Season of Rest

I've had an increasing sense during this year that now is a season of rest for me:  mentally, physically, emotionally and spiritually.  After years -- a full decade, actually -- of super-human self-expectations and unsustainable activity levels, I'm coming to a better understanding of what rest really means.  In order to get to this point, I had to rewrite the internal script that told me I'm only worth as much as I can accomplish.  I still haven't figured out how I developed that philosophy, but it doesn't really matter; what matters is that it's been replaced with a healthier script, one fueled by a sense of identity rooted in the truth that I am valuable because of who I am, not because of what I've done. As are you.

With that re-scripting has come a wonderful release, a longed-for freedom to just enjoy and not produce.  Of course I still work.  But with limits.  Healthy limits that allow for ensure renewal and rejuvenation at the end of each day.  Everywhere I turn, people and events keep reminding me that this is the time to reap the rewards of my hard work and truly enjoy them.  For once, I have not argued.  The results are worth sharing.

Odessa, Ukraine: My Poetic Tribute

In the wake of the conflict plaguing southern Ukraine, I've been reflecting on the two months I spent studying in Odessa during the summer of 2011.

As I prepare to fly back to Finland, the past few weeks of spring cleaning in my parents' garage has had me going through boxes of foreign language books and memoires I've brought home as trophies from my adventures.  Tucked away in the back of a notebook filled with grammar exercises, I found the following poem I once scribbled and a few telltale grains of sand - remnants of a summer spent writing and reading Russian books on the beaches of Odessa.

map: CNN

Young Ukrainian girls play along the shores of the Black Sea in Odessa

Одесса
великолепный город на берегу Чёрного моря
модные Одесситы на пляже
улитцы спокойные
никогда далеко дома.
Туристы у тебя
думают о следующем раз
даже прежде чем они уехали.
В террассах, тянующих вдоль дорожек
люди довольны своей отпуск потягивают фрещов
на самые жаркие дней лета.

Volleying at 3,000 Meters

I took this photo during my last weekend in the Himalaya this past August. It was the last festival of the summer, and the entire village below the monastery hiked up to this clearing, where the guys measured off and marked out a volleyball field. The monks tied their monk-skirts up around their waists (obviously wearing shorts), and felled a few trees, ripped off the branches, dug holes, and planted stakes to hold up the net. All in about 15 minutes. Pretty impressive.

A match of monks vs. villagers

Meanwhile, I did cartwheels across the mountainside, played with cute little Sherpa toddlers, and took a few snapshots - like this one - with the hopes of forever capturing a moment of absolute care-free enjoyment in this incredible place I'm honored to have called home.

Arriving

It was warm when I stepped off the plane. Like most Asian airports at night, the Kathmandu terminal was dimly lit and sparsely populated.  I filled out a visa application and watched as it, along with my passport and receipt for $100 visa fee, was passed down the line from one immigration officer to the next.  They joked and laughed among themselves, largely disregarding me, and plopped my passport down at the end of the counter without so much as looking up.

Having collected my checked pack from the baggage claim, I walked out to the taxi waiting area to look for a driver with my name on a plaque.  I doubled back 2 or 3 times to make sure I hadn't missed him, all the while politely declining a long list of services offered to me by other drivers.  I finally stopped walking, not quite sure what to do next since my driver was nowhere to be seen, and I was suddenly surrounded by no less than 12 Nepali men eager to help, all talking at once in a mixture of English and Nepali. Four of them were policemen and all were shorter than me.  I hesitated, but since I didn't have a cell phone that worked yet, I finally acquiesced and pulled out my list of contact numbers for the policeman who offered his cell phone.  He held it up and the rest of the men gathered around behind him, all studying my paper.  I learned long ago not to expect any level of privacy in Asia, and was somewhat thankful that neither my passport no., social security number or bank account were printed on that sheet. 

I was the center of intense curiosity as I tried to get in touch with Hom. But the connection was so bad, I couldn't even understand when he finally answered.  Four times I started to talk before the call was dropped almost immediately.

