So, I have always made fun of our friends in the illustrious Jefferson Society for their "snapping" instead of clapping. It seemed to add so much silly pretentiousness to an organization that, in my opinion, does not suffer from an excess of humility. But, I am having to stick my foot in my mouth a little today, because I have met another group that uses the snaps--the children at my school--and I actually appreciate them. The first is simply practical: there are many times when children want to (and should be allowed to) applaud in class, and snaps are much easier to talk over than clapping. From a managerial standpoint, it's a great system, because it is hard for a classroom to be snapping so much that they get out of my control. :) The second reason is more philosophical: the snaps are a little gentler, and thus seem appropriate more often, as a way to give encouragement rather than just commendation or extreme enthusiasm. So, for instance, the students at our school are taught to snap when a child raises his or her hand to answer a question, but then can't remember or needs time to think. When that awkward pause starts, rather than staring at the poor kid or immediately shooting up their hands to prove that they, unlike their unfortunate classmate, are on their toes, the students snap to offer their friend a reminder that they believe in him or her. It wouldn't be appropriate to applaud in that instance; it would be too much of a reaction. But snaps can be both a means to give praise and also a way to demonstrate confidence in a stammering and stuttering friend, who may (for the moment) have lost all confidence in him or herself.
So this post has two real purposes: 1) to apologize to the members of the illustrious Jefferson Society for my many years of mocking, and 2) to elicit snaps on my own behalf. Why? Because I just got a new job! I am no longer the all-purpose-assistant-teacher who can be called in at any time to teach 8th grade math (or worse, my nightmare, sex ed!) Instead, I have been hired for next year as the 8th grade English teacher--totally a dream come true. It happened last week, and I already have stacks of books to read through and begin planning my curriculum. But at the same point I am terrified and wondering who in the world really thought I was equipped to do this--who called on me? And was I even raising my hand? (In this case, I definitely wasn't, since I didn't apply for this job, but they offered it to me anyways. I think they figure that I may not be the most qualified, but at least I haven't gone crazy in the five weeks I've been working there, and that's a start!) So I need snaps largely of the second variety--snaps of encouragement and confidence that I do not have in myself, but will need in 6 short weeks when a classroom of 8th grade students suddenly is relying on me to teach them how to read, write, and, most importantly, pass the MCAS.
(Also, any suggestions for books that absolutely must--or must not--be read in 8th grade would be welcome! I do not promise to take your suggestions, but I certainly will add it to my lovely summer reading list.)
Monday, June 30, 2008
Saturday, June 28, 2008
INTO AFRICA: CAPE TOWN
I realize that I haven't posted in some time, not that anyone's waiting with baited breath, but I'm back again. I suppose I never intended for my trip to be slave to constant blog posts, and I just caught with travelling and then some stuff back home. That said, I probably write most when I miss people back home. If you get a chance, hit me up and let me know what you're up to!
So let me bring you up to speed (skipping some portions of course). Between June 12 and June 23, I was exploring Cape Town. A few things struck me about city. First, I read somewhere that cape town was the gastronomic capital of South Africa, and I am a complete and total believer. First, my sister and I diverged from a PBJ type diet to go to Aubergine, which was described by the nytimes, lonely planet, and just people in general as one of the best places in town. There was a pre-set menu with two options per course, and we each ordered a different three course meal. And destroyed it. Actually, my favorite part wasn't even a course, it was the inter mezzo (thank you Michelle for this term): a sweet and spicy plum sorbet. Then, there's the seafood. For those of you who read Michelle's post, bar for seafood here is pretty high. We bought some fresh snoek (apparently, this is barracuda?), and Michelle and I bought what would later become a mean Tandoori Kingclip. Third, the wine. About an hour outside of Cape town, in Stellenbosch, is some of the best wine in the South Africa. I went on a wine tour with my sis, and then later took a two-day trip with Michelle that was both stainful and epic. We ate at a place called 96 Winery Road, highlights were the Crocodile Kabobs and ask me for a picture of my Duck and Cherry main course--it was art.
Although I wouldn't say we were party animals, Cape Town definitely has some diverse nightlife. When I was staying for the first few days with my family, I went to a place with my sis called Cafe Ganesh in a suburb outside of town. In one room with the bar, people were watching Euro 2008, in another others were listening to Mozambiquan jazz. Ami and I polished off a bottle of wine and one of the best desserts I've ever tasted in my life (the lemon meringue). I'm not exaggerating, and I dragged Abhay and Michelle back there for a bit the next Saturday to prove it. On Saturday, to commemorate the party's arrival (and by the party, I mean my friend Abhay), we got on some list at a club called Hemisphere through a hostel. The club was on the 31st floor of a skyscraper in Cape Town, and though the view was not as amazing as expected, the music and experience was pretty sick, or "luxury" as one might say. Last call is also 4 am. Nice.
Otherwise, we've just been doing the quintessential Cape Town things. When I think about Cape Town, I have always imagined it as a port city, which it is, but it is also a city nestled in a mountain. The streets are hilly, and the view driving into the city is downright imposing every day. The crazy thing about Table Mountain is that, although it is commercialized and close to the city, even the easiest hike was a tough 2 hours and a lot of people have to take the cable car up. The view at the top was amazing, but the different angles and scenery along the way was equally impressive...definitely worth the sore quads. Michelle, Abhay, and I also rented a car (yes, I was driving again) and took a day trip to Cape Point. Besides the assorted detours involving chasing penguins and jumping around boulders, the Cape of Good Hope was the highlight. I went to a boulder out on the very edge on the rocks, and got hit by a wave of water so tall I honestly thought I was about to get swept into the ocean. Abhay watched the wave hit me as if I was crazy, until he decided to join me and we got soaked again. Michelle and about ten other skeptical onlookers stood farther back, as if preparing to call 911, but I needed to feel the ocean water to be convinced that I was literally at the edge of the earth. Finally, we toured Robben Island, the prison where Nelson Mandela and other political prisoners were kept for decades before the end of Apartheid. The tour was only two hours, but it was compelling. I've read Mandela's autobiography, but 17 years in this place is pretty damn real. For some reason, the hole in the limestone quarry was what stuck out to me the most. It must have been at least 20 meters tall and the size of a football field, and the thought of how many days it would take the political prisoners to chip away a hole that big was humbling.
Okay, well I can't seem to keep these things short, but I can promise that my next post will not be as long. Actually, I can't.
--
Amar Shah
Somewhere in Southern Africa
+27 72 901 9840
So let me bring you up to speed (skipping some portions of course). Between June 12 and June 23, I was exploring Cape Town. A few things struck me about city. First, I read somewhere that cape town was the gastronomic capital of South Africa, and I am a complete and total believer. First, my sister and I diverged from a PBJ type diet to go to Aubergine, which was described by the nytimes, lonely planet, and just people in general as one of the best places in town. There was a pre-set menu with two options per course, and we each ordered a different three course meal. And destroyed it. Actually, my favorite part wasn't even a course, it was the inter mezzo (thank you Michelle for this term): a sweet and spicy plum sorbet. Then, there's the seafood. For those of you who read Michelle's post, bar for seafood here is pretty high. We bought some fresh snoek (apparently, this is barracuda?), and Michelle and I bought what would later become a mean Tandoori Kingclip. Third, the wine. About an hour outside of Cape town, in Stellenbosch, is some of the best wine in the South Africa. I went on a wine tour with my sis, and then later took a two-day trip with Michelle that was both stainful and epic. We ate at a place called 96 Winery Road, highlights were the Crocodile Kabobs and ask me for a picture of my Duck and Cherry main course--it was art.
Although I wouldn't say we were party animals, Cape Town definitely has some diverse nightlife. When I was staying for the first few days with my family, I went to a place with my sis called Cafe Ganesh in a suburb outside of town. In one room with the bar, people were watching Euro 2008, in another others were listening to Mozambiquan jazz. Ami and I polished off a bottle of wine and one of the best desserts I've ever tasted in my life (the lemon meringue). I'm not exaggerating, and I dragged Abhay and Michelle back there for a bit the next Saturday to prove it. On Saturday, to commemorate the party's arrival (and by the party, I mean my friend Abhay), we got on some list at a club called Hemisphere through a hostel. The club was on the 31st floor of a skyscraper in Cape Town, and though the view was not as amazing as expected, the music and experience was pretty sick, or "luxury" as one might say. Last call is also 4 am. Nice.
Otherwise, we've just been doing the quintessential Cape Town things. When I think about Cape Town, I have always imagined it as a port city, which it is, but it is also a city nestled in a mountain. The streets are hilly, and the view driving into the city is downright imposing every day. The crazy thing about Table Mountain is that, although it is commercialized and close to the city, even the easiest hike was a tough 2 hours and a lot of people have to take the cable car up. The view at the top was amazing, but the different angles and scenery along the way was equally impressive...definitely worth the sore quads. Michelle, Abhay, and I also rented a car (yes, I was driving again) and took a day trip to Cape Point. Besides the assorted detours involving chasing penguins and jumping around boulders, the Cape of Good Hope was the highlight. I went to a boulder out on the very edge on the rocks, and got hit by a wave of water so tall I honestly thought I was about to get swept into the ocean. Abhay watched the wave hit me as if I was crazy, until he decided to join me and we got soaked again. Michelle and about ten other skeptical onlookers stood farther back, as if preparing to call 911, but I needed to feel the ocean water to be convinced that I was literally at the edge of the earth. Finally, we toured Robben Island, the prison where Nelson Mandela and other political prisoners were kept for decades before the end of Apartheid. The tour was only two hours, but it was compelling. I've read Mandela's autobiography, but 17 years in this place is pretty damn real. For some reason, the hole in the limestone quarry was what stuck out to me the most. It must have been at least 20 meters tall and the size of a football field, and the thought of how many days it would take the political prisoners to chip away a hole that big was humbling.
Okay, well I can't seem to keep these things short, but I can promise that my next post will not be as long. Actually, I can't.
--
Amar Shah
Somewhere in Southern Africa
+27 72 901 9840
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Venus (2008)
At long last, my first post on this blog. I just finished editing my latest movie today and wanted to share it with you all first. "Venus" combines film, still photography, painting, classical music, and a hint of sculpture to investigate the creation of art and the objectification of its subject matter.
Note: If you want to see it in full HD (!), click on the link below it and full-screen it. Also, check out the production stills here.
Venus from Steven Quinn on Vimeo.
Note: If you want to see it in full HD (!), click on the link below it and full-screen it. Also, check out the production stills here.
Venus from Steven Quinn on Vimeo.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Caseload: I Mean, it was Bound to Happen
So last week, I had a rush project that involved a sort of traditional motion that opposing counsel was making in a non-traditional sort of way. My assignment was to, as fast as humanly possible, round up some cases that spoke to it. I did, kind of, and passed them on to the attorneys less than 24 hours later. E-mail replies were along the lines of "this looks good!"
