Turn "Are we there yet?" into "Look where we are!!"

Have you ever been on a road trip with children who just couldn't wait to get there? Did the continuous pressure to silence the nagging keep you from pulling over at a vista point, or even suck all the joy out of time that could be spent enjoying the view from the window?

It's 2:30 am and I'm coming to terms with the irony.  The irony that, as a person who keeps a blog titled "No Journey Wasted," I've spent far too much of the past 6 years looking toward the next destination and - during those destination-obsessed phases - not allowing myself to relax enough to enjoy the moment.  

And I'm not talking about the easy moments. Anyone can enjoy a splendid cappucino on a Spanish balcony under the Barcelona sun.  I'm talking about the hard stuff, the nitty gritty challenges you're not sure you'll even survive. There is something to appreciate in those moments. Even if your day's song is only "I'm alive! I'm doing it! Who knows what the end result will be, but I'm going to enjoy the challenge in front of me today!"

Our ability to see that and say that has a lot to do with whether we're operating in a fixed mindset or a growth mindset.  A fixed mindset tells you that "your qualities are carved in stone" and "creates an urgency to prove yourself over and over."  On the other hand, a growth mindset "is based on the belief that your basic qualities are things you can cultivate through your efforts" -- it advocates the principle that "everyone can change and grow through application and experience."  (I recommend you read this article illustrating the power of mindset, and watch Carol Dweck's TedTalk.)

StartUp Weekend Helsinki:  A good place to practice using the growth mindset.  It's all about iteration!

If there was one gift I could give to my children

If there was one gift I could give to my children, it would be the ability to find contentment.

It's not the same thing as simply wanting them to be content. 

The contentment we most often speak of in western society is fleeting, temporary.  It depends on my ability to satiate my child's desires and it is often fueled by commodities.  If you begin to chase it, it may well turn into an eternal rat-race.  But the ability to be content - that is a sustainable, renewable resource.  And it originates in them, not me.

Kaivopuistonranta, Helsinki (2014)

On the Front Lines: Changing Minds Proves More Challenging than Changing Borders & Administrations

As I read through Geraldine Brooks' Nine Parts of Desire: The Hidden World of Islamic Women, I am continuously surprised by the riveting, intimate stories of women whom I imagine are just like me in many ways. And women whom I imagine could be good friends of mine. Women who are strong and beautiful, driven and courageous.  And yet, while some of my greatest struggles are in proving the worthiness of my ideas and concepts, turning these into a profitable business that will provide for my living, these young women are often struggling to prove that they themselves are worthy of simply living as individuals with a brain and will.

This post is in honor of International Women's Day.

Jenny Matthews/Panos

As I continue to seek out transitional environments -- traveling to observe first-hand when I can; reading and interviewing about them when I can't -- I continue to find evidence that laws and constitutions and job titles and borders are not the biggest challenge facing those who seek progress.

Deeply ingrained cultural ideas and traditions are much, much more difficult to challenge.


The following excerpts from Brooks' Nine Parts of Desire reflect her experiences during six years in the Middle East as a foreign correspondent for the Wall Street Journal.  In this story out of northern Africa, we watch women fight and prove their physical equality and strength of character, then return home only to fight again -- this time against oppressive cultural traditions.  Like so many of the transitional regions I've lived in, the story of Eritrea reveals that cultural and ideological walls are much more difficult to break down than walls of brick and mortar.

Expedition à la West Coast USA

Coming home to Oregon is always an adventure.  It never ceases to amaze me, how quickly my four brothers and my sister grow and change.  It's awesome to see them growing into their beautiful and unique personalities, exploring different passions and hobbies, and developing such a great sense of humor.  Laughter unites.

And every time I come back - which is certainly not often enough - I always wonder how I could have forgotten the beauty of the Rogue Valley and its surroundings.... Mountain trails, serene lakes, grassy plains, pine forests, sandy beaches, rocky coastlines... we have it all!

We like to dabble a little in a lot of different outdoorsy things.  This past month has been a lot of fun as we show my Finnish friend Sini around the West Coast.  We met in Helsinki and - after spending a lot of time together playing soccer, relaxing in her family's summer cabin, and hanging out with friends this summer - she moved to work in Toronto this autumn just days after I left on business to the US.  Perfect timing to catch up in North America over the holidays, and we've had so much fun welcoming her to our family Christmas and taking her on LOTS of mini family vacations.

New Year's Morning in Eureka, northern California - with my sister Tori & friend Sini

"The internet is where people are."