They kept asking me what hotel or tour company I was with, and though I imagined it might help find my driver, I was hesitant to respond because I'd just come in with a tourist visa, under which volunteer work is strictly prohibited.  I finally confided in one young man, who persistently asked me to identify some kind of company or individual.  "I don't know what the company is called in Nepal, but in the U.S. it's called IFRE - they planned the whole trip for me."
"Oh! IFRE! You're a volunteer! I know your driver, his name is Mr. Bhagwan and he's my friend. I'll call him now."
When the call was made & Mr. Bhagwan's location confirmed, I was glad I took the risk of accepting help from a stranger.

Once in the micro-van with Mr. Bhagwan, I was surprised to find that they drive on the left side of the road in Nepal, like in India.  Though it was dark, I could make out lots of trash alongside the roads.  As we emerged from the outskirts of the city and made our way into the city, an overpowering smell of urine penetrated the vehicle.  We dodged various trucks, cars, and motorcycles, nearly missing two cows that were laying, totally relaxed, in the middle of what we'd call a highway in the U.S.

Traffic started to build behind one car up ahead. It stood out because it was a nice, full size Jeep - not a miniature vehicle like all the rest.  As we passed it, I noticed the red diplomatic plates and had a flashback to being picked up from the airport in Russia just last February.  Of course traffic was building behind that car. I know from experience that diplomatic cars are the only ones who even attempt to respect traffic laws. Arriving in Nepal as a diplomat would include a certain sense of security; the scene of my airport pickup in St. Petersburg was literally me stepping away from the customs desk, taking one step into the arrival hall, being approached immediately by a consulate representative, and whisked away immediately into an atmosphere where everyone spoke English and everything about the American way of life was understood and appreciated. I didn't really even have the opportunity to get outside my comfort zone that first day.  How different my experience in Nepal has been already!  I'll always remember the response I got when I said to the policeman who tried to help me, "Okay sir, thank you so much for your offer to help, but I really don't have any money. I couldn't pay for your services."
"Don't worry, Ma'am, don't worry! This is Nepal!  You are safe in Nepal and the people are very friendly. No need to pay. Never pay police, never pay. We here to help you."

And that they did.

Nepal: Summer 2012

My summer plans have finally been confirmed... In just six weeks I'm moving to Nepal to live in a Buddhist monastery and teach English to the monks for three months!

Pema Chuling Monastery is one of the oldest Buddhist monasteries in the Khumbu region. The monastery is situated on a hill, about 20-30 minutes from Jorsale, which lies on the main trekking route to Namche Bazaar and Everest Base Camp. The monastery is situated at an altitude of 2900 meters (10,000 feet). From the monastery, you can see spectacular views of Thamserku and Kusum Khangare Himalayas. If you hike 2 hours straight uphill from the monastery, you can enjoy spectacular views of all the Himalayas, including Mount Everest. The monastery belongs to Nyimgpa sect of Tibetan Buddhism and considers Guru Rinpoche as its patron saint. The young monks mostly come from Sherpa communities, while there are few from Tibetan families also. There are at present 25 monks from 20 to 25 years of age, and 20 young ones from 7 to 12 years of age. A resident Lopon (teacher) is called Lopon la Ngawayng Ladup. Volunteers must address him as Lopon la; la is paying respect to a teacher who has deep knowledge of philosophy and practice of Buddhism. Lopon la also conducts classes and will help volunteers during the class as he can speak English, Nepali and Sherpa languages.

Ukrainian Summer

One day, a few months ago, I turned on my camera to snap a shot of something interesting and accidentally flipped it to the video dial.  Later, while uploading and reviewing my photos on my computer, I ran across this video clip and was so happy about the mistake -- seeing the 15-second clip really brought back to life the memory and the experience of that day.

And so here and there, whenever I remember, I try to catch little clips of the day - both the exciting once-in-a-lifetime moments and the everyday routines.  Things like riding the tram, grocery shopping, and hanging out with friends at the pub are so easily forgotten in the hustle and bustle of continuing life in yet another new city.  I wanted something dynamic to remind me of my summer in Odessa. While sitting in Kiev's Borispol Airport this weekend I compiled my clips from the last few months in Ukraine and voilà...

July 2011 - A Whirlwind of Excitement!

