended up being the taxi ride home. Everyone but me was getting out at once, but I live in a different neighborhood so we negotiated a price to my part of town. But once we were halfway there, the sleezemonster of a taxi driver decided that the ride was over. After a lengthy exchange, and after reminding him that we had an arrangement and that if he wanted to break the arrangement, then I would take my money. That helped to drive the point home, and me too eventually.

Asalaam-maalekum

2005-08-23T07:25:00.000-07:00

Everything has been great so far. They call this the honeymoon phase of studying/living abroad when everything is new. The next phases on the list are hostility and humor. Hmm...

Mangos are in season here and are quite fresh and juicy. Some of the most fun and messy fruit I've ever eaten :-)

We started Wolof classes today and have our french placement test this afternoon before we start sometime next week I think. Wolof is a lot of fun the way it bounces out of the mouth. Lots of r, n, g and k sounds and with all of that together it's kinda like saying spring a lot. Plus the direct translations are all a treat. Greetings have a huge process to them going through "where/how are you," "I am here only," "where is your family," "they are there only," "is anybody sick," "no, god be praised," "did your evening pass with peace," "peace only," "are you working," "yes, god be praised." etc. etc. etc. It's quite a trip because the teacher doesn't really speak english, only french but luckily that's come back very quickly. It's still a bit like throwing my head in a blender, which actually is quite fun and refreshing. I haven't been stimulated this much in a long time, kinda like clearing out cobwebs in the brain.

My roommate is fantastic - good thing since he's the only other guy on the program. All the girls are pretty cool too, a good mix of interests and folks that have or haven't travelled. Everyone on the streets loves talking to Americans since we aren't french and the teachers are some of the most fun and engaging profs i've had in a while. Very refreshing.

My main story for today is one that kinda haunts me a bit. Last night a guy approached us that was diabetic and had a high sugar level. It'd be one thing for this to happen in the states because it's easier to brush these guys off or get insulin from the hospital. But here there's somehting of an insulin shortage and it's really pricey. Like $100 per pack of doses. Folks with diabetes are supposedly not given visas to come because of this issue.

Anyway, he had all of the equipment and took his blood sugar level right in front of us and showed us the book that goes with his equipment and it was clearly ridiculously, well dangerously high. I have pretty limited knowledge of diabetes, but it sounded like it was pretty pressing, and he was clearly very distressed. He had been to two hospitals and a diabetes clinic and there wasn't any free insulin available like there is from time to time (didn't realize the lion's club did neat things like give insulin to folks here). But we walked with him to the pharmacy to see what we could do but this was before we knew how much it was going to cost. It wasn't until we had spent half an hour with this guy that it was apparent we didn't have anywhere near enough money.

So then we were really pressed ourselves. He clearly had a problem, and we were clearly much better off than he was. The easiest solution would have been to walk back to the dorms and talk to folks about splitting the cost. But it was really psychologically and emotionally grinding to talk with this guy since he was in such a bad way and we weren't up for shoving that on the other kids in the program. So we talked to a couple of kids that were in an internet cafe and rounded up some cash - roughly %70 of what he needed and wished him luck and went to dinner. Relief set in so quickly after walking away from him - it was surprisingly easy to forget about him and make ourselves feel like we'd done all that we could even though we hadn't and if he didn't get the insluin soon he was gonna be in a bad way.

Then once we got back and eating dinner, he was outside again looking for the other %30 from the other kids. He understood that we didn't feel comfortable asking everyone else but he really needed that other bit of cash. Well, we eventually got the cash since everyone else was already worried about him and were going to walk back to the pharmacy with him since he insisted on injecting the stuff in front of us to proove he wasn't using it for something else, but we figured out the pharmacy was closed. Now what? Well we talked with some of the folks around and they mentioned there's a pharmacy just down the road, so after insisting that we really did trust him at this point and didn't feel like taking a ride on the bus and he really didn't have to leave something for collatoral so he would have to come back and thank us, we said our farewells and bon chances and sent him on his way.