Shortly thereafter, I was informed that opposing counsel had an Epic Fail, and had filed the motion wrong. They would be resubmitting, but it gave us an extra 2 business days to clean up our response. Now, my research could be more crafted, polished, and refined. So I dug deeper, uncovering the best information I could find. I wrote up a memo, it was beautiful, and I sent it off to the attorneys on Tuesday morning. E-mail replies were even better: "This is EXACTLY what we're looking for! Thanks!"
I was on Cloud. Fucking. Nine. But that was the end of that project and time to move on.
On Friday, the clerk who sits next to me got an assignment to proofread a Reply to a Motion. He looked at it, looked at the paralegal who came in with the draft, and looked at me. "Dean was the one that did the research on it. Dean, do you wanna proof it?" "Sure!" I got really excited, because I would get to see how my research was impacting actual litigation. I mean, isn't that every would-be-lawyers dream?
So I read it. Of course not too much of my stuff was in there, but who cares? It was clearly informative to them, and they were able to use it and springboard into what I thought was a completely brilliant Reply. I made a few grammar edits, handed it back to the paralegal, and got on with my other projects.
[Redacted].
I wanted, and still want, to cry. But I guess it's a learning experience? Right?
-M.
Shortly thereafter, I was informed that opposing counsel had an Epic Fail, and had filed the motion wrong. They would be resubmitting, but it gave us an extra 2 business days to clean up our response. Now, my research could be more crafted, polished, and refined. So I dug deeper, uncovering the best information I could find. I wrote up a memo, it was beautiful, and I sent it off to the attorneys on Tuesday morning. E-mail replies were even better: "This is EXACTLY what we're looking for! Thanks!"
I was on Cloud. Fucking. Nine. But that was the end of that project and time to move on.
On Friday, the clerk who sits next to me got an assignment to proofread a Reply to a Motion. He looked at it, looked at the paralegal who came in with the draft, and looked at me. "Dean was the one that did the research on it. Dean, do you wanna proof it?" "Sure!" I got really excited, because I would get to see how my research was impacting actual litigation. I mean, isn't that every would-be-lawyers dream?
So I read it. Of course not too much of my stuff was in there, but who cares? It was clearly informative to them, and they were able to use it and springboard into what I thought was a completely brilliant Reply. I made a few grammar edits, handed it back to the paralegal, and got on with my other projects.
[Redacted].
I wanted, and still want, to cry. But I guess it's a learning experience? Right?
-M.
Still malaria, hepatitis, and AIDS-free
A slightly belated post on Michelle's behalf:
Robben Island
It's Thursday, around 7:30PM in
So last night, Amar and I went on a fish adventure. We were going to attempt to cook dinner with some girls in the hostel. Specifically, we were determined to find snoek, a local fish. After some hijinks involving the purchase of kingklip (a local fish that is sort of expensive and therefore is NOT snoek) we found some braai snoek (snoek for barbecuing) for 20 Rand a kilo! That's like...$2.25 a kilo! For fresh fish! We triumphantly brought it back to the hostel, fried it and ate it with rice and veggies. Actually we first showed it to Mama Fefe, who works here, and informed her of our plans. She looked...skeptical. After staring at the unskinned fish chunks in the kitchen, we ran to her for help and she sent us fish spices, flour, and instructions. We're meeting interesting people at the hostel, they're all very nice and social.
Tomorrow, Ami's going back to
Oh, she's just being Miley...
I win the award for posting too much, but this just had to be shared. I chaperoned the 6th-7th grade dance on Friday night, which I now believe is an experience that every one of you should have, at least once. Hilarious. Awkward. Old. These are all the things it made me feel. But in particularly I wanted you all (ok, really mostly Le-Anh) to know that when Miley Cyrus came on...it cleared the dance floor. Well, almost. It cleared the dance floor of students, leaving myself, the 7th grade math teacher, and the principal screaming and dancing in the middle, until we realized that we were the only ones singing and dancing, and we had always assumed this was a middle school song. Turns out they were much more excited by Rihanna and any merengue song the DJ could find (not to mention they were all better dancers than us). As an aside, I renew my argument that over-sexualized rap music is just plain wrong. I'm not advocating taking away anyone's free speech (I promise Amar), but in a perfect world, I would not see precious children who are still young enough to get excited about getting a sticker on their report card shouting out some of those words. I don't know what the solution is, because we don't live in a perfect world, but seriously, something's gotta give.
And they played Journey at the end, and the kids didn't know what it was. They thought it was a slow dance song. Sigh. I am old!
And they played Journey at the end, and the kids didn't know what it was. They thought it was a slow dance song. Sigh. I am old!
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Teacher Moments
Ok y'all, I know I just posted, but I needed to process all of this in writing and I have a couple of "teacher moments" to share from today:
First, I have been amazed over the past few weeks that I have not yet had what I considered the quintessential first-year teacher moment: the feeling of being totally, completely out of control in the classroom. In fact, I was beginning to congratulate myself on not having reached that moment, and believing that I must be pretty amazing. Turns out that instead, I've just been fortunate--until today. Today I gave numerous students after-school "homework club"--basically a detention where you have to do your homework--even though we do not normally give this to 8th graders. I figured this would make them take me (and their dwindling math homework grades) seriously. Instead, it made them declare war against me. First, I had not totally calculated in my head how many students were receiving this consequence until I got to the classroom, where there were more students than desks, making me outnumbered in just about every sense of the word. This lack of desks caused the first bout of chaos; something about not sitting at a proper desk makes a child imagine he does not need to be a proper student. So once I had finally created enough makeshift desks, the whining began. Shockingly, despite the fact that I had clearly explained yesterday the consequences of not bringing in homework today, they all felt that I was just horribly unfair. And the more complaints I heard, the more bold other people became to complain: hearing other people whine about how unfair I was made them feel more confident to voice their complaints at the horrible injustice of staying 30 minutes after school to complete their math homework. (As one student told me, she had "so many more important things to do." I had to bite my tongue to keep from telling her that I did, too.) Then, the hands started shooting up. Those students who had finally decided to give in and do their homework now had questions about that homework--but as soon as I could move to a student to answer a question, another student would begin whispering across the room and I would need to leave to deal with that discipline problem. Then more hands would shoot up with more questions, and soon even my behaving children were very disgruntled customers--the service was just not quick enough. In the middle of all the chaos the bell finally rang; before I let them go, I gave them a talk about how disappointed I was in them--a desperate grasp to make it seem like I had control over the situation the entire time, but was choosing not to respond until this moment. I don't think they bought it, considering that one student, as she exited, informed me that there would never have been an episode like this with their normal math teacher.
The good news out of all of this is that 1) I felt totally justified in buying a chocolate cupcake for myself after work; 2) I had a chance to see some areas where I struggle and need to improve; and 3) I had some great conversations with teachers in my office about their first years teaching, which were encouraging, insightful, helpful, and community-building. Still, as I left work today, I felt much less like the confident, bold new teacher I was last week, and more like a kid in dress-up clothes.
But on the funnier side of today, there was another moment that made me feel very much like an actual teacher--and a smart one at that. My students were required to make up their own study guides for their exams, listing at least 5 concepts that they need to review and 2-3 questions for each concept. In order to save time, I have been in the habit of simply scanning homework for completion, which may have prompted today's episode. But as I was (more carefully) grading homework today, I noticed that one student had written on his study guide the following:
#4) Using properties
--What is the Commutative Property of Addition?
--What is the Zero Product Property?
--What is the Multiplicative Identity Property?
#5) Anything that comes
--More things
--Will come up
--During class.
It was the dashes that really made me laugh, because they demonstrated to me that this was not a sincere attempt at concept #5, but rather a hopeful assumption that I would not be looking too closely at anything besides format. After laughing about it at my desk for several minutes, I handed back his paper and in a stern voice asked him if he really thought he was going to trick me into thinking he completed the assignment. He looked pretty sheepish and did not argue, but took the incomplete homework grade. It was a funny moment because I remember being on the other side of those interactions--wondering if I (or, usually, my more gutsy classmates) would get caught riding the line, wondering how the teacher always found out, wondering why she didn't think it was as funny as we did. Turns out, she probably did, but she also probably thought it was more funny that we assumed we wouldn't get caught.
So, very low lows and some moderate highs all in one twelve-hour period that we call a "school day." A few more hours and it starts all over again!
First, I have been amazed over the past few weeks that I have not yet had what I considered the quintessential first-year teacher moment: the feeling of being totally, completely out of control in the classroom. In fact, I was beginning to congratulate myself on not having reached that moment, and believing that I must be pretty amazing. Turns out that instead, I've just been fortunate--until today. Today I gave numerous students after-school "homework club"--basically a detention where you have to do your homework--even though we do not normally give this to 8th graders. I figured this would make them take me (and their dwindling math homework grades) seriously. Instead, it made them declare war against me. First, I had not totally calculated in my head how many students were receiving this consequence until I got to the classroom, where there were more students than desks, making me outnumbered in just about every sense of the word. This lack of desks caused the first bout of chaos; something about not sitting at a proper desk makes a child imagine he does not need to be a proper student. So once I had finally created enough makeshift desks, the whining began. Shockingly, despite the fact that I had clearly explained yesterday the consequences of not bringing in homework today, they all felt that I was just horribly unfair. And the more complaints I heard, the more bold other people became to complain: hearing other people whine about how unfair I was made them feel more confident to voice their complaints at the horrible injustice of staying 30 minutes after school to complete their math homework. (As one student told me, she had "so many more important things to do." I had to bite my tongue to keep from telling her that I did, too.) Then, the hands started shooting up. Those students who had finally decided to give in and do their homework now had questions about that homework--but as soon as I could move to a student to answer a question, another student would begin whispering across the room and I would need to leave to deal with that discipline problem. Then more hands would shoot up with more questions, and soon even my behaving children were very disgruntled customers--the service was just not quick enough. In the middle of all the chaos the bell finally rang; before I let them go, I gave them a talk about how disappointed I was in them--a desperate grasp to make it seem like I had control over the situation the entire time, but was choosing not to respond until this moment. I don't think they bought it, considering that one student, as she exited, informed me that there would never have been an episode like this with their normal math teacher.
The good news out of all of this is that 1) I felt totally justified in buying a chocolate cupcake for myself after work; 2) I had a chance to see some areas where I struggle and need to improve; and 3) I had some great conversations with teachers in my office about their first years teaching, which were encouraging, insightful, helpful, and community-building. Still, as I left work today, I felt much less like the confident, bold new teacher I was last week, and more like a kid in dress-up clothes.
But on the funnier side of today, there was another moment that made me feel very much like an actual teacher--and a smart one at that. My students were required to make up their own study guides for their exams, listing at least 5 concepts that they need to review and 2-3 questions for each concept. In order to save time, I have been in the habit of simply scanning homework for completion, which may have prompted today's episode. But as I was (more carefully) grading homework today, I noticed that one student had written on his study guide the following:
#4) Using properties
--What is the Commutative Property of Addition?
