7/3/2007 1:14:38 PM The Best Nap Ever by Cate Brown
We stumbled out of the bus,
weary and wrinkled like wrapping paper
in the hands of a 5 year old.
Travel had taken it´s toll.
Our bags were stacked high on tarpulin.
Each on bulging with memories of home.
The oblique shapes nestled together
under our family´s laundry lines
whispering tales of two cultures as one.
We staggered about the courtyard,
lost, like newborn lambs.
As if our leges were but 2 years old
we collapsed on hard concrete.
And laying down on our sleeping pads,
like nestling in sunny grass,
we drifted off to sleep in Lima.
It was the best nap ever.
Saturday, July 7, 2007
Guatemalan School Kids by Catherine - GUATEMALA (6-week group)
Guatemalan School Kids, by Catherine
7/7/2007 10:38:57 AM Guatemalan School Kids
So instead of writing a general overview of what we have been doing, I am going to talk specifically about one topic: Guatemalan school kids. The other day as part of my Spanish lesson I visited a local school in the pueblo of San Jose. Kids between three and six years of age attend the school, including the very cute son of my Spanish teacher. It is a small school with only two classrooms and maybe around fifteen or so kids per classroom. There are also only two teachers. It is interesting because the kids between three and five years of age are grouped into one classroom and those that have six years are in the other classroom. I guess the teachers figure that all of the students between three and five years of age know about the same amount and learn at about the same rate, although this seems really strange based on American educational norms. The kids are a bit shy at first but soon warm up to you. The day I visited the school, they finished classes a bit early (classes end at 11 am anyway). I guess it was a special day because there was a piñata in shape of a tiger that the kids got to break. Candy flew everywhere, and a few of the braver kids even came up to me and gave me some of their pieces. The teachers were also selling snacks: a Coke equivalent, juice made of a Guatemalan fruit and jello, both in little plastic bags that you had to bite into, and these strange looking, large fried things that the teachers covered in mayonaise, ketchup, and chile. I tried the juice, jello, and the fried thing -- although I couldn't finished the fried thing and ended up giving it to my Spanish teacher's kid -- who couldn't finish it either! My teacher suggested that I bring out the small soccer (football) ball to play with the kids and that was an immediate hit. The kids became a lot less shy and some started playing 'hide from the scary gringo and see if she comes after us'. Soon basically all of the kids were running from me as I pretended I was asleep, only to suddenly 'wake up', growl at them, and chase them around and try to give them tickles. Unfortunately, the kids eventually figured out it would be even more fun to tickle me and I ended up on the ground in the fetal position with a mound of kids ontop of me a few times. One of the funniest parts was near the end when I basically put the kids in 'tickle pairs'. I would look at one kid, point to another kid and say 'cosquillas a el (tickles to him)!' -- and off they went.
The kids at the school are from poor families in the town of San Jose. They live in shabby houses, wear relatively shabby clothing, and have the cutest sets of horrible teeth I have ever seen. Yet, from what I observed at the school, they are some of the happiest kids I know. Getting to know them made my day, and happily, getting to know me seemed to make their day too.