It's tough to make yourself help someone like that. He was well dressed but it's so impossible to trust anyone that it took an hour for us to really see what a mess he was in. It's not like he was gonna be getting off on insulin, and he was clearly in pain. But in spite of these obvious signals it felt more normal to give the money to an organization to redistribute the funds instead of a direct gift - one that wouldn't have the loss of administrative cost. More of how removed we are from tough choices in the states. We hide our garbage, homeless and sick. Hopefully this kind of thing won't happen all the time.

New and Improved... Biobeer

2005-08-20T15:05:00.000-07:00

So today was mainly getting ready to leave tomorrow. I had to stay the night in Brussels to make sure I can get up to the airport in time, but I decided to hope over to Leveun for dinner. I can't stress enough what a cool city it was. It's where the university is so it's got that great college-town vibe mixed with some of the oldest architecture around. Apparently some of the larger buildings were spared in the two W-Ws. Might be my favorite town in Belgium. Even if I did get lost on the way. I kinda missed my stop on the train and rode an extra 40 minutes in the wrong direction. The conductor types were very sweet to redirect me... in french. But it worked out all right. It seems to vary day-to-day depending on what I'm wearing what language folks decide to address me in. I was wearing french today :-)

Anyway, I sat on the square in front of the building to the right and had a Westmalle, a great trappist ale and chocolate crepes with ice cream. The ladies sitting next to me were laughing at how ridiculous my meal was, but it was good. Really good.

I decided I'd need some real food in me so I hit the street recommended by the guide given by the brewmaster at Ommegang breweries. Found this place called Greenway which may or may not be a chain but they had a great spinach burger and organic beer.

The night before I sat in a great pub in Brugges and eavesdropped on all the folks that blew through. There was a fantastic couple that I got to chatting with that had been married for 53 years. They were having such a great time together the whole place seemed to be glancing over with either a sort of personal hope for their own or a memory of others like them.

Leave for Senegal tomorrow! The idea still hasn't quite begun to turn on in my head. Reading a great Senegalese book right now that's turning out to be one of my all-time favorites. Check out Ambiguous Adventure if you don't have anything to read these days.

Love you all

Oh yeah, I used to do that a lot...

2005-08-20T00:57:00.000-07:00

This might be an excuse for say... singing row row row your boat one too many times, or even slurping one´s drink a little too loudly. I used to do that a lot, however, is no excuse for wetting the bed.

And therein lies the disadvantage of staying in a dorm-style hostel. You can´t control who is sleeping above you. Luckily, I wasn´t the one who was peed on, nor was i the one doing the peeing. And to be fair, the wettee was really quite reasonable with the wetter - especially considering it was 4 in the morning and the wetter had been snoring like it was his job for 2 hours before his body decided to be `pee carefree.´ But, in his possibly drunken haze, the wetter was unable to produce a better excuse than oh yeah, i used to do that a lot.

Anyway, everything is going well over here. It´s so much fun, kinda like hanging out in brick store pub for four days with a 75% discount. Am gonna try to bust into a trappist monastery today, wish me luck!

Oh Captain, My Captain!

2005-08-10T23:48:00.000-07:00

8/10/05 Atlanta, GA to Beaufort, SC to Atlanta, GA

Alright, this entry is a bit out of the ordinary. You may be tempted not to believe what’s coming, but we assure you it’s all true. Even better, if you doubt any of it, we encourage you to go and talk with Robert Brooks to see for yourself. He might like the company.

So just before we left for our trip I ran into a group of friends that had just gotten back from their own road trip, and the first stop they made was in Beaufort, SC. 288 miles directly east of Atlanta. They went to Beaufort to visit with a friend Alex Brooks’s dad’s cousin, Robert Brooks. They went to make the acquaintance of the real Captain Morgan.

It’s true. The man claims his mother’s maiden name of Morgan and the family line that can be traced back directly to a Dutch Buccaneer Captain Morgan. And apparently some time in the mid-eighties the makers of Captain Morgan’s spiced rum took his photograph and rendered the illustration that haunts so many boozers across the nation. He still has the costume and everything from when they put him on a promotional tour across South Carolina.