--What is the Zero Product Property?
--What is the Multiplicative Identity Property?
#5) Anything that comes
--More things
--Will come up
--During class.
It was the dashes that really made me laugh, because they demonstrated to me that this was not a sincere attempt at concept #5, but rather a hopeful assumption that I would not be looking too closely at anything besides format. After laughing about it at my desk for several minutes, I handed back his paper and in a stern voice asked him if he really thought he was going to trick me into thinking he completed the assignment. He looked pretty sheepish and did not argue, but took the incomplete homework grade. It was a funny moment because I remember being on the other side of those interactions--wondering if I (or, usually, my more gutsy classmates) would get caught riding the line, wondering how the teacher always found out, wondering why she didn't think it was as funny as we did. Turns out, she probably did, but she also probably thought it was more funny that we assumed we wouldn't get caught.
So, very low lows and some moderate highs all in one twelve-hour period that we call a "school day." A few more hours and it starts all over again!
Caseload: Kelo
Three years ago the Supreme Court ruled in the Kelo case that government could take your property and give it to private developers. Since then, eminent domain suddenly became a household phrase. The firm that I work for represented Kelo in that case, and even though we lost, it finally started getting people talking.
I know nobody that reads this will donate, but since part of this is to keep tabs on the work everyone's doing, I thought this was representative.
-M.
I know nobody that reads this will donate, but since part of this is to keep tabs on the work everyone's doing, I thought this was representative.
-M.
Monday, June 16, 2008
STOP. hammertime.
Aussies and Roos, Part 3: The Great Ocean Road, Adelaide, and The South Pacific's Biggest Tourist Trap this side of Bangkok (AKA Cairns)
I would like to begin by noting what may in fact be a tautological consequence, like your mother (for those of you in on that particular joke): the Great Ocean Road is great...for which quality I imagine it is so named. It is rather long, and the weather truly does not know what it is about, but on those moments when it chooses to be sunny and not rainy, it is one of the most phenomenally beautiful places I have seen. I qualify sunny "and not rainy," by the way, because on several occasions it chose to be both sunny and rainy, which generally defies the imagination. This was good and bad: good because we saw at least two dozen rainbows, some of which were very large, and bad because I never had any CLUE what to wear. It was so strange. But I digress. The sights were incredible, from massive limestone stacks and cliffs (the 12 Apostles -- wikipedia it!) to clear water, quaint little towns along the way and gorgeous sunsets. As horrifyingly bad as I am at describing natural beauty, I will say that what set it apart from a million other places of its kind must be the bold colors everywhere. Whoever painted the landscape here truly did not do so in half-measures: the sea and sky are beautiful blues, the cliff faces earthy browns, the surf brilliant white. The colors people ascribe to such things might have been INVENTED here. That is what it seems to me.
To be fair, The Great Ocean Road would not have had nearly the charm had our tour group not been an excellent set of personages spanning the globe. Suffice to say that at every stop along the way, we would inevitably collect a case or three of beer, a few bottles of wine, etc., and then throw a small party at each night's destination. One of those included the resident Dutch girls screaming at 4:45 in the morning as France's soccer team experienced outright catastrophe at the hands of Holland. The French among us were not so pleased. There were a couple of Brits along for the ride, with whom we got on quite well, in addition to a smattering of other folks. Sam even had to bust out the Korean to talk to a single Korean fellow who spoke almost no English, yet managed to beat James the Englishman (this I dub him hereafter) at a very English-language-oriented game called Yee Haw. Yee Haw requires a personal explanation; seek me out and we will try it, over beer. I promise you will be entertained.
In any case, this, in addition to a trip through (and in one case atop one of) the Grampians, was a great deal of fun. Partly this was due to the natural scenery, as I already mentioned. In some respects it was also due to the activities, for more than one reason: an excellent hike/rock climb resulted in losing our American friend Jenny, who somehow managed to fall behind and then GET LOST on a very simple, straightforward trail. A trailblazed trail. With arrows. Bright yellow arrows. Even the rather heavyset French chef and hotel manager who SPLIT HIS PANTS and sweated every step of the way managed to keep up with us like a trooper. Not so Jenny, but alas, we can't all be perfect. Anyway, the tearing of the pants was another reason why this was excellent. Either Sam or I could have jumped through the hole in that poor fellow's jeans.
So I have enumerated two reasons. There are two more. First, WE SAW FLIPPING KANGAROOS! It was so good! We took pictures! They are really, really, really WEIRD creatures that defy rational explanation, except to say that they are cute when they stand up (though not as cute as sleeping koalas, which we also saw), utterly ungainly when they hop, and are about as common as your average squirrel. One hopes they don't throw acorns because they are in sufficient number to truly bury you in such small, forest-spawned projectiles. Finally, last, but not least, were the road signs. We now have pictures of ourselves draped over koala signs, emu signs, and of course, kangaroo signs. More importantly, on our way down from a brief stop at a waterfall, we came across an unusual stop sign. This stop sign was in many ways ordinary, but in one, it was not. Some excellent bloke decided to adorn this particular stop sign with HAMMERTIME in huge letters written beneath it.
Needless to say, I scrambled out of the bus as fast as my legs would carry me and took about twelve pictures. Such opportunities do not come your way often.
So. The Great Ocean Road, and the Grampians. My last note is that we have eaten kangaroo and it is tasty, and with that, I leave this matter entirely. We then stayed in Adelaide, where we had some very cheap and slightly icky (yet satisfying) Chinese food, drank a bit, walked around a good bit, and found the National Wine Centre, which was the most unutterably boring wine-related endeavor I have ever laid eyes upon. This deeply unsettled me, and I shall not mention it again. We then found yet more Chinese food -- I will be fat if I continue to eat dumplings at my current rate -- and went to a small pub called Grace Emily, which was a rather excellent establishment but for one thing. Uppity barkeeper. There is nothing in the world of bars that I hate more than a really uppity barkeep, and this woman had it down pat. I think she just didn't like foreigners, but she was the type where if you order a drink, she rephrases it and emphasizes "PLEEEEEASE" as if we weren't polite enough when we asked. I guess "I CAN HAZ BEER?" wasn't good enough for her. Pah. Do not want.
Alas. The several British and one American from our hostel that came to join us there all got the same treatment, more or less, so we banded together and had a good time anyway. Had a good long chat with one English guy in particular, in fact, whose name I fear I never learned -- he said it, but in that most undiscernable of ways, which is to say "quietly with a thick English accent in the middle of a crowded, loud bar having an open mic night," and I didn't get a chance to ask him again -- but who was excellent. He might facebook me. Then I will know who he is. In any case, we talked about exchange rates and cheap places to travel the world, and then took our leave to rest for our 8:30 flight this morning to Cairns. And now I speak with you.
So again, I fear this is jumbled and difficult to understand, and it is truly only the most superficial of coverage of our Australian journey. I assure you if I had the time to proofread it better -- or write it better in the first place -- I would. Unfortunately, with internet cost being what it is, and with the level of abject destitution (or in my case, sheer unbridled debt to my parents) in which we find ourselves, you're going to have to untangle it as best you can and just ask us questions when we arrive home.
When not dodging wallabies and trying not to fall off cliffs, I assure you that we do spend time missing all of you, more or less. Well, I don't miss Steve. He makes me change my font from orange to black. But I assure you that we are still your friends! See you when we get back -- and tune in next time! Same bat time, same bat channel.
(And by the way, that's pertinent: Batman founded Melbourne.)
I would like to begin by noting what may in fact be a tautological consequence, like your mother (for those of you in on that particular joke): the Great Ocean Road is great...for which quality I imagine it is so named. It is rather long, and the weather truly does not know what it is about, but on those moments when it chooses to be sunny and not rainy, it is one of the most phenomenally beautiful places I have seen. I qualify sunny "and not rainy," by the way, because on several occasions it chose to be both sunny and rainy, which generally defies the imagination. This was good and bad: good because we saw at least two dozen rainbows, some of which were very large, and bad because I never had any CLUE what to wear. It was so strange. But I digress. The sights were incredible, from massive limestone stacks and cliffs (the 12 Apostles -- wikipedia it!) to clear water, quaint little towns along the way and gorgeous sunsets. As horrifyingly bad as I am at describing natural beauty, I will say that what set it apart from a million other places of its kind must be the bold colors everywhere. Whoever painted the landscape here truly did not do so in half-measures: the sea and sky are beautiful blues, the cliff faces earthy browns, the surf brilliant white. The colors people ascribe to such things might have been INVENTED here. That is what it seems to me.
To be fair, The Great Ocean Road would not have had nearly the charm had our tour group not been an excellent set of personages spanning the globe. Suffice to say that at every stop along the way, we would inevitably collect a case or three of beer, a few bottles of wine, etc., and then throw a small party at each night's destination. One of those included the resident Dutch girls screaming at 4:45 in the morning as France's soccer team experienced outright catastrophe at the hands of Holland. The French among us were not so pleased. There were a couple of Brits along for the ride, with whom we got on quite well, in addition to a smattering of other folks. Sam even had to bust out the Korean to talk to a single Korean fellow who spoke almost no English, yet managed to beat James the Englishman (this I dub him hereafter) at a very English-language-oriented game called Yee Haw. Yee Haw requires a personal explanation; seek me out and we will try it, over beer. I promise you will be entertained.
In any case, this, in addition to a trip through (and in one case atop one of) the Grampians, was a great deal of fun. Partly this was due to the natural scenery, as I already mentioned. In some respects it was also due to the activities, for more than one reason: an excellent hike/rock climb resulted in losing our American friend Jenny, who somehow managed to fall behind and then GET LOST on a very simple, straightforward trail. A trailblazed trail. With arrows. Bright yellow arrows. Even the rather heavyset French chef and hotel manager who SPLIT HIS PANTS and sweated every step of the way managed to keep up with us like a trooper. Not so Jenny, but alas, we can't all be perfect. Anyway, the tearing of the pants was another reason why this was excellent. Either Sam or I could have jumped through the hole in that poor fellow's jeans.
So I have enumerated two reasons. There are two more. First, WE SAW FLIPPING KANGAROOS! It was so good! We took pictures! They are really, really, really WEIRD creatures that defy rational explanation, except to say that they are cute when they stand up (though not as cute as sleeping koalas, which we also saw), utterly ungainly when they hop, and are about as common as your average squirrel. One hopes they don't throw acorns because they are in sufficient number to truly bury you in such small, forest-spawned projectiles. Finally, last, but not least, were the road signs. We now have pictures of ourselves draped over koala signs, emu signs, and of course, kangaroo signs. More importantly, on our way down from a brief stop at a waterfall, we came across an unusual stop sign. This stop sign was in many ways ordinary, but in one, it was not. Some excellent bloke decided to adorn this particular stop sign with HAMMERTIME in huge letters written beneath it.
