WE Travel!

live every day

2011-04-02T17:48:00.000-07:00

How often do you go out and do those things that make you happy? How often do you stop to think how lucky your are.. or be thankful about your life? All of our lives can change in an instant. I was driving home today and heard this story on NPR's Radio Lab. I actually remained in the my car once pulled into the garage listening to the entire story.

You can listen to this heartfelt and heartbreaking story here. Emilie was run over in NYC by an 18 wheeler as she waited on the sidewalk for a light to change, one foot down as she steadied the bike she was riding to work. The truck driven by an unlicensed man turned the corner incorrectly allowing the trailer to jump the curb and roll over her.

Here's here story as listed from her website:

On the morning of Friday, October 8, 2010 Emilie Louise Gossiaux was struck by an 18-wheel semi-truck while riding her bike in Brooklyn, NY. She was rushed to Bellevue Hospital in Manhattan where trauma doctors performed emergency surgery to save her life. In addition to stroke, traumatic brain injury, and resuscitated cardiac arrest, she suffered multiple fractures in her head, pelvis, and left leg. She emerged from the ER in severely critical condition with a pessimistic assessment of her brain function. A “grim” prognosis was made of her chance for survival.

Born August 4, 1989 in New Orleans, LA, Emilie was diagnosed with moderate hearing loss at a young age due to an untreatable disorder. Her hearing deteriorated rapidly throughout her teens; a deficit that Emilie filled with a passion for visual art. She pursued her art education in high school at the New Orleans Center for Creative Arts, and, after evacuating from Hurricane Katrina in 2005, the Dreyfoos School of the Arts in West Palm Beach, FL. Emilie arrived at The Cooper Union School of Art in Manhattan, NY in 2007 for her undergraduate studies. Upon completion of her junior year in May 2010, she received cochlear implant surgery in her left ear to partially address her hearing impairment.

A month and a half after the Oct. 8 incident, Emilie's friends and family waited diligently at her bedside; she showed very few signs of mental functioning or response. Due to facial fractures, Emilie's mouth had been wired shut, a tracheostomy prevented her from speaking, and the integrity of her vision was in question. Finally in stable condition after multiple surgeries, doctors determined that Emilie was not cognitively ready for rehabilitative treatment, and should instead be transfered to a long-term nursing home facility. Although she was deaf and unable to communicate without assistive hearing devices, Emilie's boyfriend was still certain of her mental acuity and fought the hospital for her admission to rehab. By writing on her palm with his index-finger, he was able to communicate with her, proving her high-level cognitive function, and eventually coaxing her into allowing her hearing aid to be inserted. Once switched on, Emilie bounced back immediately, but not without recoil. Her memory and cognitive functioning were completely intact, but she awoke to discover that the trauma had left her blind.

Emilie was then admitted to the neurorehabilitation program at the Rusk Institute in Manhattan on Thanksgiving, where she remains today. Her outlook on recovery was set from day one. Simply happy to be living, Emilie approaches each day with positivity and thanks for the support from everyone around her. Despite her vision loss, Emilie is certain she will complete her final year at The Cooper Union, and is determined to help others by joining The Peace Corps as soon as she is able. She has many more surgeries and extensive physical therapy ahead of her. Please help Emilie begin her life again.

Emilie Louise Gossiaux is an artist, student, and survivor currently alive in New York, NY.

She needs help to cope with the medical bills too. Simply go to http://www.emiliegossiaux.com/ for more information and to Donate.

See also news article from "The New York Times," here.

Please never give up on me.
Never give up on those you love.

Korean food

2010-10-04T07:54:00.000-07:00

It's true that you can find adventure in your own backyard. On our last trip to Chicago, I was surprised by an unusual dinner in a hidden but well known Korean restaurant, San Soo Gab San at 5247 North Western Avenue, Chicago, IL‎

I was in for a treat as we ate a traditional BBQ!

Look at all those little side dishes! Who knows what each is called and for sure there were several that were not recognizable! If you like something, you have to leave a little bit in the dish so you can ask that more be brought to you as it would be impossible to explain what it was.

This is not any barbecue you've experienced.. the fire is brought to your table and they use actual wood charcoal. If it burns low, they bring you another fire! It was cold I remember and it was great having a little fire to keep us warm. I would not have had any idea on what to order, but my friend knew exactly. It's hard to tell from the menu, but you'll want the BBQ at your table.

If you're ever in Chicago and are feeling adventurous, here is a short video of the place to tempt you more :)` parking is difficult, just so you know! ..and the area so-so, leave no valuables in sight, or in the car at all really.

the next place

2010-09-11T07:57:00.000-07:00

Great acoustic version of Outsiders by Needtobreath, found on Walter Naeslund's blog.

Lately I've been thinking about my next travel adventure. It's time. I follow four marketers on line, Seth Godin, Naomi from IttyBiz, Chris Goegan, and Walter Naeslund from Stockholm, Sweden. Every time I visit Walter's blog it makes me think of visiting Sweden and well, that whole northern territory. Visions of Stockholm -as googled below -remind me of Amsterdam with their tall narrow old buildings and water throughout the city. It's so vibrant and progressive in photos and in the words of Walter's blogging. I've also been watching several films from Sweden lately via Netflix. Goofy to be sure, but an interesting cue to their culture and what's funny.

I've also long desired to kayak in the fjord's of Norway's waters taking in the grand quiet and gorgeous mountains exploring small old towns. Does this not look like a piece of heaven to you?

As autumn grasps a firm hold in the northern midwest, I'm sure it must be equally if not colder in these regions I'm dreaming of. Perhaps these are vacations better left for July 2011. Stay tuned :)~

up the river without a paddle

2010-02-26T10:03:00.000-08:00

It started simply enough. We were going to test the new engine and see if the boat would float. It was an older boat purchased for the simple pleasures of fishing and sunsets then to reap the reward of rebuilding and restoring at the end of the season.

Of course you've already guessed the end of the story lest you'd never be reading this at the moment, though less confidence was had in the thick of it.

We launched the boat into the water at the city dock as easily as one could without a rope and were delighted it didn't sink to the bottom. "It floats!" we chided each other.

holding the boat to the dock, we turned the key, but the engine didn't turn. The battery was not charged enough. Not to be discouraged, we swapped the battery with our car and it fired right up.

If you've already thought about it, yes, this did make for a rather tricky departure from the dock as both the boat and the car needed a battery then..

Out into the bay we motored, the engine while not completely trouble free provided reasonable speeds and acceleration. We ventured to the gulf to witness a most amazing sunset and toured through the mangrove maze endless with thickets, small islands, and passage ways.

We had only a tourist map of the mangrove but loved the old signs faded and overgrown with thicket announcing our unknown location. We recognized easily the tall buildings on Marco Island as we grew close.

It was getting late though and the light was fading fast.

We sped into a large bay only to circle a small island covered with many birds likely roosting for the night before we decided to turn home.

As the boat was steered a little too close to the shore, I became concerned for the shallow water and fading light. Sure enough, the muffled struggle of our propeller hitting the bottom was heard then verified by the churning of mud to the surface. Turning back to the middle of the bay offered no relief as even gunning the engine provided no progress in moving forward more than an three inches. We were in water less then three feet deep the tide going out likely upon our entrance to this bay.

We had no paddles on board and darkness was closing in. It was even more chilly since the sun had disappeared, my bathing suit never exposed but hiding under jeans, a sweater, and a light down jacket since our start. Philippe jumped in the water and pushed the boat at least 1/8 of a mile until it was just deep enough to clear the propeller.

It wasn't until after Philippe jumped back into the boat that I remembered reading about crocodiles in southwest Florida.. and became especially grateful that my offers of helping to push the boat were refused.

Thinking the worst was over, we picked our way back through the mangrove finding our way through memorized turns and trees avoiding running into the many channel markers. Closer to civilization however, we saw smoke coming out from under the engine cover!

Luckily it was just steam, the engine gauge showing too hot for our liking.

We stopped the boat every few hundred yards to let it cool, the yardage getting shorter and shorter with each jaunt, the engine growing hotter faster which each turn.

Conserving our battery while letting the engine cool and trying to avoid the current from pushing us onto a rocky shore, into a channel marker, or grounding us in shallow water, made our stalls a little stressful. Of course, at least I wasn't the one trying to fix the engine in this darkness and cold.

Two screws.

Two loose screws were the culprit of our overheating engine allowing water to stream at will outside of the engine. I'm simply amazed that these were discovered.

Clearly I was boating with a genius; albeit two smarty pants without a GPS, map, floodlight, paddles, blanket, radio, rope, nor tide charts!

Adventures don't always come to the most prepared!

away from home for the holidays

2010-01-25T08:49:00.000-08:00

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My image of a perfect holiday is that of dining at home with your closest or favorite family then relaxing in the living room all together with a drink in hand concocted ideally of egg nog and dark rum complimented perhaps with a few pfeffernusse cookies or special cakes sipping and laughing the evening away with no rush to escape.

I am lucky to spend my Christmases mostly this way. Thanksgivings too.

Sometimes they can get a little stressful though. If I am hosting the dinner, I worry about getting everything just perfect. I am usually trying out new recipes for all my dinner parties actually and I’m quite sure this adds to my madness. I also tend to wait and finish special gifts on the day and also wait to wrap them. I like to look at the gift and savor how perfect I think it is and think about how much they might like it. Although not as elaborate as I used to be, I like to pick out wrapping paper and detail the present exteriors to heighten the delight of receiving them.

Why are the holidays so stressful for most? For sure I bring upon myself the stress of gift giving, dinner preparation, and the like. There have been a few holidays where I joined my extended family without my parents and I think about the boyfriend that I’ve taken to my parents. It’s not comfortable. You are a guest and stranger to their customs as well as not a part of their intimacy. In these cases, I felt like an outsider and not welcome in spite of their efforts.

I like to include friends in my holiday celebrations because I know how it feels to be alone on a holiday and not to be invited for those special days. Of course having invitations and being able to turn them down for the comfortable solace in your own space feels just as good!