"One year ago I left the internet. I thought it was making me unproductive. I thought it lacked meaning. I thought it was 'corrupting my soul.' It's a been a year now since I "surfed the web" or "checked my email" or "liked" anything with a figurative rather than literal thumbs up. I've managed to stay disconnected, just like I planned. I'm internet free. And now I'm supposed to tell you how it solved all my problems. I'm supposed to be enlightened. I'm supposed to be more 'real,' now. More perfect.  But instead ..."  - Paul Miller

If you’re like me, you’ve found that constantly updated web content is the archenemy of productivity. You may have struggled through the past decade of an increasingly web-based lifestyle, trying to find the right balance between living in the real and virtual worlds.  As a perpetual traveler, I go through phases of intensive internet usage in an attempt to maintain relationships with family and friends on the other side of the globe.  At other times, I disappear from the net completely, leaving loved ones to ponder my e-footprints while I’m off cavorting with indigenous peoples in the depths of yet-to-be-networked hinterlands.

These profound changes of environment have turned me into an "all or nothing" internet user.  It's either completely absent and irrelevant to my lifestyle - or I'm constantly connected.  And I've been all too connected during my past eight months in grad school.

When I read Paul Miller’s story, a lot of his motivation to leave the internet resonated with me.  But by the end of his odyssey-like essay, I was convinced that my presence and interactions online are a largely positive force in my life and for others.  The internet is where people are.  I have a passion for encouraging people; if I hope to make the most of this gift, I need to be where people are.

U.S. Constitution Day

Today, Sept. 17, 2012, marks the 225th anniversary of the signing of our Constitution at the Philadelphia (Constitution) Convention in 1787. The best way to honor the day might be to read it.

Welcome to Aalto University

While this isn't quite how I thought the first week at Finland's elite business school would go, I'm shirking off my preconceived notions and going with the flow.  I ended up making some great friends this week with both Finnish and other foreign master's students, and quite a lot of friends in bachelor programs as well, since the two are usually combined into one 5-year program in which some master's courses can be taken before the bachelor is even completed. Also, since the Strategy program is a joint program between the School of Business and the School of Engineering, we have the unique opportunity to take any course offered at either campus (regardless of whether it counts toward our degree), which allows us to network, study alongside, and get to know students in both schools.

I've come to learn that the student union and student guilds are to be taken seriously.

daily walk by the sea

sunset over the harbor

Scheduling a date with the washing machine

It's completely logical but still kind of funny to me that Finnish apartment buildings have a datebook for the laundry machines in their basements.  Each family signs the book for when they plan to launder their clothes that week, and this helps ensure that the machines are free when they saunter into the basement loaded down with bags of soiled garments.

It makes sense, doesn't it? I was disappointed several times during my undergrad housing days, when I'd sort my laundry and haul it all into the clubhouse laundry room, only to get there and remember that Saturday at noon was peak laundering hour.

Even so...how silly will I sound when I have to turn down a spontaneous coffee date with this excuse: "Sorry, I have an appointment with a washing machine."

Nepali Fabric Shop - a photo blog

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

Luptin, and the Sherpa relationship with food

"Shei, shei, shei!" It's the national cry of the Sherpani: "Eat, eat, eat!!"

Sapana just returned from her farewell breakfast with Luptin, the bearded monk who hosted us at saano gumba during the festival.  She walks into our room and empties her pockets, removing handfuls of chapati - flat, round, thick, and filling Tibetan bread.
"I just couldn't eat it all!" she cries, "but I didn't want to waste it."  She packs the chapati into a plastic bag for an afternoon snack and turns to show me the immense feast Luptin prepared her for breakfast: Chapati filled with veggie omelette, served quesadilla style with a yak cheese and red chili sauce, a hard boiled egg, a huge bowl of boiled carrots and bok choi and a glass mug of bottomless black apple tea. It looked genuinely delicious, and once again my heart was melted by the incredible generosity of a people who have nothing, yet give continuously of their very best. Cheese and eggs are such a luxury here!  Even vegetables demand a special occasion in order to make an appearance.

During the week we slept at saano gumba, Luptin brought us a thermos of hot water every night before bed.  If we seemed awake he insisted we follow him up to his small room above the monastery to sit on the floor together and share mugs of instant vita-drink that tasted like milky oatmeal and a tin of butter cookies.  After a half hour spent looking through the Chinese photo book of his Tibetan homeland and the various postcards and photos of Natur Rimpoche and other Buddhist leaders and incarnations, he'd send us back to our rooms laden with fresh tea bags and a box of unopened chocolate covered wafer cookies.

Though 60-year-old Luptin speaks no more than 20 words of English, we communicate effectively through smiles and gestures.  I've come to learn that silence is not awkward for Nepalis, especially during meal time, as they believe talking while eating is not good for digestion.  I enjoy the peaceful quiet of tea times with Luptin and the awareness that it brings out in me as my tongue stops and my other senses become more acute. But I also enjoy the fun challenge of communicating with him.  We learn that he is a devoted servant to Zatur Rimpoche (brother of Natur Rimpoche, who is currently residing at saano gumba) because Luptin's teacher - the one who raised him in the monastery - was the former Zatur Rimpoche. After Zatur's death, it was Luptin's responsibility to find the reincarnation of Zatur Rimpoche, and then raise the boy.  After the current Zatur Rimpoche was recognized as a reincarnation of a high lama, his two brothers were also recognized as incarnations: Datur Rimpoche and Natur Rimpoche.  We're told that this is very rare for so many siblings to be recognized as incarnations; this is perhaps the only family with three boys in such high positions.