Needless to say, I scrambled out of the bus as fast as my legs would carry me and took about twelve pictures. Such opportunities do not come your way often.
So. The Great Ocean Road, and the Grampians. My last note is that we have eaten kangaroo and it is tasty, and with that, I leave this matter entirely. We then stayed in Adelaide, where we had some very cheap and slightly icky (yet satisfying) Chinese food, drank a bit, walked around a good bit, and found the National Wine Centre, which was the most unutterably boring wine-related endeavor I have ever laid eyes upon. This deeply unsettled me, and I shall not mention it again. We then found yet more Chinese food -- I will be fat if I continue to eat dumplings at my current rate -- and went to a small pub called Grace Emily, which was a rather excellent establishment but for one thing. Uppity barkeeper. There is nothing in the world of bars that I hate more than a really uppity barkeep, and this woman had it down pat. I think she just didn't like foreigners, but she was the type where if you order a drink, she rephrases it and emphasizes "PLEEEEEASE" as if we weren't polite enough when we asked. I guess "I CAN HAZ BEER?" wasn't good enough for her. Pah. Do not want.
Alas. The several British and one American from our hostel that came to join us there all got the same treatment, more or less, so we banded together and had a good time anyway. Had a good long chat with one English guy in particular, in fact, whose name I fear I never learned -- he said it, but in that most undiscernable of ways, which is to say "quietly with a thick English accent in the middle of a crowded, loud bar having an open mic night," and I didn't get a chance to ask him again -- but who was excellent. He might facebook me. Then I will know who he is. In any case, we talked about exchange rates and cheap places to travel the world, and then took our leave to rest for our 8:30 flight this morning to Cairns. And now I speak with you.
So again, I fear this is jumbled and difficult to understand, and it is truly only the most superficial of coverage of our Australian journey. I assure you if I had the time to proofread it better -- or write it better in the first place -- I would. Unfortunately, with internet cost being what it is, and with the level of abject destitution (or in my case, sheer unbridled debt to my parents) in which we find ourselves, you're going to have to untangle it as best you can and just ask us questions when we arrive home.
When not dodging wallabies and trying not to fall off cliffs, I assure you that we do spend time missing all of you, more or less. Well, I don't miss Steve. He makes me change my font from orange to black. But I assure you that we are still your friends! See you when we get back -- and tune in next time! Same bat time, same bat channel.
(And by the way, that's pertinent: Batman founded Melbourne.)
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Tough Love
3 words describe me right now: I am exhausted. This is not the result of a crazy Saturday night (I stayed in, ate ice cream, and watched "The American President), but rather it seems to be my new semi-permanent state of being, at least for the last three weeks. I honestly cannot remember being this tired, this consistently in all four years of college. My roommate Kate, who is about to complete her first year of teaching in two weeks (yay!), tells me that this is how she felt for the first four months teaching, and then either your body adjusts and the exhaustion passes, or you just forget what it felt like to not be tired all the time. I'm not sure whether to be encouraged, but I'm choosing to believe that is hopeful news. :) In the meantime, I offer that as an apology if any of this sounds too incoherent.
I am now three weeks into teaching, and one week into teaching eighth grade math, specifically. Who would have thought this is where I'd be a month after college, or anytime after college for that matter? I ran into my high school calculus teacher this weekend, who still remembers me as the student who morally objected to finding the surface area of revolution because the only possible real-world application of that equation is how much paint to put on a cooking wok. I simply wrote at the top of my classwork papers, "I promise never to go into the wok-making industry" and turned them in blank. He did a decent job hiding his surprise when I told him my new occupation, but he still was pretty close to laughing. (He also, I found out, has since ceased teaching his students how to find the surface area of revolution.)
While math is certainly challenging, so far I remain about one step ahead of my students; at least I have solved quadratic equations before, even if higher-level calculus was never my thing. My bigger challenge these past few weeks has been not the material itself, but the students, and specifically how to manage the behavior in my classroom while I teach the material. I hear this is extremely normal for first-time (and even veteran) teachers, which gives me hope. And my school is possibly the best place to be learning, because there are already many sound structures in place for me to use to promote classroom discipline. For instance, demerits: each day, I receive a sheet with each student's name on it, next to several boxes where I can record merits and demerits based on their behavior during the day. At the bottom of the sheet is a key with a number code for (I kid you not) about 39 demerits and 15 merits. There is a demerit for not tracking the teacher with your eyes; for not having proper posture; for not having all the necessary materials at your desk; for speaking out of turn; for being in improper uniform. If you disrespect a teacher or a peer, that is an automatic detention, as is an inappropriate response to a consequence (i.e. "No I was not!" as opposed to, "Miss, I respectfully disagree.") I had to try to figure out this week what response was appropriate to a student coloring on his uniform -- there is not, shockingly, a numerical code for that one -- so I made it an "other unprofessional" demerit and pretended like I knew what I was doing.
As my brother pointed out when I described this system to me, it sounds not only strict but downright cruel when you only hear about it and can't see it in practice. In reality, the system is probably a lot less cruel than many school discipline systems. It is clear and consistent; the students know the rules, and every teacher has the same merit/demerit sheet. It does not require yelling or anger to control; I can remain very calm while redirecting my students with a quick and clear consequence. It allows for positive reinforcement as well--I've given out many merits for "excellent posture," which I find much more productive than giving out demerits for poor posture (since my students all immediately sit up straight, mistakenly thinking that I will be giving them all merits, too).
Nevertheless, while I agree with the merits (no pun intended) of this system, and can't even begin to imagine how chaotic my classroom would be without it, I have to agree with my brother in my gut reaction to it. I feel cruel standing in front of a classroom, regularly handing out consequences because a pencil has not been sharpened, an eye goes astray, a rude remark slips out. I feel badly because I know that I easily have made (and continue to make) the same mistakes. I want to give my students warnings; I want to prevent them from making the mistake that requires the consequence; I want to save them from having to take such regular and immediate responsibility for their actions.
But then as I type this this, I have to stop myself. I know that this is what I want in the short-term; it seems more sympathetic, more gracious, more how I think I want to be treated. But in the long-term, is it actually the most loving? Is it loving for me to teach my students that it is acceptable to roll their eyes at me now, if the reinforcing of such behavior is going to get them fired from their first job in a few years? Or is it more loving for me to make them face a small consequence (30 minutes after school) now, in order to teach them the importance of respect and give them the best possible advantage in a job market which is already going to be unfairly predisposed against them because of race, socioeconomic status, English-language capabilities, etc.? Is it loving for me to allow them to sleep in class, if such a habit will cause their grades to drop? Or is it more loving for me to administer a small consequence (a demerit and a call home), which may cause them to get in the habit of sleeping more and thus being better prepared to perform at the level they will need to in order to get not only admission but scholarships to great high schools and colleges?
These are only a few examples. They point to a larger reality though, which is that my love for my students cannot only be sympathy and excusing their behavior. It needs to be tough, because the world is tough. Their world, in particular, is tougher than what I have had to face. The challenges they will come up against are large, and in many cases are the results of injustices that can and should be amended. But the fact that they shouldn't exist does not mean that I can afford to ignore them, because my students cannot ignore them. In reality, I've realized, when I want to love them by sympathetically excusing problem behavior, I really am not loving them. I'm loving myself. I'm protecting myself from their anger; their frustration; their dislike of me. I'm protecting myself from having to be the adult in the room who cares for them enough to teach them hard lessons, even at the expense of my own popularity. This kind of "love" is easy, because it is my natural response. Real love is more difficult--it is tough, not just for them, but for me to give. It doesn't feel loving, because I, like my students, don't enjoy receiving consequences. But when I think of where this tough love leaves them--and me--I know that both of us are better off with it than with the watered-down versions I am tempted to give.
There is some hope at the end of week one. My first day, I had to give three demerits to the same child in one class period--a pretty big deal. Later that week he landed himself in in-school-suspension, where I had to meet with him in order to get him caught up on his math homework. He seemed a little more timid in the ISS room, so we actually had a very good session and by the end of it I could tell that he was actually understanding the concepts that he had struggled with earlier in the week. After completing one particularly difficult stretch of problems, I bent down and looked him in the eye and told him, "I can tell you are smart, and that means you are smart enough to not only do your math homework but to stay out of this room for the rest of the year. I do not want to see you in here again. Do you understand me?" He actually smiled at me and nodded vigorously. That smile was not one of nervousness or an attempt to please me; I realized that because of my stern demeanor, he understood that I cared for him. He later found me to turn in his previously-failed quiz--corrections completed, all perfect. Granted, a small victory at the end of many consequences, but a hope. I hope that not only he continues to succeed in math, but that he can continue to see the love behind tough love, and to grow because of that rather than shy away from it. And I hope I can grow to have the courage to love in a way that may be costly for me, because the cost of not loving in this way is so, so much greater.
I am now three weeks into teaching, and one week into teaching eighth grade math, specifically. Who would have thought this is where I'd be a month after college, or anytime after college for that matter? I ran into my high school calculus teacher this weekend, who still remembers me as the student who morally objected to finding the surface area of revolution because the only possible real-world application of that equation is how much paint to put on a cooking wok. I simply wrote at the top of my classwork papers, "I promise never to go into the wok-making industry" and turned them in blank. He did a decent job hiding his surprise when I told him my new occupation, but he still was pretty close to laughing. (He also, I found out, has since ceased teaching his students how to find the surface area of revolution.)
While math is certainly challenging, so far I remain about one step ahead of my students; at least I have solved quadratic equations before, even if higher-level calculus was never my thing. My bigger challenge these past few weeks has been not the material itself, but the students, and specifically how to manage the behavior in my classroom while I teach the material. I hear this is extremely normal for first-time (and even veteran) teachers, which gives me hope. And my school is possibly the best place to be learning, because there are already many sound structures in place for me to use to promote classroom discipline. For instance, demerits: each day, I receive a sheet with each student's name on it, next to several boxes where I can record merits and demerits based on their behavior during the day. At the bottom of the sheet is a key with a number code for (I kid you not) about 39 demerits and 15 merits. There is a demerit for not tracking the teacher with your eyes; for not having proper posture; for not having all the necessary materials at your desk; for speaking out of turn; for being in improper uniform. If you disrespect a teacher or a peer, that is an automatic detention, as is an inappropriate response to a consequence (i.e. "No I was not!" as opposed to, "Miss, I respectfully disagree.") I had to try to figure out this week what response was appropriate to a student coloring on his uniform -- there is not, shockingly, a numerical code for that one -- so I made it an "other unprofessional" demerit and pretended like I knew what I was doing.
As my brother pointed out when I described this system to me, it sounds not only strict but downright cruel when you only hear about it and can't see it in practice. In reality, the system is probably a lot less cruel than many school discipline systems. It is clear and consistent; the students know the rules, and every teacher has the same merit/demerit sheet. It does not require yelling or anger to control; I can remain very calm while redirecting my students with a quick and clear consequence. It allows for positive reinforcement as well--I've given out many merits for "excellent posture," which I find much more productive than giving out demerits for poor posture (since my students all immediately sit up straight, mistakenly thinking that I will be giving them all merits, too).