7/7/2007 10:38:57 AM Guatemalan School Kids
So instead of writing a general overview of what we have been doing, I am going to talk specifically about one topic: Guatemalan school kids. The other day as part of my Spanish lesson I visited a local school in the pueblo of San Jose. Kids between three and six years of age attend the school, including the very cute son of my Spanish teacher. It is a small school with only two classrooms and maybe around fifteen or so kids per classroom. There are also only two teachers. It is interesting because the kids between three and five years of age are grouped into one classroom and those that have six years are in the other classroom. I guess the teachers figure that all of the students between three and five years of age know about the same amount and learn at about the same rate, although this seems really strange based on American educational norms. The kids are a bit shy at first but soon warm up to you. The day I visited the school, they finished classes a bit early (classes end at 11 am anyway). I guess it was a special day because there was a piñata in shape of a tiger that the kids got to break. Candy flew everywhere, and a few of the braver kids even came up to me and gave me some of their pieces. The teachers were also selling snacks: a Coke equivalent, juice made of a Guatemalan fruit and jello, both in little plastic bags that you had to bite into, and these strange looking, large fried things that the teachers covered in mayonaise, ketchup, and chile. I tried the juice, jello, and the fried thing -- although I couldn't finished the fried thing and ended up giving it to my Spanish teacher's kid -- who couldn't finish it either! My teacher suggested that I bring out the small soccer (football) ball to play with the kids and that was an immediate hit. The kids became a lot less shy and some started playing 'hide from the scary gringo and see if she comes after us'. Soon basically all of the kids were running from me as I pretended I was asleep, only to suddenly 'wake up', growl at them, and chase them around and try to give them tickles. Unfortunately, the kids eventually figured out it would be even more fun to tickle me and I ended up on the ground in the fetal position with a mound of kids ontop of me a few times. One of the funniest parts was near the end when I basically put the kids in 'tickle pairs'. I would look at one kid, point to another kid and say 'cosquillas a el (tickles to him)!' -- and off they went.
The kids at the school are from poor families in the town of San Jose. They live in shabby houses, wear relatively shabby clothing, and have the cutest sets of horrible teeth I have ever seen. Yet, from what I observed at the school, they are some of the happiest kids I know. Getting to know them made my day, and happily, getting to know me seemed to make their day too.
From Karze: by Alex Schieferdecker - TIBET (Group B)
7/5/2007 1:46:31 AM From Karze: by Alex Schieferdecker
Tashi Delek from Karze! Our noble leaders are busy with running the trip, and keeping us healthy, so I have been tasked with writing this Yakity Yak.
Our 12 hour bus ride from Kanding to Karze was at times a tedious, but also often a spectacular affair. Whether it was the constant smoking in the back of the bus, to the loud, violent beeping of the horn, something got on almost everyone's nerves at some point. But we perservered, and were rewarded with some of the most striking scenery on the planet. Rolling green hills gave way to tall rocky mountains and stunning vistas as we closed in on Karze. The mountains got taller and taller until we spotted snow. Karze lies under these mountains.
Matjaz describes Karze best; "like the wild west". The majority of the city is mud houses, with the richest citizens able to afford brick. Men walk around with jeans and cowboy hats. Theft is a real problem here, and sometimes it can be a problem for the theives as well, and some people carry knives close at hand. (DOn't worry parents!) Upon arriving in the city, we checked in at a nice guesthouse which had been recomended by previous Tibet groups. We then traveled to the hot springs in the town. The accomidations were nothing the type we would expect to see in the states, but hot springs in Tibet are the same as hot springs in the rest of the world, and provided a wellcome oppertunity to clean up. After the springs and a quick dinner we headed off for a well deserved rest.
The following day (today), we grabbed breakfast, and ambled over to a local Orphan School, similar to the one where we will be heading. There, work had been done which was similar to the work we have planned. We didn't just sit around looking at insulation however... we immeadiately bonded with the children of the orphanage, and when their classes let out we began several games of the universal: Duck Duck Goose. Jack also recieved a crash course in Tibetain with one of the smaller classes. When the classes began again, we left the orphanage and trundled up to the local monastery. We came at the right time. In honor of the birthday of His Holiness (the 7th) the monks of many local monasteries were having a great 10 day festival which includes ceremony and competitions in debating. Many locals had come to watch this battle of wits. It truely is a spectator sport too!
In a debate, one monk will hold a tenent of his monastery and monks from the other monasteries will try to prove it false. After each exchange, the monk who has finished making his point will adamantly slap his hand into his palm. As the debates (and lunch and prayers after) continued, we moseyed around the monastery, and met some monks who told us about the fesatival. HH has said that he doesn't want the different sects of Bhuddism to fight, and in that spirit, the debates we saw today involve members of each different order, something which has hardly ever happened!
We cavorted down from the gompa (monastery in Tibetain) in the afternoon, and after lunch we got free time. That is where things stand right now.
