Inter-Ideological Relationships: What's to gain?

This week my very talented friend, political life expert, prolific journalist, and well-known libertarian blogger George Scoville wrote about his recent engagement to a member of the Democratic party - and why it works.

I read the article to my family over breakfast and it got great reviews, plus spurred an interesting discussion. The essence of George's message is this:

"My instincts tell me that it's not people's specific politics that make them compatible or incompatible, but how they prioritize their politics within the order of the rest of their lives."

Food for Thought / Thought-full Food

Tonight I peeled an orange and there was a little bitty orange growing inside.  Two for the price of one.

I said to him, "Woah there, little guy, you're in over your head."

And then I realized that this is precisely the place I love to be in life.

In over my head. 

WAY in over my head.

What an opportunity!  

Anything can happen.
So much to learn. 

Can't eat, can't sleep, 

so excited about something new 

to explore.
to conquer.

Expect the unexpected.

Welcome the uninvited.
Cherish the novelty.
Soon it won't be the mystery red-brick path,
it'll be the way you always go to work.
Soon it won't be the silky smooth olive-colored Grand Central Station motif,
it'll just be the metro card at the bottom of your purse.

Have you noticed how 'new' quickly becomes 'old'?
Maybe you fight to keep some things feeling new.
Maybe you move on to find newer.
Some things get better with age.
But it's easy to be comfortable around old things,

around familiar things.
And that is dangerous.

Many of the most comfortable times in my life
have been the biggest let-downs,
have been the least inspired,
have been a downward spiral toward apathy.

I would venture to say that the most uncomfortable times of my life
have been the happiest,
most adventurous, most memorable
most growth-filled, most rewarding,
have forced me to look for help outside myself
to engage with others, to share with others
best investments of my time.

I was reminded this week that 

If you're not in over your head, consider diving in.

Funny how all this was inspired by a little orange.
He was food for thought, after all.

"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.

Sniffing Around Nepal

I just found this diary entry from my first week in Nepal. Already, just six months since I moved away, the daily sights and smells of the country are fading.  Past reflections like this are such a treasure!

I'm certain that what I will remember most about Nepal is its smells and the sensory overload which assaulted my nose upon stepping out of the safe haven of my home and into the street. 

The "welcome smell" as Emma dubs it - the overpowering scent of urine that penetrates every vehicle entering the city.

The hostel kitchen which smells of propane gas mixed with layers of grime - the type of grime that is a result of fairly frequent wipe-ups but never gets a good scrub-down or deep clean. 

The smell of daal bhaat, made over and over with the same spices which have become all too familiar. 

The smell of roadside butcher stands: meat covered in so many flies that you can't even tell it's meat, growing bacteria in the sun and collecting dust churned up by the busy street.

The smell of death. Literally. I'll never forget my visit to Pashupati Mandir in Kathmandu, one of the city's biggest Hindu temples, where bodies of the recently deceased were burned in bonfires  on pires in the open air, just over the river laden with litter where their ashes would be disposed, as onlookers - not mourners, but just anyone walking by - stood or sat and watched, chatting among themselves. I pulled the collar of my tunic up to cover my mouth and nose as I walked by - down wind - over the bridge no more than 50 feet away and was assaulted by a barrage of ash and the unmistakable scent of death.

Turning Point

I was at a local private school today and at one point, while sitting in the headmaster's office, commented to him: "This has been lovely.  If I'm in Finland when I get married and have kids, perhaps I'll consider sending them here."

His response: "Oh....you're not married?" - with disbelief in his voice and genuine surprise in his eyes.

Am I already here? At the age where people expect that I'm married?

Mom and Dad haven't started asking for grandkids yet.

My grandparents haven't started asking for great-grandkids yet.
I think it's just the headmaster's wishful thinking; hoping I'll add a few more kiddos to his roster...

Shirah Learns Finnish - Episode 2

Shirah Learns Finnish - Episode 2 from shirah-eden on Vimeo.
See what I learned on my first day of class & hear about my first-day-of-snow catastrophe.