Nevertheless, while I agree with the merits (no pun intended) of this system, and can't even begin to imagine how chaotic my classroom would be without it, I have to agree with my brother in my gut reaction to it. I feel cruel standing in front of a classroom, regularly handing out consequences because a pencil has not been sharpened, an eye goes astray, a rude remark slips out. I feel badly because I know that I easily have made (and continue to make) the same mistakes. I want to give my students warnings; I want to prevent them from making the mistake that requires the consequence; I want to save them from having to take such regular and immediate responsibility for their actions.
But then as I type this this, I have to stop myself. I know that this is what I want in the short-term; it seems more sympathetic, more gracious, more how I think I want to be treated. But in the long-term, is it actually the most loving? Is it loving for me to teach my students that it is acceptable to roll their eyes at me now, if the reinforcing of such behavior is going to get them fired from their first job in a few years? Or is it more loving for me to make them face a small consequence (30 minutes after school) now, in order to teach them the importance of respect and give them the best possible advantage in a job market which is already going to be unfairly predisposed against them because of race, socioeconomic status, English-language capabilities, etc.? Is it loving for me to allow them to sleep in class, if such a habit will cause their grades to drop? Or is it more loving for me to administer a small consequence (a demerit and a call home), which may cause them to get in the habit of sleeping more and thus being better prepared to perform at the level they will need to in order to get not only admission but scholarships to great high schools and colleges?
These are only a few examples. They point to a larger reality though, which is that my love for my students cannot only be sympathy and excusing their behavior. It needs to be tough, because the world is tough. Their world, in particular, is tougher than what I have had to face. The challenges they will come up against are large, and in many cases are the results of injustices that can and should be amended. But the fact that they shouldn't exist does not mean that I can afford to ignore them, because my students cannot ignore them. In reality, I've realized, when I want to love them by sympathetically excusing problem behavior, I really am not loving them. I'm loving myself. I'm protecting myself from their anger; their frustration; their dislike of me. I'm protecting myself from having to be the adult in the room who cares for them enough to teach them hard lessons, even at the expense of my own popularity. This kind of "love" is easy, because it is my natural response. Real love is more difficult--it is tough, not just for them, but for me to give. It doesn't feel loving, because I, like my students, don't enjoy receiving consequences. But when I think of where this tough love leaves them--and me--I know that both of us are better off with it than with the watered-down versions I am tempted to give.
There is some hope at the end of week one. My first day, I had to give three demerits to the same child in one class period--a pretty big deal. Later that week he landed himself in in-school-suspension, where I had to meet with him in order to get him caught up on his math homework. He seemed a little more timid in the ISS room, so we actually had a very good session and by the end of it I could tell that he was actually understanding the concepts that he had struggled with earlier in the week. After completing one particularly difficult stretch of problems, I bent down and looked him in the eye and told him, "I can tell you are smart, and that means you are smart enough to not only do your math homework but to stay out of this room for the rest of the year. I do not want to see you in here again. Do you understand me?" He actually smiled at me and nodded vigorously. That smile was not one of nervousness or an attempt to please me; I realized that because of my stern demeanor, he understood that I cared for him. He later found me to turn in his previously-failed quiz--corrections completed, all perfect. Granted, a small victory at the end of many consequences, but a hope. I hope that not only he continues to succeed in math, but that he can continue to see the love behind tough love, and to grow because of that rather than shy away from it. And I hope I can grow to have the courage to love in a way that may be costly for me, because the cost of not loving in this way is so, so much greater.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Friends and loneliness: or, An emo post
Though I haven't gone on any trips or started a job since graduation, I thought I'd write about my state of mind right now. Jed's post about being lonely in Charlottesville really struck a chord with me, so I'll be a little self-indulgent here.
The DC suburbs can be just as lonely as Charlottesville. My parents are in Shanghai again, and my sister works full-time. It's just my dog and I home alone every day. I never could handle idleness well - sometimes, when I have too much time on my hands, I feel a little lost and adrift. It's not a novel feeling, but I think these days the effect is amplified because of all the changes happening around me.
Right now I'm sitting in my room with nearly all of my worldly possessions spread out around me; I need to sort through them all and decide what to take to New York. I've been putting it off because a) I hate packing more than any other chore and b) though I am excited to be working in New York, I'm just a little overwhelmed right now by the thought of everything I'm leaving behind. Wow, am I being dramatic! I think that's accurate though.
Some of the loneliness I feel now is temporary - after all, I'm meeting Amar in Africa in a few days! However, the deeper part of it is that I'm still kind of scared that our friendships might fade with time or distance; it's a little of that sentiment/insecurity that makes me urge you all to write in this blog. Anyway though, a lot was done to alleviate those fears yesterday, so I just wanted to acknowledge it.
Last night, Le-Anh, Bryan, and I did Tanked Tuesday (yes, I know it was Wednesday) in their new apartment. Long story short though, I haven't had an easy time of things lately and ended up being sort of a party pooper. Le-Anh and I have never, ever been the hugging types; we hug other people, but never each other. I think we just decided long ago that for us, it's awkward. But after knowing each other for ten years and not hugging the whole time, she broke the rule yesterday when I needed it the most. That's when I knew that regardless of time, distance, or overly sentimental gushing, our friendship would be okay.
Enough. My next post will be cheerier - after all, the next time I write, I'll be in Africa!
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Lifeload: The Great Hunt IV
Expect a post about work sometime next week, when I have a full slew of things to tell you. I thought now would just be a good time to note that GREAT HUNT IV IS OFFICIALLY READY TO GO. I put the finishing touches on tonight, and it's all ready to roll out. I'm super pumped. I promised Erik a zombie convergence on my house, complete with shotgun.
Unfortunately, Lifeload blog posts will be inherently shorter than Caseload ones. Why? Because I have no life now. Except for my Wii Fit.
-M.
Unfortunately, Lifeload blog posts will be inherently shorter than Caseload ones. Why? Because I have no life now. Except for my Wii Fit.
-M.
I can haz eyeball?
AUSSIES AND ROOS! Part deux.
Ok well first I just figured out how to play with my font, and my life isn't the same unless i get to be orange Trebuchet MS. Please forward any complaints to Steve; seems he won't email you in response, so you can whine to your heart's content and never have any repercussions! Hooray!
Anyway, I have a bit of ground to cover with this post and I've only 31 minutes with which to do it, so this might be a tad garbled. My apologies.
We landed in Sydney, which is a beautiful city containing an Opera House, a Bridge, many Harbours (with a u) and just about the best damn Chinese and Korean food you can find anywhere. For nearly cheap as free compared to every other cuisine around. Which is the reason why, at the time of this writing, we have eaten nothing but Chinese, Korean, Japanese and Vietnamese food since landing in Australia, with the sole exception of a hot dog and meat pie when we had no alternative (and when I wanted a meat pie, which I can finally get here, dammit, and they are tasty). Living on the cheap never tasted so good. Frankly, I found Sydney to have little else. We stayed in Kings Cross, which is "the dodgy part of town" according to our Dutch friend Tim, and other than having a lot of grimy "Gentleman's Clubs" and a few sad little clubs that are not grimy but are kind of sad, there is not too much to be said for it. Entertaining side note: in Empire, a "dodgy" dance club in this lovely area (verily the least sketchy place in town, but nonetheless) Sam disappeared whilst I was in the bathroom, prompting me to wander about aimlessly in search of him. At this time, two large fellows accosted me, and the dialogue went something like this:
"Excuse me, I think you need to leave."
"I'm looking for my friend."
"Oh, skinny kid, looks like you? Is he your brother? I think we threw him out."
"Oh. Ok then."
"So you should go."
"Nah."
At which point I brazenly walked back into the club in search of Sam, who, being not my brother, I assumed was still around somewhere. Nope. He was outside. I promptly found him and we went home. And other than a very interesting market and a huge crocodile in the Sydney aquarium, I don't have a whole lot else to say regarding Sydney. Nice enough place, and very clean, but rather sterile overall. Sam might elucidate.
Hookay, so. This is the Melbourne. Damn, that is a sweet Melbourne, you might say (ROUND!) -- we are here, and are actually about to tour the aptly named Great Ocean Road (aptly because I understand it is a road, along the ocean, that is great). But I am getting ahead of myself. Melbourne! This is undeniably the strangest city I have ever been to in several respects, and I love it. I shall enumerate:
-- Sam and I are here, and we add delightful chaos to anyplace we go, for everyone -- EVERYONE -- believes us to be Canadian. Three different bartenders and a small herd of schoolchildren thought we were from Ottawa or thereabouts. Perhaps we smell funny. We also have spent enough time around non-American Anglo-centric people that we are starting to talk a little oddly, and I think that's part of it. One person insisted we didn't sound enough like Americans to be American. Perhaps when I come home I will truly sound as though I am from Canada, eh?
-- It has a variety of unusual, Bohemian, hip, or downright STRANGE establishments tucked into back alleys. When I say back alley, I'm not referring to "The Train Tracks in Charlottesville" kind of back alley, nor even to the sort of place wherein lies the door to Satellite Ballroom (may it rest in peace). I mean grafitti-covered, alcove-ridden, dark and shadowy places meant only for skulking thieves and discontented malcontents waiting to relieve unwitting small children of their lunch money. Apparently the Aussies think they are also meant for sweet bars. I don't know where they get these ideas, but it is true: a brief foray into Paynes Place, an alley with more brightly colored paint on its walls than the amount of hair gel used by the average Australian male per year (and that is saying something), revealed Croft Alley, at the end of which could be found the Croft Institute. It is a weird, and expensive, but overall excellent nightlife experience. And here I thought we were just going to get mugged, courtesy of my overzealous travel guide.
-- Japanese food is cheap. Where has that ever happened before in the known world? That janx is expensive even in TOKYO.
-- The weather really can't make up its mind. Lots of rain and bright sun in the same day, with associated winds or not-winds. Very bizarre.
-- They serve beer in ten oz. "pots" here, or 15 oz. "schooners," and pints are officially 20 oz. I will never understand this nonsense.
-- FANTA COSTS $3.50. WHAT THE HELL? I DISAGREE WITH THIS.
Anyway, I've run myself out of time, so I shall continue my contribution to our inestimable weblog upon completion of our tour of: THE GREAT OCEAN ROAD!
That is all. Many thanks for reading; I hope you enjoy.
Ok well first I just figured out how to play with my font, and my life isn't the same unless i get to be orange Trebuchet MS. Please forward any complaints to Steve; seems he won't email you in response, so you can whine to your heart's content and never have any repercussions! Hooray!
Anyway, I have a bit of ground to cover with this post and I've only 31 minutes with which to do it, so this might be a tad garbled. My apologies.