But the fact that he was a real-life pirate who employed Arrgghs in casual conversation was just the beginning of the richness of this guy’s character.

We made our way back to his house by way of a long series of turns, passing signs issuing warnings like “pavement ends,” and sleepy oaks and willows partnered with spanish moss generously doling out shade to the tepid South Carolina summer afternoon.

A few years back in an accident with a lighter he lost the end of his left index finger, which he happily caps with a metal hook on special occasions. The explosion also cost him the skin on his thumb, which was remedied by a surprisingly common procedure of sewing the damaged area to the chest and then ripping the thumb off once it’s healed. The issue with the Captain’s thumb though, is that when they ripped his thumb from his chest, it took some hair follicles with it. The man totally has chest hair growing from his thumb!

He’s also alarmingly well-armed. The Captain is insured for $70,000 worth of firearms – most of them collectors items that I couldn’t begin to list hear. In addition, he has a home-made trebuchet and a cannon which he uses to trade fire with the Governor of South Carolina on a regular basis. Not to worry, he’s got a fully functioning air-raid siren that he uses to warn the neighbors before he ever fires.

To pass the hours he also invented tree-bowling, a sport involving a stone suspended from a tree that’s swung with the aim of knocking down a two-liter bottle filled with water on the third backswing.

The longer we spoke with the Captain, it became increasingly clear how genuinely lonely he was. He had followed his dream and was living on his family’s land, sewing canvas for sails like his grandfather had done. Yet I couldn’t help but imagine myself in his shoes and how 17 years of living in a house by myself in the South Carolina Low Country would wear on me. A bit chilling not unlike the feeling one gets if you accidentally start to give Napoleon Dynamite any serious thought.

We eventually made our way back out to the car by way of a number of warm and heart-felt goodbyes and booked it back to Atlanta trying the whole way back to debrief a bit and process what we’d just been through.

Drink, Sleep and meet Randy

2005-08-06T22:46:00.000-07:00

8/6/05 New York, NY to Cooperstown, NY

This morning we slept in, since our most tentatively scheduled interview fell through. We totally needed the rest, since we’d been taking full advantage of the New York City nightlife, which tricks you into thinking that it is not actually that late, even though it’s 5am and only about six hours away from the next interview.

We grabbed some pizza from the corner store and tripped just up the road to the obviously superior portal out of the city, the George Washington Bridge. We’ve learned our lesson about the traffic to the Holland tunnel, and won’t be taking that again. The no-stress Saturday drive up to Cooperstown we had anticipated proved mostly true, minus the Land-Rovers-on-vacation that seemed to be crowding Interstate 87. I wondered how many stockbrokers sat anxiously at their steering wheels, convincing themselves against reason that they were going on a damn vacation, and that they were going to HAVE A DAMN GOOD TIME. Joke’s on them though. I’ve got a hatchback civic strapped to my ass that some folks refer to as the roller-skate. I know exactly where I stand, and it ain’t on Wall Street.

The rural drive through the Catskill Mountains is one of most picturesque I have ever taken, and since the sun was shining, everything looked even more like a Winslow Homer painting, complete with black and white spotted cows. The 228 mile drive takes between four and five hours, putting us into Ommegang Brewery at about 6pm. Although we’d missed our appointment (by several hours) and Brewmaster Randy Thiel had to leave for dinner, he graciously gave us squatter’s rights, offering to let us camp for the night on the property. We were thrilled, since we weren’t sure when we were going to have the opportunity to camp again, and eagerly accepted the accommodations as well as the two bottles of delicious beer he said would keep us warm.

We spent the rest of the night regrouping (we hadn’t put ice in our cooler since the beginning of the week, so we desperately needed to throw out the Havarti in there and clean off the beer bottles it had oozed onto) and talking around the campfire Mike built.

A Conspiracy of Jews

2005-08-02T23:53:00.000-07:00

8/2/05 Washington, D.C.