This holiday season I was away from home. I was invited by a special aunt for both Thanksgiving and Christmas. I brought with me my boyfriend and a friend of ours both far away from their own families. I know they weren’t happy to join me feeling perhaps an obligatory invite only because of me. Still, we had a lovely dinner in a very comfortable home, and my extended family poured out the love and giggles making it a very special day.

And like always, I finished their gifts in the minutes before we departed for their home.

outsourced

2009-11-20T08:42:00.000-08:00

I watched 'Outsourced' recently and found it to be an incredibly endearing film.

Have you lost your job in the last few months? In the last few years?

For Americans, corporate outsourcing has caused a lot of grief. If you were with a company when they first brought on Indian and Chinese offices, you remember well the frustration coming from these new well meaning employees that simply didn't have your training and whom you knew would ultimately be taking over your job.

Ayesha makes a good point in the film about how Americans support outsourcing: We make decisions in how we spend our money.

Are you deliberate in buying American made goods?

Granted, these days, not much is left to be manufactured in the US. Our decisions and those of corporations have driven much production outside of our borders.

Back to the movie.

Jeffcoat does a great job of plucking a less-traveled man from the comfort of American city life to the reality that is India. Granted, it is the only India I know from other movies I have watched as I have not visited personally, though it matches accounts from friends who have traveled there.

My experience leaving the Phnom Phen airport is not dissimilar to that of character, "Toad" as he peers from his tuk-tuk to the poverty and daily life a part of India's culture. His arrogance in training his new offshore office obvious and hilarious as you quickly figure out -if not before watching the film, that he would learn to appreciate and respect this new culture.

birthday get away

2009-10-28T20:28:00.000-07:00

There is a place that I love to visit, that I used to speak much about. The tourism has grown significantly because of others like me, and now I’ve decided not to reveal the place of such divine beauty and calm in that I might preserve its current state.

So it was my birthday and I not expecting too much in this state of the economy, was very surprised to be whisked away to this favorite area. It would be a new place to my boyfriend and I couldn’t wait to visit all my favorite locations. We left our computers at home and only had our cell phones for any business that would arise during our escape.

I only know the way to arrive by narrow tree lined roads whose names are surely printed on a map but none that I am aware. It takes a bit of time to reach by car and you could be tempted to stop at any beautiful place along the way. I knew right where our first stop would be. I packed a lunch from our left over goat cheese and roasted beet salad from the night before along with a bottle of wine and good bread. While it rained the entire time of our visit, my happiness and freedom would not be deterred.

We continued driving around this crystal blue green lake stopping at a place I normally put in my kayak. I insisted we walk along a riverside trail to reach the other side of a dam placed in the small river that runs to the big lake. I remember all too well of a paddle trip prior this time of year when the salmon were running; running, splashing, and slapping the sides and bottom of my kayak! If Alfred Hitchcock thought to write about fish as he did the birds, this would be his stage. We marveled at the crystal clear water and the 3 foot salmons swimming. There were so many.

After checking into the cutest bed and breakfast I know there, we drove further north to another one of my favorite secret spots. This one takes a bit of walking, but the view never disappoints. I’ve seen three shifts in the face of the dune since my first visit some eighteen years ago.

The favorite things tour was not yet over however, and we continued our drive to go wine tasting and to visit a small fishing town. There is gallery whose sculpture I adore and I love to walk on the old docks in the converted shacks shopping for sweets and savory alike. We took home smoked fish for family and a week of remembrance eating.

Of course, one cannot say their trip is complete without a drink at the famous Tavern in town. It is nothing special and perhaps the food worse, but its casual nature and memories of drinks with friends make it all it is.

The next day was spent touring some other favorite places and trying to catch the attention of the salmon. They wanted nothing to do with us.

When the rain was too heavy for fishing, I combed the beach for Petoskey stones, though only found pretty mineral pieces to burden my pockets. That my boyfriend would have the patience for this gathering and delight in my giddy rock finding was precious in itself.

VBS in Biloxi

2009-09-19T07:44:00.001-07:00

I once talked to God about becoming a nun. At the time I wasn’t Catholic but the idea didn’t sound too bad at the time. Of course, it was not to be so, and so it is ironic that I found myself sleeping in an old convent kept uncomfortably cold to ward off the grueling heat of the Mississippi summer.

I had traveled twenty hours with other women and teenagers to put on a full week of vacation bible school for this community. I know that I attended such programs as a child, though I remember none of them.

The planning had started weeks before by a friend of mine I’d met when she and her husband started organizing rebuilding trips to Biloxi immediately after hurricane Katrina. I learned not only how to drywall on one of those trips, but also how easy it is for a stranger to help another. As a stranger you aren’t stressed by the situation nor over- whelmed by everything there is to fix; you simply take on a task and then move on.

It’s terribly hot in southern Mississippi come mid July. The heat saps the energy out of your soul ex- ponentially by the minute that you’re exposed. Inside, the locals compensate by setting the air-conditioning so low that one requires a different wardrobe for each environment; not unlike a northern Midwest winter.

Children came ages four to sixteen and were divided accordingly, their maturity not always aligning with their assigned groups. The patience of our teenage volunteers – strangers not stressed by the daily lives of each child, overcame lovingly.

Both times that I’ve been a part of this program I’ve chosen to host the bible study portion of the week. It’s more black and white in preparation and allows space during the class for the kids to ask questions that might normally be brushed aside.

“What is heaven like?”

“Will I get to see my grandma in heaven?”

“Is there really a devil?”

“Are the saints like ghosts walking around?”

“How do I know my mom went to heaven?”

“What’s an atheist?”

“Why are there so many religions?”

“How do I treat people who aren’t Christians?”

The kids play games, eat food, pal around with teenagers they look to as mentors, make crafts, and giggle a lot. I don’t know what they’ll remember from the experience, but I hope they felt confidence, respect, and love for others that are different from them in addition to pondering new information for their life’s difficult questions.

big cars in small spaces

2009-08-20T07:27:00.000-07:00

There's just something about finding your own way and taking to the open road traveling cross country. I did just this in Italy one year not too long ago.

I rented by European standards a huge car: a Mercedes third row minivan. This is not an American minivan though, think half the size, but still large enough in case some won ton Italian driver side swiped me. Off I went.

I drove to the Almalfi Coast in search of the quaint mountainous towns I had seen in guide books. I was not disappointed. As I drove cautiously around hairpin turns overhanging the Mediterranean Sea, I understood: here the mountains meet the sea with surprise and I surely would as well if I was not careful. I would see a road sign often depicting a bugle circled with a red line through it. "No bugling." This wouldn't be a problem for me.

I settled into a sea view room at a tiny family run hotel in Positano with tiled floors and stucco terraces where over the course of the week, I was confided in by every member of the family including the fiance to the son about all their private matters. My favorite "meetings" of confidence held as I often crept home from being out and provided shots of cold Limoncello by the mother.

It was the day I drove down the coast exploring the towns of Almalfi, specifally Ravello that offer the most embarrassing part of my trip. Almafi went smoothly enough touring on foot their black and white cathedral, snacking on raisens wrapped in lemon leaves and buying my own bottles of Limoncello. My lunch target was Ravello as I made my way south. I saw many cars parking along the winding road leading up to the city center but as my visit would be short, I was seeking a closer spot to park. It was all going to plan until I had turn a hard right and found myself staring down a one way building lined road where an old woman on a bicycle pedaled alone turning a corner and out of site ahead. Now, I know these European villages and their one way streets. I'd be fine, I told myself.

I went forward slowly. After ten feet, the building to the left bumped out another foot narrowing this road even further. I played it safe and folded in the side mirrors. I hesitated a few seconds before pressing the accelorator. It was still a road for Pete's sake. I nudged the car a little further, but it resisted after only 10 inches. My front end was now wedged in between the buildings.

I sighed.

Face flush, I turned my head to look behind me. All I could see were four heads peeking around the corner from which I had just come, totem pole style.

In writing this story for you, I came across another traveler who experienced a similar day! Check out her post and more pictures from Almalfi!

Sierra Leone

2009-07-25T11:49:00.000-07:00

This is sort of a different post as I was inspired to write not from a travel experience, but from a film I watched recently. I attended several films at the Waterfront Film Festival this year and was deeply touched by one particular film born from tourist footage of a man's travels to Sierra Leone.

Through my travels and meeting people from all over the world I'm always reminded that while we may have different views, we are still very much the same. We love, we give, we laugh, we pray, we reach out.

My trip to Cambodia was first organized by someone else who is making a concerted effort to improve the lives of those he meets. It takes a lot of work to start something. It takes a lot of collaboration to start something that lasts.

Let's go back to Sierra Leone. Two siblings pieced together a dramatic documentary introducing us to the people of Sierra Leone, how they were impacted by their country's civil war, and how they are trying to overcome today. The film was also able to illustrate that while strangers have good intentions, they often don't follow through.

If you were to visit a third or second world country and witness their life, you would surely feel called to action. Once home however, your routine would swallow you and while your mind will drift back to the faces and daily struggles you witnessed, they will seem smaller, your guilt for haggling 50 cents for a handbag that meant $10 in their currency stinging.

Another good friend of mine took a leave of absence so to travel to Nepal and found his mission there: to help farmers unite and commercialize their much sought after herbs for teas and homeopathic medicine.

I'm so privelidged to know these people and so inspired. I encourage you to seek out the film, Pride of Lions and to check out the farmer's coalition website. Below, you can also find a few posts about my visit to the Wat Opot Orphanage. While you're at it, perhaps consider a cash donation directly to a charity that tugs at your heart. Small amounts go so far when everybody gives.

sabbatical

2009-06-15T18:17:00.000-07:00

I took a little sabbatical from posting on my blogs this past month. I'm looking forward to sharing more experiences when I return. I hope you're having a great summer!

The one that got away

2009-06-01T08:16:00.000-07:00

We had been preparing for weeks gathering just the right fly rod, a light weight standard reel, and specific lures along with trying to under- stand the complex fishing regu- lations of the state. We had been walking several rivers to pick good spots for access and to spy any unsus- pecting fish. We knew right where we wanted to go.

It was to be our first real warm weekend of the year and so that Friday night we got our all species season fishing licenses. It might as well have been our first driving license because we were so giddy about it.