It's hard to believe that it's been practically an entire month since I've updated No Journey Wasted!  I appreciate the concerned notes from family and friends, but I don't want you to worry -- I've really been quite well (and busy!) and just haven't had a chance to upload any of the hundreds of pictures I've taken during my recent trips to Kiev, to Yalta (in the Crimea region of Ukraine), and to Chisinau (Moldova).  These have all been fantastic journeys during which I've met wonderful, interesting people; been confronted by a mixture of beautiful scenery and impoverished peoples; and experienced some events that I will surely never forget.  Among these: Watching dolphins in the tranquil, early morning waters off the Black Sea coast in Yalta; Playing cards all night in the train with an adorable Moldovan girl and her ballerina mother on the way back to Odessa from Simferopol, Ukraine; and randomly meeting one of my best childhood friends who was vacationing in Odessa while on leave from his deployment in Afghanistan.  Life continues to be full of surprises!

Adventures in Odessa

I just updated my blog subscription list and realized I have a whole new problem - in the best sense of the word.  My friends and blog subscribers include English, French and Russian speakers...and I want to keep in touch with all of you, so where/when possible I'll try to add translations for stories and captions.
Je viens de me rendre compte que, de nouveau, j'ai fait des amis uniquements francophones et russophones - donc je commence à faire des traductions pour que tout le monde puisse suivre :)

Поняла, что мои новые французкие, русские и украйнские друзья, не говоряющие по-английский не будут мочь читать эти истории.  Поэтому переводу когда возможно.

Between classes and homework I've been trying to fit in a few daily excursions around Odessa.  These often include a trip to the beach -- a convenient ten minute walk from the language school.
Après les cours nous avons beaucoup de temps libre et on va souvent à la plage boire un verre ou bien nager. L'école se trouve seulement dix minutes de la plage donc on se promener jusqu'à la mer presque tous les jours.  C'est là, où se passe souvent des histoires mémorables.

После уроков мы с другими студентами часто ходим на пляж или погулаем по городу. Школа находиться только 10 минут пешком от пляжа поэтому, почти каждый день мы ходим к море - или загарать или пить пиво и капучино в наше любимое кафе на берегу моря....Кафе пиратов!

Privoz Market

Privoz is Odessa's biggest and oldest open air market. It occupies three huge warehouses, an awning the size of a football field, and tons of semi-permanent and completely temporary stalls.  People sell their goods off of anything.  Some just squat around the perimeter of the market and display their garden herbs on a piece of cardboard. You can buy anything at Privoz - from homegrown veggies to knock-off coach bags, plucked chickens that are so fresh they're practically still moving, to freshly-squeezed juice, q-tips, and screwdrivers. And it's open 24 hours. At about 6.30 pm the consumer-oriented day-sellers go home and the bulk goods vendors quickly file in.

For the mixer we hosted at our flat last night, my house-mate Adrien and I went on a wild shopping adventure at Privoz. We quickly learned some survival methods...

Odessa: Ultimate Eastern European Vacation Destination

I've been in Odessa for less than 48 hours, and already I've explored downtown on foot, eaten at some delicious local restaurants, refreshed my wardrobe with attire appropriate for the 95F (35C) weather, attended a spectacular performance of Madame Butterfly at the world-famous Odessa Opera House, spent a morning sunning on the beach (during which I fell asleep in the sun and will continue to pay for that nap as my sunburn becomes more and more painful), swam in the Black Sea, and made Ukrainian friends at the Irish pub next door to my apartment.

St. Petersburg Center: A Guided Tour

Last week one of the coordinators from the School of Russian and Asian Studies, named Sergei, led Sarah, Hillary, and I on a walking tour of central St. Petersburg.  It was a warm, clear day and perfect for walking.  It turns out Sergei is a professor at one of the universities in St. Petersburg, and he is a wealth of great information.  Beyond simply knowing an immense amount of information about Russian culture and history, he is able to detach himself from his Russian identity and talk about issues objectively and in a global context.  

"Dom Knigi" ("House of Books"), otherwise known as The Singer House.
It was the first building built in St. Pete by an American company,
(Singer Sewing Company), and at one time it even housed the
U.S. Consulate in St. Petersburg!