Luptin conveys that Natur Rimpoche has been traveling in Russia, Europe, and America. He cannot accompany, however, because he doesn't have a passport.  Putting together the pieces of his life puzzle, we surmise that Luptin is a Tibetan refugee and without documents; a citizen of no land. I look to his laughing eyes, dancing as always, and I wonder what pain, what stories lie in his past. I understand how the Buddhist teachings of non-attachment and ideal of freeing oneself from desire help the Tibetan people cope with their political and physically impoverished circumstances.  Of the many peoples I've encountered throughout my travels, the Tibetans and Sherpa are among the poorest in material possessions yet among the richest in spirit.  I leave Luptin's room with my belly full, my mind joyful, my heart humbled, and my spirit renewed.  I snuggle into my sleeping bag and smile myself to sleep; I marvel at how sometimes the most meaningful communication takes place in spite of a language barrier.  Through the sharing of his food, Luptin reaches out, ministers to us and shares much more.

For Buddhists, "to prepare food for others is equal to preparing food for a shrine. If you feed others, you honor them."* To feed is to nurture; to satisfy another's hunger is to show compassion; to promote compassion is to build karma; to acquire good karma is to ensure rebirth into a higher realm of samsara and brings one nearer to enlightenment. During Dumzi, I told an old trekking guide that I was interested in the overlap of Sherpa culture and Buddhist culture. "They are one and the same," Dorje told me, drawing his two index fingers together as if to illustrate their synonymie. No wonder Sherpa people insist on feeding you till you can't quite possibly handle another bite. Though filling up on the carb-centric Sherpa diet might not honor your digestive system, it does honor your soul.

Following my three day fast due to food poisoning (or rather, water poisoning resulting from an improperly washed cup), Sapana and I were both lacking in appetite and asked for very small lunch portions as Pasang ladled dal into our bowls.  Though we lifted our hands palms up as if to cover our bowls - the polite way to refuse food or drink - and serenaded him with a chorus of "tuche, tuche, tuche" - no thankyou! - he stopped just briefly and then poured in a little more. We gave him a look of joking disdain, as if to say, "Come on, we don't want to waste it!"
He snickered, "It's the rule, we have to give twice."  Sherpa protocol demands two scoops of food be put on a plate (I demand two small scoops) and for alcohol or ceremonial drink, the one pouring the drink will not leave until the recipient of the cup first chugs at least half of the full cup, takes a big gulp after is it refilled, and again one more after it is filled a third time.  All the while, the Sherpani with the pitcher hovers with one palm under the mug, tipping it steeply to ensure the drinker drinks.  I've gently but steadfastly refused all alcohol except one cup of chhang (Sherpa millet wine, which I forced myself to drink for the full cultural experience) so as to avoid alcohol poisoning, or even worse, drowning at the hands of an eager and generous Sherpani with a pitcher.


* An excerpt from "I Taste Fire, Earth, Rain: Elements of a Life with a Sherpa" by Caryl Sherpa.

Dumzi Festival - Part IV

It's 6:00 AM.  Sapana and I kick off our shoes and file into the monastery with the monks. As always, I try to inconspicuously refrain from the three prostrations before the Buddha statues which accompany any Buddhist's entry into a monastery.  While the older monks take their seats on the padded wooden benches around the perimeter of the room, Sapana and I take a seat on one of two parallel carpets that have been rolled out in the middle of the room.  The younger boys line up and sit down with us, their prayer book in one hand and metal coffee mug in the other. From my seat in the very back of one line, I watch Ngatar, Tendi, Samten, Dawa, Chimi, Lakpa, Karma, and Pasang get situated, untying and unwrapping the cloth holding together their loose leaf prayer books.

We sit in a line, each person directly behind the person in front of them and so close that our knees touch the back of the one in front of us while our backs are up against the knees of the person behind us. Personal space isn't really a concept here, but that's okay because having grown up together everyone is a brother and even the two older, middle aged monks are called O'Tom Cho and O'Serpa, the "O" meaning "uncle." The handwritten festival schedule posted outside the monastery accurately describes us as the "Pema Choling Monk Family at Thulo Gumela."

It's so cute how excited the boys are; though they practice puja every morning for an hour and a half, they never get to take part in the big monks' puja.  Their participation in the special Dumzi puja is both a privilege and a rite of passage.

