The low down on the go around!
Marily MacDonald
360 degrees, 180 days, 40lbs. of gear, 14 countries and one eye opening experience! Over the past six months I have gone from the low ends to the high ends of the globe both geographically and fiscally. Throughout this sabbatical, time and again it has been brought to my attention just how precious life and its relationships are. Clearly, the more you know the more you can appreciate life and all its intricate nuances. We tend to get jaded by wealth, popularity, trends and so forth when rather a wealth of knowledge and culture is what you should be counting. Being humble and open to absorb new and dynamic values will add up faster than dollars or bling. In other words, a sense of classlessness is achieved. Whether it is from a chief of a Thai hill tribe or a hoe while weeding a Burgundy vineyard the lessons are out there, no matter how explicit or trivial.
Coming full circle brought an air of completeness along with a curiosity to seek out more, not only internationally but internally. Landing down in the mile high city was truly the last milestone of the trip. Being able to put the turtle shell-pack down and having time to reflect and absorb the past six months was a much needed reprieve. Living out of my element was amazing but coming home awoke a new realization; I am a mountain girl at heart. Mountains are dynamic and ever changing and I can only strive to live by Mother Nature’s example.
Throughout the trip I noticed the strongest sense of comfort and clarity to be found in whatever mountains I found myself in. Going to various mountain ranges; the Andes, Alps, or Atlas peaks, Lisa and I, both felt a consistent positive energy we could identify with. Something about being on top of a peak brings a sense of comprehension or zenith if you will. Snowcapped peaks, rushing rivers, clear lakes and friendly faces give a greater meaning to our lives. An elevated state of belonging somehow arises at nine thousand feet.
Be it the crisp mountain air, the punctual alpenglow or the friendly local scene, Colorado truly has so much to offer. Exploring new horizons and becoming aware of different point of views has been an extraordinary experience. However, the impact would be lost without a sense of place or home to share it with. Family and friends are the dots that connect the world. This world of ours is truly flat, yet deep. If we are savvy enough to learn from one another then there is only room to progress.
Now that I can step down from the soap box, I’d like to say, “I am now 360 degrees smarter… right back to where I started with more questions than ever!” No matter how far you go one can never appreciate the true benefit without having a home to come back to. With this new world perspective I am seeking out that real world professional career, think I will start semi-pro although there is still one continent to hit……..Antarctica anyone?
EnLIGHTening Ends
Seeing the light of day in Iceland
Marily MacDonald
As our travels were coming to an end we decided to go to the far reaches of the earth for one last thrill at 66 degrees north latitude. Landing in Reykjavik at “dusk” we rented a car and hit the road, or rather the gravel. Within minutes we were in what seemed like a set from Mars Attacks or some extraterrestrial flick. The bizarre landscape was further intriguing as we rounded a bend and came across a steam ridden valley of geysers and sink holes. We had to stop the car to investigate the bubbling puddles first hand; it just did not seem real. Adding to the amazement, literally around the next bend we were assaulted by a huge glacier, its fingers reaching out towards us. We’d only been in the country one day, how many peculiar natural wonders could we witness?
Since the sun never sets in the summer we could have driven on for days. Before we knew it the wee hours of the morning were approaching, despite the relentless beaming sun. We reluctantly pulled over and set up camp along Hwy One (the one and only) and tried to get some shut eye. The sleeping habits in Iceland are very erratic. In the summer they get around four to five hours of sleep and in the winter as many as thirteen. There are numerous troll and ghoul stories that originate in Iceland. I can see how their imaginations could get away from them, especially in those long dark hours of winter.
The next day we pressed on around the island to be captivated by the unorthodox veneers’ of scenery yet again. On this day we drove over a misty and eerie pass that dropped us into the southern coastline. Along the black volcanic beaches we looked for puffin birds but were distracted by the Icelandic ponies. These horses are apparently the purest breed in the world with blood lines that trace back to the Viking days. The stocky, blond fringed horses did have a Viking air about them. Their smooth gait made it easy to take in the green velvety tundra hills dappled with white sheep and blankets of lupine.