Interview with Bob Boilen, and Jerry terHorst

Our meeting with Bob Boilen, director of All Things Considered and All Songs Considered, was set up for 2:00 in the pm so we had a bit of time to tool around the capitol. Of course, it develops that it takes half an hour at least to get from one place to another in the District, even if it looks like it’s just across the street. Something about confusing and thereby stymieing any potential invaders… So after riding the metro into town, walking down the mall and inquiring at the National Gallery of Art about the giant shrine made completely from tin foil it was already time to grab a bite to eat on our way to NPR. It was a bit disappointing because the shrine wasn’t actually at the National Gallery of Art anyway, and the building that housed it was closed for renovations. We had a bit of that feeling like one can only imagine Mario felt after discovering that the princess was in another castle. Poo face.

Bob came out to meet us once we got to NPR and though I generally have no appreciation for celebrity, I couldn’t help but get giddy about meeting Bob Boilen. I mean, this was Bob Boilen. How many nights had I tempted the fates by listening to that classic NPR voice late at night while trying to stay awake and write papers? And here he was, only completely welcoming and, well, interactive. He gave us a great tour of the place and after his great words of wisdom (he started early in his career with music, at one point putting together a piece that was using state-of-the-art synthesizers to summarize the whole of music from the beginning of time till the end of time) we got to see a live taping of All Things Considered. I don’t know how I was able to sleep that night after all that adrenaline pumping from walking around NPR - perhaps better known by writer David Sedaris’ characterization as “a conspiracy of jews.” Let’s take a moment and reflect on our own favorite NPR moments. Ahh…

Well, after we left NPR we drove back to Alexandria and made our way to Jerry terHorst’s home. Mr. terHorst was, among many other jobs in the press, press secretary for Gerald Ford, but resigned shortly after Nixon was pardoned. A short tour, but an interesting fellow nonetheless. It was great to have the balancing perspective of this guy who’d accomplished such a great deal with his life and was happily slowing down to retire.

The main message I took from Boilen and terHorst is to watch out for Guardian Angels. The folks that are the shakers or guides in our lives that provide a surprising amount of aid or encouragement to push beyond what was previously possible or outside the realm of possibility. Unfortunately our camera battery died shortly after sitting down with terHorst, we had no time to recharge after leaving Boilen’s office. But he told a story about a school teacher that stopped several times every week to talk about his life and ended up working out a scholarship for Mr. terHorst to go to journalism school.

We were pooped so we headed back to Gretchen and Tim’s apartment for some R+R for the next day’s bumming around town.

Just Go!

2005-08-01T22:19:00.000-07:00

8/1/05 Atlanta, GA to Washington, D.C.

After staying up late chatting with buddies that had just gotten back from a Palestinian solidarity conference and pretending to look at the map for the next day, we gave up and went to bed. So – first thing Monday morning the road was ours. Well, kind of. That is to say that it was ours after getting up a bit late, cleaning the car, packing the car, icing down the homebrew beer, stopping to buy groceries, then to buy a radio adapter for the iPod (insurance for our sanity and friendship), picking up the camera from school, and finally hitting the road… and then stopping for lunch. We really had every intention of starting out first thing in the morning… Honestly we did. But already the road was lending itself to metaphor. Here we were with this batch of new experiences and new relationships and new dynamics of old relationships rolling our way - but this seemingly infinite number of minor logistics were compounding to block our path.

Well, once we hit the road we plodded along the 653 mile trek up Interstate 85 through South Carolina, North Carolina, Virginia and finally up to Alexandria, VA without much event, calling to touch base with Bob Boilen of NPR and Jerry terHorst for the next day’s interviews – our first of the trip. We pulled in to our recently married friends Tim and Gretchen Fry’s new apartment in Alexandria sometime after midnight.