My friend Pasang (the older Pasang - 22 years old) must be in charge of the ceremonial rituals because all morning he's been arranging and rearranging things on the altar, lighting and spreading incense, swinging the smokey soul purification pot, and filling the silver offering stands - first with sprinkles of rice and then black tea.

I haven't seen much of him for the past three days. He's been like a hermit, camping upstairs in the tiny 5' x 10' room above the monastery, working tirelessly to create the most intricate of the thorma adornments.  I'd go up periodically to check on him, and there he'd be, always sitting in exactly the same spot, in the same position - legs folded Indian-style, bent over an incredible little butter sculpture.  Colin and Lakpa would be there too, sometimes accompanied by Dorjee or Kagi.  They'd often laugh and joke, but more often worked in silence. Every so often Lakpa would hand his work over to Pasang, who seems to have the final say on the finished work. All of the older monks participate in making thorma, and the craftsmanship is generally good, but Pasang is exceptionally gifted.  I've made him promise to let me take home his floating Buddha sculpture when Dumzi is finished.  Otherwise it would just be disposed of, just as the alter offerings are later eaten by hungry monks and - in the case of the Nyune festival last month - Jenny and I, who were craving chocolate.

Turning my thoughts back to the ceremony taking place before me, I recall the schedule posted outside the monastery.  Puja starts every morning at 6:00 or 7:00 AM, going until our 8:00 breakfast. When the chanting stops I file out of the monastery and into the dining hall with the monks. Breakfast is brought to us immediately by a handful of Sherpa women and kitchen hands who deliver steaming dishes of hot food and mugs of tea, juice, or Coke. The monks eat very quickly and I'm always the last one to finish. They walk right back into the monastery and resume puja until lunch at 12 noon.  After breakfast I stay seated in the dining hall, watching a steady flow of thermoses full of tea being taken into the monastery and Pasang running in and out to fetch new offerings and carry out others.

The chanting stops again and monks eager to stretch their legs pour out of the curtain that hangs over the monastery entrance. They come in for lunch, a beautiful spread including a mountain of boiled rice, potato and cauliflower and chicken curry, lentil soup, a salad of fresh lettuce, tomato, red and green onion, and a sour yogurt drink to finish the meal and cleanse the palate. Eating quickly, we enjoy an hour break after lunch.  Puja resumes at 1:30 PM. "Khaza" - an afternoon snack, also called "second lunch" - is served at 3:00. Yesterday was chow mein; today it's delicious fried chapati - Tibetan round, thick, flat bread made of rice flour - topped with a potato curry. So good! We're truly spoiled this week.

Back to puja at 3:30, and by 6:00 it's finished. Dinner is ready right away: Thukpa! This is a wide, flat traditional Tibetan rice noodle in a clear broth topped with sauteed veggies and dried yak meat. The festival sponsor, Ngawang Dorje, tells me that he had these thukpa noodles specially ordered and made in Kathmandu just for Dumzi. I'm impressed.

After dinner we relax. The monks are exhausted and I am, too. I rejoined puja right after lunch, and five hours of sitting - my legs folded under me, in concentrated meditation and close observation of the sacred rituals unfolding before me - leave me mentally and physically worn out. We drink a thermos of milk tea and then head to our rooms. Our 5:00 AM wake up call will come before we know it!

Dumzi Festival - Part II

On the stove a dish called dildo bubbles in a wok blackened from what appears to be years of use over an open fire. I saw a menu nailed to a wooden plank in the kitchen yesterday, a hand-written grid neatly printed on a blank sheet of paper, and couldn't help but laugh when I read that "Dildo with Mixed Curry" was on for lunch today. What in the world could that be?  The rest of the dishes on the menu - besides "Macroni with Veg/Cheese Tomato" - are traditional Sherpa, Nepali, or Tibetan dishes, and I haven't come across anything called dildo yet.

It was Pasang Genzi, assistant to the festival sponsor, who pointed to the corn meal and hot water bubbling in the wok and told me, "See, they're making dildo. Very good, you should try it." I watched as first the corn meal was cooked, then tsampa (barley) and millet, all in the same fashion. Then all three were dumped into a huge twenty-gallon pot to become a mixture so thick three cooks had to heave the pot off the fire and onto the floor, where they propped it against a wooden log which they used as leverage to stir the dildo with huge wooden sticks.

Lunch time approaches and I'm chased up to the dining hall to take the meal in a long room with wooden benches and long narrow tables lining either side. The thick brown paste that they call dildo is plopped into a copper dish and served with a bowl of chicken potato curry on the side. No utensils included. That's pretty typical for Nepal - everyone eats with their right hand only.  But usually the other volunteers and I are given utensils automatically, and I'd even say most of the monks use utensils most of the time.  But apparently this dish is hands-only, so I have to seek out a spoon for myself.  When I return and start sipping some of the curry soup off my spoon, I look up to see everyone staring at me and laughing - not insultingly, just amused.  I seem to constantly be a great source of amusement for pretty much everyone here.  The monks demonstratively roll their dildo paste into marble-sized balls and then dip them into the curry before popping them in their mouths.  Colin jokingly threatens to throw one at me.  It goes against every lesson in table etiquette my mother ever taught me. What happened to "No playing with your food?" Sherpa kids don't learn that lesson.