We landed in Sydney, which is a beautiful city containing an Opera House, a Bridge, many Harbours (with a u) and just about the best damn Chinese and Korean food you can find anywhere. For nearly cheap as free compared to every other cuisine around. Which is the reason why, at the time of this writing, we have eaten nothing but Chinese, Korean, Japanese and Vietnamese food since landing in Australia, with the sole exception of a hot dog and meat pie when we had no alternative (and when I wanted a meat pie, which I can finally get here, dammit, and they are tasty). Living on the cheap never tasted so good. Frankly, I found Sydney to have little else. We stayed in Kings Cross, which is "the dodgy part of town" according to our Dutch friend Tim, and other than having a lot of grimy "Gentleman's Clubs" and a few sad little clubs that are not grimy but are kind of sad, there is not too much to be said for it. Entertaining side note: in Empire, a "dodgy" dance club in this lovely area (verily the least sketchy place in town, but nonetheless) Sam disappeared whilst I was in the bathroom, prompting me to wander about aimlessly in search of him. At this time, two large fellows accosted me, and the dialogue went something like this:
"Excuse me, I think you need to leave."
"I'm looking for my friend."
"Oh, skinny kid, looks like you? Is he your brother? I think we threw him out."
"Oh. Ok then."
"So you should go."
"Nah."
At which point I brazenly walked back into the club in search of Sam, who, being not my brother, I assumed was still around somewhere. Nope. He was outside. I promptly found him and we went home. And other than a very interesting market and a huge crocodile in the Sydney aquarium, I don't have a whole lot else to say regarding Sydney. Nice enough place, and very clean, but rather sterile overall. Sam might elucidate.
Hookay, so. This is the Melbourne. Damn, that is a sweet Melbourne, you might say (ROUND!) -- we are here, and are actually about to tour the aptly named Great Ocean Road (aptly because I understand it is a road, along the ocean, that is great). But I am getting ahead of myself. Melbourne! This is undeniably the strangest city I have ever been to in several respects, and I love it. I shall enumerate:
-- Sam and I are here, and we add delightful chaos to anyplace we go, for everyone -- EVERYONE -- believes us to be Canadian. Three different bartenders and a small herd of schoolchildren thought we were from Ottawa or thereabouts. Perhaps we smell funny. We also have spent enough time around non-American Anglo-centric people that we are starting to talk a little oddly, and I think that's part of it. One person insisted we didn't sound enough like Americans to be American. Perhaps when I come home I will truly sound as though I am from Canada, eh?
-- It has a variety of unusual, Bohemian, hip, or downright STRANGE establishments tucked into back alleys. When I say back alley, I'm not referring to "The Train Tracks in Charlottesville" kind of back alley, nor even to the sort of place wherein lies the door to Satellite Ballroom (may it rest in peace). I mean grafitti-covered, alcove-ridden, dark and shadowy places meant only for skulking thieves and discontented malcontents waiting to relieve unwitting small children of their lunch money. Apparently the Aussies think they are also meant for sweet bars. I don't know where they get these ideas, but it is true: a brief foray into Paynes Place, an alley with more brightly colored paint on its walls than the amount of hair gel used by the average Australian male per year (and that is saying something), revealed Croft Alley, at the end of which could be found the Croft Institute. It is a weird, and expensive, but overall excellent nightlife experience. And here I thought we were just going to get mugged, courtesy of my overzealous travel guide.
-- Japanese food is cheap. Where has that ever happened before in the known world? That janx is expensive even in TOKYO.
-- The weather really can't make up its mind. Lots of rain and bright sun in the same day, with associated winds or not-winds. Very bizarre.
-- They serve beer in ten oz. "pots" here, or 15 oz. "schooners," and pints are officially 20 oz. I will never understand this nonsense.
-- FANTA COSTS $3.50. WHAT THE HELL? I DISAGREE WITH THIS.
Anyway, I've run myself out of time, so I shall continue my contribution to our inestimable weblog upon completion of our tour of: THE GREAT OCEAN ROAD!
That is all. Many thanks for reading; I hope you enjoy.
My Life as a Real Humon
I write to you all from the Ballston Panera. Read on to find out why!
Today will be the 3rd full day that I’ve lived in my new apartment – my first apartment as a “real humon,” as
Anyway, my first few days here have been interesting, for lack of a better word. On Monday, after spending my first night at the apartment, I awoke with a dilemma. As I had done the bulk of my unpacking the previous night and we have yet to have our internet and cable set up (
Yesterday I tried stealing wireless from my neighbors to no avail. Apparently, the other residents of my building take their internet security seriously. I had one brief moment of hope when I discovered an unsecured network called ‘wahoowa.’ I got really excited and was so sure that I was finally going to be able to use the internet for the first time since Sunday – and on a network named wahoowa at that – but it was not to be. We are still internet-less and cable-less. To clarify, we have gone so long without setting up cable and internet because we didn’t know Comcast’s number, and, not having internet, it wasn’t like we could quickly look it up either. By the way, we now know that Comcast’s number is 1-800-COMCAST.
Monday, June 9, 2008
INTO AFRICA: WEEK 2
Ok, so I think I left off when we came into Nambia—keep in mind that I didn’t get much internet access in Botswana, so this is a bit staggered. We flew into the capital city of Windhoek (I think vind-hook is decent approximation) on May 28. The first thing that occurred to me was that Windhoek was developed and empty. There was a ton of development, as Namibia was actually a part of South Africa until 1994, and there are so few people that even the capital city does not seem crowded. To give you an idea of the pop. density, take all the people in Manhattan (about 2 million?) and put them in a country the size of California. Actually, this is not really a happy fact, because the low population is said to be the result of more than a few atrocities during Apartheid, but let’s move past that unhappy reality for the moment.
First thing we did was drive to Ami’s village in Northern Namibia, called Omuthiya. At some point driving North, we crossed a checkpoint called the Red Line, above which development was vastly behind that in the South. According to Ami, the areas above the Red Line were basically left to themselves during Apartheid, so the North has the largest population but very little of the country’s wealth. It’s a bit shocking to enter a foreign country where race is as present (if not more present) than the US, and even more shocking to be in such an environment where Indians are a part of the racial equation. Although they are less present in Namibia, a ridiculous amount of Indians have straddled the line between Blacks and Whites in South Africa for decades. Even bread consumption is racially charged. According to Ami, only whites in Namibia were permitted to eat white bread, while blacks ate wheat (or dark bread). Insane.
Omithuya Gui Iipundi, the formal name of my sister’s town, translates as “chair under the thorn tree”. Omuthiya emerged as a stopping point along a major highway, and residents from nearby villages have gradually occupied it to form a growing town. Ami doesn’t live in poverty, as she has electricity, a gas stove, and a friend in a government office who has DSL, but let’s just say that she’s learning to live in a way that most of us were not brought up. She can take baths inside, but has to go to the outhouse to use a toilet (in the loosest sense of the word). She walks everywhere, washes her clothes by hand, and keeps her room closed off in every way possible to avoid the cockroaches, flies, and mice that inevitably move through her “apartment” (her bedroom door is the only one that closes fully, so there’s a blurred line between inside and outside).
It’s not as bad as it sounds though. She’s made a comfortable life here, and what always shocks me is how important the background details can be to one’s life, the details that don’t really crystallize in periodic phone calls. Ami’s got four host sisters (mostly orphans who are given a home on the homestead and materials for school if they work on the farm). “Younger sisters” aptly describes the relationship, as they will do just about anything she says. She throws impromptu dance parties for the five of them in her living room, and when the two eldest pass their Grade 10 examinations in November, she’ll be the person cheering them in the audience. She has a cat and three dogs left by the previous Peace Corps volunteer. The previous volunteer named this cat Takamitha, which means Be Careful, because she got Takamitha after accidentally stepping on and killing her first cat. Sounds ridiculous I know, but she also named one of her dogs Cutie Pie, so, even though I’ve never met this woman, I wouldn’t put it past her. Ami’s officially a health volunteer, but when Ami actually got here and asked the community what they needed, she found that computer training for teachers and community development projects were what they needed. It’s an interesting situation. There’s an infinite amount of resources to solve the AIDS problem here, but when it comes to poverty, Namibia’s problems don’t quite get enough attention.
While we were in Omuthiya, we attended a fundraiser for a Microfinance group that Ami helped start to encourage small business opportunities. The fundraiser was selling meat outside of a bar. Let me remark that Namibians love meat. A lot. They were selling barbequed mutton with no veggies, no bread, no condiments…and not one person asked for any of these things. Some days later, when my mom told a woman at a café in the Windhoek airport that she didn’t eat meat, the cashier looked puzzled and responded, “But why? Meat is so good!” It might have been offensive if she wasn’t so sincere.
After some quality time in Omuthiya, we headed to Etosha National Park, where we got to see wildlife from a few more angles. If you read my previous post about the Boiling Pot, ditto for the Moringa Watering Hole in Etosha. If my life ever gets so complicated that I just feel like I can’t think things through, I need to save up a couple g’s and come to this spot. I feel like I could sit there forever. I also caught National Geographic Moment #2 on a nighttime game drive; we saw lions feeding on a freshly killed zebra. The park at night is a different world, but the feeding was actually pretty gross, so I’ll spare you details. If you’re interested, you’re a sicko (but don’t worry, I’ve got video).
Namibia is beautiful in the diversity of its landscapes, so when we finished at the game park, we headed to Swakopmund, the resort town where sand dunes meet the Atlantic Ocean. This is Angelina Jolie’s Namibian playground, and it was quite comfortable. We finally got to an internet café long enough to send an update, so that’s where I sent the first one. My parents went quad biking on some dunes, while I climbed one. I think the pictures are pretty epic. If not, I’ll be pissed because it was grueling. We also ate some amazing seafood, but I’m really looking forward to Mozambique for seafood.
At this point it is probably worth mentioning that I’ve been driving quite a bit here. At first glance, this might seem normal, but a few things are worth clarifying. First, our rental car was a stick shift. I didn’t know how to drive stick shift two weeks ago, but automatic rental cars are very expensive and my dad doesn’t like driving so much, so a brief driving clinic ensued. Second, Namibians drive on the left side of the road. If the manual driving wasn’t a problem, why should I let a small thing like different traffic patterns stop me? Third, the drive from Swakop to our next destination involved two mountain passes. I wasn’t afraid, but my mom may have thrown up a prayer or two in the car. Anyways, long story short, I can now drive a manual, but it may have cost that Toyota Corolla its transmission.
We couldn’t get too comfortable, as my dad only had about three weeks in Africa total, so we then drove to the Namib Naukluft Desert. The red sand dunes in Sossesvlei (am I the only one who thinks of Mars when I hear about red sand dunes?) are said to be some of the tallest in the world, and we got a workout climbing them. Otherwise, we just enjoyed being in the middle of a beautiful desert and finally relaxing after our three week race. After a short time, we headed back to Windhoek, where we saw my dad off on his return to America. BTW, let’s all let out a collective sigh for my father. He was originally planning to arrive back from his thirty-six hour trip home at 11 pm on Sunday night, only to start work on Monday morning in Richmond. Unfortunately, the last leg of his flight (Detroit to Richmond) was delayed three times and finally cancelled at 1 AM. He’s still in Detroit.