A rose by another name

2005-07-07T18:24:00.000-07:00

Two other volunteers and I spent today working in a rose plantation. Rose production is one of the biggest industries here because of the ideal, regular climate but its kinda rocking the culture in a lot of ways. Heres the three main complaints:

1) Chemicals. To get huge roses, they use huge doses of fertilizer and pesticides which some apply at night and others just rotate greenhouses while folks are doing the fumigation thing. Its especially nasty because of the long hours folks work, theres no way to avoid a huge exposure to these toxins. Small anecdote - a flower plantation opened just up the hill from my host familys farm. Not a problem, except for they recommended feeding the animals plants that had been treated with all of these chemicals because it would make the animals larger (more meat) and produce more milk. This was true, but it was also true that after eating this stuff for a while, the milk and meat from these animals tasted like the toxins from the plantation. Not just funny, but tasted exactly like the chemicals. High dose. Creepy.

2) Water. These plantations use huge amounts of water. The U.S. and a lot of Western countries are strangely lucky to have as great of access to water as we have but the rest of the world isnt. So when you have a gravity-based irrigation system when water flows down the hill from farm to farm, with the flower plantations at the top of the hill, theyre in charge as to who gets water, how much and when. We couldnt water our tree saplings for a couple of days because even with a resevoir, the flow to refill the resevoir had been stopped. Also, these guys pay the same amount as community members for water access - something like a couple of dollars every three months. Kinda crappy when considering what theyre costing the communites.

3) Community breakdown. All communities in the campo (the country) require mingas or community work every so often (usually once every couple of weeks) for communal farming, irrigation maintenance etc. They also require weekly meetings to cover important issues. If a community member cant make it and cant find a replacement, they have to pay a fine. So what happens is all of these folks with flower jobs would much rather work in the plantations for those hours and pay a fine than miss work. So now lots of community stuff gets left by the wayside, and some councils have completely fallen apart because of lack of attendance.

Anyway, we worked in one of these places for a day and that was plenty. We got free lunch and a polite explanation of how every thing works and the benefits the workers get on top of hourly wage (which is crappy by the way). But during lunch we talked to some of the folks working there and everyone seemed slightly ashamed of working there, none of their families wanted them there. Just had a creepy vibe.

Anyway, this is where lots of flowers come from so maybe a homemade card or potted plant is a better gift for next time?

Chicha!

2005-07-01T08:06:00.000-07:00

So theyve got this traditional drink here called chicha. And for those of you who havent heard of it, its fermented corn juice and in different places they add some other ingredients for variety. Its actually yellow, but the picture at the right is of a woman from peru who has added strawberries.

I know what youre thinking - fermented corn juice, how bad could that be? We drink fermented malted barley all the time. Oh no, they start the fermentation process by chewing the corn kernels and then spit into big buckets.

Everybody has this stuff and they keep it in all sorts of containers, from huge 10 gallon gas cans to fmall sand pails for distribution. It doesnt seem to ever run out and theyve been drinking it all day straight for the last 3 days.

For me its kinda fun like gambling to have a sip. Theyre so pushy, they know that I probably shouldnt drink it and once they find that out they always back off but someone new always wanders in that doesnt know the rules and insists on my having some.

Great stuff.

A few cultural notes

2005-07-01T07:40:00.000-07:00

So I was trying to think on the bus ride in to Cayambe this morning what would be the best way to incorporate some of the smaller things that make this place different and fun, but there seemed to be enough to stand on their own. Here goes -

For some reason whining never becomes unpopular here. All the women use this strange whiney voice whenever they have the groups attention and something is slightly wrong or they need a favor. Its kinda cute, but also pretty ridiculous. Last night I sat at my host grandmothers house and a bunch of the sisters just sat around whining for something like 4 hours. Remarkable!

Drinking is frequent but in small doeses during the fiesta season. Its hard to explain. Everyone here has a pretty low tolerance, but its custom to drink loads of this stuff called chicha (see entry on chicha) - but only sips at a time. And in the middle of these fiestas, theres tons of folks walking around with bottles of liquor that they pour in those little cups they have at the dentists office for rinsing out your mouth. No where near full shots. The funny thing is that its the job of the person giving out the drinks to be unbelievably pushy - and ive seen pushy. Its customary to have a bit of a discussion back and forth about why you should or shouldnt drink and then at the end you can at least make the person giving the drink suffer a bit by insisting that they drink first. What fun.