The Unthinkable has happened

Two years ago, I walked into the office of Belmont's most forward-thinking Sociology professor, and told him I was planning a trip that would be the apex of my college experience and the culmination of my life schooling.  A trip that would incorporate my thesis research and result in a documentary promoting youth study abroad.


That is, a self-directed study abroad journey on the Trans-Siberian Railway.
21 days and 5,772 miles from Moscow to Vladivostok.


I put an initial proposal together, set out a book list of sociological, economic, political and historical volumes and other material that would provide me with a solid foundation of the area, researched a budget, read up on logistical concerns such as visa requirements and lodging.

But there were obstacles.  Time, money, credit transfer, administrators who were quick to point out risk and liability concerns, individuals who said, "cool, good luck!" but didn't buy into the dream.


....Until yesterday.  After finding out I had secured an internship in Russia with the State Dept. and would able to extend my stay for intensive language study programs through the School of Russian and Asian Studies (SRAS), I once again became hopeful that my Trans-Siberian dream trip might materialize in the near future.  I had not given up on it, merely put it aside for a time.  At any rate, I emailed the director of SRAS yesterday morning, explaining my vision for the trip and inquiring about any interest her organisation might have in sponsoring the trip -- not financially, but more in the way that a friend would attend  your concert for moral support.  A sponsoring organisation takes on logistical planning, helps travelers to obtain visas, arranges for lodging and other excursions, works with the traveler to set an itinerary, gives advice, purchases tickets, assumes liability, provides travel insurance, and provides emergency support.  Sponsoring a trip like this is no small matter.

The Trans-Siberian Route in Red - click map to enlarge

Yet, just hours later, I received a reply from the Director, saying "It is something that requires a lot of planning,".....but "definitely something we can help with.....And it certainly is something we would be quite interested in getting involved with."


I literally about fell out of my chair.  This is the response I did not let myself even hope for.  I read the email once, twice, a third time -- still not convinced that what I was reading was real.   I had restrained my enthusiasm in writing the first, proposal email to the Director, attempting to appear casual, calm, and nonchalant.  But now....I couldn't hold back.  My reply to her was an outpour of all the ideas and possibilities that had built up in my head for this trip.  My only request was that she somewhat sort through them, dismissing the unfeasible ideas and working with me to develop the good.


The implications of securing a sponsoring organisation go far beyond the simple logistical planning of the trip.  Having secured such a sponsor, I am now eligible to apply for a Lumos Scholarship -- a grant available through my university to students who propose a specific voyage that will enable them to "travel with a purpose."  I would never be able to pull together the resources for a trip like this without a financial sponsor as well.


As I mentioned before, an objective of this trip is to film a documentary promoting study abroad, appropriate to share with 6th graders through high school and even college students.  My next task: find a videographer. I have an idea of what I want this documentary to look like; I want it to be professional.  Belmont has an abundance of skilled film artists, but it's not simply about skill.  This person must be mentally, socially, and physically prepared for the rigors of a trip like this.  They must be able to stay calm and work well under pressure, deal with conflict well, have a desire to integrate into a new culture, and be able to handle spending 21 days in a small group in a foreign land.  Doesn't sound like much to ask, but believe me, quality travel partners can be few and far between.  


But for now, I'm still reveling in the excitement of acquiring sponsorship and moving this project onto the next step!!

On prepping floors for linoleum

As part of an emergency remodel project, we're putting linoleum flooring into our bathrooms this weekend -- until we have time to lay down the beautiful travertine tiles that we purchased some time ago.  

Breaking from his baseboard prep work, Dad walks into the kitchen with a bag of goodies from Lowe's.

Dad: Okay, we're ready to lay down the skimcoat!

Jared: But wait...are you going to just put it over that one spot (in front of the shower) where there's a bunch of old glue?  It's gonna create a little bumpity-bump, ya know?

Dad: Yeah....but it'll take me forever to scrape all that off!

Shirah: Isn't that the spot right in front of the shower? I never even knew there were tiles there because that fuzzy shower mat is always laying there.

Dad: Oh yeah...the fuzzy mat.  Fuzzy mat covers a multitude of sins. 

I laughed so hard!

A Dog and a Pool

"Hey Mom....at our next house can we have a pool?!
You have to have a pool for at least one day in your life.