Early Saturday we packed a lunch of homemade hummus, spicy tortilla chips, pulled BBQ pork, and fresh bakery bread into the cooler we would surely be bringing home fish inside. We included a few Heinekens and were good to go.

The weatherman did not disappoint and soon we were casting freely into a nice pool at a river’s bend on an empty river bank basking in the sun. Forty minutes had passed with no nibbles but we were having a great time none the less.

Then it was over.

“Scott” was outfitted in full fisherman garb: chest high waders, special vest, baseball cap, and tackle box. I notice him walking down the trail sans rod. He talks a little bit to my friend before approaching and tells me that my whole set up is wrong but that he can help. He also says he’s been fishing this hole for five years. The guy is surely 20 years our senior so we allow his sage advice out of politeness.

He is giving us instructions when our other rod gets snagged on a small limb in the bottom of the river. Scott immediately reaches for it and starts to yank while calling back to us orders on how to change my lure arrangement. He tells us to never leave a line in the water and how he’d been fishing that hole for five years.

&*$#^* C R A C K !

My friend’s rod is in two pieces; Scott with a dumbfounded surprised look on his face, now apologizing profusely. My friend goes to the water’s edge to inspect the damage and Scott pulls only on the line now to snap off the snagged portion. (Note that in our following fishing expeditions while we have infrequently snagged a limb, we’ve always been able to retrieve our line and rods intact.)

One pole down.

We’re not sure what to do next. It was an accident surely but the rod is destroyed, our fishing weekend over. Scott spies the ORVIS stamp and starts apologizing more realizing the damage to us was more than to just a $20 dollar rod. He insists on helping with the set up of my lure and we allow this as a way for him to save face. He chats away the whole time respacing my weights, moving the bobber, tying on a smaller hook, poo-pooing the orange fish egg sack we had just purchased the day prior, and telling us he’s fished this hole for five years.

Handed the pole, I am instructed to cast into a pool on the opposite river bank –where we’d been casting initially. My first two tries fall short and Scott’s impatience leads him to insist that he take my rod and do himself. I allow this out of politeness slowly passing him the rod glancing to my friend. Within a few tries Scott has landed in the pool though is allowing the lure to float too close to a downed tree and brush.

“Bring it in, bring it in, you’ll snag,” I say quickly. “Bring it closer.”

I am ignored. Within seconds he is snagged. He mumbles to himself and starts to yank on the rod to release the lure. I see second thoughts cross his face as he thinks better handing the rod to me and then yanks only on the line. He snaps the line and our lure set-up remains caught in the river.

Two poles down.

Scott insists on setting my pole back together with goods from his tackle box, but now we decline and pack up our small camp. Only ten minutes have transpired since Scott came on the scene; Scott from Pontiac wearing a red Doug’s Tree Service sweatshirt. Fishermen be weary.

winter bicycling escape

2009-05-18T07:55:00.000-07:00

“I only went out for a walk and finally concluded to stay out till sundown, for going out, I found was really going in." -John Muir, 1913.

Driving into Arizona is breathtaking in that you feel to be but a tiny spec on a very large desolate land and your views take you far away looking at only cactus and distant mountains.

The large single pillar cactus that often has arms reaching out from it, is the most interesting. I had only seen photos of such cactus before and was puzzled when I started to see them supported as if a newly planted deciduous tree along the highway. Later I learn that this Saguaro has an incredibly shallow root system and are easy to topple over. They only grow once inch per year but like the trees of the great Pacific Northwest, they grow quite old.

I drove my bicycle out to Tucson as it was the warmest place I could think of where I would find empty roads, hot sunny days, and low chance of rain in the middle of winter. I was not disappointed. I watched a few cyclists start the long journey up Mt. Lemmon, however with my Jeep struggling at most turns and signs insisting I have snow chains even though it was sunny and 70 degrees, I kept my cycling on more relatively level ground to the south and west parts of town.

Every day I rode a few times around a small eight mile loop in Saguaro National Park where I would spy many different variety of cactus and 200 year old Saguaro cacti. The loop is one way which makes it a popular place for cyclists and runners alike trying to best their time at each turn. This story could be much more interesting of course if I had experienced the many anticipated flats to my skinny bicycle tires had the rumors of sharp cactus needles on the roads bore any fruit. Of course peddaling by the many wash outs and warning signs of impending doom should it start raining 100 miles away I was surely grateful that the weather was so nice.

Grand Cayon

2009-05-04T06:47:00.000-07:00

Growing up, the Grand Canyon to me was always a place for a family vacation we would take at some later date. As I got older it became more of a joke as well as something I might do later in life with my own little family.

Then there I was driving through Arizona with a plan to ride my bicycle all over Tucson when I saw a sign that read, “Grand Canyon 40 miles”. Within a week I had picked up a friend from the Phoenix airport and we were driving north to the South Rim.

When I saw the canyon for the first time, my breath got caught in my throat. The vast distance of canyon in my view was more than my mind could compute, the colors warm with a hue of green, and an enormity that minimized my life.

John Wesley Powell, the first known explorer of the Colorado River who got through the canyon described succinctly in 1869, that “each canyon is a composite structure, a wall composed of many walls, but never a repetition. Every one of these almost innumerable gorges is a world of beauty in itself.”

Our days started out at 23 degrees with snow and we’d find ourselves basking in sunshine and 70 degrees deep within the canyon at lunch time. It was also a great reminder of choices we make in regard to food and waste. Policy or personal decision, we packed out what we brought in and thus chose to leave the canned salmon for our return snack.

This is certainly a place I yearn to return again and again during the cold months when so few people are there to be in awe of the silence, to be overwhelmed with the beauty, and to have the joy of meeting great people along the trail and having the luxury of companionship for that day. One can't help share this wondrous place, though likely we all keep its secrets hoping that in our next visit, it remains unchanged.

This last photo gives you a glimpse of how hard it is to go back.. up.

Getting lost in Amsterdam

2009-04-13T13:49:00.000-07:00

I lived in Amsterdam for four weeks in the old city. Perhaps four weeks is considered only visiting but as I was working a fair share from my hosts’ home via the internet and tele- confer- encing, helping to renovate an office space across the Het IJ, and cooking in quite often, it felt more like a home away from home. I donned a rusty beat up old bicycle and a heavy chain lock taking to the streets every day commuting like everyone else though with less importance on where I would go.

I had visited the city before and had an idea of the landscape and where I’d like to concentrate. I found a wonderful chocolatier whom I visited at least six times, a fantasical store of ribbons, a store specializing in only cheese, and of course beautiful tree lined canal streets that I found myself lost within each outing. Luckily the water is all encompassing so you can’t go very far in one direction.

"Weet u Vaer..?" and "Bedankt hoor"

These words went a long way in getting me back on track. 750,000 people live in Amsterdam and own some 600,000 bikes. Bicycling to work is the preferred means of transportation, but it’s not lycra that the professionals are wearing but suits, dressy casual attire, and yes, dresses. The bicycles aren’t going very fast perhaps 12 mph tops. Consequently I never broke a sweat, nor would you want to of course dressed for your arrival. The bicycles and cars got along much better than in the US. The bicycles have the right of way here –like in the US, however they are much more respected and treated just like any other form of traffic.

My last day in town I left the bike home and walked most every wear to visit the more famous museums. I was pretty well oriented as you can imagine however had yet to find the Oude Kerk, the old original church built when Amsterdam was first founded, in 1260. I’d seen it from a canal tour but haven’t been able to find it on the bike or on foot. Keeping my map tucked mostly inside my purse I ventured towards its general vicinity and found myself smack dab in the Red Light District. That plain clothed women dressed as myself were leaving from glass doored buildings as if done working for the day, was not a comfort to me. It was a beautiful historic part of town but I was more worried about getting out and abandoned my search for the old church. It was then I found it, realizing its grandeur as I literally walked around it!

I would definitely recommend a long layover when flying through Schiphol and taking a cab to the old city to enjoy a canal tour, visit a chocolatier, and to find yourself temporarily lost in the beautiful canal streets.

Citroens abroad

2009-04-05T16:45:00.000-07:00

One of my most favorite things to do when on vacation is to spy my favorite Citroëns and bring home the memory of them. Here are images from both France and the Netherlands. Click here for a great video on the history of this vehicle while they keep it posted.

lesson learned for traveling

2009-03-28T21:07:00.000-07:00

I found myself in the south of France celebrat- ing a friend’s wedding and wanted to explore the coast a little bit. I drove from the small town of Antibes west along the shore staying as close to the coast as possible stopping for coffee in Marseille and lunch in Mont- pellier. I toured the old castle of Carcassonne, Cathedrals of Toulouse, visited new friends in Toulouse, stayed in a wonderful little resort hidden in the hills above Nimes, and for two nights slept by the Sea in the tiny little town of Collioure.

My guide book brought me there as a special beach town not unlike St. Tropez before it got commercial. Granted, now was not the season for lying on the beach as you can tell from my photographs but it was beautiful none the less.

I had booked a hotel with my French speaking friend back in Antibes but as the day was drawing to a close and I seemed lost in the endless barrage of round-a-bouts in Perpignan, I was about to give up and seek shelter elsewhere. Sometimes my stubbornness pays off as it did that evening pushing for this hidden gem of a town taking my skeleton key from the innkeeper and walking along a narrow aisle of stone built up over rocks on the Mediterranean as the sun set. My small room only fit a tiny sink mounted to the wall, a molded chair, and a queen size bed facing the shutter like doors that took up

almost the whole wall overlooking the Sea. There were two sets of doors, one made o

f glass panes that latched without locking, and an inner set made of solid wood with a sturdy lock.

The light hung in the sky providing a calming vista of the rolling waves lapping the shore below me. My eye lids grew heavy as I

watched the waves roll in. How special it would be to awaken in the

morning with this same view? I was traveling alone and didn’t quite feel comfortable to

sleep with only the glass door unlocked as it was.