Everythings smaller. Okay, Im big. Ill admit that. But its become difficult a couple of times. Ive hit my head on the cielings of stores, buses, bathrooms, guinea pig stables and random overhanging poles. Legroom is a problem with legroom too. There was one bathroom in Quito that I couldnt figure out how anyone could have sat the correct way on these things. Honestly, there couldnt have been more than 4 inches between the edge of the seat and the wall. So, when in ecuador...

Everyone loves the 80s. I didnt bring an iPod because i thought it might be a bit more immersive to listen to their music. But mostly theyve just managed to pick the worst of our dark past and broadcast it 24/7 across the nation.

Every Friday theres a huge line outside every bank of all the workers from the flower plantations. Its an interesting cross section of all the folks that work in these horrible places. Will write more about these things.

San Pedro

2005-06-30T08:27:00.000-07:00

So the past two days have been unbelievable.

The Fiesta de San Pedro starts with a night of dancing, drinking and eating with various groups from the Tabacundo area starting around 7 and going until 4 in the morning.

Anyway, Stuart, the volunteer coordinator worked out a bunch of us hooking up with a group, the Tocadores del Sol.

After a week and a half of motorcycling back and forth between my host familys house and guitar practice, our traditional singing/dancing group was ready for the big night. Although Ill have to say that no one really bothers to tune their guitars with any degree of precision so it ends up being these phenomenal strong voices over a bit of dischord - not unlike serving a beautiful filet mignon over crumbled saltines - mmm. With trago and chicha in hand, we stumbled along the street singing the same song for 9 hours. Making tons of new drunk friends that will love us forever or at least until they sober up.

Many more details im leaving out but dont have time im afraid. Much love!

Toro

2005-06-22T12:35:00.000-07:00

i got up this morning to help my family with the days work cutting alfalfa to feed the guinea pigs they farm here (a local delicacy i hope to have before long). the grandmother has a face thats so wrinkled, it boggles the mind to think about where all that skin came from. the two of us went out to the field and had a lovely chat about other volunteers and the upcoming fiesta (which by the way is all anyone can talk about). the family im staying with is really quite a remarkable bunch. the woman i was working with is the mother of 7 children, most of whom have aspirations for social change. goodness knows their father was a strong enough influence. for something like 30 years he worked with five of the local communities for improvements in health, water conservation and job security.

so this guy has retired to this huge plot of land neighboring a rose plantation where hes set up a very complex irrigation system, redirected with patches of sod stuck in these deep channels that cut through the ground. anyway, while we were cutting alfalfa, which by the way is not unlike cutting a field of grass with a pair of scissors, the old lady walked off for a bit to grab something and mentioned rather matter-of-factly "toro" before leaving the field. this of course means bull in spanish so i thought she was just being a sweet old lady talking to the animals that hang around the place. it wasnt but a few minutes later that two more ladies came running over the hill with the grandmother of my family walking patiently behind her. they ran right up to one of the irrigation channels and started grabbing at something. it didnt take long to figure out there was in fact a cow stuck in the channel - upside down! no lie - here was this huge beast totally incapacitated and resigned to its dismal and watery fate. it took the four of us tugging desperately at its hooves to get the damn thing out. and then once it was free it was remarkably relaxed. ive never seen an animal so nonchalant about very nearly drowning to death.

