Hong Kong, I suppose

So yeah. I kind of forgot about this thing. Actually, I just didn't feel motivated to write. To be honest, Hong Kong has been rather challenging; in part because I just didn't expect it to be. For the past month, we've been living in really nice apartments that overlook one of the many HK harbors. It's really quite beautiful and grandiose, nestled in between the mountains and the sea (which I love!). But Hong Kong also feels like the consumer capital of the world, which has been rough, especially coming here after India. It feels odd to buy things, take the train, fix my own meals, walk down the street unnoticed, basically do the things that used to (and should ?) feel perfectly normal. .

Another thing that's been challenging, which as I look back has been challenging all the way through is sitting in class. I just can't take it! I don't like lectures or listening to people ramble on about topics I find completely dull, and then having to memorize facts I don't even want to remember, all for a stupid little quiz. I realize I'm ranting and perhaps being completely insensitive to the language barriers and non-American teaching styles (which is rather hypocritical of me), but I dunno, I just find the whole thing so injurious to the spirit. I would much rather do a series of independent studies. That would be a whole lot better. That way I could research what I want, write what I want, and talk to who I want. Oh gosh...seriously, tiff. hmph. I hope Olaf and my happy, little English major treats me better. We'll see...

On a different note. Sort of. More like, I just don't know how to transition to what I'm about to say, especially after ranting for so long, and can't help but feeling highly inclined to stall....to draw out the space between such feelings....okay that's good.

I feel much closer with everyone in the global group. And it's more than just knowing Ben is a good person to have around (which I knew before we even left) or to be thankful for Kina and Christine (which I also discovered early one), but for the genuine liking/respecting/accepting feelings to spread to everyone...to Annie, Marissa, Paul, Sue, Kirsten, Eric... It's not just about each of us as individuals anymore. But who we are to each other. It's true what they say about global and about traveling with the same group of people for five months. We really do become a family.

Other things:
- I really like the party district in Central because everyone is doing the exact same thing - having FUN, and thus, everyone is in!
- We saw the Nutcracker last night. It was aaaamazing! The Arabian sequence was the best I've ever seen.
- We leave tomorrow and it's raining. It's the first time since we've been here. Figures that would happen only a few hours after I've packed up my umbrella.
- My favorite place in HK is the the walkway along the bank in Kowloon: where the city looks like a painting and the rhythmic motion of the waves and people pulls me in and out of time. The British were smart to put a clock tower just a few blocks away. If they hadn't, I probably never would have remembered to buy my secret Santa those candy canes.

A Little Bit of Everything (HK)

A little bit of everything (Thailand)

A Little Bit of Everything (India)

Thailand fun fact

Every Monday is the king's day and the people wear yellow in his honor.

A recount of fall break

Team Chiang Mei: Ben, Reid, Paul, Sarah, Greta, Andrea, and myself

-went to the floating markets, trekked around Bangkok (one of the coolest cities ever!), indulged in a bit of flavors from home (au bon pain, dunkin' donuts), went to a super chic fashion show dressed as studly as possible, which was hilarious considering all we had were chakos and worn out clothing.
- took a 14 hour night train to Chiang Mei (in Northern Thailand), met up with Ilse and got lost (more or less) on the way. yay mistakes! went to dinner, the night bazaar, and a hippie bar with seat cushions and the open sky. had a fabulous talk, but it was far too short, naturally.
- went hiking and met a monk who gave us ice cream and let us play with the school children
- rented mopeds and crusied 30 km north to a National park filled with the most breath taking scenery and waterfalls.
- took a Thai cooking class, which was both surprisingly satisfying and immensely comical. also got a Thai massage and I suppose the same descriptors could apply
- took the train ride back to home base: Reid threw a paper airplane into the little girl's sleeping chamber and the ramifications were glorious to see.

-all of this and I still managed to finish Into Thin Air and have a morning with Virginia. a slight breeze over the river, flowers scattered about, and a cup of coffee in hand. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Thailand

Thailand welcomes me with infrastructure, rice fields, and sleep.