Even though I know the dildo dish contains barley and therefore gluten, I'm curious enough to taste it that I risk a stomach ache.  One bite is enough though; I find it bland and too rich all at the same time, and after three years of carefully avoiding gluten, the taste of grain is foreign in my mouth. I opt to stick to my bowl of curry soup instead, which is truthfully wonderful. I think the festival cooks are a bit less fond of chili and masala (spices), so for once I can actually taste my food.

I wander a bit after lunch, touring the grounds to check progress in our monastery-turned-thorma-making-factory.  But eventually I find myself back in the kitchen, eager for a warm place to sit and read and subconsciously hoping for a hot cup of milk tea. I'm pleasantly surprised to find a huge pot of boiled potatoes on the floor and a group of happy Sherpas sitting around it in a sort of peeling party. Laughter bounces off the walls, the fire pops, and the smell of twisted rice-flour kapsi cookies boiling in soybean oil fills my nostrils as I'm welcomed into the room.
"Can I help?" I ask with a smile, pointing to the pot of potatoes.
"Sure, sit down," Purbu replies.  I'd crouched next to him in the yard of the other monastery a few weeks ago during the Nyune festival, slowly pressing a huge pile of barley-butter-water paste into hundreds of teardrop-shaped thorma the size of my fist. He and the others surrounding the tarp - all men between the ages of 16 and 40 and all trekking guides - laughed and joked as I very slowly and painfully produced my first thorma. No matter how long I massaged the paste, gently shaping and smoothing the surface, it would crumble the moment I pulled one hand away.
"No, like this," said Purbu, as he forcefully smashed a handful of crumbs into a very dense, compact ball.  He kneaded the dough for a good two minutes, then handed me a perfect sphere.  Having three fourths of the work done for me, I quickly and easily shaped the ball into a beautiful teardrop, pinching the top with thumb and forefinger to emphasize the cone shape.  I was really proud of myself, and so was everyone else. Purba and I continued in this manner - he doing the heavy lifting, me taking the credit for a perfectly compacted thorma - for at least two more hours, until the tarp was empty and we were surrounded by hundreds of teardrops on baking sheets. Remembering our teamwork and his kindness, I'm touched that Purba offers me a potato and a seat next to him.

With five people peeling, the twenty gallon pot of potatoes empties quickly. I reach in to pull another out while maintaining eye contact during my conversation Purba and am startled to find, when I finally look down, that I'm holding an egg. "Ewww! Uh oh! It's an egg!" I cry. Everyone laughs. I look down into the pot. I count four other eggs camouflaged among the potatoes. For some reason I'm startled and confused; I don't understand why you would ever boil eggs and potatoes together. In fact, I'm slightly concerned that the chicken poop on the eggshell contaminates the potatoes. But I peel the egg anyways and move on to the next potato.

"Each Day More Random Than the Last..."

That's how Jenny first described the monastery to me when we arrived at Pema Choling last week. And I must say, she did not exaggerate.  The funniest part is that the randomness of this place actually inspires pretty random thoughts on my own part. I find myself contemplating things I'd never think of anywhere else.

***

After flying into Lukla at 7 AM, we walked all the way to Pema Choling, stopping for lunch in the village of Ghat, and finally arriving here at 4 PM.  We were ushered into a long dark, cool room lined with built-in wooden benches along the walls and were seated at an end table. Then it seemed that we were basically ignored for a good twenty to thirty minutes, while three older monks worked with clay and paints and a nun stood by with four large thermoses of milk tea, refilling the monks' mugs after almost every sip.  "If they're drinking out of a cup that never gets empty, how would they ever know how much they drank?" I thought.  After a few minutes I decided it didn't really matter. They live three fourths of the way up a giant mountain. I'm sure no matter how much milk tea they drink, they'll burn it off by dinner. 

The smallest thermos (2 liters) was light pink with a Hello Kitty design on it. Random. 

This was my first hint that perhaps the monks don't take themselves as seriously as I expected they would.

All the while I was growing colder and colder as a breeze swept through the open doorway of the long room and turned the sweat on my back ice cold.  I wondered why the old monks sat there chatting among themselves and drinking heaps of hot tea, not offering any to us or even acknowledging our existence. Finally someone brought us mugs and filled them with a cold orange juice drink that tasted like a powdered Gatorade mix.  