A dog and a pool....(pauses, then continues wistfully, with a sigh of pensive satisfaction)
....are about the best things ever in life."

-Raam Foy, 9 years old

He was only 4 in this photo, but it's one of my favorites :)

Charmed

Charmed from Chris Light on Vimeo.

...and charmed I was.  

This is a beautiful expression of Chris' daughter, Eden, riding her bike for the first time.  

China: First Impressions of Beijing -- 8 July 2008

**This is a never-before-published journal entry from July 2008.


I've just updated my email list, so for those of you who are getting
an email from me for the first time:  I've returned from China last
week and have sorted through some of my pictures.  Now I can share
them!

I decided I better just start at the beginning.  This may take several
weeks to tell the stories and share the pictures, but I want to do it
for myself as much as for you- even though I tried to keep a daily
journal, sometimes sleep was more important than journaling.  This way
I'll have all the stories and pictures together in one spot.

So....

I arrived in Beijing at 6:30am on June 7th, after 2 long flights and a
layover in Kuala Lumpur (that's in Malaysia).  There were supposed to
be some affiliates of the Global Youth Leadership Summit (GYLS) there
to meet incoming students, but after strolling the length of the
suspiciously small terminal it was clear that I had no welcome party.
In fact, there wasn't an English speaking person to be found anywhere.
 Even worse, I didn't know the code to dial out of the country, so my
trendy (aka expensive) BlackBerry Global Phone was technically
useless.  I turned my luggage cart around and headed back towards a
bench, not knowing what I was going to do.  Within a few steps, a
familiar voice caught my ear.  Well, I thought it was familiar-- it
turns out ANYTHING I could understand sounded familiar.  There was a
western couple standing in front of the arrival board, arguing in
French.  It turns out she's from France but is working for a Chinese
company and speaks Mandarin.  Her boyfriend is from Seattle but lived
in France and now teaches English in a Chinese High School.  I was
saved!!!
Aimee showed me how to dial out of the country (all the GYLS people
had US cell numbers)- but unfortunately, upon dialing the Emergency
Travel Number, I got a answering machine.  To this day, no one has
returned my call.
Anyways, I left a message and since I didn't know what else to do,
hung around and talked with my new friends while they waited for a
friend's flight.
When we started talking about Australia, and how I had gotten to
China, Aimee said, "Oh that's funny.  Your flight landed at the
Domestic Terminal."  Now that I thought of it, I didn't go through
customs.  I decided the group must be waiting at the International
Terminal so after saying goodbye to Aimee and her boyfriend I caught a
trolley to the other terminal.  Thanks to them I found my group.

I never did figure out why my international flight disembarked at the
wrong terminal, or why I never went through customs-- which makes me
wonder how I got out.  Besides the boarding attendant in Kuala Lumpur,
no one even had any record of me entering China!  Oh well.

 A strange Chinese ice cream ad in the domestic airport in Beijing

Aimee and her boyfriend, to whom I am eternally grateful

The following photo was taken in our hotel complex in Beijing.  It was
called the Beijing Friendship Hotel and has quite the history.  The
complex boasts a huge campus of around 20 buildings and back before
the 70's and 80's it was the only place foreigners could lodge while
they were in Beijing.  China wasn't very open then, and most
foreigners only entered for business.  The Chinese govt. required all
foreigners to be registered with the city and were only allowed to
stay in the special hotels for foreigners.

This picture was taken the same day I arrived, and you can see a bit
of haze everywhere.  As my plane landed that morning, the pilot came
on and gave us the weather update.  He said, "33 degrees (105 F) and
clear skies."  After landing I thought, hmm...those skies don't look
very clear to me, but I assumed it was just morning fog that would
burn off.  It didn't hit me until around 4pm that the morning fog
never burned off.  Oh the horror when I realized it was SMOG--
pollution that I was seeing.  I remember thinking that night, 'this
must be what it feels like to smoke a pack of cigarettes.'  Ick.