Thailand is our break. Thailand is Ilse!

Happy Diwali

Diwali was sweet: "the crackers" and the games at the ECC and the cruise around Delhi. Lights, lights, and more lights.


Our world will go on without them.

A Little Bit of Everything

There are always two sides

Gandhi: India's liberator, the king of non-violence who released India from England's rule... But, Gandhi also worked in the confines of the Hindu Caste System. He worked to eradicate external colonialism but did little for internal colonialism. To introduce the situation, there is a group of people in India called Dalits. They are viewed so lowly by the elites that they aren't even a part of the Caste system; they have previously been known as "the untouchables;" their situation appears worse than that of the African Americans during the times of segregation. And so to return to the subject at hand, Gandhi called them "Harijans" - children of God. But the God he referred to was the God of prostitution. He called the Dalits bastard children. Ask any Dalit about Gandhi and you will feel their pain.

In class we've been talking a lot about Christianity in the context of the Dalit community. We've been talking about how liberating it is, and how easy and helpful it is for Dalits to rejoice in Jesus. Jesus didn't only break bread with the suffering but he was the suffering. But go Tumkur village and talk to Jabi, who has developed a secular institution and ideology that works for political and economic reform for the Dalit community. He'll tell you Christianity hampers his cause. It creates more division for the Dalits, because now there are two groups of people, the Dalits who have God's grace and who will reach the Kingdom of Heaven and the Dalits who won't. Religion gets in the way. Jabi will tell you however that the Christian missionaries were helpful in the sense that they are the reason he got an education. But Christian universities, with their highly-funded educational programs, also educate the Brahmins and the Hindu fundamentalists. These Hindus in power learn about Christianity and they learn to refute it. Conclusion: with Christiainity Dalit liberation faces barricades from both ends.

India is a spiritual powerhouse! and I love her for it! But there also seems to be this rift between the religious and secular life. Garbage litters the streets, the streams, and the people's homes. High rise aparment buildings go up along side slums and of course poverty is in our face every day.

Our days have been scheduled out for us, filled with class time and trips. We've had dozens of guest lectures but only a few have been non-Christian. We talk about the importance of religious dialogue but we don't always get the other side. Christians only account for 2% of India's population, but they're the only group of people that I have had solidified experiences with. Furthermore, just the other day, we hopped on a bus at 5:00 am and back to the ECC at 2:00 am. And that wasn't the first time. The lack of free time, free thoughts, and free movements has dampened our spirits. Did we even get to know India at all? But...these ECC friends have been planning our arrival since February. Our lodging here is the reason they have stayed afloat. I can see their meeting before we came. "Everyone kick it into gear. Smile a lot and don't even think about complaining. We have to do everything right. We have to give them our hands. We have to impress them and show them a good time." The ECC bends over backwards for us and houses some of the kindest people I have ever met. We have no right to complain.

Nightlife

I forgot to mention the dance club. It was called 'Poison' and it was straight out of 'Alias'. We walked down neon green illuminated stairs to an arena of strobe lights and technified American/Indian music. The DJ nested and grooved up top and the bar was set to the side. Rows of liquor bottles lined the glass shelves and half-filled drinks with accompanying hands mingled on the dark wooden counter. It was freakin' sweet! Also to aid to the amazingness, the friends from the university who took us out apparently go to this place a lot. They pulled some strings and put us on the V.I.P list. Meaning the guys didn't have to pay the 1000 rupee entrance fee (or whatever it was). whoo! whoo! One last thing, Kelly said I looked good with a beer in my hand and I took it to heart. Basically, it was one of the best nights of my life.

The other club in Bangalore was also fun, but I know understand why every night is Ladies Night. Also, there must be some sort of art to letting guys (aka Montana dude) buy you drinks. Apparently, I have lots to learn. Whateves...

India, Om Shanti...

- You would think that with all this traveling I would learn how to be a better guest but I'm pretty sure I'm learning how to be a better host. So many warm words, gifts, and positive exchanges. Murali, our Indian coordinator steps up to the mic and every time it's, "Friends, on behalf of the ECC and the St. Olaf group...."