Fiesta fiesta

2005-06-19T13:39:00.000-07:00

so it develops that it happens to be the beginning of the fiesta season here. its a vestige of indigenous tradition celebrating the summer solstice. after conquest the spanish adopted the festival and changed the focus to san pedro. stuart just told me a couple of days ago that id get to be in the beginning of the fiesta and this stuff starts before dinner and goes until 5 or 6 in the morning. lots of traditional dancing and live music and old folks walking around handing out trago and chicha (the funky corn-derived chewed and spit up fermented drink... were all thinking about how good that sounds arent we?). theyre making me a traditional shirt with my name on the back, ill be renting some funky goat skin pants, and picking up another fedora (hopefully). we also picked up a charrango, a miniature guitar with strange tuning that i cant figure out yet that i hope to learn by tuesday after next. ill fit right in except for being a foot taller than everybody.

so friday i moved in with my family and had every intention of staying there that night but the brother of the father of my host family insisted on checking out one of the early fiestas in the nearby town of cayambe (city of the sun). its at the foot of the third highest peak in ecuador capped with snow. well be making a trek as far up as we can go without freezing our toes the coming weekend. anyway, we went to cayambe and started drinking around 4 and danced all night long (which is really just until 9 or 10 here). we ended up riding in the back of a busted truck back to the fundacion. once we got back, we had a great discussion with the driver about why volunteers want to come to work. needless to say, i didnt make it back to my host familys house that night.

Of trees and trago

2005-06-13T12:27:00.000-07:00

So ive been at the fundacion since last monday. ive got to admit, the way this country works is amazing. i caught a bus to tabacundo, a small village near where the fundacion is and told the driver that i needed to get off at kilometer 23. i then walked 400 meters to the compound and couldnt find anyone. after asking around with folks working in the fields i found stuart, the volunteer coordinator guy making a grand lunch of chili and rice. would definitely be sketchy if it were anywhere else, but its normal here! so great.everyone here is awesome. there is a total of something like 10 volunteers spread throughout this county and the one neighboring it. stuart is quite a character and is all about making the month the best it can be. ive been thinking lots about how this stuff could be applied elsewhere. theyre always needing more volunteers so if any of you are interested, the link is on the right toolbar.at the hacienda, i split my mealtimes between eating with stuart and with one of the families that lives in the compound. the father of the family that i eat with here is named fredemon and he insisted on giving us all trago (the local cane alcohol) on a particularly cold night. he lights it on fire to make it a bit milder and fixed three different varieties for our drinking pleasure. he makes it himself, and i started to explain about the beer making but then i remembered that i dont know any of the right words.
speaking of spanish, its funny how hit or miss understanding can be. a few times ive said i have shit instead of i have fear (dont worry it was only in a joking context, theres nothing to be afraid of here). sometimes i get so comfortable talking with folks that i forget i should be speaking in spanish and dont realize ive slipped up until i get lots of squiggly faces.
one of the main missions of this place is to encourage reforestation with local trees. they need about 1/10 of the water of the exotic eucalyptus trees that are all over the place here so theyre much better for water conservation in that regard. so we took a trip past this place called papallacta to talk with some folks that were very traditional ecuadorians. they sold us some of their llawal branches and we climbed up in the trees and sawed for about 2 hrs before taking the long winding road home. at one point we stopped and the guy driving pointed out that the rainforest was just over the mountains. what a great country!

the bear will be coming around the mountain...

2005-06-12T17:37:00.000-07:00

last night i ended up catching betsy and we went out for beers and hookah. i also got to meet her novio and some of the other kids from her program. all great folks. insisted on goodness of schwarma, a rotating pillar of meat that they carve into huge sandwiches. think its from argentina. definitely on the list for dinner tonight...

today we got up early and rode the bus for 3 hours, hopped off and hiked 3 km up to mascarilla - the african ecuadorian village where betsy (known as pepsi to them) had her internship for the past three months. it was awesome, theyve got a great community development project going with mask-making that benefits a womens group. she taught english and the whole village was ecstatic to see her again.

we had lunch (an awesome lunch, probably the highlight of the year) with betsys host mom who is the coolest cranky old lady. she broke her foot a while ago and betsy carried her on her back to the bus station!

now were off for more beer and schwarma. first thing in the morning i leave for a week of training in organic farming before i stay with a family and do the real thing for 3 weeks. already my spanish is much improved and rather useful, i cant wait to see what can happen in 4 more weeks. thinking more and more about delaying return trip home for an excursion to machu pichu. booking is a bit difficult, but theres some ways to get there that arent as cool and even if that doesnt work out, other cool ruins in the area.