Not only are the horses pure but the people claim to be the purest last standing Viking descendant's of the world. Being an island of only about 300,000 the locals have a lot of pride in their ancestry, we lucked out and happen to arrive in Akureyri on their Independence Day. Just about the whole island was in town for the drag races, music and parade. Of course we joined in on the celebrations; there was plenty of daylight to burn!
Rounding the south of the island we thought we could not absorb any more natural beauty but Mother Nature really out did herself when she designed the blue lagoons. In the middle of a black, craggy volcanic plain she placed these hot, milky blue silica pools. Taking a dip in the baths seemed all to decadent but made for a great end to the week.
Iceland truly seems like no one place on earth, rather a kaleidoscope of natural wonders. It makes you want to feel with your mind and think with your senses.
Marily MacDonald
As our travels were coming to an end we decided to go to the far reaches of the earth for one last thrill at 66 degrees north latitude. Landing in Reykjavik at “dusk” we rented a car and hit the road, or rather the gravel. Within minutes we were in what seemed like a set from Mars Attacks or some extraterrestrial flick. The bizarre landscape was further intriguing as we rounded a bend and came across a steam ridden valley of geysers and sink holes. We had to stop the car to investigate the bubbling puddles first hand; it just did not seem real. Adding to the amazement, literally around the next bend we were assaulted by a huge glacier, its fingers reaching out towards us. We’d only been in the country one day, how many peculiar natural wonders could we witness?
Since the sun never sets in the summer we could have driven on for days. Before we knew it the wee hours of the morning were approaching, despite the relentless beaming sun. We reluctantly pulled over and set up camp along Hwy One (the one and only) and tried to get some shut eye. The sleeping habits in Iceland are very erratic. In the summer they get around four to five hours of sleep and in the winter as many as thirteen. There are numerous troll and ghoul stories that originate in Iceland. I can see how their imaginations could get away from them, especially in those long dark hours of winter.
The next day we pressed on around the island to be captivated by the unorthodox veneers’ of scenery yet again. On this day we drove over a misty and eerie pass that dropped us into the southern coastline. Along the black volcanic beaches we looked for puffin birds but were distracted by the Icelandic ponies. These horses are apparently the purest breed in the world with blood lines that trace back to the Viking days. The stocky, blond fringed horses did have a Viking air about them. Their smooth gait made it easy to take in the green velvety tundra hills dappled with white sheep and blankets of lupine.
Not only are the horses pure but the people claim to be the purest last standing Viking descendant's of the world. Being an island of only about 300,000 the locals have a lot of pride in their ancestry, we lucked out and happen to arrive in Akureyri on their Independence Day. Just about the whole island was in town for the drag races, music and parade. Of course we joined in on the celebrations; there was plenty of daylight to burn!
Rounding the south of the island we thought we could not absorb any more natural beauty but Mother Nature really out did herself when she designed the blue lagoons. In the middle of a black, craggy volcanic plain she placed these hot, milky blue silica pools. Taking a dip in the baths seemed all to decadent but made for a great end to the week.
Iceland truly seems like no one place on earth, rather a kaleidoscope of natural wonders. It makes you want to feel with your mind and think with your senses.
Wind in Our Sails
Americas Cup Behind the Scenes
Ever wonder how live sporting events are aired almost flawlessly, simultaneous to the action? Or how an announcer or journalist can get a story published within minutes of the event? Well, as I got to board a press boat during the semi-finals of the Louise Vitton Americas Cup in Valencia I witnessed first hand the organization and coordination of how television and news is shared and aired around the world.
After pages of paper work and verification are completed an official press pass is issued, our golden ticket. With it we gained access to the business center that had Internet, video news release (VNR) connectors, editing rooms, fax machines and of course free coffee. The press pass also allows you to arrange pre and post race interviews with the crew along with access to their staging and recording rooms. Lisa, my "translator and photographer," and I decided to join the other professionals on board the tech savvy press boat to get up close and personal with the course of action.
As a radio announcer geared up and a photo journalist charged his camera we prepared for the race. As a journalist it was my responsibility to catch all the action, I could not miss a moment of the race so certainly I find a front row position on deck. I heard multiple languages being spoken into headsets as the announcers conveyed the pre-race atmosphere to their listeners. Next thing I knew the preparatory signal sounded and the final countdown was underway....my pencil was ready.