Wow, very very long again, but I’ve been implored not to cut down. So I won’t. Anyways, I’ve appreciated every email back, so please keep them coming!
Amar
P.S. Jed, I am laughing like a lunatic in a Ministry of Trade office in a small town in Namibia, particularly because I can’t explain this story to anyone around me. If I saw you in an airport, I’d do a lot more to you than take your seat. Punk.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
The Airport
So I was sitting in the airport this morning and I observed a most remarkable example of human psychoses. After laughing about it to myself for a while I thought: what better forum to remark on the remarkable than diasporatic? But first, the news...
As you may have guessed from the fact that I was at the airport, I got a report date! I am reporting to USS MASON on June 20. That's wonderful news for me because it means I have just enough time to fly out to LA and drive cross-country with Arlene! As you all know, I love road trips (Arlene is pretty cool too) so this should be a great couple of weeks. I'll keep you guys posted about my adventures during our transcontinental trek if there are any.
Also, I want to take a quick moment to acknowledge Tommy Roberts. About 3 hours after I posted my last entry ("McGrady's") I got a phone call from Tommy. He had subscribed to Diasporatic and had read my post. Apparently he felt so sorry for me that he called me and invited me to come have a pint with him on the corner. Of course I accepted, bringing my drink total for the evening to a grand total of two pitchers, one pint. I don't think Tommy realized how much I appreciated his gesture and enjoyed his company. So here's to Tommy! Also, it gave me no end of satisfaction that Diasporatic had been the instrument which had brought us together at that table in The Virginian.
NOW for my airport anecdote. My flight was supposed to leave at 6:33AM (it didn't actually leave till 7:30, but that's another story), so I arrived at the airport before the sun was fully up. Needless to say, at this hour the airport was fairly empty. In fact, after I got through security I was the only person sitting in my departure area. After about ten minutes another man showed up. He was a shortish, fiftyish, well-built man with thinning brown hair and slightly pointed, terrier-like features. He looked a little like Vladimir Putin, actually.
The first thing I noticed about him was how confused he looked. He seemed to be totally overwhelmed by the decision of which seat he should take. He had his choice of every seat in the departure area (probably 60 seats) with the singular exception of mine, and this was just too much for him. Should he sit next to the window? Or near the gate? Or over next to the television? I watched as he nervously shifted his weight from foot to foot and I could almost hear his pulse quickening as the impossibility of the choice overcame him.
I noted all of this with passing interest and presently decided to get up and visit the men's room. As I got up and walked past him, I noticed that he seemed to have made a choice. He visibly calmed and the deer-in-the-headlights look which had been in his eyes was replaced by a look of triumphant purpose. I idly wondered which he had chosen, but didn't bother to look. Therefore it was a great surprise when, upon my return, I discovered that he had taken my seat: an entirely unremarkable seat in the middle of a row with nothing at all to recommend it over the others except that it had been mine. Of all the seats in the building, he had taken mine! Apparently, upon seeing me vacate my seat he had suddenly realized it was the best.
I am not sure what this indicates about human nature, but I am pretty sure it spells the end of America. Is it a lack of creativity? Are people just so uncreative that they cannot even make a choice as simple as where to sit? Or is it timidity? Is there some unconscious fear of an unblazed trail (or in this case, an unwarmed seat?) Or is it jealousy? Are people simply incapable of valuing something unless someone else values it first? Or is it something else?
Or am I wrong in assuming that this means anything general at all?
Thoughts?
As you may have guessed from the fact that I was at the airport, I got a report date! I am reporting to USS MASON on June 20. That's wonderful news for me because it means I have just enough time to fly out to LA and drive cross-country with Arlene! As you all know, I love road trips (Arlene is pretty cool too) so this should be a great couple of weeks. I'll keep you guys posted about my adventures during our transcontinental trek if there are any.
Also, I want to take a quick moment to acknowledge Tommy Roberts. About 3 hours after I posted my last entry ("McGrady's") I got a phone call from Tommy. He had subscribed to Diasporatic and had read my post. Apparently he felt so sorry for me that he called me and invited me to come have a pint with him on the corner. Of course I accepted, bringing my drink total for the evening to a grand total of two pitchers, one pint. I don't think Tommy realized how much I appreciated his gesture and enjoyed his company. So here's to Tommy! Also, it gave me no end of satisfaction that Diasporatic had been the instrument which had brought us together at that table in The Virginian.
NOW for my airport anecdote. My flight was supposed to leave at 6:33AM (it didn't actually leave till 7:30, but that's another story), so I arrived at the airport before the sun was fully up. Needless to say, at this hour the airport was fairly empty. In fact, after I got through security I was the only person sitting in my departure area. After about ten minutes another man showed up. He was a shortish, fiftyish, well-built man with thinning brown hair and slightly pointed, terrier-like features. He looked a little like Vladimir Putin, actually.
The first thing I noticed about him was how confused he looked. He seemed to be totally overwhelmed by the decision of which seat he should take. He had his choice of every seat in the departure area (probably 60 seats) with the singular exception of mine, and this was just too much for him. Should he sit next to the window? Or near the gate? Or over next to the television? I watched as he nervously shifted his weight from foot to foot and I could almost hear his pulse quickening as the impossibility of the choice overcame him.
I noted all of this with passing interest and presently decided to get up and visit the men's room. As I got up and walked past him, I noticed that he seemed to have made a choice. He visibly calmed and the deer-in-the-headlights look which had been in his eyes was replaced by a look of triumphant purpose. I idly wondered which he had chosen, but didn't bother to look. Therefore it was a great surprise when, upon my return, I discovered that he had taken my seat: an entirely unremarkable seat in the middle of a row with nothing at all to recommend it over the others except that it had been mine. Of all the seats in the building, he had taken mine! Apparently, upon seeing me vacate my seat he had suddenly realized it was the best.
I am not sure what this indicates about human nature, but I am pretty sure it spells the end of America. Is it a lack of creativity? Are people just so uncreative that they cannot even make a choice as simple as where to sit? Or is it timidity? Is there some unconscious fear of an unblazed trail (or in this case, an unwarmed seat?) Or is it jealousy? Are people simply incapable of valuing something unless someone else values it first? Or is it something else?
Or am I wrong in assuming that this means anything general at all?
Thoughts?
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Names
I am not very good at keeping in touch.
But, today I received the results of my FBI background check - the third one they've done on me in two years - and the front of the envelope read "Criminal History Request for Erik Ivar Hanson." Luckily, the social security number was correct so it's still usable.
I frequently take for granted the existence of people who can spell my name correctly every single time without even thinking about it.
But, today I received the results of my FBI background check - the third one they've done on me in two years - and the front of the envelope read "Criminal History Request for Erik Ivar Hanson." Luckily, the social security number was correct so it's still usable.
I frequently take for granted the existence of people who can spell my name correctly every single time without even thinking about it.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
McGrady's
Some of y'all might be wondering why I haven't posted to the blog yet. After all, it was me who sorta got this whole thing started and has been talking about it for months. You might be asking yourself if I will neglect this brain child of mine the way I neglect my fish. I am writing to assure you all that I will not. (Go ahead and breathe your collective sigh of relief now.)
The explanation for my failure to post so far is simple: I have nothing to report. As Michelle articulated so nicely in the lucid half of our introductory post, this blog's purpose is to record our experiences as we venture forth into the world from Charlottesville. The problem I am having is that I have neither ventured forth nor left Charlottesville as of yet.
My current status, professionally speaking, is this: I am stuck in Charlottesville until my ship calls me and tells me when to show up. Until that call I am to stay in Charlottesville and show up to "work" every morning at Maury hall where I am given menial tasks to keep me busy in order, I suppose, to justify my paycheck.
The Navy calls this being "stashed." I think a better term might be "purgatory." I am stuck between the heaven of being a 4th year at The University and the hell (I describe it thus only for the purpose of extending my metaphor) of being a professional naval officer. The worst part about being stuck in this limbo is the loneliness. I can tell you all from experience that the greater part of this town's charm is lost when your friends are absent. It remains comfortable and familiar, but it loses the quality which makes it home.
A short story from my experience will illustrate this loneliness nicely. It is the story of how I came to be sitting alone at the bar at McGrady's with a pitcher of beer in front of me looking for all the world like a young man well on his way to becoming an old alcoholic.
It’s actually a very short story. See what had happened was I thought there was a soccer game at 4:00. The USA national team was supposed to be playing Spain in an international friendly. As pretty much the only soccer fan left in the USA since Amar left I naturally wanted to watch. So I went down to McGrady’s, ordered a pitcher of Killian’s and got them to tune in to ESPN 2. Turns out the game wasn't at 4:00 like the ESPN website had said (it musta had morphed.) Turns out the game didn't start till 5:30. Apparently someone at the ESPN website had some trouble with the time zone conversion from Spain.
So there I was at the bar alone with my pitcher with no game to watch. I realized that there is a huge difference between being alone at a bar watching a game and just being alone at a bar. There is a certain amount of respect due to a guy who goes to a bar alone to watch his team play. He is viewed as a die hard fan - someone who is willing to brave public loneliness in order to support his team. On the other hand, the guy who is just at the bar drinking with no game on can only be viewed as pathetic. I was that guy for an hour and a half. I felt completely alone. In order to occupy myself during that time, I wrote this blog post on my blackberry. I also overheard some older women on the other side of the bar commenting on how much I look like "shitbreak" from American pie. Anyhow, it’s time to stop writing now. The game is finally starting and I am about to order a second pitcher.
So hi from McGrady's, guys! I miss you all!
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
AND IT'S HERE: INTO AFRICA, WEEK 1.
Africa
I don't think I could have prepared for the trip even if I wanted to. I began in the Richmond Airport, continued to Detroit, then to Amsterdam, next to Johannesburg (with an overnight stay), and finally a short hop to Livingston, Zambia. I left on Tuesday at 4 PM, and arrived in Livingston on Thursday at noon. The ten days since have been a blur, and rather than cover everything chronologically, I'll try to lump stuff together. This does not bring you up to present, only week 1.