Shutting the inner doors would completely obscure my view. It was a quandary. I searched

the room for some sort of barrier or rope to secure the door. For a few minutes I found myself following the telephone cord to see how easy it might be to pull up and wrap over the door knobs. I wasn’t planning on using the phone, but of course if someone were to try and break into the room so easily spied upon, I just might need the phone. It was this experience that leads me to pack 10 feet of twine on every trip because you just never know.

xc skiing in Oregon

2009-01-14T20:47:00.001-08:00

I was driving to a remote trail head using directions drawn on a bar napkin by some locals I met the night before while I ate dinner sitting at the bar in Bend. Little did I realize as I drove through the blizzard on empty snow packed central Oregon roads that my 4WD was kaput.

I got behind a Subaru that seemed to know where they were headed with cross country skis strewn in their way-back. I followed them down a steep hill over a river unfrozen into a small turn-about that had become a haphazard parking lot. There were no spots to be seen, but as I tried to turn around to head back to the top of the hill, my Jeep wouldn’t budge. I got several looks from fellow skiers wondering what I was up too and why I wasn’t moving from the center and only navigable area of the turn-about; I was driving a Jeep after all.

This is when the true color of Oregonians shown through. A man walking to the trail head took pity on me and after determining himself along with three other friendly souls that my 4WD was indeed not working, installed his tire chains to my vehicle and got me to the top of the hill. I should note here that I wondered into Oregon unaware of this compulsory law that tire chains must be inside the vehicle at all times no matter the weather or road conditions. I became the proud owner of a pair the following day.

The kindness of strangers always touches my heart the most. On to the skiing. I could go on and on to tell you how epic the cross country skiing was, that it was perfectly dry, packed hard enough to glide and yet soft enough to float, how skiing down the mountain on the curvy forested trails was frightening in that I didn’t know the trail nor when it would end as my speed quickened the sides providing a two foot drop beneath your skis should one.. fall, and that the silence of the forest was deafening, but I’ll let the pictures do most of the story telling.

Using energy at home

2009-01-08T20:26:00.000-08:00

When I first used to think of conserving CO₂, I started to think about electric and low mpg vehicles. My household appliance use remained off the radar until we started discussing LEED vs. Energy Star in our Habitat Development meetings. The argument between LEED and Energy Star not withstanding, the point is, appliances with a better efficiency rating will save you money when you’re using them.

The rest of this original post has been moved to a new blogsite I'm using to discuss energy, processes, and special projects. See more about my appliance usage matrix there: http://leandisciplinedsystems.blogspot.com/

reducing your personal carbon footprint

2008-08-29T12:59:00.000-07:00

This summer I traveled to Europe where I was reminded how energy conscious the rest of the world is. All homes and hotels I visited sported fluorescent lights everywhere and all persons were sensitive to lights being on in rooms unoccupied or the use of appliances during the middle of the day. This got me thinking about my energy use and how if cutting back a little would mean anything in the bigger -save the planet- picture.

See this original post which I've moved to my other blog in February 2009 where I consider alternatives for reducing energy use just by residential lighting alone; http://leandisciplinedsystems.blogspot.com/

I've kept this graph below of mercury output because I find it surprising especially in lieu that many 'anti-CFL' folks blame their reluctance to switch based on mercury output. Surprising, no? If you're one that doesn't like CFL lighting, join the club - however, I've learned in the last two years that not only can you purchase varying colors of CFL light thus reducing harshness, eye fatique, and that "I look horrible" feeling actuallity, but you can also by lower wattages for a dimming effect.

So what about the mercury in CFLs, you say? Yes, that is an important and hot issue now. Read more information from Energy Star on their FAQ webpage and consider their graph of Mercury output in emissions due to both power generation and disposal for CFL verses incandescent light energy production:

conversations in Romania

2008-07-10T09:43:00.000-07:00

Romania is a beautiful country embracing the topography of the sea shore, flat growing fields, and forest covered mountains yet scarred by communism and mostly taken advantage of by compromising entrepreneurs. The few capitalists I spoke with talked of bribes as a typical way of doing business. There are many millionaires in Romania though the middle class is quite small. Turned over to the communists at the conclusion of World War II, the leading nations unaware that Romania might stand on its own, the pearl of this country once called the ‘little Paris’, Bucharest started to crumble. Visiting for the first time I see both old Europe and the rural touches I spied in Mexico and Southeast Asia; beautiful grand buildings fallen into disrepair with unkempt grasses and wayward fences along with quick fixes long left permanent. It’s expensive to live in the city with the prices of homes and apartments similar to that of present day New York City. Food prices are also high, the weak dollar not withstanding. There is progress of course, though with such high prices, who is paying?

There is charm yet of a country as a small town where there are still hitchhikers; women going home from work, an officer off duty, a student done with classes. I also experienced the mountain regions where the people were as warm and welcoming as any small town I’ve ever visited.

I had the opportunity to ask specific questions about the lives of those who experienced life before and after the revolution. I have written their responses as closely to their spoken word as possible.

[WE] What did you see when you returned?

[Ana Maria left seven years after the revolution and has lived in Germany, Turkey, and Switzerland with her Scottish husband] I don’t always see good changes. It is now a democracy but it seems they took only the bad things and they don’t really understand how it should work. It’s also very expensive now but you don’t get the appropriate value for things. Take these hotels for instance. They are very expensive and they say they are ‘4’ or ‘5’ stars yet they are not. They are expensive, not so nice, yet still people pay and they and Romanian! I don’t know how they afford it.

I have traveled all over the world and have seen nice places yet when I return to Romania it’s not as nice but they charge high prices still if not higher.

[WE[ How do your Romanian friends view the government and this change?

[Ana Maria] All they talk about is money: how much they have, how they spend it, and how they plan to get more. It is like they need to prove how much money they have and to brag and brag about all they can do and have done. So many are like this both men and women perhaps because before they did not have the opportunity nor could they risk showing off in communist days.

Most who have money don’t seem to work a lot yet they make a lot.. this is from the corruption. They say we are not communists anymore but the corruption is still here. In ten or twenty years more hopefully this will change.

We have a lot of intelligent people but the schools now mimic the west. It is bad.

[WE] How do you mean?

[Ana Maria] They don’t seem to pay attention and there are a lot of drugs available now. There doesn’t seem to be a focus on learning.

[WE] Would you ever move back to Romania?

[Ana Maria] You know, I am Romanian and I love my country.. but I could never live here again. I left initially to have a better life and I have lived in many places. Now I prefer to live elsewhere.

[WE] What do you like the most about Romania?

[Carmen was eighteen when the coup d’etat occurred] The people. I love the mentality of the people, their heart. I couldn’t think for a moment to live elsewhere. It would be like packing my heart, the heart of Romania into a suitcase.

[WE] What has changed from your youth because of the revolution?

[Carmen] Everything change. The people change a lot taking much from Western Europe. They are free. Couples can walk on the street and show affection by holding hands or maybe giving a little kiss. They didn’t do this before. They were more closed before.

[Dan came from a wealthy family who have survived much of their wealth after the revolution] I got my house back. The government seized our family house; the house my grandfather built. We were allowed to live in it though only a small part of it on the main level. They divided it up into apartments and others moved in. They all paid rent to the government.. Even us.

[Cecilia is my age though lives nine months out of the year in Minneapolis with her mathematics professor husband, Adriane who created the formulas used in the film A Beautiful Mind. I talk with she and her husband while we all share a bottle of wine on the beach within the lights of a beach bar blaring many American 80’s tunes where many others have also gathered many playing Frisbee in the sand] You can leave! (they both chide at once)

[Adriane] You couldn’t have a passport before. You couldn’t leave.

[Cecilia] There was no music before – not like this. You couldn’t gather and everything closed at ten. Everyone just went home and shuttered their windows. It was always cold inside I remember and the water was only cold. There was actually a schedule when you could get hot water; an hour in the morning and an hour at night. It was different for different houses. I remember my mother would get us up so early just so we could bath in hot water before school. (sighing and exasperation about school) There were so few buses to get us there and they were so crowded. The education system was really bad

[Adriane] The teachers would beat you if you answered a simple question wrong. If you made a mistake on a test for one question, like a serious mistake yet you aced the rest of test, you would fail the entire class. Math and Science was a way out in a way. You could get a special job with the government and just work by yourself alone and away from the madness. You still couldn’t get a passport. You couldn’t go anywhere. Of course you could visit our partner countries (shrugging as if he had little value in this) I asked once to go to a math conference in Germany. I was denied because they said if I went there I wouldn’t come back.

[WE] What was your life like before the revolution?

[Omar was born in Iraq though his parents moved to Romania when he was very young. He was my official guide in the Bran region] There were bullets flying everywhere and you were afraid to go out.

[Andreea is his girlfriend who joined him in touring me for two days in the famous castles of Romania. She is Romanian and was only six years old in 1989. They live in Bucharest currently] You never knew what was going on. You were always scared to go out. There was no news, only that which you got from your neighbors and there were terrorists. In one firefight I remember my mother going to save the TV from bullets. It was near the window. It was a color TV; very hard to get and very expensive. She was five months pregnant with my brother at the time. He was born four months after the revolution.

[WE] Who were these terrorists?

[Andreea] They were minors who decided to rise up against the government. They were big strong men and they had these heavy tools from the mine, but they weren’t very smart. They didn’t know who to fight, so they fought everyone. No one was safe to go out. They were good though because they should the people that the government was not as strong as we thought. In this way the minors encouraged the revolution.

[Omar] ..and there were people every twenty houses reporting everything you did.

[Andreea] Yes, in every neighborhood there would be a man standing with a notebook. You couldn’t do anything without your neighbors reporting you. If you were cooking some steak, your neighbors would report you to the police. It was hard to cover the smell of cooking meat.

[WE] Why was that so bad?