Design Thinking

Ever since I took a serious interest in the origin, principles, and process of design thinking, I've started to look at products in new ways. What used to be simple short-lived frustrations -- with the way an object doesn't work ideally in a way I'd like to use it, for example -- have blossomed into full-blown grievances, often accompanied by a conviction that, with just a little time and effort, I could come up with a much more appealing product.

(Okay, maybe the umbrella isn't
entirely at fault in this case.)

Take, for example, umbrellas. Is the inside of an umbrella not the most uncomfortable place to be? Especially for women, whose hair inevitably becomes tangled in the spokes every time. How many times have you been poked in the eye (or ear or face) by an umbrella user walking with or by you? How many times have you pinched, sliced, bent, or scratched your fingers while opening an umbrella? For me, every time. What a horrible experience!  What drives us to use a product that we know will invoke cursing or weeping with every use?

Which is why, when I look outside and see rain, I automatically run an internal risk analysis: Injury by umbrella vs. flat, wet, mop-like hairstyle for the rest of the day. Usually I opt for freedom from dangerous, encumbering umbrellas and design my outfit around a hat, scarf or hood.

Now, if I were an umbrella manufacturer, hearing a customer (or rather, potential customer) testimonial like this would be a sign of complete and utter failure on my part. Clearly, a pretty new pattern or more ergonomic handle isn't going to win this customer over; the umbrella would have to be completely overhauled before such a person even considers a new purchase.

Third World Packing List

Traveling in a developing country is much different from a sightseeing trip to Paris or even a backpacking trip around Europe. Even plans that are "guaranteed" to work will fall through and you'll learn to depend on no one but yourself.

* Take all the money you'll need for the entire trip in cash.  Hide it carefully and don't forget your secret safe spots.
* Learn to be your own doctor. Know your body, the ailments you're most prone to, and the treatments that work best for you.  Make sure to check for extenuating circumstances in the regions you'll be traveling (e.g. high risk of malaria, poisonous plants, heavy pollution).
* Keep in mind your essential needs: Clean water, adequate nutrients, the means to regulate your body temperature, a way to use the toilet, and a way to wash your body.  Pack with these in mind, thinking about how you can take care of each in a relatively comfortable and hygienic way, and then replenish your supplies.

In most countries you won't be able to get your favorite brands, and sometimes you won't even be able to find a product you want, so think about your essentials and the brand-name items you'd hate to run out of. Bring enough to last you the entire trip. Another rule: if you see it on a shelf in your destination, buy it. Don't count on it still being there even 10 minutes later.

Essentials upon arrival:

* Enough clean water for 24 hours
* Toilet paper
* Hand sanitizer
* Facial wipe and toothbrush/paste

Invaluable commodities:

* Plastic bags (both Ziploc and grocery bags)
* Rubber bands
* Bobby pins and/or clothes pins
* String (often needed to tie up heavy or odd-shaped converters or plugs that refuse to charge your electronics without alleviating some of the weight and/or adjusting the angle)
* An all-plug converter (make sure you can charge your phone, laptop, and camera in not only your destination, but any country you might happen to fly through on the way)
* Vitamin C and other multi-vitamins
* A versatile warm fleece jacket (waterproof is helpful)
* A "buff" - all in one bandana, head band, beanie, scarf, and my favorite - the "blind chicken" blindfold that allows you to sleep in the sun and the most fluorescent lighting.
* A sleeping bag, or at least a sleeping bag liner. I've slept in some pretty questionable beds, and on blankets that I know have never been washed. Almost everyone else I know has been assaulted by bed bugs; I'm certain that sleeping inside of a flannel liner, inside of my sleeping bag, and zipping both up has protected me from the wrath of my beds' insect residents!