Victoria Falls
When I rolled into Livingston, and took my shuttle to the resort where my parents and I would meet my sister, I was blown away. Slight clarification--I was blown away by the resort (at that moment, I was completely unconcerned with the Falls). The Zambezi Sun is right along the Zambezi River, with its own private entrance to Victoria Falls. All of our accomodations would not be so luxurious, but it was a pretty sweet way to start off the adventure. We saw the falls from every angle. First, we walked directly in front of the Falls, across a bridge that must have been at least 150 meters above the Zambezi river. I couldn't hear anything, water was all over me, and I couldn't even see the edges or bottom of the water fall. They say that something like a million liters of water travel over the Falls per second (or is it minute?), and it was completely overwhelming. I haven't been excited to see a rainbow since I was nine, but I saw two overlapping rainbows. One of the rainbows was so full I could have sworn I could find the hidden treasure. Once we were a bit dried off, the four of us hiked down (i mean hiked in the intense sense, wading through water and such) from that bridge to a place at the foot of the River called the Boiling Pot. Its called the Boiling Pot because the water swirls together. To be sitting in a canyon, look up 150-200 meters to where I had been standing before, and then stare down the winding river, it was a rare moment when I felt like I had just discovered a part of the world for the first time, as if I was the first and only person in the world to have been lucky enough to see it. Even after these two angles, I had not seen the Falls in its entirety (i.e. from the angle that you see in a postcard). Each of us dished out some dough, and went microlighting (sp?). This basically involved flying above the Falls, where the only thing between the Falls and myself was a motorized bike with wings. No glass windows, just a bike. Okay, so I think people expect the Falls to be amazing, but even for a cynic like myself, this doesn't make the place any less striking.
Animals
First, let me note that the resort in Zambia was also a wildlife preserve. I'm not sure whether these animals were trained, medicated, or what (the employees said they were free roaming, but a bit less afraid of humans), but I got within about fifteen feet of giraffes and zebras. Let me say that giraffes are huge. I mean, I knew they were big, but I thought I could take one if it came my way. No way. From Zambia, we travelled to Botswana, where our fall from luxury would begin. We stayed at a fairly nice lodge outside of Chobe Game Park, where there are two elephants per square km of the park. For reference, the park is 11,500 square km. It was here that I crossed elephants off the list of animals I could fight. We went on a wildlife boat cruise, and a game drive. The game drive was basically a safari at 6 AM, and, although we saw more animals than I could describe (Hippos, Elephants, Jackals, Impala, Kudu, Bulls...the list goes on), this is where I had my National Geographic moment. We came across four lions (a mother and three cubs), and watched them as they quietly spread out and stalked a group of impala. Cross lions off the list as well. At this point, we had seen animals up close, but now we proceeded to Okavango Delta, Botswana. I think this site was rated the #1 place to see in 2006 by National Geographic, and we saw it in a very hardcore way. We took a motorboat three hours into the delta, camped next to a local village (albeit with some extra luxury for my parents...chef=crucial), took dugout canoes through the delta to the main wildlife reserve, and tracked animals on foot. I learned more about droppings than you'd ever want to know, but if you're ever not sure whether and/or when a giraffe shat on your lawn, I'm your man. For a bit extra, I'll even tell you if it was a male or female.
Other
So I realize this has been hella long (and it's just the first week, I'll save some of this week for later), but a couple general observations. First, there are no clocks here. It is horrible. and fabulous. and horrible. I didn't realize how obsessed I was with time, and I'm not even a remotely punctual person. Still, it has been a tough adjustment to not be so concerned about using every minute, but I'm slowly making it work. Getting up at 6 am is pretty standard, and last night I even went to bed at 7 pm. Dean, note for APT: Mother nature said I should get eleven hours of sleep, and who I am I to say no? Second, I retain some pride to be an American. We met an Indian guy at Vic Falls who was getting real uppity about America, saying shit like "well, I don't think I'll ever be that way, I hope I never have to visit America!" I was actually quite offended. My sister made a good point. You can insult the policies and even American tendencies, but to generally dismiss the country and it's people is just disrespectful, and let's not forget who give Namibia,Zambia, etc. money for free HIV testing (survey says...AMERICA!). Anyways, so I realized that I actually will defend America abroad. Bizarre, but maybe not so bizarre.
Anyways, this has been too long, so I'll post from now on in the blog, but PLEASE keep in touch. I'll be gone for some time, and I hope to still have friends when I return, so let me know what you're up to (jobs, nothing, school, whatever).
Amar
P.S. Reading list update: Atonement=done and quite good. Divisadero is in progress and seems promising.
I don't think I could have prepared for the trip even if I wanted to. I began in the Richmond Airport, continued to Detroit, then to Amsterdam, next to Johannesburg (with an overnight stay), and finally a short hop to Livingston, Zambia. I left on Tuesday at 4 PM, and arrived in Livingston on Thursday at noon. The ten days since have been a blur, and rather than cover everything chronologically, I'll try to lump stuff together. This does not bring you up to present, only week 1.
Victoria Falls
When I rolled into Livingston, and took my shuttle to the resort where my parents and I would meet my sister, I was blown away. Slight clarification--I was blown away by the resort (at that moment, I was completely unconcerned with the Falls). The Zambezi Sun is right along the Zambezi River, with its own private entrance to Victoria Falls. All of our accomodations would not be so luxurious, but it was a pretty sweet way to start off the adventure. We saw the falls from every angle. First, we walked directly in front of the Falls, across a bridge that must have been at least 150 meters above the Zambezi river. I couldn't hear anything, water was all over me, and I couldn't even see the edges or bottom of the water fall. They say that something like a million liters of water travel over the Falls per second (or is it minute?), and it was completely overwhelming. I haven't been excited to see a rainbow since I was nine, but I saw two overlapping rainbows. One of the rainbows was so full I could have sworn I could find the hidden treasure. Once we were a bit dried off, the four of us hiked down (i mean hiked in the intense sense, wading through water and such) from that bridge to a place at the foot of the River called the Boiling Pot. Its called the Boiling Pot because the water swirls together. To be sitting in a canyon, look up 150-200 meters to where I had been standing before, and then stare down the winding river, it was a rare moment when I felt like I had just discovered a part of the world for the first time, as if I was the first and only person in the world to have been lucky enough to see it. Even after these two angles, I had not seen the Falls in its entirety (i.e. from the angle that you see in a postcard). Each of us dished out some dough, and went microlighting (sp?). This basically involved flying above the Falls, where the only thing between the Falls and myself was a motorized bike with wings. No glass windows, just a bike. Okay, so I think people expect the Falls to be amazing, but even for a cynic like myself, this doesn't make the place any less striking.
Animals
First, let me note that the resort in Zambia was also a wildlife preserve. I'm not sure whether these animals were trained, medicated, or what (the employees said they were free roaming, but a bit less afraid of humans), but I got within about fifteen feet of giraffes and zebras. Let me say that giraffes are huge. I mean, I knew they were big, but I thought I could take one if it came my way. No way. From Zambia, we travelled to Botswana, where our fall from luxury would begin. We stayed at a fairly nice lodge outside of Chobe Game Park, where there are two elephants per square km of the park. For reference, the park is 11,500 square km. It was here that I crossed elephants off the list of animals I could fight. We went on a wildlife boat cruise, and a game drive. The game drive was basically a safari at 6 AM, and, although we saw more animals than I could describe (Hippos, Elephants, Jackals, Impala, Kudu, Bulls...the list goes on), this is where I had my National Geographic moment. We came across four lions (a mother and three cubs), and watched them as they quietly spread out and stalked a group of impala. Cross lions off the list as well. At this point, we had seen animals up close, but now we proceeded to Okavango Delta, Botswana. I think this site was rated the #1 place to see in 2006 by National Geographic, and we saw it in a very hardcore way. We took a motorboat three hours into the delta, camped next to a local village (albeit with some extra luxury for my parents...chef=crucial), took dugout canoes through the delta to the main wildlife reserve, and tracked animals on foot. I learned more about droppings than you'd ever want to know, but if you're ever not sure whether and/or when a giraffe shat on your lawn, I'm your man. For a bit extra, I'll even tell you if it was a male or female.
Other
So I realize this has been hella long (and it's just the first week, I'll save some of this week for later), but a couple general observations. First, there are no clocks here. It is horrible. and fabulous. and horrible. I didn't realize how obsessed I was with time, and I'm not even a remotely punctual person. Still, it has been a tough adjustment to not be so concerned about using every minute, but I'm slowly making it work. Getting up at 6 am is pretty standard, and last night I even went to bed at 7 pm. Dean, note for APT: Mother nature said I should get eleven hours of sleep, and who I am I to say no? Second, I retain some pride to be an American. We met an Indian guy at Vic Falls who was getting real uppity about America, saying shit like "well, I don't think I'll ever be that way, I hope I never have to visit America!" I was actually quite offended. My sister made a good point. You can insult the policies and even American tendencies, but to generally dismiss the country and it's people is just disrespectful, and let's not forget who give Namibia,Zambia, etc. money for free HIV testing (survey says...AMERICA!). Anyways, so I realized that I actually will defend America abroad. Bizarre, but maybe not so bizarre.
Anyways, this has been too long, so I'll post from now on in the blog, but PLEASE keep in touch. I'll be gone for some time, and I hope to still have friends when I return, so let me know what you're up to (jobs, nothing, school, whatever).
Amar
P.S. Reading list update: Atonement=done and quite good. Divisadero is in progress and seems promising.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Aussies. And roos.
I prepare to foray 'round the world! Such ministrations to the gods of Packing are not to be taken lightly. These rituals are themselves an incursion into unfamiliar and forbidding territory, a negotiation of stymying choice and difficult paths leading to unforeseeable and dire consequence. Take this dilemma: to bring the canteen, or the machete?
United Airlines settled that one. Alas, the propriety of international flight.
So yeah, Sam and I are about to find ourselves in Australia, and I think we're prepared for it even though I'm not sure it's really sunk in that we decided to do this. At least it hasn't for me; this was all a harebrained idea that somehow actually happened, and I'm still not sure how. We don't yet have a place to stay, but I think we'll take care of that tonight. We know where we want to stay. Sort of. We have about half a million options and will be picking one soon. It doesn't really matter: no one goes anywhere in the winter anyway!
Anyway, that's all for now. Because we haven't actually found any Aussies yet. Or Roos. Because we're still in Maryland. We will talk about them when we have a chance to examine them in person! And yes, Jed, I will fight a kangaroo for you if I can only get my hands on one.
Or maybe I'll get Sam to do it and take pictures. Yes, this is a good plan.
See you in July!
td
United Airlines settled that one. Alas, the propriety of international flight.
So yeah, Sam and I are about to find ourselves in Australia, and I think we're prepared for it even though I'm not sure it's really sunk in that we decided to do this. At least it hasn't for me; this was all a harebrained idea that somehow actually happened, and I'm still not sure how. We don't yet have a place to stay, but I think we'll take care of that tonight. We know where we want to stay. Sort of. We have about half a million options and will be picking one soon. It doesn't really matter: no one goes anywhere in the winter anyway!
Anyway, that's all for now. Because we haven't actually found any Aussies yet. Or Roos. Because we're still in Maryland. We will talk about them when we have a chance to examine them in person! And yes, Jed, I will fight a kangaroo for you if I can only get my hands on one.
Or maybe I'll get Sam to do it and take pictures. Yes, this is a good plan.
See you in July!
td
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