- Doug and Jane Koon, members of the first Global Semsters and their advice: live modestly so you can return to India, give back, and be free.

- We were blessed by the highest Hindu priest, the only priest of his generation to touch Lord Shiva at the a world-renowned Hindu pilgrim destiniation, Mt. Arunchala. He is a Brahmin and his family has been doing this for generations. The temple was dim and musty; water pooled on the stone, cave-like bedding. I was hot. I was pinned between the others amongst the relics and mystic idols. But I made sure to look into the preists' eyes when he marked me with the the Bindhi. He noticed. I hope the right message was communicated: respect and honor and awe and fear. a slight challenge? maybe.

-Ramana Ashram, a walking meditation center: We were to ask who am I? and if we felt like it, to whom do my thoughts arise? I started asking and saw a book. I went to literature and then my poem. Who am I? I am the poem. Why am I destroying myself? Why am I destroying myself? Why am I destroying myself. I was under Shiva's spell, the God of destruction. Around and around I went with a deep frown embedded in my brow. Why am I destroying myself? How am I destroying? Cutting. Who is destroying? Me. What am I destroying ? Me. I am desire, need, love. Why am I destroying myself? What am I getting rid of? Am I getting rid of me to be me or ridding me of me? Around and around I went. Who am I? The destroyer and the destroyed. Who am I? Who am I?

On the way home I walked in step with three young Indian women. They said hello and their purple, green, and pink saris comforted me. Name? Tiffany. You? Lukah. I passed along a slight, eager, promising wave. Bye.

Daphne said Shiva attacked the mind and the ego and so the great meditater answered his own question with his heart. It returned. Loving again.

- India wakes up early. The roosters crow and cricket players scatter and bloom in the fields.

- I dig the no-shoe thing.

ECC

I had five cups of tea today and a lovely chat with Christine and Siri. I anticipate this will become the new norm.

We're staying at the Ecumenical Christian Center outside of Bangalore, India, and except for the mosquito nets and Malaria pills, it feels a lot like camp. Meals in the main hall, the cricket field/volleyball court on the front lawn, lush foliage about the campus, and activities (aka class time/random excursions) scheduled through out the day. And like most camps, the staff tries it's best to encourage good conversation and well being. A mound of dirt titled "Pile of Religious Harmony" sits on the side of the road and hedges in the shape of a global map linger by the lake. "Inspirational" signs are also scattered about. From the traditional and cheesy, "Two roads diverged in a wood, and I took the one less-traveled by and that made all a difference" to the slightly bizarre, "I don't eat my own fruits, but you..." to the the completely distorted, "Deforestation is secret plot to exterminate the mother earth with her infant kids in he gas chamber."

On a slightly different note, although I do enjoy the solitude of this place and the time to read, think, and write, I worry about returning to my dark, empty room after a good day. I've been told that the morale of past groups drops in India and I can sense the loneliness that permeates the walls and lingers in the shadows. Such feelings haven't ventured out of their dwellings but I know I'm susceptible; I've always been guilty of the wandering mind...

It was a Global Day (Mumbai, 10/7)

Elephanta Island. The Sisters of Charity Orphanage (Ashadaan). The Bollywood film.

The Orphanage:

You can get used to a child's head resting on your shoulder.

The children were just finishing up a birthday party when we came. The music resonated through out the room and their chocolate-smeared hands clutched empty candy wrappers and packets of stickers. They were laughing, playing, and one-by-one eagerly invited us to join their games. After weaving through the smiling faces, being dragged here and there (most likely to places we weren't supposed to go. oops), making animal sounds-galore, and swinging children around so they could jump to the sky, I found her.