Tomorrow we will take a short (4 hours) bus ride to the Shechen Orphanage School. After our touching experience at the orphanage school today, we can hardly wait to spend a week there. That will mean that there won't be any contact by Yak Yak however. So consider this the last message from our group for a week.
Tsering!
Tashi Delek from Karze! Our noble leaders are busy with running the trip, and keeping us healthy, so I have been tasked with writing this Yakity Yak.
Our 12 hour bus ride from Kanding to Karze was at times a tedious, but also often a spectacular affair. Whether it was the constant smoking in the back of the bus, to the loud, violent beeping of the horn, something got on almost everyone's nerves at some point. But we perservered, and were rewarded with some of the most striking scenery on the planet. Rolling green hills gave way to tall rocky mountains and stunning vistas as we closed in on Karze. The mountains got taller and taller until we spotted snow. Karze lies under these mountains.
Matjaz describes Karze best; "like the wild west". The majority of the city is mud houses, with the richest citizens able to afford brick. Men walk around with jeans and cowboy hats. Theft is a real problem here, and sometimes it can be a problem for the theives as well, and some people carry knives close at hand. (DOn't worry parents!) Upon arriving in the city, we checked in at a nice guesthouse which had been recomended by previous Tibet groups. We then traveled to the hot springs in the town. The accomidations were nothing the type we would expect to see in the states, but hot springs in Tibet are the same as hot springs in the rest of the world, and provided a wellcome oppertunity to clean up. After the springs and a quick dinner we headed off for a well deserved rest.
The following day (today), we grabbed breakfast, and ambled over to a local Orphan School, similar to the one where we will be heading. There, work had been done which was similar to the work we have planned. We didn't just sit around looking at insulation however... we immeadiately bonded with the children of the orphanage, and when their classes let out we began several games of the universal: Duck Duck Goose. Jack also recieved a crash course in Tibetain with one of the smaller classes. When the classes began again, we left the orphanage and trundled up to the local monastery. We came at the right time. In honor of the birthday of His Holiness (the 7th) the monks of many local monasteries were having a great 10 day festival which includes ceremony and competitions in debating. Many locals had come to watch this battle of wits. It truely is a spectator sport too!
In a debate, one monk will hold a tenent of his monastery and monks from the other monasteries will try to prove it false. After each exchange, the monk who has finished making his point will adamantly slap his hand into his palm. As the debates (and lunch and prayers after) continued, we moseyed around the monastery, and met some monks who told us about the fesatival. HH has said that he doesn't want the different sects of Bhuddism to fight, and in that spirit, the debates we saw today involve members of each different order, something which has hardly ever happened!
We cavorted down from the gompa (monastery in Tibetain) in the afternoon, and after lunch we got free time. That is where things stand right now.
Tomorrow we will take a short (4 hours) bus ride to the Shechen Orphanage School. After our touching experience at the orphanage school today, we can hardly wait to spend a week there. That will mean that there won't be any contact by Yak Yak however. So consider this the last message from our group for a week.
Tsering!