That was my first lesson.  Just because I don't perceive an activity or intention doesn't mean it's not being done or intended. Though they seemed to be absorbed in their work and conversation, the monks were considerate to note that we were hot and tired from trekking and - seeing as they were drinking only hot tea - ask that a cold drink be mixed up for us.  I didn't understand anything substantial of their conversation in Sherpa, but as we were led to our rooms, through the kitchen and out the door at the end of the hall opposite the one we entered, I imagined that what the Lopon (teacher) said to me meant, "You have much to learn, young grasshopper." 

***

Later, the monk who served us the orange juice introduced himself as Lopon La Nawang Ladop, the head teacher of the school.  Lopon La is the title given to those who have a Ph.D.  Nawang (which we call him for short) is a title which means "monk" and precedes every monk's name.  And Ladop is the name given him by his teacher.  Nawang is a very learned man in many senses of the word. He serves as both a mother and father figure for his students (aged 7 to 12) who have left their families to come live here. I looked through the book from his university in India - a sort of admissions guide and course catalog - and noted that his 14 years of study there included courses in Philosophy, Literature, Metaphysics, Logic, Tantric Studies (one type of Buddhist scripture), Ritual Prayers, Meditation Practices, and English.  But despite this attempt at a well-rounded education, I don't think Nawang has ever taken a course in Geography or perhaps even set eyes on a world map. For during one of our first conversations he asked, "You're from America, right?  And is America part of Europe?" I graciously explained that the U.S. is on a separate continent but thought to myself: Hmmm...il y a quelque chose qui cloche. Random.

***

The morning before our first day of class Jenny, the volunteer who's been here for six weeks, told me that when we're ready to start, we just need to hit the old oxygen tank hanging from the corner roof of the classroom and all the boys will come running.  I inquired about the oxygen tank, and she told me that it's one of Sir Edmund Hillary's - one that he left here while visiting Pema Choling on his way up to summit Mount Everest in 1950 (He was the first ever to reach the summit).  It's really cool to have this souvenir, I thought, but why was it empty already here at 10,000 feet?  I was bounding around yesterday during a little morning trail run no less than 18 hours after I arrived here - my first time ever at such high altitude - and I've been diagnosed with exercise-induced asthma, something which should make it harder for me than most people to breath thinner air.  An experienced mountaineer using oxygen at this altitude? I'm sure there's a good reason, but again - Random!

***

This morning during chanting one of the boys, Pasang, was asked to light a stick of incense.  He bustled around  lighting candles and such and then pulled a long stick of incense out of a red Pringles can that must have been exactly the right height for keeping incense. I smiled and tried to keep from giggling as the monks went about their somewhat solemn rituals, all the while pulling their sacred materials out of a container which formerly housed American junk food.  Random.

***

I'm sure this won't be the end of the randomness; every day I wake up and something new is happening which I could never preconceive.  I usually don't really understand or even know what's going on until after the fact.  But it makes every day fun and exciting.  And just a little bit random.

"Nepal Falls into Political Turmoil" - (But I'm Alive!)

The Wall Street Journal May 29, 2012
KATMANDU, Nepal—Nepal sank into political turmoil Monday after lawmakers failed to agree on a new constitution, leaving the country with no legal government. The premier called new elections, but critics said he lacked the power to do so.
Security forces went on high alert and riot police patrolled the streets after several political parties called for rallies to demand the resignation of Prime Minister Baburam Bhattarai and protest his unilateral decision to call elections for November. Only a few peaceful protests were reported."The country has plunged into a serious crisis," said Ram Sharan Mahat, a senior leader of the country's second-largest party, the Nepali Congress, who said that six months would not be enough time to prepare for new polling."This government has no legitimate grounds to continue," he said.The squabbling political parties in Nepal's Constituent Assembly had failed to agree on a new blueprint for the Himalayan nation by their own deadline of midnight Sunday, despite repeated extensions of the due date over the past four years.A key sticking point was whether the country's states should be drawn to give regional power bases to ethnic minorities.Writing the new constitution was supposed to cap an interim period aimed at solidifying details of Nepal's democracy after the country turned the page on centuries of royal rule and resolved a decadelong Maoist insurgency by bringing the former combatants into the political mainstream.Mr. Bhattarai, from the party of the former Maoists, said the previous constitutional assembly, elected four years ago, had failed and must be dissolved, and that he would head a caretaker government until the Nov. 22 elections."We have no other option but to go back to the people and elect a new assembly to write the constitution," Mr. Bhattarai said in his announcement.However, his plan immediately drew criticism from legal experts, who said any plans for new polling should be made in consultation with the country's other political parties."It was politically, legally and morally incorrect of the prime minister to announce fresh elections," said constitutional and legal expert Bhimarjun Acharya.Police spokesman Binod Singh said thousands of police officers had been deployed in the capital, Katmandu, and major cities across the country to stop any violence in the coming days.At a rally Monday in Katmandu, small groups of college students burned effigies of Mr. Bhattarai and demanded his resignation. Police quickly put out the flames.Separately, a group supporting the abolished monarchy also demanded the prime minister's resignation, blaming him for the country's political crisis. Police allowed the demonstrators to march through the center of Katmandu.On Sunday, police had clashed briefly with protesters outside the Constituent Assembly, where political leaders from the country's four main parties had been meeting in a last-minute attempt to agree on a new constitution before the deadline.Much of the debate was over whether to draw state boundaries in a way to boost the political power of the country's ethnic minorities.Nepal's minority ethnic groups and low-caste communities were overshadowed for centuries by the country's elite. In the past couple of years, as Nepal has struggled to create a new government, those divisions have given rise to caste- and ethnic-based politicians, who insist their long-marginalized communities deserve to live in states that maximize their influence.The Constituent Assembly was elected to a two-year term in 2008 to draft a new constitution but has been unable to finish the task. Its tenure has been extended four times, but the Supreme Court rejected any further extensions.—Copyright 2012, the Associated Press