Shortcuts (these make life easier):

* 2-in-1 Shampoo & Conditioner: Invest in a good brand like Pantene. Not only is it convenient for washing hair and body, but doubles as a laundry detergent with built-in softener and leaves even hastily hand washed clothes smelling pleasant. I got some funny looks when I walked away from the clothesline in Labuche with my nose in my hiking socks, but I couldn't resist - they smelled so good!
* Face and body wipes: I love the Neutrogena acne-preventing pink grapefruit facial wipes. They come 25 in a travel pack and are a perfect, natural and gentle cleanser in a use-anywhere format.  Use one to wash first your face and then your upper body.  I bring other wipes, medicated with anti-athletes foot, anti-bacterial, ph-balancing wipes for my feet and lower body. These are especially important in regions where bathing once a week is a luxury and you might have only ten minutes with a bucket of warm water or even have to bathe fully clothed in a spicket of glacial water in the public square.

Lesson 3

"If it doesn't bite, don't bother."

Anyone who knew me when I was a kid and witnessed one of my hysterical reactions to a large flying bug might be hard pressed to believe this, but I'm not exaggerating when I say that I can't be bothered to run, swat, kill, or even care about the moths, beetles, mosquitoes, and spiders which plague every living thing here.  I'm completely outnumbered; I'd be incredibly stressed out if I allowed myself to fear them, and I'm not willing to let this stupid aversion to insects affect the only eight weeks of relaxation I foresee in the next two years.

After my second night in Kathmandu I woke up in my bed in the hostel with a huge cockroach on my chest, and after my second night at Pema Choling I woke up with a giant spider (3 inches in diameter) in my bed. Every night I hear the pitter-patter of insect legs on my down sleeping bag, and if I turn on my Kindle for some late night reading I'll have summoned in thirty seconds a collection of the region's arthropods which only a biologist would envy.

The first (and only) night I tried reading late without illuminating -in addition to my Kindle light - the bare light bulb adorning my ceiling, I was fighting a flock of moths circling my head when, to my horror, a long line of mini-cockroach-beetle-looking things emerged from a hole in the wooden shelf built into the side of my bed, climbing out quickly in an orderly fashion and then spilling onto my neatly-folded pile of clothes.  I didn't want to squash bug guts into all of my clothes and had no more energy to chase them back into their hole, and I knew deep down that any efforts to exterminate them would only result in more appearing the next morning and that a vicious cycle of frustration would ensue, so in a moment of brilliance I chose the Buddhist thing to do - accept my suffering for what it is. I closed up my Kindle, bugs and all, pushed it onto the shelf, carefully avoided poking any of the long, skinny, multi-legged insects wallowing around next to my pillow, and retreated into my sleeping bag, zipping it all the way up and pulling the drawstring really tight.  I pulled the little tiny hole left at the top down to my mouth level  so as to prevent suffocation, and then, curled up in the dark with only two layers of fabric to protect me from the creepy crawlies of Sherpa land, my only thought was how my dad always told me that if I wasn't happy and wanted to change my attitude, the best way to do it is to just start smiling.  And that's how I fell asleep: happy, smiling, and even laughing a little as I rolled over a few times and felt the muted crunch of the unlucky invertebrates who interrupted my late night reading session.

Every structure here is built from either stone, wood, or some combination of the two. The long building of rooms in which I live is completely made from wooden slats.  When we returned from trekking last week one of the other volunteers had left, so I moved into her abandoned bed, mostly because the nun who lived above my old room had a habit of mopping her floor in the morning and the water would drip right through the slots in her wood floor that doubled as my ceiling.  No more waking up to dirty rain now, but there was a trade off to be made -- 14-year-old Pasang, who lives above my new room, wakes up at 5 AM to start his chanting and seems to like to stomp around a little first thing in the morning, starting the incessant shower of dust and dead bugs that assaults my bed all day.  I've given up trying to keep anything clean, and plan on either throwing away or heavily sterilizing all garments upon my return to  the modern world.