Xin Chao by Jake Gatof - VIETNAM
7/5/2007 3:57:03 AM Xin Chao by Jake Gatof
As we finally overcome the long-lasting jet lag and overwhelming humidity we are all preparing to set out on our trek through the ethnic minorities of Vietnam. Yesterday was crazy as we tried to cram in so many different activities. Despite the fact that the constraints of time limited our ability to become truly immersed in each oppurtunity, we were able to gain some insight into the work of the Women's Union in Vietnam, and through the museum of ethnology, some insight into the ethnic minorities that make up 14% of the country's population. We also shared a lunch with our fellow high school students from Chu Van An which was an awesome time to communicate one on one with the students in our very limited Vietnamese. Before yesterday we spent time at Friendship village which provides housing, care, and education for kids effected by Agent Orange. Being there I was utterly ashamed to be American. Though at first my disgrace to be part of a country who directly caused these kids disabilties plagued my emotion, as the day continued, the ability to share even a basic smile with the kids was comforting enough to leave without burning an American flag. Though I left Friendship village initially with some form of comfort in the soft smiles of the kids, after visiting the U.S. embassy and having the representative tell us that the U.S. won't own up to the horrific effects of Agent Orange made me feel so utterly disgraced that I had no words to describe my stark feeling of anti-patriotism. Later that day we went to visit with Chuck Searcy who is a Vietnam Veteran who is the in-country leader of Project Renew, a charity program focused on the post-war clean up of Vietnam. While I walked in still enraged from the embassy, Chuck's humility, humanity, and humor allowed me to end the day on a note of hope and not disgrace. Today was a free day and I spent the morning working on my ISP in which I am focusing on combining Western and Eastern music. Though I was not as succesful as I hoped, I was able to see some of the traditional instruments of the country and even purchase a small bamboo flute to have with me in hopes of finding someone to play along with me as I play the guitar. In the afternoon the guys of the group shared the rest of the day with our Chu Van An counterparts. We shared in an intense game of laser tag being as they wanted to experience something western with us westerners, and we shared the similarly intense activity of bartering for various vietnamese and communist outerwear. Tomorrow we set off into the jungle for the trek, and tonight we will finally meet our 4th instructor Brad. Hope all is well back in the states. Marie we're all pulling for you to get here as soon as possible, can't wait.
Xin Chao from and to Hanoi,
Jake
As we finally overcome the long-lasting jet lag and overwhelming humidity we are all preparing to set out on our trek through the ethnic minorities of Vietnam. Yesterday was crazy as we tried to cram in so many different activities. Despite the fact that the constraints of time limited our ability to become truly immersed in each oppurtunity, we were able to gain some insight into the work of the Women's Union in Vietnam, and through the museum of ethnology, some insight into the ethnic minorities that make up 14% of the country's population. We also shared a lunch with our fellow high school students from Chu Van An which was an awesome time to communicate one on one with the students in our very limited Vietnamese. Before yesterday we spent time at Friendship village which provides housing, care, and education for kids effected by Agent Orange. Being there I was utterly ashamed to be American. Though at first my disgrace to be part of a country who directly caused these kids disabilties plagued my emotion, as the day continued, the ability to share even a basic smile with the kids was comforting enough to leave without burning an American flag. Though I left Friendship village initially with some form of comfort in the soft smiles of the kids, after visiting the U.S. embassy and having the representative tell us that the U.S. won't own up to the horrific effects of Agent Orange made me feel so utterly disgraced that I had no words to describe my stark feeling of anti-patriotism. Later that day we went to visit with Chuck Searcy who is a Vietnam Veteran who is the in-country leader of Project Renew, a charity program focused on the post-war clean up of Vietnam. While I walked in still enraged from the embassy, Chuck's humility, humanity, and humor allowed me to end the day on a note of hope and not disgrace. Today was a free day and I spent the morning working on my ISP in which I am focusing on combining Western and Eastern music. Though I was not as succesful as I hoped, I was able to see some of the traditional instruments of the country and even purchase a small bamboo flute to have with me in hopes of finding someone to play along with me as I play the guitar. In the afternoon the guys of the group shared the rest of the day with our Chu Van An counterparts. We shared in an intense game of laser tag being as they wanted to experience something western with us westerners, and we shared the similarly intense activity of bartering for various vietnamese and communist outerwear. Tomorrow we set off into the jungle for the trek, and tonight we will finally meet our 4th instructor Brad. Hope all is well back in the states. Marie we're all pulling for you to get here as soon as possible, can't wait.
Xin Chao from and to Hanoi,
Jake
Culture Shock and First Impressions by Charlie Dubbe - BOLIVIA
7/2/2007 9:30:47 AM Culture Shock and First Impressions
Hello world! I am sitting in an internet cafe in cochabamba trying to organize my fluttering thoughts into a readable message.