[Andreea] Well, meat was very expensive and the police would investigate how you got it or how you got the money to get it.. because likely you did something illegal to simply afford a steak. You should hear the stories my grandparents tell.

houses along the road, Transylvania

view of the trendy coast, Constanta, Black Sea

dogs on the tennis court, Constanta (10 minutes prior to one biting my friend while she was playing!)

hiking in Thailand

2008-06-07T20:31:00.000-07:00

I sit in this tranquil place outside of town in a meadow surrounded by the mountain jungle with a winding patch of rice paddies, individual guest huts lining the border with the jungle and night bugs starting to sing as the sun brilliants the sky in setting, me sipping a drink of fermented banana leaves which smells like rancid grain alcohol though has a pleasant lightly sweet taste the same as watered down southern sweet tea, only different [same-same as they would say in Cambodia, but different]. Ironic in such a place that there would be neighbors to the resort booming music with heavy bass. It reminds me of camping and how some people aren't wired to just sit, relax and listen to nature but instead to crank a boom box. There is also a noise like a sharp thud that keeps occurring in a regular manner. After getting bothered by mosquitoes sitting among the rice, I seek out the noise only to discover a little mechanism they've devised in the stream flowing near my hut that fills a bamboo tube only to spill upon being too heavy with water; the flipping of the bamboo back into the river onto a rock creating the thud. Immediately I conspire how to dismantle or soften the landing of the bamboo such that it'll be quiet. Perhaps a square of the neoprene I brought? Luckily I discover as well that they adjust for nighttime.

I have been traveling in Southeast Asia for a few weeks now and while I am enjoying my time immensely, I start to think how nice Venice might be this time of year! I can usually go for three weeks until craving familiar comforts. I longed for western home cooked food, my cushy bed, a hot shower, and walking around barefoot in my house. I had to be so careful here. You thought I was worried about mosquitoes before arriving in Northwest Thailand? Here, I'm staying in a place situated on a rice field bordering the jungle. I've learned that in addition to malaria being prevalent here, there is a new ailment called Japanese Encephalitis where upon being stung by the infected mosquito, your brain starts to swell until you die which takes all of about three hours. Oddly malaria also gives you headaches, so it’s possible one would just think they have a migraine or malaria. What am I thinking wondering around in a wet jungle under a canopy of banana tree leaves stepping over rivers and fallen trees?

The third day after hiking with guides for long days, I decide to strike out on my own near the resort. There is a large area defined as a national park with a defined path I’m told. A hostess catches me walking in this direction and hands me a bamboo walking stick. She also calls a few of the many dogs that I have seen about the campus. They will stay with me she says but I am not to trust them with regard to following as they do not necessarily know the way. The dogs are friendly and do stay with me on the trail often running ahead only to find them waiting for me around a corner. I am feeling safer already with their watchful presence.

I pay a small fee to officially enter the park and the dogs reluctantly follow after I call them. If only I knew Thai I might have a chance to command them better.

I reach a place in the trail where it begins to follow a river. The dogs decide to turn back to the resort. I call after them but without luck wishing I had some sort of treat to tempt them. I’m nervous going forward worried about why they would choose now to turn away wondering if they had a bad experience. I sum up the courage to continue. I mean really, how often will I travel to this part of Thailand? I figure I have a big stick if something comes after me but of course worrying about what could come after me [python, mountain lion, bear, the like] makes me worry more, so I push those thoughts away. I spoke with three couples who also did this four-hour hike and two of them said they got really lost. As I connected more with the couple who found their way easily, I felt confident to brave the forest.

I walk along with my tall bamboo stick planting it in front of me with every swinging step, my face bathed in speckled sunlight peaking through the trees feeling very Polly-Anna and Davy Crocket like, proud that I was taking this walk alone, feeling strong that I could handle this rugged nature, and happy just to be there. In this blissful state I walk smack into a huge spider web strung across the path. Its webbing so thick I can feel it hanging on my eye lashes. I take my backpack off and pull the strands as best I can hoping to disturb as less as possible the master of this web who must be somewhere..

Alas, I find no spider [riding on top of the bun I fashioned in my hair?] and continue walking on the trail only now instead of using the stick for its intended purpose, I hold it straight out in front of me wagging it up and down to tear any unsuspecting webs that might dare cross my path.

๋ำืืรดำพ

Ha Long Bay, Vietnam

2008-05-12T21:18:00.001-07:00

There are 84 million people living in Vietnam, six million in Hanoi alone. In Hanoi are 3 million motorbikes and 1 million cars. Twenty seven people die every day in Hanoi solely due to motorbike accidents.

Women also tend to marry very young in this country; 16 – 18 years of age. Only 2 children are suggested per married couple and when one works for the government, if they have more than two children, they will lose their job. Men will also divorce or leave a woman if they don’t produce a son. This is a big problem in Vietnam my guide tells me. Parents want a son as the sons take care of aging parents.

Ha Long Bay

Far away from the business of the city I had planned an excursion to one of the natural wonders of the world snuggled on the northern coast of Vietnam: Ha Long Bay. This magical place harbors an intricate maze of tall limestone monoliths not unlike the few along the Oregon Coast.

My new traveling companions and I were each a little suspect about the content, quality, and organization of the tour we each planning the trip in different ways: through a travel agent on the street, a cheap hotel concierge, and in secret with a hotel employee who took the booking commission herself. So far our excursion was going well in spite of activities we each hadn’t known about but were enjoying including hiking, kayaking, swimming, and visiting an island. The second day we took a bus to the top of Cat Ba Island to get on our overnight boat but it wasn’t there. Not wanting to chance waiting another two hours on the dock for lack of organization as we had the day prior, two of the others pestered our young guide to call for the boat verses us simply waiting and waiting. He learns quickly that the boat has issues due to low water. It’s either a low or a high water issue here due to tides and high or low season which we were entering. The group doesn’t really believe him as we’d think nationals would know how to deal with the wet and dry season transitions inherently. The guide says we need a ferry such as we took the day before to get to the boat; this ‘ferry’ being a flat raft of sorts with bench seating and a 2-stroke motor. Much to our surprise and within ten minutes he has secured one – the same guy as yesterday. This guy literally banks on low water. We crawl down some rocks to clamber into his rig and we’re off.

Only the boats we think we’re to board keep moving away from us much quicker than we can approach. Our guide decides that those weren’t our boats. He keeps directing the ferry guy as if the boat will be around the next corner, or the next – the corner being the next monolith. We’re traveling quite far now and this isn’t the safest boat I’ve been on. Its planks are old weathered wood, the shifter barely peeks out from the deck and is put through the gears with the foot of our caption who sits a foot away me, the boat heavy and seeming near capacity with we six tourists, our guide, and the driver. We ride so close to the water I fear that if something should happen we haven’t much leeway ‘till we’re waterlogged. I start to get comfortable with the idea that some pieces of luggage will inadvertently fall in, including one of mine.

We speak to each other in glances wondering how our over-night boat will find us if we keep moving as the limestone peaks are very maze like. The sun is starting to set providing beautiful shadows and skies yet we go and go until we can see Ha Long City on the horizon and we start to feel angry that the guide might be taking us back to shore; its been 45 minutes now since leaving the island.

Only our over-night boat is close and sitting with a bunch a people on it who are very interested to see us, the entire population of the boat standing to one side to watch our arrival. Our guide turns to us with a smug look of confidence mixed with a grin of relief. He has found our boat. We think they must be full for the night and fear they’ll turn us away leaving us stuck on this tiny raft of a boat.

The boat also appears to be listing to one side and not floating. Sure enough it is stuck!

As we start to board this boat much taller than we, a perturbed European woman asks me directly, “Why you so late?!” If she only knew I think to myself speechless at her inquiry. Turns out these people were to have arrived on Cat Ba in the morning, but their boat got stuck and they’d been sitting all day! Our tour didn’t sound so bad after learning this. Most of the people spill onto our little ferry – where we six (with our guide and captain as eight) were at capacity of the small craft, at least 16 now boarded. Some of their ride will be in the dark and I don’t envy their likely fear.

After cleaning up in our private five star bunks and dining with white linens and French wine, our small group gathered on the top deck watching the moon rise enjoying orange slices and chocolate from my last emergency bar. I meet many people from all over the world on my travels and though our faith and governments often disagree, we always seem to like one another and treat each other with respect and joy of living -the “Why you so late”-woman not withstanding!. One quip about those hiking wax embalmed chocolate bars: they are awesome! The chocolate is very truffle like and the wax keeps them clean in your suitcase. An emergency it wasn’t but turned into celebration as our marooned boat started to float as the tide came in, the boat later motoring to a secluded lagoon for a sunrise surprise.

spied while in our 2-stroke ferry.. but what is the woman doing?

WA State Technology Summit

2008-05-11T20:21:00.000-07:00

While I worked in the Pacific Northwest in April, I attended the Washington State Technical Summit taking away a few good nuggets as well as meeting some incredibly dynamic people. Coming from Michigan, it was surprising to see how forward thinking the city governments *let alone their state government, are in the planning to install solar power charging stations for the wave of electric vehicles to hit in the next five years. The Governor speaking of Washington's success in general emphasized companies at the forefront of innovation in clean technologies and advanced materials. This state seems to embrace it's export-driven economy as well as funds R&D significantly.

Also interesting that I attend a tech summit in Washington State only to meet a guy who worked for DCX for several years and has created a lightweight car that runs on methane! Eric Leonhardt is a professor now teaching at Western Washington University where the dairy cows are plentiful and has created a few vehicles along with honeycomb impact module designs; designs that can absorb 100,000 lbs while they weigh only three. I’ve always had a soft spot for vehicle design even as a child, the long nose of our 1976 blue corvette my first love; it’s powerful engine not withstanding. It struck me listening to the presentation that while many electric vehicles have short front ends due partially to the engine volume being greatly reduced, they could actually remain longer holding large impact panels contributing to safety as well as allowing the aesthetic nose.

Download the presentation Eric spoke from via this link. From the Washington Technology Center website and Tech Summit Agenda web page, you can also watch a few of the presentations from the Clean and Renewable Energy panels.

In another panel, I was introduced to a company who has created a near net shape metal process. While I have read about near net shape plastic panel creation for low waste, highly engineered materials, this was the first I’d heard of metal application. ModuMetal has basically created a metal plywood where they ‘grow’ the metal directly on a platform creating a material that is both tough and hard. They are still in development able to create only 18 x 18” pieces and have submitted samples as impact panels to the aerospace industry. This company’s President and CEO is a helicopter pilot, acrobatic water-skier, and is starting her own Merlot vineyard! I love this town.