The next photos are from my first excursion out of the safety of the
hotel and into the city -- and I went completely alone :)

My only goal was to visit the large mall across the street.  As I left
the hotel, a Faculty Advisor told me just to watch out while crossing
the street in front of the hotel, "You kind of have to play frogger."
KIND OF was an understatement.   The "street" turned out to be an 8
lane highway with frontage roads on both sides.  I gave up looking for
a crosswalk after watching all the locals jaywalking.  Even in rush
hour traffic they made it look safe and easy.  A little bit timid, I
sidled up to a group and prepared to step out--just as a city bus
changed lanes and almost creamed me.  I was scared now, to say the
least, but wasn't going to return to the hotel defeated.  The only
person now on my side of the road was an elderly Chinese gentleman,
looking to be around 85.  "Surely everybody would stop for this guy,"
I thought, and linked arms with him, begging him to help me get
across.  I don't think he understood, but regardless, we ventured out.
 I was mistaken.  The cars didn't stop.  I could have sworn they
actually sped up, recklessly changing lanes in an attempt to avoid
pedestrians.

I lived to see another day, and even explored the mall across the
street.  After a month I actually got used to the traffic customs in
China-- only to be chided by my aunt during my stopover in San
Francisco on the way home.  Every time we got out of the car I'd kind
of glance both ways while stepping out, prepared to dodge one or more
vehicles.  She'd always have to pull me back, "Shirah, there's a
light."  haha

The next pictures are from one of our many group meals at restaurants
around the cities.  You can see Coca Cola, which we called "OJO OJA"
as is so clearly written on the bottle in Chinese.

The last bunch of pictures is from our first outing-- the 800 yr old
Summer Palace in Beijing, just across the lake from The Forbidden City
(the Emperor's home and head offices of the ancient govt.)

I know this is long, but, if nothing else, enjoy the photos!

A very, very, very old rock....over 4,000 yrs old if I remember correctly

From China to California in negative 2 hours, net

**This is a never-before-published journal entry from July 2008.


Well, I made it.  I got back to Medford just in time for the 4th of July.  The jet lag wasn't that bad...until yesterday.  It was a feat of time travel, actually.  I left Hong Kong International Airport at 11am on Tuesday, and arrived in San Francisco at 9am the same day.  So I made it in negative two hours, net.  Pretty good, eh?  But a little confusing for the brain.

I've finished uploading all 1500 pictures from my various memory cards to my computer, so now all that's left is to sort through them-- I haven't even seen them all yet!  

This trip has been the most eye-opening experience of my life.  It's ironic, seeing as China is a self-proclaimed communist country,  that it would be in this very country that I'd witness the greatest disparity of wealth I've ever seen- especially in such close proximity.  Literally right next door to one of the tallest skyscrapers in Xi'an is an area about the size of 3 football fields covered in makeshift housing of cardboard, corrugated tin, styrofoam, and cloth.  

What struck me is the generous and hospitable heart of the Chinese people.  I visited the homes of several families who, in America, would be considered below the poverty line.  Yet they were excited and more than willing to share whatever they had, in terms of food, space, and furniture, with us.  

Heaven is Hong Kong -- 1 July 2008

**This is a never-before-published journal entry from July 2008.


You would not believe this place. If I would've known how good it would be here I would have been tempted to stay all month!
After working my way from the north all the way down to the south of China, Hong Kong looks like heaven. And it almost could be.  I can breathe!!! The mountains are green green tropical, there are lots of banana trees and just beautiful peaks rising out of the sea. The tops of some of them are hiding behind groups of fluffy clouds suspended over the deep blue ocean and flourishing foliage.

I'm sitting outside the hotel spa in a modern yet classic orthopedic wicker chair with beautiful cream cushions, listening to the indoor waterfalls, and relaxing until my dinner appointment in the unbelievably inexpensive grand sushi buffet-- one of the best in the world I'm told!

Oooohhhh and here's the best part.  My room is so pretty and has an iPod player!  The thing I hate about traveling alone is that I always get lonely. But it's a lot more fun to be in a room where I can plug in my iPod and listen to my own tunes :)
Plus I can charge it for the looong flight tomorrow.
And tonight I'll get my complimentary massage.

I wondered what was up with that and finally figured it out when I got in the elevator to go up to my room and had to put in a special code to even be able to get the elevator to stop at my floor. Apparently they are all booked up w/ regular rooms so I got a VIP Club room. That explains the price.  But it might just be worth it for one night in paradise.... :)