The first couple of days have been a total blurr, it seems more like we have been here for 2 weeks than for 4 days mostly because of all the new things we have seen. The night before last while staying with a wonderful family we had the amazing experience of hearing all about the world by an indigenous man by the name of Llewar (which in quechua means blood fire). This was my first experience in Bolivia that really turned my world upside down.
Here is some reflection on the conversation we had with him:
All these are just questions and hypothetical conversations, and so please don't be offended or think I have fallen off the deep end. Pardon the poor spelling due to the lack of a good keyboard, the fact that we have been speaking almost all Spanish, and it is summer.
The conversation was fully indescribable, but the word that pops to mind is inspirational. It was deep and philosophical but had the feeling of a common dialogue around the fire (where we were).We were all chewing coca leaves and listening to this incredibly wise man laying out all of his views in front of us, like saying ¨This is who I am, this is what I believe.¨
It made me question the US and the fact that they call these people who have SO much poor. These lines that he said will forever be ingrained in my memory.
" No somos pobre, no somos el tercer mundo, somos de el solo mundo, no necicitamos su ayuda."
It basically translates to " We are not poor, we are not the third world, we are part of the only world, we do not need your help"
These lines resonated with me so much that I nearly cried.
We talked about mindless consumers bred by power hungry corporations in a neo liberal and capitalistic society.
He really made me question which way of living i think is better, which is impossible to do for most Americans when the western media reports in only one perspective and voice, The use the voice of "we need to help the third world become more like us" How arrogant can we be? Who are we to assert our views and methods of organizing society on a people who have been doing fine for thousands of years? It goes so far to even think about how we cant stand to say that we share a world with these people, since we call them the "third world" as Llewar said, there is only one world...our world.
Another question brought up is what is progress? I have recently discovered that EVERYTHING is relative. What we call happiness or quality of life is relative to our perspective and environment in and on the world. Is progress good? or is just subsistence enough? Why did I say "just" before subsistence? Isn't living enough?
There are about another three pages I could write on this but i will spare you. Anyway I have it all in my journal.
I will end with this quote which has been and will be my mantra for the rest of the trip.
"Live like you are going to die tomorrow,
Learn like you will live forever"
Gandhi
Mom and dad I am doing great and I love you guys. I will try to call when I have a chance. Love you
paz
Charlie Dubbe
Hello world! I am sitting in an internet cafe in cochabamba trying to organize my fluttering thoughts into a readable message.
The first couple of days have been a total blurr, it seems more like we have been here for 2 weeks than for 4 days mostly because of all the new things we have seen. The night before last while staying with a wonderful family we had the amazing experience of hearing all about the world by an indigenous man by the name of Llewar (which in quechua means blood fire). This was my first experience in Bolivia that really turned my world upside down.
Here is some reflection on the conversation we had with him:
All these are just questions and hypothetical conversations, and so please don't be offended or think I have fallen off the deep end. Pardon the poor spelling due to the lack of a good keyboard, the fact that we have been speaking almost all Spanish, and it is summer.
The conversation was fully indescribable, but the word that pops to mind is inspirational. It was deep and philosophical but had the feeling of a common dialogue around the fire (where we were).We were all chewing coca leaves and listening to this incredibly wise man laying out all of his views in front of us, like saying ¨This is who I am, this is what I believe.¨
It made me question the US and the fact that they call these people who have SO much poor. These lines that he said will forever be ingrained in my memory.
" No somos pobre, no somos el tercer mundo, somos de el solo mundo, no necicitamos su ayuda."
It basically translates to " We are not poor, we are not the third world, we are part of the only world, we do not need your help"
These lines resonated with me so much that I nearly cried.
We talked about mindless consumers bred by power hungry corporations in a neo liberal and capitalistic society.
He really made me question which way of living i think is better, which is impossible to do for most Americans when the western media reports in only one perspective and voice, The use the voice of "we need to help the third world become more like us" How arrogant can we be? Who are we to assert our views and methods of organizing society on a people who have been doing fine for thousands of years? It goes so far to even think about how we cant stand to say that we share a world with these people, since we call them the "third world" as Llewar said, there is only one world...our world.