Overall, though, I really have learned that it's rather pleasant to not worry about the little things crawling all over.  Plus, Cook told me that nothing in this region will kill if it bites, so there's not even a legitimate reason to fret.

"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.

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.

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.

Learning by Leaving

I have immensely enjoyed the opportunities I've had this week to sit down with classmates, old friends and professors who all want to hear about my travels in Eastern Europe. Their questions - whose answers are often "so obvious" to me - have been incredibly insightful and helpful in reminding me how much I actually learned while I was gone. Their reactions to my responses have ranged from utter surprise to indifference, from "I told you so," to "I'm so glad you're still alive!"

I am among only a handful of seniors who still have a meal plan at Belmont's cafeteria, so when I'm not hurriedly trying to finish reading for my next class while munching my veggies, I'm often joined by one of the four other seniors whom I might run into there. These past few days I've eaten a few times with Steven, an accounting major with whom I used to work as a Resident Assistant in one of our dorms.  There couldn't be two more different students at Belmont, but we always seem to get into serious life-planning discussions.  Steven has lived in middle Tennessee his entire life, and would be happy to stay here indefinitely. Tonight I heard the most adventurous statement he's ever made in my presence:  "I might consider moving across the country if I had to."  I first thought I had heard "to another country" and almost fell out of my chair and flung a carrot across the room, but he quickly confirmed that it was across "the country" -- the one and only country worth living in, in his book -- the United States of America.
There's a simple sweetness about Steven's contentedness here; his happy-go-lucky and laid-back personality make him unassuming and easy to be around.  His genuine interest in other people's life and experiences and willingness to listen give us license to be genuine and unworried about being too quickly judged.

My neighborhood church.

Looking at the Admiralty from across the Neva.

Tonight Steven asked, "What was life like in general over there?"
I told him about registering with the city government and the need to re-register with the municipal authorities of a another city, should you visit for more than three days. I talked about the über-high cost of living in the big cities; $10 cups of coffee in St. Petersburg; a subway line that is so far underground, it takes five minutes on an escalator to get down there. I told him about the warm, genuine, intelligent people I met and their curiosity about the West.  I even told him about my good friend Yuriy, the photographer with whom I effectively covered most of downtown St. Pete on foot.
Steven stopped me halfway through my first sentences, exclaiming, "...And you want to move back there!?"

I had to think about it for a minute.  "Well, yeah, for a time," I said. "There are a lot of things about life in Russia that I miss."
"You know," I told him, "there are things about every place that I've lived that I miss.  It's like being a little bit homesick for six countries at once.  But I like it that way.  I don't take any day for granted, and I know that I make the most of every day because wherever I am, I live in constant awareness that I won't be in this place for very long."
We were both silent for a minute; the din of students eating and laughing in the background faded out as we both lost ourselves in contemplation.
Finally Steven said, "Wow, that's an interesting way to look at it.  It's like not taking anything for granted because you know you could die any day -- except you're not dying, just leaving.  For all of us that just live here, we get into a routine and sometimes it becomes about just getting through the day."
I completely understand what Steven is saying, and I see the truth in his observation. But to me, what he is describing is a tragic existence.

A canal near the Hermitage.

"I just couldn't live like that..." Steven went on, "...I couldn't live in a place where there are so many rules and regulations - especially with the government and everything." Another friend I saw this week prefers the safety of America to the many, many (both perceived and real) threats and inconveniences of daily life that expatriates and inhabitants of other countries face. I can't say that I blame her, but I approach life from a completely different angle.  It's a challenge and a game for me -- to see how fast I can adapt to life in another place; how quickly I can fit in seamlessly and be taken for a local; how uncomfortably I can live and still be happy; how many oddities and quirks I can find and embrace in a new culture; how low-maintenance I can become.

Downtown St. Pete.  A big pole falls and no one shows up to put it
back in place.  No orange cones. Nothing.
I actually got stared at while taking this photo,
as if this is an everyday occurrence.