Though there is certainly some turmoil in the capital, I am fortunate to be in the high Himalayas, beyond the reach of its influence.  Pema Choling is perhaps the safest place I could be in Nepal during a time like this.  I'm thankful that we flew out early in the morning on the very day the constitution was supposed to be completed, and that we actually made it to Lukla, as we are officially the only flight which the clouds permitted to land here in the past two weeks!

Life in the Himalayas revolves around tourism, and as long as the trekkers keep coming and eating, the Sherpa people are happy. As far as I know, the Sherpas are not very politically active beyond their isolated communities, have not declared any strikes, and are not included in the minority ethnic groups which seek to maximize their political privileges and influence.  In fact, I don't believe the political situation in the country is even a hot topic of discussion up here.

I'm just glad that I won't be flying back to Kathmandu until August; hopefully in the next three months things will die down. And if it is still unpredictable, I'll simply book my ticket home and, upon arriving at the KTM airport from Lukla, stay there until boarding my connecting flight.

In other news, seemingly unrelated to the constitution business, but equally tragic...

"Nepal Supreme Court Judge Killed"The Wall Street Journal May 31, 2012
KATMANDU, Nepal – Motorcycle-riding assailants shot and killed a Supreme Court judge under investigation for allegedly taking bribes as he headed to work in the Nepalese capital Thursday, police said.Rana Bahadur Bam's bodyguard and another passenger in his car were also wounded in the attack as the judge was driven to work after worshipping at a Hindu temple.Mr. Bam was being investigated by the Judiciary Council for allegedly taking bribes from suspects charged with abduction in 2010 in exchange for releasing them with light sentences and fines.Police official Rabindra Shah said two masked men on a black motorcycle drove by the judge's car and opened fire. Mr. Bam, his bodyguard and another person identified as the judge's friend were hit but the driver managed to escape. The attackers fled the scene after the shooting and the injured men were rushed to the hospital in a taxi.Mr. Bam, shot several times, died at the local Norvic Hospital as he was being treated for internal bleeding, said hospital doctor Bharat Rawat.The other two men were undergoing surgery and their condition was unknown.Police set up checkpoints in Katmandu and were searching for the motorcycle and culprits.

Again, I'm not able to follow the happenings in Kathmandu very closely, but I'm not in the least bit concerned for my own safety during my time here at Pema Choling and along the trail to Base Camp.

Guatemala - Part II: "Esperanza"

Her name means hope. Esperanza is seven years old and studies in the third grade. She lives with her mother and sisters in Chajul -- a community of 3000 people in the highlands of central Quiche -- and speaks Ixil, one of 22 languages spoken by 22 distinct ethnic groups in Guatemala.

The Ixil [ "ee-sheel"] people are descendants of the Mayans.  A visit to their remote villages scattered throughout the valleys and steep mountainsides of Quiche reveals women in traditional red woven skirts and whipils ["whee-peels"] which take the women on average two and half months to hand weave on homemade looms.

It's a complex process, I learn, as I make my first attempt under the supervision of Esperanza and her family.  At seven, Esperanza has already mastered the basics of weaving. As I struggle to keep track of the many wooden tools involved, her mother, Maria Asicona, smiles over me and adroitly adjusts my errors.  Esperanza studies my blonde hair and foreign features as she stands nearby, transferring a spool of thread to another tool with nonchalant expertise. Her eyes bear a quiet confidence beyond her years.

A walk through Beurs in Rotterdam

A promenade through Brussels' downtown café district

Follow me for a short walk through the tourist-saturated back alley ways of downtown Brussels, only a few blocks from le Grand Place.  I can't remember a more beautiful, sunny day in Belgium!

A First Taste of the Coffee Industry

A new adventure starts Friday morning when we leave Nashville, headed for Amsterdam.  A busy first weekend includes a train trip to Brussels to Saturday.  The NIBS competition kicks off with a welcome banquet Sunday night.  Much to be excited about!