Like many of the children who were mentally and/or physically handicapped, so was she. I didn't realize until I picked her up but (oh, how do I say it?) she had only one arm and no legs. I would be lying if I said it didn't phase me for a second. She knew a little English and was assertive with her pointed finger. I was instantly under her command and we willingly went where ever she wanted. We ventured outside, wandered the premises, and played London Bridges Falling Down with the other children. After about 30 minutes of carrying her and participating in such activities, my arms started to ache. But to put her down? That meant putting her back in her crib. It meant doing something you just do not do. So I tightened my grasp and she followed suit. Her gentle arm clung to my neck and her soft lips pecked my cheek. I continued to twirl and dance. I hummed in her ear and we swayed to the fading laughs and the nurturing breeze.

Dinnertime came and I followed the supervisors leading gestures. I grabbed a plate of the rice-porridge concoction and a spoon and plopped down on the floor with her resting on my lap. In the pool of other children, I began feeding her. She obliged willingly but soon her keen mind found other tasks to pursue. She found an empty spoon and other mouths in need. She found thirsty children by making the sign, a tight fist and a protruding thumb. Again, her dynamic personality surprised me. I fed her while she scolded the children that didn't finish their food.

The nuns and helpers indicated it was time to go with their mops, buckets, and bolted doors. But how do you even talk about leaving? All I have is her pleading and questioning face looking up at me. Oh, how unfamilar she became. But she knew the schedule. And although I was the one leaving her, she left without complaint.

Her name was Maraht. Or was it Naraht? Like all foreign sounds, her name slipped all too easily from my mind. But I walk down the streets and lay in my bed, and still I feel her weight. Her frumpy little body fit so perfectly in arms.

Leaving Cairo

Their world will go on without us.

the rambles

- I kicked their soccer ball on the way home. It was a surprise. We laughed and laughed and laughed some more.

- Sometimes, I want to ask questions. But the thing is, I don't want answers. I'm not interested in their answer. I'm interested in my own and I'm interested in saying it outloud, freely. I want to make a statement. And, I suppose I want you to respond. Unfortunately, I get weird looks without some sort of precurser.

- "Percival destroys it, as he blunders off. Yet it is Percival I need; for it is Percival who indpsires poetry."

- I didn't hear what the teacher said but I saw Annie smile. I'll have to talk to her about that.

- I don't understand. Why would I ever turn the children away?

- "Umaima sighed audibly. 'We are going to have to work very hard to make life bearable.' Adham gazed up at the mansion. ' We are going to have to work even harder to make that gate open for us again.'" --Naguib Mahfouz, Children of the Alley

- I saw a woodchip in his hair.

- I've been here for three weeks and the fully covered women still make my heart skip a beat. But I also see the women wearing headscarfs and I will not deny their beauty: the colors, patterns, and fashions complimented by warm, smiling faces.

- I saw the teacher hug Annie. She was crying. I will help her. I will share her grief.

- Come, Adham. Let's go tend the fields...

New Modes of Transportation

- desert safari jeeps
- hot air balloons
- feloukas
- camels
- airplanes
- buses
- chacos

Most have included sunrises, sunsets, and very little sleep.

We went overground
from the Temple of Queen Hatshepsut
to the Valley of the Kings.

We went underground
to the blues, the greens, the reds:
the Earth's painted jewels.

We went across the ground
to the plentiful human forms
that performed their tasks:

plowing, building, selling, making.

But now,
it's the caked buildings and chalky skies.
The sun summons the call to prayer and
I find myself hot, dirty, and irritated.

The magnified static illegitimately,
yet naturally wedges itself into my day.
It turns to ash in my hands.

The heat has washed over me. The sweetness
of the morning air has evaporated and
barren, potted plants now rest at my feet.

The dark brown bodies were idealized

and hard at work. They had triangular torsos
and one complete eye. But I didn't see
their sweat, their tears, their hunger.

Where were these things
and where are they now?

The Way Back from Saqqara, home of the oldest step pyramid:

The juxtaposition is extreme. Donkeys, wagons, buses, and cars clog the streets. Think of a pile of laundry in which everything flops onto everything else. You have garbage dumps, clothes lines, date trees, and market vendors folding into the crevices formed by red bricks and agricultural fields. Also, the city repeats itself. That is, it goes rich, poor, rich, poor. But I can hardly tell the difference between the pristine real estate and the slums. I sometimes noticed a few more patches of green and a little less trash in the well-to-do areas. Our guide noted one way to make the distinction is to count the number of satellites on the roofs. I guess it works.