while we were out getting schwarma there were a couple of travelers at the table across from us. its such a strange phenonmenon. they want to leave home, but at the same time want to seem like they are home where ever they are and shoot discriminating looks at anyone that could be a potential threat to the secrecy of their identities as travellers. theres still a lot of thinking to be done, but were certainly a group of misfits. ive been talking with a good friend about how it ruins your life in the sense that it poops on any plans for work in ones home land and makes one supremely lonely wherever one may go. even that loneliness though can become a comfort in time. certainly dovetails with question thats been bugging me of whether its better to live comfortably with folks like ones self or to go where one might be an agent of change. why americans feel like they should/can change things is a different discussion altogether. perhaps later. anyway, its bedtime for me.

love to all.

what an interesting smell youve discovered...

2005-06-11T18:26:00.000-07:00

so after yesterdays adventures, today was slightly more relaxed, though i was able to relive everything from yesterday through a variety of smells. you see, the hare krishna insisted on giving me a bunch of patchouli incense and id throw it away but the smell is simply starting to grow on me. it even added some kick to the banana bread i had in my bag which was already beginning to pick up the minty scent of my soap. mmm...

about yesterday, i also forgot to mention that when i went to see star wars, this creepy movie theater urchin that ran the place ran all around the theater squirting this bootleg water-spray bottle of bluish scented gel for our olfactoy pleasure... he may have nicked me a bit which would explain my feeling like having ridden in a taxi for hours.

im in a hostel now in quito and should be meeting betsy any minute now

what a day in peru

2005-06-11T01:22:00.000-07:00

so i had an amazing day today in lima. i got up first thing and had a really rich discussion about food and its transgenic stepchildren with a peruvian canadian transplant, a french peruvian transplant and a quebecois couple on holiday. it was a bit confusing at first as to what language would be the common demoninator but we decided on spanish. i just listened. todavia no soy demasiado vite a hablar espanol. from there i rode the bestest, most bootleg bus in the world. it was fantastic and there's so many of them. there's a guy that's paid to ride outside and yell at folks to come in, and the driver doesn't say anything. kinda like the guy that relies on the shrunken head in the 3rd Harry Potter story.from there i wandered a bunch trying to get oriented and not having any confidence in holding a map even a miniature one. but i was able to eventually find the museum of the inquisition. it was munchkin day so all the tour guides were taken, but i fit in nicely with one of the elementary groups. the kids were very curious about their new gigantic friend but we got along nicely and they helped a bit with translation.I had lunch first at a sketchy sandwich shop because i was worried about getting too cranky on my search for this vegetarian place. and then i had second lunch eventually once i found the joint. awesome food, concerned owner, kinda place i'd like to work/own if i lived here. it seemed pretty impossible to find a full meal anywhwere for more than $2 - even great local, organic food. if you could see the tears right now...from there i wandered a bunch more and rather than taking the hike to another museum since I was already a bit tired, I decided to follow the wisdom of my grandfather, the reverend charles r. williams. before the days of widespread airconditioning he'd go see a movie just for an airconditioned nap... so i saw about 1/4 of episode III of star wars for the 3rd time and in between grabbed some glorious shut-eye. again, very cheap. around $1.50 for a ticket.immediately following, it was time for dinner so i thought i'd head back to the vegetarian place when this really nice lady started talking to me. some creepy guy was with her so i was a bit sketched out but we went to a neutral meeting place for dinner and they open all drinks in front of you so no worries there. it turns out the guy was just sketchy because he's a hare krishna and the lady was nice because he had to leave early and insisted on her talking to me. he didn't leave of course without giving me patchouli incense and a lesson on happy living. we had a great time and made a munchkin beggar friend. his name is gorge. i've got pictures + video. and now i'm here. back at the hostel. i promise not to write lengthy stuff about every day, but I had a great time tonight and thought I'd get it all down.love you all,