I'm scrambling to get next week's assignments into my professors' inboxes tonight before I leave -- the last thing I want to worry about is trying to connect to the internet in a foreign country while under pressure to get my work in on time.

Now about this trip...

We just had our pre-departure briefing for Guatemala this morning.  It was so neat to have Bob Bernstein, owner of beloved Belmont Blvd coffee shop Bongo Java, tell us about his experience starting a fair trade coffee cooperative several years ago to buy coffee directly from small-scale farmers -- although he doesn't use the term "fair trade" anymore because "it's been bastardized," as he puts it.  Most people refer only to price when talking about fair trade requirements, but it's so much more than that, says Bob.

Bob has a lot of thought-provoking ideas and experiences to share with us, especially in regards to responsible sourcing for coffee sellers, so you'll read more about this as I think about our discussion throughout the trip. What really caught me off guard, though, was this: Of all the coffee-growing and -producing communities Bob has visited during his travels, Ethiopia is the only coffee-drinking community. In all of the other coffee-growing communities, the bean might be the region's biggest economic driver, but it's final product is not enjoyed there.  

Some of the reasons coffee isn't so popular -- or good-tasting -- in Guatemala?  Uneven and inconsistent roasting, and the inability to get water hot enough for a good-quality brew present major challenges. And of course all the best coffee gets exported, so what stays in Guatemala is definitely not the cream of the crop. Bob's cooperative is now working to help coffee farmers in Guatemala improve their equipment so that they can taste their coffee. 

I can't wait to explore Guatemala and experience the entire tree-to-bean-to-latte process!

In other news: I was honored to be nominated by my peers to Belmont's Homecoming Court last week, and even though I wasn't crowned Homecoming Queen, it was so much fun participating! (In fact, I didn't even know that we had a homecoming court in college, so the entire event was a surprise.) My friend Rami was also nominated, so here we are walking out on the court together at halftime of Belmont's Men's Basketball Homecoming game last Friday night!  

Photo courtesy Belmont University

Mémoire

Je viens de trouver ce petit essaie que j'ai écrit au but de mon séjour à Bruxelles.  C'est incroyable que ça fait déjà presque 5 ans que j'ai quitté la Belgique, mais j'ai eu la bonne chance de rendre visite déjà une fois - l'année passée - et j'y rentre dans deux semaines!

Cela est un bon reflection sur le temps passé là-bas; je pense que c'est évident que c'est voyage à été pendant une période tellement important pour le développement personnel et confiance en soi.

« Je descends de l’avion avec tous les autres. Je suis prête avec mon passeport et mon visa. Après plus de vingt heures sur l’avion il me semblait que le moment n’arriverait jamais. Mais voilà, je suis là. Fatiguée, même épuisée, j’essaie de garder un esprit d’aventure. 

Sortant du bureau de la douane, je rentre dans une salle pleine de gens qui semblent parler mille langues différentes, dont je ne connais aucune. Un groupe m’approche, ils me rattrapent, ils m’embrassent chacun à son tour. Je suis surprise, étonnée : pourquoi sont-ils aussi intimes ? Je ne les jamais vus auparavant ! Je compte huit personnes, ce doit être ma nouvelle famille. Ils semblent sympas, mais je ne comprends qu’un ou deux mots de chaque phrase. Après quelques minutes je les suis dehors. Dans le parking je suis perdue. Je vois des milliers de voitures, toutes tellement petites qu’elles paraissent appartenir à une maison de poupée, à un monde de poupée. C’est quoi ces marques ? J’ai l’impression d’être sur une autre planète. 

En voiture je me retrouve coincée entre deux sièges d’enfant. Les petits s’énervent quand je ne réponds pas aux deux cents questions qu’ils me lancent toutes à la fois. J’essaie de réciter quelque chose, n’importe quoi suffirait à ce point, mais ils s’ennuient et commencent à se chamailler. Cela fait 35 heures que je n’ai pas dormi, et ma maison, ma famille, ma vie semblent être à l’autre bout du monde. »

Travel the World Without Ever Leaving Nashville

I've heard people over and over tell me how jealous they are of those who get to travel; they complain that they themselves could never afford such experiences.

Au contraire.  Let me remind you...
We are a nation of immigrants!  All over America you'll find pockets of first- and second-generation immigrants who are holding on to and cherishing the traditions of their forefathers, and would you believe...they are not only willing, they are ecstatic when individuals outside their community take an interest and come to learn about and share in their traditions. If you've never encountered a community of immigrants who have preserved the customs and traditions of their motherland, you might be surprised at how spending time with them will sweep you off your feet, transporting you millions of miles, to anywhere in the world.

You'll try foods you never knew existed; learn songs and dances whose names you might have read in a history book; hear stories that would blow your mind...

I'm incredibly fortunate in that I landed haphazardly in one of America's most international cities.