Off hours I took long walks near Udub, the Cut, Arboretum, and around Green Lake. I visited friends in Renton, Portland, and on Bainbridge Island, enjoyed a SIFF special screening of The Price of Sugar, and even participated as a troop leader for a Girl Scout retreat weekend.

dark abandoned alleyways

2008-04-27T10:59:00.000-07:00

Let me start by telling you a little more about my first few days in Bangkok. I had learned a few weeks ago that a friend needed my favor of being his ‘wedding date’ for a destination wedding of two Americans in Bangkok. I was already in country and my travel through the city coincided with the wedding dates –or so I thought. Through email I had already learned that I needed some sort of formal dress and that there would be an event the day I arrive.

Arriving in Bangkok late morning in an overnight train from Chiang Mai, I stow my luggage at the hotel and set out on the town to find a tailor for a formal dress hoping that the shop will be agreeable to creating it in one day.

Meeting up with my wedding-date later, we share a beer overlooking the river and city from the 16th floor. I learn now that this wedding is for an Indian couple and will be a five day affair as well as incredibly formal with four chefs from India flown in to cater the entire week with strict vegetarian fare. Over 500 guests were expected and I would need a sari or two in addition to the formal dress I had just kicked off.

My wedding-date I find is nervous about traveling around the city and taking public transportation as we seek out a new tailor for my saris and go for a first and second fitting for the formal dress. He finds it funny that I lead him confidently through the city when I’m the country girl of us two. The night of the Sangeet I wear the first beautiful sari with many amazed that a white chick like me could pull it off. "Who tied it for you?!" they all asked. I told them my tailor dressed me.

This is where it starts.

My sari was going to be ready near to the Sangeet start time and only five hours since first meeting the tailor, thus I got completely ready at the hotel putting up my hair, applying party ready makeup, donning high heels as well as putting on all the jewelry we had picked out that day – bangles, special earrings, necklace, the works such that all I had to do was put on the sari and head straight to the party. My wedding-date asked at the last minute if I minded going to the tailor alone and then meeting him at the party. With the tailor’s business card written in Thai, the hotel helps me get a taxi back to the Indian Market in the middle of Chinatown. After a short ride, I recognize that we arrive in China town but it is different from the day, the streets now deserted and storefronts are closed with heavy metal garage type doors. It’s also dark, night coming early near the equator. My driver stops the taxi and explains to me mostly in Thai that he doesn’t know where the shop is and that my ride is complete. He asks for payment.

I refuse to pay him, pointing to the business card and insisting he take me. He spews out the same words and frustrated gets out and opens my door. Reluctantly I get out. There are not many people in the street and there were no other taxis around. We continue going back and forth still getting nowhere. He keeps mentioning police and I start to assume that they must be prevalent on the street of my destination and he must avoid them.

Unaware, a heavy set Indian woman walks up to us and stands very close. I eye her up and down wondering what she wants though she remains silent as if not hearing our conversation but also not focused anywhere else either. Exasperated, I ask her if she knows the place I need to go. She takes a minute to read the card and starts to go back and forth with the driver herself, though I can tell this also goes nowhere. She finally turns to me and tells me he is ‘loco’. At least we agree on this.

There I am stuck with this taxi driver insisting I pay him, this Indian girl, and me dressed up with neither map, more than $3, a language guide, credit card, nor phone. I didn’t even have ID.

The Indian girl explains that she is the sister of the cousin of the wife of the guy who owns the tailor shop I am looking for and she can take me there.

Yeah, I think this is a little sketchy too, but what else am I supposed to do? The Sangeet was to start in thirty minutes. (For future reference, one should take the taxi back to the hotel, get a friend to join you and get a different driver.)

I follow this woman through alley ways, under buildings, and more dark streets taking passages that were once thriving markets during the day but now deserted dingy places one would see watching a scary movie. I'm really not sure how my body will be found when all this is said and done let alone how my friends and family will even begin to think to search for my dismembered limbs in this hidden forsaken place.

During our walk, the woman chats away though her language is mostly unintelligible to me. Then she announces that she's a Krishna, though at first I think she says Christian. Maybe she was. Here I am scared and thinking I’m about to get robbed and murdered and we have a nice little conversation about faith. Sure enough, she's a god-sent angel as she takes me directly to my tailor. Once there, four others help me get dressed; they are like my attendants. They even pick out a bindi for me to wear but the tailor says it’s no good. He leaves the shop briefly and the girls stick it on me anyway saying he didn’t know what he was talking about. I shrug when he re-enters as he notices it immediately. Under his breath and with a little head shake, he says to take it off when I can. I know he has good taste after this day of sari making and jewelry dressing so off it came once in the taxi far away from the waving hands of my attendants and the angel.

**funny sight we see when walking on the street earlier that day**

working on Sunday won't kill you

2008-04-20T21:32:00.000-07:00

I always like to think and it has been repeatedly confirmed, that everything happens for a reason. One always doesn’t

know when it’s happening, good or bad, but given time, there is often revealed a good result.

I was walking on a beautiful sunny Colorado afternoon hiking up a trail to see how far I could make it until snow made it impassable or unbearable. It would be my first fourteener though I wouldn’t get to summit due to the large masses of snow still covering the top, my lack of serious mountain- eering skills not withstanding. I had walked parts of this trail in the week prior but it had always been snow covered. The last two days had been glorious and clear, spring temperatures melting away most of the snow revealing multiple colored stones and creating small streams that meandered down the trail. It was easy to walk and often warm except when the wind blew.

The trail was steep but the vistas were so incredible that I often stopped to simply breathe in the view, taking pictures all along the way. Around 11,000 feet I started to get into a rhythm picking my way carefully and steadily along the now soft and slushy snow covered path.

Streams of water continued flowing down it often spilling over the edge and eroding the trail. I stayed close to the mountain side remembering the story of a family riding in a Jeep up a nearby pass the summer prior who pulled to the side to let another Jeep pass from the opposite direction. It’s courtesy and appropriate; however, the stalling Jeep was sitting on the downward slope side. Apparently though frequently traveled, these trails are not stable enough to support a stationary weight of that magnitude. The soil collapsed and the Jeep rolled to its passenger’s demise. Now while I’m not quite as heavy as a vehicle, my phobia of heights kept me to the inside, while my curiosity and the beautiful warm sky pushed me onward and upward.

It was then that my cell phone rang.

I was still level with the ski resort to my south and likely pulling from their towers. The call was from a potential new client I’d been vying for business with and we still had

much to discuss. I could have just let it go to voicemail, being a Sunday and me climbing a breathtaking steep trail in the middle of no-where and all, but having spent the entire day alone, knowing how

busy my client was in addition to wanting to close the negotiations, I answered the call. Consequently, my pace slowed ultimately stopping to focus on the conversation.

I was nearing a bend in the trail where water was pouring down from everywhere cascading over smooth red stone, concentrated water falls in three locations. I had already passed the two falls admiring the water on the

stone face of the mountain as I finished the call.

I turned to the final waterfall only thirty paces ahead noting what appeared to be thicker snow laid on the trail as

it curved upward. The trail had opened to the face of the mountain here and was not as protected as below as well as relatively barren below the ledge wher

e I stood. I noticed there was a crevice of snow thirty feet above the trail where the water paused before falling again to trail level.

It looked like only a small amount of snow. It was then immediately, this bit of wet snow broke free of the crevice and slid down the rock wall creating now a huge pile of wet snow on the trail and spillin

g over the edge completely blocking my path; the pile now five feet tall in front of me. More clumps of snow fell as I stared at the pile. I know had I kept my original pace, that I would either be under that snow or trapped on the other side. I stood very still thrilled at what I had just witnessed and contemplating what my actions would have been had I been closer. I wondered also if perhaps I should simply climb over this pile of new snow and continue my hike.

The silence was suddenly deafening filling my ears with the motion around me. I heard the small clatter of small stones running down the rock face behind me, the soft sound of running water over smooth stones and I took in the wet trail and the many streams of water running over and down it.

ancient wonder

2008-04-02T21:55:00.000-07:00

We get up early to make the canal boat that will take us six hours to the town of Siem Reap from Phnom Penh. We pass many stilted wooden houses along the river as well as a few floating villages. The transient nature of their home from the wet to the dry seasons is curious to me. Growing up in a house that flooded between three to thirty inches each spring, I wonder if this disruption is simply thought of as something that just happens.

Running aground, we climb out of our boat to find many excited tuk-tuk drivers vying for our business. Four follow us after we make our choice still pleading their cases. As in the rest of rural Cambodia I’ve visited, I see the old wooden thatched dwellings along with progress to stucco structures, families tending to their own animals for sustenance and likely working a private rice field behind their homes. While these families don’t have many material things, for most they would not be considered poor.

My friend and I rent fixed gear bikes for two days to tool around the ancient ruins of Angkor Wat. This is the modern term for a bicycle with only one gear I suppose, when really the bikes we rented are just plain old cruising bikes that just happened to be made long ago with only gear. We immerse ourselves in the crazy traffic where walkers, tuk-tuks (motos pulling two- wheeled carriage like structures with a roof), cars, motos, big tourist buses, industrial trucks, bicycles, and push carts all share the road ways with each person often traveling diagonally, across, against traffic, at their own pace, or simply stopping where ever they find their need.

It’s like there is an agreement that you will let someone turn in front of you and in turn, they would get out of the way quickly. It’s actually more like a big game of chicken. All the horn honking is merely to show presence, not a "get out of my way" gesture as it is here in the States. I find it amazing that no one is hurt. This insanity is laughable and tests our nerves while we avoid being killed ringing our little bells at intersections to alert those we pass.

Angkor Wat is the brainchild of King Suryavarman II who ruled 1113 – 1150 AD. He made Angkor Wat the ruling center for Cambodia. Many who visit these temples and residences are amazed by the advanced architecture and necessary tools obviously needed to construct these grand structures for their time. The entire campus was mostly abandoned in the 16^th century and the jungle has slowly started to reclaim its place. The temple formally named Angkor Wat is surrounded by a large moat. It is believed that the expanse of water has protected this particular temple from extreme over growth.

The area was discovered by Europeans in the 1800s. The French explorer, Henri Mouhot wrote of it, “One of these temples – a rival to that of Solomon, and erected by some ancient Michelangelo- might take an honourable place beside our most beautiful buildings. It is grander than anything left to us by Greece or Rome, and presents a sad contrast to the state of barbarism in which the nation is now plunged.”