Sometimes it takes a conversation like the ones I had with these friends to realize the logic that underlies our daily actions and attitudes. Sure, I'm aware that every morning I open my eyes, remember where I am, and pick out all the things I want to do that day that I know I can't do anywhere else. I just hadn't taken into consideration the fact that everybody else isn't doing exactly the same thing.

Speaking of taking photos for people...I snapped this shot for my brother
Jared.  It's "his" car - same make, model & color as the one my aunt
gave him as his first car!  And I saw it in Russia!!

For me, leaving and exploring new places and meeting new people is as much about cherishing my old home and friends and past experiences as it is about exuberantly embracing the new.  I remember walking to work every morning in St. Petersburg - 45 minutes in many degrees below zero - and smiling as I thought about all of you. Some of the pictures I took were for me, because I came upon a nice view or some unusual scene that made me laugh; but honestly, most of them were for you. 90% of the time I pulled out my camera because something triggered a memory of one of you and I thought, Oh my, so-and-so would LOVE to see this! 
Now I walk to school every morning - 10 short minutes under the warm Tennessee sun - and think about the community I left in Russia....my wonderful co-workers at the Consulate, my passionate film- and music-loving young friends, the man with no legs who wore black fingerless gloves and scooted around between traffic on a little square board with four wheels, asking for spare change.
Just as traveling introduces you to parts of yourself that you might not have ever otherwise encountered, it also prompts the discovery of your home in a new light and from a new perspective, namely, the perspective of an outsider.

The giant poster reads: "Russia. Land of Opportunity."
Wait...wasn't that America's trademark??

Return to St. Petersburg

I feel like I could burst into tears at any moment. Arriving in St. Petersburg for the second time has been one of the worst experiences of my life.  

The three-hour train ride from Helsinki to St. Pete was okay, but it was all downhill from there. A driver from the university was supposed to pick me up at a friends house where I was keeping my luggage. He finally arrived, but said not a word during the entire 30-minute drive across town.  My efforts to make conversation were met with silence.  

We parked in front of a few high rises and dragged my suitcases over a mud path covered with wooden planks. Walking up to the kiosk adjacent to a ten-foot high barred fence with giant turnstile gate, my driver, who apparently works for the university, silently left me and approached the counter.  He presented some papers and eventually I was let in.  Inside the fenced area are a number of buildings surrounding a grassy quad. I was led into one of them and right inside the door the driver put down my suitcase, handed some papers to the lady at the desk, and shoved a xeroxed copy of a map in my direction as he turned and headed for the door.  I started after him and began to say, "Wait, I don't know where I'm going or even where I am. You have to show me where I live."  He kept walking away from me but flung his left arm out, pointing to the desk -- obviously suggesting that I should direct my inquiries to the women there.  And without a word he was gone.  

The Overnight Train: A Necessary Experience

The best way to describe my over-night train ride from St. Petersburg to Moscow would be to say, as Joe -- one of the other interns -- always says, “a necessary experience.” It was a truly Russian experience, to say the least. I ended up in a купе (coupé) with three Ukrainian sailors – soon to become three drunk Ukrainian sailors. Two of them were middle-aged, 50 and 55. And one – Sasha – was younger, thirty-five at the very most. Andrei and Aleksandr, the older men, didn't speak any English but were happy to converse in Russian. Sasha kept wanting to exercise his small English lexicon.

It was fun for the first few hours; I talked as much as my limited vocabulary would allow, while the sailors drank. And drank. And drank. Until all the vodka was gone. Then things took a turn for the worst. I knew it was going downhill when Sasha took a deep breath and said, “So, I have a proposition for you,” in his thick, almost-unintelligible Ukrainian accent. He then proceeded to try to convince me to marry him. Of course I played dumb and hoped that my “lack of understanding” would make him lose interest. Bad call on my part. Instead, Sasha seemed determined to not only make me understand his wishes, but to convince me that marriage would be a fantastic idea. The two older guys must have taken this as their cue to leave, and went out for a smoke – closing the compartment door behind them with a bang.