Another question brought up is what is progress? I have recently discovered that EVERYTHING is relative. What we call happiness or quality of life is relative to our perspective and environment in and on the world. Is progress good? or is just subsistence enough? Why did I say "just" before subsistence? Isn't living enough?
There are about another three pages I could write on this but i will spare you. Anyway I have it all in my journal.
I will end with this quote which has been and will be my mantra for the rest of the trip.
"Live like you are going to die tomorrow,
Learn like you will live forever"
Gandhi
Mom and dad I am doing great and I love you guys. I will try to call when I have a chance. Love you
paz
Charlie Dubbe
Silent Lunch and Black Jello by Julien Isaacs - China Group "A"
7/2/2007 8:13:46 PM Silent Lunch and Black Jello
We woke up early yesterday morning, stopped for some breakfast at the nearby bakery and headed off for Lantau island via ferry. We took a long taxi ride up the mountain, at parts barely dodging oncoming traffic. We arrived at a huge buddha resting on top of the hill, surrounded by colored flags. We continued on a winding hike snaking past waterfalls and lush landscape. We were heading to a Zen Monastery, nestled in the midst of a jungle. After lots of sweat, we arrived and were greeted by Doo Gut, a monk originally from Britain. He showed us around the small monastery and we were separated, boys from girls, as lunch began. The beating of a metal block signaled the commencement of the meal. The monks filed in based on rank into a room with lean tables facing each other. WE quietly filed in and sat before three bowls. One with soup, one with rice, and one with vegetables. We were instructed before hand that we had to finish all food given, for reasons of karma and out of respect for the monks on dish duty. The abbot rang a bell and all the monks and nuns began to sing grace. The song was memorizing, sweeping into high tunes and low chants in an unknown tongue. The last few notes died down and our silent lunch began. The only sound that broke the silence was the clink clank of chopsticks and the loud burp of a Chinese woman. The monks instructed us to really feel the food we were eating, and ponder such questions of who am I, who is this person eating the food. The tofu was delicious, the soup not so much. Mistakenly, I asked for the dessert, a black jello coup concoction that soon became painful to eat. WE were the only ones who couldn't finish our food. It was slightly embarrassing. The meal ended with another chant. Afterwords we had a Q and A with the British monk who explained Buddhism and such concepts as separating the Chinese from Buddhism. WE left the monastery, full, slightly queasy but full of knowledge.
We woke up early yesterday morning, stopped for some breakfast at the nearby bakery and headed off for Lantau island via ferry. We took a long taxi ride up the mountain, at parts barely dodging oncoming traffic. We arrived at a huge buddha resting on top of the hill, surrounded by colored flags. We continued on a winding hike snaking past waterfalls and lush landscape. We were heading to a Zen Monastery, nestled in the midst of a jungle. After lots of sweat, we arrived and were greeted by Doo Gut, a monk originally from Britain. He showed us around the small monastery and we were separated, boys from girls, as lunch began. The beating of a metal block signaled the commencement of the meal. The monks filed in based on rank into a room with lean tables facing each other. WE quietly filed in and sat before three bowls. One with soup, one with rice, and one with vegetables. We were instructed before hand that we had to finish all food given, for reasons of karma and out of respect for the monks on dish duty. The abbot rang a bell and all the monks and nuns began to sing grace. The song was memorizing, sweeping into high tunes and low chants in an unknown tongue. The last few notes died down and our silent lunch began. The only sound that broke the silence was the clink clank of chopsticks and the loud burp of a Chinese woman. The monks instructed us to really feel the food we were eating, and ponder such questions of who am I, who is this person eating the food. The tofu was delicious, the soup not so much. Mistakenly, I asked for the dessert, a black jello coup concoction that soon became painful to eat. WE were the only ones who couldn't finish our food. It was slightly embarrassing. The meal ended with another chant. Afterwords we had a Q and A with the British monk who explained Buddhism and such concepts as separating the Chinese from Buddhism. WE left the monastery, full, slightly queasy but full of knowledge.
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