We pedal past beautiful rice fields and in tree lined narrow roads. We hike all over those ruins taking photo after photo of what now seem like the same picture. Every temple is unique in style and many of the structures of Angkor Wat were built as residences. Each king that took rein over Cambodia wanted his own building of course. Most had gilded stucco towers and figures as well as wooden ceiling panels and doors. Now all that remains are weather worn sandstone and faint fanciful reliefs.

Rushing home our first day after visiting at least five or six temples to beat the darkness that comes so early this close to the equator, we come upon the north gate of Angkor Thom, (as I mentioned, there are many wats (temples) a part of Angkor Wat, where Angkor Wat has is it's own temple and is also the name of this temple region). The Angkor Thom gate is this amazing stone structure with a huge face carved in it. By huge, I'm talking eight feet tall or so (the face). Of course we have to stop and take a photo of it as we only have two days to cover the entire campus and will likely not pass this way again.

Three kids are playing near by and upon seeing us stop to take photos, they drop their toys (one carrying a large hatchet making me somewhat alarmed. As an aside this is how they cut grass!!!!!) and run toward us. As I was instantly alarmed, it is fortunate that they start to beg from us, "Candy?" "One dollar?" they chime. I nicknamed them the trolls of the bridge and tried to teach them a new phrase that I thought would earn them more laughs and possibly more dollars: "What's your favorite color?" I would say to them slowly. They would start to attempt to repeat for me then remember their original purpose of harassing us. “One dollar?”

The dark won and we found ourselves on the road with no lights and many tuks, motos, and large tourist buses whizzing past us as we tried to abide by the agreements of getting out of the way and holding our breath when someone honked. Getting through the signal-less intersections with everyone going this way and that was an exhilarating challenge if not completely frightful all at once.

The next day we spent a far amount at a temple known for its very large faces; Bayon of Angkor Thom. As you may have learned, I talk to most anyone where ever I travel; this exchange today worth sharing for its comedic value, my conversationalists unaware. There was an Australian family touring as we, parents and a son my age and I notice that the mother is heavy with a cast and make-shift sling on her arm. Her son is recommending to her that perhaps he'll go down the set of steep steps first (that will take them out of the ruin).

(me) "To cushion your fall?!" I chide to the woman

(son) laughing, "yeah"

(she) "I've already broken an arm once this holiday"

(me) "here?"

(she) snidely as if I should know, "New Zealand" then goes on to tell me a bit more

(son) to his mother, "are you coming?" insistently, impatiently

(she) "yes, yes" continuing to descend the stairs tentatively

(father/husband) rolling his eyes, saying to no one, "She had to have a running dialog; a necessity of the female condition before doing anything."

taking in the surrounds..

view from the canal boat en route to Siem Reap

combing for agates on the Oregon coast

2008-03-29T13:00:00.000-07:00

One is told countless times how beautiful the Oregon coast is and how one should be sure to visit. Living in a Midwest coastal town I understand the beauty and serenity the open water affords. I am used to beautiful calming vistas, unusual topography, and many natural areas protected for the use of wildlife, walking, hiking, swimming, and the like. I have visited the California coast and enjoyed its beauty. How could this stretch of beach be any different?

I was about to be awed.

To tell of its beauty minimizes the scale of its effect on your psyche. One approaches the beach and finds instant serenity in the pounding and dissipation of wide waves curling toward shore, the beach extending far into the surf, the water crawling inland slowly over flat sand. One thinks they could walk at least a hundred feet out into the water. Of course, one doesn’t try this in February.

I started my drive near Seattle, Washington wondering over small roads through logging areas making my way to the coast. The foggy bay of the Columbia River a few miles before spilling into the Pacific provided beauty that I naively thought would be unmatched for the day. The crossing of 4.1 mile Astoria Bridge provided amazing views from as high as 196 feet and as low as the level of the water itself. I feared that many sections of the bridge were floating, though later discovered that this bridge is actually the longest continuous truss bridge in North America. Supposedly it can withstand river speeds up to 9mph. Does that sound like a lot to you? Me neither.

As I neared the highway 101 exit to Cannon Beach, I decided to make a stop for coffee and get a glimpse of the famed coast. I was not prepared for what I was about to see. I parked and walked directly to the beach. Small rocky mounds jutted from the water near the shore and a few people walked on the flat sand near the edge of the waves. I enjoyed this for a moment and returned to town for my latte and to continue my trek south.

“What about Haystack?!” you might ask if you’re familiar with this coast and this famous little beach town.

As I drove out of town I swung right and down a small residential street to get one more glimpse of the beach before rejoining the highway. This is when I saw it, the third largest monolith in the world holding court over the many people scrambling about its rocky base. The Oregon coast is actually sprinkled with several and many huge monoliths representing an ancient coastline. I stopped many times to drink in the dynamic landscape and to try and burn onto my memory this beautiful and awesome place.

I made a few other stops as well to stock up on Tillamook yogurt, cheese, and curds at their visitor’s center and to get my car washed by high school freshmen raising money for a children’s hospital. When I realized I would not make my day’s destination before nightfall, I decided to stop just south of Waldport to take a walk on the beach. I parked in a tiny lot created unofficially by beach goers likely and read the posted warnings before venturing out on the beach. “Beware of unusually large sneaker waves,” was the first and most nerve racking post. Once on the beach and everywhere I looked, several people were bent over and looking for something. They carried neither buckets nor shovels, yet were very interested for what they were seeking. A few women were lying on the beach fully clothed and intent on searching in the rocky sand as well. I walked to one and asked what this was all about. They were looking for agates she explained. I had her show me her current stash to understand exactly what she meant. Now, having been a rock collector all my life, I felt like I was ‘with my people’ and found a new purpose for this afternoon walk. While many carried used coffee cups to stow their finds, I used the pockets of my vest coming home with several white, green, amber, and grey opaque stones.

temporary playground

2008-03-27T08:27:00.000-07:00

Winter brings to me another world to explore. It changes everything from how we drive, dress, play, and how we are outside. I love that I love the cold. Today, images of the icebergs and an endless horizon of water in crisp wintry quiet air waited for me on the Michigan coast. It is spring and one never knows how much snow will be in the dunes or if the icebergs have started separating making them unreachable from shore.

Being optimistic, I opted to go cross country skiing verses donning my hiking books. This proved wise as I glided effortlessly fast and ventured where surely I would have sunk a few feet into the snow or worse, through the ice.

I came upon the last dune to the shore and was immediately blasted by the wind unbroken by any tree. The waves were rough and dissipating far from shore causing the edge of the bergs to undulate. It was gorgeous seeing the ice pushed upon itself creating large rolling hills as if waves frozen in motion. Once on the beach, I broke a new trail close to the edge of the woods. The snow was really deep there but my skis held me up. The snow pretty much ended only a few feet outside of the tree line and started again with the shore line. I didn’t trust the ice originally, but spied some cross country tracks horizontal to the shore, so after several hundred feet of clean soft fresh snow I high tailed it to the water over the sand. This still makes me chuckle as if you’re not supposed to do that. The ice was strong holding me up though creating a roller coaster anxiety as I spied pools of water and would have an occasional pole break through the crust to a create a yet another slushy new pool.

Every year it seems so strange to see tall icebergs where there should be flat water. I stand up to fifty feet off shore where I should be swimming. The wind is quite strong but I risk taking my glove off just the same to snap several photos. I imagine myself as an arctic explorer breaking new ground and braving hardy tundra. Of course, my warm car and ride to a hot coconut hazelnut soy decaf latte is only a few miles away.

Eventually I turn around as thoughts of all I should be doing for the day start to crowd into the pure delight and enjoyment of nature. I didn’t have to ski all the way to the channel I justified to myself where surely more turbulent waters were brewing under the ice perhaps creating thinner sections than could be anticipated. In this direction, the wind pushed me along such that I was only steering as if on a sleigh. I think I heard myself giggling. Glee soon turned to fear as facing north now I saw more cracks, dips, and puddles of water freshly and thinly frozen over. Continuing on the lake wasn’t prudent as perhaps all the rain that fell only days before this latest blizzard weakened the ice. I cut into the woods taking in the shadows of the falling sun and enjoying the exertion of actually having to propel myself along.

I love that I love the cold.

they swim in their clothes

2008-03-25T19:59:00.000-07:00

I had forgotten that Asians are very modest; the kids as well as the care givers who came along to help, jumping in the sea fully clothed! I didn't dare disrobe to my bathing suit hiding under a long sarong and white blouse. In regret, I didn’t even jump in clothed as I was considering instead the five hour ride back home in wet clothes. The kids had a ball playing in the salt water; for many it was their first time swimming and for others their first time seeing the sea. Our small group of six rode a big coach bus from Phnom Penh to the province so to pick up the orphan children, and then continued another three hours to the coast; the orphanage itself already two hours from the city. When we arrived at the Wat, there were many kids dressed in their school uniforms even though it was a Saturday waiting by the road. We thought, "Oh, they are really ready!" Many of the kids had painted scenes of Kampot Beach during our Art Therapy "sanctuary place” exercise the day before and were really excited about going asking repeatedly what time we would be leaving for the next day. We almost rounded up the wrong kids! These children playing around the temple were from the village; our Wat Opot Project children patiently queuing on their campus within sight of the Wat, the road, and our bus.

Go to the Wat Opot Project website where you can see pictures of the children and their campus. If you go to the Special Projects tab on the website, you can see some of the artwork they have produced. Please note that while that page also talks about an art building, know that the children's needs are more direct as of this writing. It is a daily struggle to have enough food each day. If you feel compelled, please consider giving directly via their new US recognized fund: Wat Opot Children's Fund. You may also specify that the funds go to a special project you have in mind or that they are creating, such as an electric washer, implementation of electricity (they currently use a generator to provide electricity for two hours each evening), bicycles for the kids, or improved lodging. The website will list their most recent projects and needs.

All week during my visit, I'd been thinking about what Cambodia needs most. My short list includes:

Education of course
Screens for their windows and anti malaria preventive measures
Clean water
Plentiful food

Phnom Penh is a bustling recovering city, however only a few miles out of town, electric wires end, access to good schools diminish, medical care is sparse, jobs are non-existent, and markets offer fewer and fewer goods. For most of the villagers and all orphans I met, their direct needs are very basic: food daily, access to clean drinking water, and university funds.