Week 2 in St. Petersburg

How could temperatures drop again? Where do you go from -16 degrees?

A portrait of two frozen people, defrosting

The radio stations have been saying this is the coldest week of the year, and there's only more cold in the forecast. Hence my blogging silence.  There's not much you can do (besides just try to survive) in this climate.  My days go something like: Wake up, go to work, run home.  With a stop at the grocery store every so now and then. And I have practically no photos for you, because I'm not crazy enough to stand still and take off my gloves outside - for fear that I will become a permanent fixture wherever I happen to be standing; a new statue for the park, maybe.

I do have a few pictures from last weekend's excursions, when Alex came to visit, and his childhood friend came up from Moscow to spend the weekend with us in St. Pete.  We spent most of the weekend hopping between bars and cafés, just trying to stay warm. Nevertheless, this is what we looked like most of the time -- either freezing or defrosting.

Just when you think it can't get any colder...

I've never been in so much physical pain due solely to the weather. If you would have asked me a few weeks ago, I would have told you that 15°F (-9°C) probably isn't all that different from 26°F (-3°C).  Entering my apartment after my 45-minute walk home this evening, however, I will tell you otherwise.

26°F is a nice, comfortable temperature, requiring only one layer under a down jacket, and leaves gloves optional.  If you happen to wrap more than one scarf around your neck in 26°F, as I did this morning, and walk briskly for more than ten minutes, you're likely to actually overheat and start peeling off the layers as you go.  

En route to Zaragoza

Against all odds, I arrived safely and on time in Zaragoza. My heart sunk this morning as I was on the first leg of the journey – a bus trip – and realized that I left ALL the tickets I had printed (airport shuttle, flight, and hostel) on my bed at home. It was too late to go back; I would have missed my flight and all the connecting means of transportation before it. So I just prayed and prayed, and hoped, and prayed that in this age of computers I would be permitted access to everything without my tickets. Fortunately the shuttle driver took pity on me and offered to use his cell phone to call the main bureau and check my inscription. Access permitted sans extra fees. Then I got to the Ryanair desk and was told that I'd have to pay 40 euro to have my boarding passes printed at the check-in counter. I explained my situation and the fact that I had already checked in online, as requested. Can you imagine? $60 USD for 1/3 sheet of paper that takes two seconds to print? For once I didn't try to hide my surprise and the fact that I thought a policy such as this completely absurd. But I complied and headed towards the queue for the “Passengers Without Print-outs” window. No sooner had I stepped into line but a young lady came up to me and said, “Mademoiselle, the lady at the register said to come back. She said that if you have your passport she can give you your boarding pass, no problem.” Perhaps my reluctant but polite compliance softened her heart. She was very kind and smiled warmly as she handed me the boarding pass. Once again, access permitted. Two hurdles successfully cleared.

Upon arriving in Spain I had the most wonderful realization. I understand and speak more Spanish than I would have ever guessed! 

Lone Traveler

I just got off the phone with my mom, who is in San Diego right now, spending a day in the city on her own while my dad is in business meetings.  She said to me, "I got up this morning and was at the hotel by myself, when I thought, this must be how Shirah feels all the time. You kind of have to kick yourself to get up and go out and see the world - it can be hard when you're somewhere all alone."

She's exactly right.  As much as I love my independence, I derive so much of my happiness from - and feel most fulfilled in - meaningful relationships. And when I'm somewhere new, fascinating, and exhilarating, I want to share the experience with the people I know and love best. It takes determination, focus, and a little encouragement to really thrive in a foreign place. It's so easy to stay inside - both literally and figuratively.  I find that sunny weather really helps me get out of the house, but even then, it can be a challenge to burst out of our own comforting bubble and truly engage with the people and objects and events surrounding us.  Even now, as a seasoned solo traveler, I struggle with this from time to time. But not this weekend.