Also, on the way back I saw an orange camel, a green caravan, a blue boat, and a yellow plane painted on a small, rural residential building. The members of this family have made the pilgrimage to Mecca over the years. They are privileged and have stories to share. The journey there must have been enlightening, colossal, epic. But what about the day after they painted those pictures. How did the individuals feel about coming home? How did they feel after visiting the holiest city and returning to daily life?

The Words of Professor John Swanson

Egyptians get American films before England. They see The Bourne Ultimatum and girls getting in bed with men they've only just met. They think Western vlaues include violence, crime, abortion, and the break down of families. They say America is the most dangerous country on Earth.

Egyptians see a Western, college-aged couple walking out of their hotel. The girl wears a halter top with things bouncing around. The guy wears a pair of loose shorts with things bouncing around. Everybody stares.

Americans say Muslim women are exploited. Muslims say American women are exploited. The vicious stereotypes are parallel.

Cairo. day 2

Cairo is (!!!), but I'm acclamating.

I'm so glad to be back in the college arena.

going solo in Athens (9/4)

I was on a traveler's high. I thought I was going to explode. Every exchange was precious to me. The pharmacist, the bookstore owner, the server. Even the frappe became platonic. Sweet and bitter temperaments wrestled in my mouth. Two bodies tumbling one on top of the other; a tangled mass with clearly identifiable forms. Always separate, always the same. The server had asked how much sugar I wanted: "high? medium? low?" Naturally, I chose the middle way. All rationality seemed to point in that direction. But balance is rarely an arithmetical equation and attempting to achieve it usually leaves one further from the goal. How often we struggle with intensity, with opposites, with ambiguity. How often such dynamics pain and how often they soothe.

Sitting at the cafe with racing thoughts and a slightly shaking hand, I soon found myself with fifteen pages of words. I became the insistent rose seller, pressing hard to the young men with women by their side. I became the small soccer boy, missing his shots and setting off motorcycle alarms. I became my neighbor's gaze, looking past his shoulder, across my arm, and to my page. He lit his cigarette; I lit his cigarette; casual moves to cover our rising smiles. My thoughts spilled freely and with out shame. They were a peasant's hands, snatching fruit from the vender's stand. quickly. continuously. rhythmically.

It was my first independent day and I wanted it all. I wanted to taste, touch, hear, smell, and see. I wanted to find the source of the men's beautiful smiles, their soft chiseled faces, and their skin's honey glow. I didn't want to be just a passerby on the pedestrian pathway, comforted by the Acropolis on high. I wanted to cross the gates guarded by the gnarled, rooted foliage with sea foam sun hats and enter Greece's promised land filled with nationality and antiquity.

I had gotten carried away. I tried to calm my mind but how could Faulkner, J.D. Salinger, or Woolf satisfy when only Odysseus and the sea would do? The only thing to do was stand up and pack my bags. I needed to return to neutral territory. to dirt. to water. to air.

Geneva:

fountains. mountains. chocolate. rose gardens. human rights. broken chair. flags. displaced people. internally displaced people. landmines. red cross. UNAids. UNESCO. OHCHR. UNHCR. UNICEF. World Parliament of Religons for Peace. Central Emergency Response Fund. politcal level. social level. financial level. ground level. mandates. bureaus. former heads of states. diaglogue. discussion. conversation. communication.

movement is. out and up.

I met the most beautiful woman today.

Under the wings of feminist/liberation theology, she draws Hindus, Islams, and atheists to her Lutheran doors. Her hands don't fold into her own but into those beside her. She asks for permission. She refers to God as an intense presence. She is sensitive to her audience. She stands pigeon-toed. Her singing voice warms the air. She calls the rain to come. I can't help but think of rustling leaves and soft sounds.

She said Christ is the savior for those who believe Christ is the savior.