At another orphanage, UNACompanied ASsociation, called UNACAS, the children dressed in traditional costumes and performed for our small group. The children are incredibly precious and it saddens me that *for now* Cambodia is closed to the US for adoption. I feel rather odd in that we arrive to eat lunch especially prepared for us, sit as a special audience for a relatively big production of traditional dancing, and then we leave. The kids were so adorable and remembered us more than we from our previous visits during the week. I shot at least 30 pictures of children just before we left as they vogue for me squealing, ‘one more!’ after seeing the image on my camera and running back again to pose giggling all along.

Learn more about this project by contacting them directly via this link *scroll to bottom to find*

welcome to Cambodia

2008-03-25T19:23:00.000-07:00

It is easy to quickly acclimate to the chaos of the city; vehicles of all sorts, open store fronts, men squatting on the sidewalk fixing, carving, welding, eating, watching, and the like are all common sites. There are millions of motorbikes in Phnom Penh and consequently many shops on every street offering motorcycle needs. These ‘stores’ with all their showrooms on the sidewalk typically specialize and sell only one item such as unpainted plastic, shocks, helmets, spark plugs, seats, wheels, or other unrecognizable parts. Some specialized in fixing bikes and would do the mechanics right there on the sidewalk. Men even weld on the sidewalk in plain view of everyone; no eyes protected. It is interesting also to see stacked on the sidewalk several boxes of TVs! Certainly they pull these into their store – basically a narrow room facing the road that is their warehouse secured by a metal pull down garage door, at night only to restack them outside for potential buyers every day. The other stores have tons of colorful wares and speeding by in our taxis some are unrecognizable but look a lot like kitschy stuff to me.

Eleven million people live in Cambodia. It is a small country about the size of Missouri. Education, technical training and skills development are crucial to rebuild the capacity of people to improve their lives and to help the country overcome their second-world status. Cambodia's once rich natural resources--minerals, forests and fish--were greatly depleted during decades of civil war and turmoil. Most of the country's economy is spurred on by tourism, garment factories and international aid. Our group consists of four people from Holland, Michigan and two from Bali, Indonesia to bring supplies, money, and art therapy to a few orphanages.

We change hotels three times while in Phnom Penh and while we get $15 dollar rooms in four star hotels we were all a bit uncomfortable with open bathroom windows and rooms not sealing to the outside world. Phnom Penh is supposedly malaria free, though I still worry about the risk, being the only one in our group not to take malaria medication. I rarely saw a mosquito in my room through out the week, but knew being stung was bound to happen. To combat this inevitability during sleep, I wore a head net to bed each night I was in Indochina.

the orphanage
After a nice breakfast at the Hotel Anise where they make a great quasi-western breakfast of an omelet of sorts with a grilled tomato half garnishing the plate served with great French baguette, we take a big Mercedes van to the Wat Opot orphanage an hour and a half south of Phnom Penh in the Takeo Province. The orphanage is situated behind an active temple, called a Wat in the village of Opot; this is how the Project is named. The campus includes a few buildings and they tend to ponds in the back for fish. Barbed wire is strung along the back yard to keep the cows out, and they keep ducks, geese, and tend to a garden. Boys run around us flying home-made kites as we walk. Here, all kids live together; both HIV positive and negative. This orphanage is also an AIDs hospice caring for adults as they die. It is often that the parents choose to come here to die so that their kids will be taken care of after they are gone. The government is getting better distributing ARV drugs and caring for it’s sick. The death rate has fallen from close to 100 per month to four. Typically, It is rare that children would be kept together regardless of their HIV status and doctors from all over the world want to study this Project. Our first day, there is a group of Japanese doctors visiting considering taking on this study. I fear they will uncover that the kids do transmit to one another; let's hope not.

I worry about the kids contracting the illness from each other and of the danger of getting sick myself as some of the children pointed out to me having AIDs have open sores on their arms and legs while others HIV positive look completely healthy. It is a sad situation to witness.

Some of the children eventually join us in our tour of the grounds as we walk towards the Wat being led by a very interesting woman from Santa Cruz, California who is volunteering for six months here. She’s taken two years to travel and volunteer at various places in South America and Asia. She is a teacher by trade and also a famous surfer. At the orphanage, she helps with the daily needs of the kids such as bathing and dressing caring mostly for the children she notices that are prejudiced by the official staff of care givers. Vicki also teaches the children and a few of the monks from the Wat, English in addition to starting formal lessons on guitar and piano.

Upon arriving at the Project, she found the Wat to be filled with garbage and the floors filthy. The monks didn’t clean up and it was not a peaceful place to mediate. She cleaned it right away and started a program with the kids to help every week there. The monks have appreciated their efforts and started to take better care of the overall grounds as well. In the main temple the kids cling to a few of us and run around yelling, listening with muffled giggles as their voices echo in the tall empty brightly painted room. They play a game with me where they try to sneak up on me, only to run away when I ‘happen’ to notice them. They are adorable.

art therapy and scotch tape
We have time with a few kids who are not in school and we start the first session of Art Therapy using ‘story people’ to talk about what's important in their lives and how we are all different so to praise our individuality. We talk about expressions and how we each react to various situations. The kids draw their own faces in various moods, one child so intent on being accurate that he stood in front of a small mirror hanging in the classroom his sheet of paper held to the wall adjacent. The kids are so loving, interested, and focused on education. Many spoke –via translators, and wrote about how they want to go to university to study and to travel or be doctors. Education is what Cambodia needs most. The kids are amused when after tedious folding and cutting of their papers, a paper doll emerges. I have them cut out the face they drew from the expressions exercise and this is taped to the doll along with the arms in various poses. It is then they become more fascinated with the tape than anything else possibly never having seen it before. “Can I have more tape?”

After the lesson we sit on the cement fence in front of the dorm and talk with the kids. Most just want to hold our hands. One of the older woman helpers – who are nicked-named, ‘Grandmas’, walks out of the dorm with a five year old crying boy whose legs are covered in sores. Closer, she pushes him towards me to hold and comfort. I am completely petrified as he is likely HIV positive and I am scared to touch him avoiding personal contact with the children all day. I pat his back and pull him a little closer to my side. The Grandma puts his hand in mine and I work hard not to show alarm on my face. Still he cries. I’m not about to pick him up. I walk him over to another from our visiting group is lifting boys up to sit in a tree hoping he’ll take over for me. I walk slowly with this little child until I see that his feet are starting to bleed as they are dry and swollen, the dirt and gravel trail being too much for them. I turn him around and get him back to the Grandma pointing to his feet. Of course he’s crying.

I’m never so thrilled to get on our mini-bus and douse my hands and arms with anti-bacterial gel, though I wait ‘till after we have waved our goodbyes and the bus has turned away from the kids.

breakfast parade
At breakfast in a new neighborhood we sit on a sunny veranda overlooking a street. There become fewer and fewer cars and suddenly there are monks in the street marching and carrying gold boxes, some with umbrellas shielding them from the sun, others an umbrella being held for them by a helper aside or behind them. There are many people now and the street has suddenly turned into a parade. Behind the monks are women of all ages and mostly older who are dressed in white carrying these same boxes. Then come women in white tops and matching maroon sarongs carrying one or two gold boxes, some carrying gifts on their heads.

I get myself to the curb narrowly missing an old shabbily dressed woman walking on the street parallel with the parade carrying a large bamboo cage filled with small wren like birds. I take pictures of the women who oblige by smiling at my camera. The parade now turns to young people dressed in white shirts and navy pants –typical school uniforms, carrying these same boxes. I’ve got to find out what this is all about, so I start walking in the parade much to the chagrin of my traveling companions and make my way to the middle to spy. I find a young boy smiling in greeting to me and say hello the Kmer way, “Sou-sdie!”. He says “hello” in response and I ask him what is in the box and why they are marching. Unfortunately his English only extends to greeting though and he can’t answer. The gold boxes have clear lids and I look inside only to see various toiletries and toys. They all seem to be carrying the same box filled with similar items. It reminds me of the Samaritan Christmas shoe box initiative.

another orphanage
After breakfast, we drive a short way into the province to visit a smaller orphanage of about thirty kids run by Baptist Philippines. I choose to do a coping exercise where we can discuss what is important in our days and in our hearts to help the children look within themselves to draw comfort in their faith and for the dreams and memories they hold most dear.

It is a very successful lesson day and gives Frida and I the most warmth that maybe we helped them. Gary talks with the kids while we cut paper and ready tables for the painting project. We sing songs together in English with the children as they wait patiently as we prepare. With a translator I introduce myself and use the blow up globe to illustrate that I come from the other side of the world. I don’t know if they understand or if they’ve even seen a globe before. I have the children pass the globe around as they introduce themselves and tell me how old they are – some do this in English, some Khmer. Frida and I dialog with them through the teachers acting as our translators, Ella and Romaleen discussing what is important in our daily lives and in our hearts. I share that I pray everyday when I wake up still lying in my bed. I talk about bicycling, cooking, working, traveling to far away lands, and close friends. Frida talks about how she prays and how God changes her so maybe she is less angry. A few kids volunteer to share with us that God is important to them and they want their family to know Jesus –this is significant especially as when these children have living relatives, the families have abandoned them. One girl wants all of Cambodia to know about God and be saved. The oldest by far is a boy of 19 and he shares in English that he wants to be a missionary to travel Cambodia and the world sharing the message of Jesus.

I draw on the sheets of large paper a heart and hand them out to each child who eagerly starts drawing understanding the exercise completely to record what is important to them inside the heart. Afterward we have a few kids explain to everyone why they drew what they did. It is so incredibly precious. I explain with Romaleen that they are to remember these future dreams, faith, friends, and ideas always. I remind them that they are the future of Cambodia. Frida and I lead them in the song, “God Is So Good” singing only the first verse, but in three languages: English, Khmer, and then Indonesian. We all hold our heart pictures up and sway as if at a concert. We close by praying out loud and bless them.

As we loaded in the van to head back to the city, it was especially precious to hear one young child singing to himself, "God is so good.."