As the race set sail we shuffled from starboard to port side of the boat watching every tack and jibe of the race, a gale of commotion. As shutters snapped away and my pencil scribbled along I was a bit lost in the flurry of commotion. Nonchalantly I glanced over at a Washington Post reporter's chicken scratch and wondered if he has the same trouble reading his own writing as I do? The actual races became a blur as I was so caught up in the whole production around me.
The news was literally being put together in front of us. The world of sports coverage is very fast paced yet casual and relaxed. Journalist from around the world all watch the same race but have their own spin on what they decide to share with their viewers. Each has a responsibility to tell the story but the genera and tone of the story is up to them. The writers are quick and precise and the technology allows the stories to be told almost simultaneous to the action. The scene is not glamorous or pretentious, but real and live.
As the racers round the last mark the anticipation increased as to how the days stories would conclude. The countries that are not doing well are hoping for that second wind to help their team along but ultimately the writers and editors do not care about the results as much as they care about making deadline. As soon as the race was over everyone was frantic to email the results and get to the home port for any sort of blurb they could persuade from the disembarking crew members. My attention was more drawn to the journalists and how they were doing their work.
Reporting off the record from the semi-finals of the Americas Cup. I leave my sea legs behind and join the other fans on land with a greater understanding of the press world. We are grateful to have had a sneak peak into the field of journalism.
Ever wonder how live sporting events are aired almost flawlessly, simultaneous to the action? Or how an announcer or journalist can get a story published within minutes of the event? Well, as I got to board a press boat during the semi-finals of the Louise Vitton Americas Cup in Valencia I witnessed first hand the organization and coordination of how television and news is shared and aired around the world.
After pages of paper work and verification are completed an official press pass is issued, our golden ticket. With it we gained access to the business center that had Internet, video news release (VNR) connectors, editing rooms, fax machines and of course free coffee. The press pass also allows you to arrange pre and post race interviews with the crew along with access to their staging and recording rooms. Lisa, my "translator and photographer," and I decided to join the other professionals on board the tech savvy press boat to get up close and personal with the course of action.
As a radio announcer geared up and a photo journalist charged his camera we prepared for the race. As a journalist it was my responsibility to catch all the action, I could not miss a moment of the race so certainly I find a front row position on deck. I heard multiple languages being spoken into headsets as the announcers conveyed the pre-race atmosphere to their listeners. Next thing I knew the preparatory signal sounded and the final countdown was underway....my pencil was ready.
As the race set sail we shuffled from starboard to port side of the boat watching every tack and jibe of the race, a gale of commotion. As shutters snapped away and my pencil scribbled along I was a bit lost in the flurry of commotion. Nonchalantly I glanced over at a Washington Post reporter's chicken scratch and wondered if he has the same trouble reading his own writing as I do? The actual races became a blur as I was so caught up in the whole production around me.
The news was literally being put together in front of us. The world of sports coverage is very fast paced yet casual and relaxed. Journalist from around the world all watch the same race but have their own spin on what they decide to share with their viewers. Each has a responsibility to tell the story but the genera and tone of the story is up to them. The writers are quick and precise and the technology allows the stories to be told almost simultaneous to the action. The scene is not glamorous or pretentious, but real and live.
As the racers round the last mark the anticipation increased as to how the days stories would conclude. The countries that are not doing well are hoping for that second wind to help their team along but ultimately the writers and editors do not care about the results as much as they care about making deadline. As soon as the race was over everyone was frantic to email the results and get to the home port for any sort of blurb they could persuade from the disembarking crew members. My attention was more drawn to the journalists and how they were doing their work.
Reporting off the record from the semi-finals of the Americas Cup. I leave my sea legs behind and join the other fans on land with a greater understanding of the press world. We are grateful to have had a sneak peak into the field of journalism.
Arabian Nights
They say variety is the spice of life or is it spice is the ingredient for life, or is it too much spice is a liability? Whatever it is Morocco has it all; spices, variety and a lack of liability, making it a wild and enchanting place that has not changed in thousands of years.
Arriving in Marrakesh we found ourselves fully immersed in Arabian culture. The veiled women and turban sporting men soon became familiar and comfortable sights. The few Arabic words we picked up dissolved any disconcerting moments or thoughts of unrest. The people of Islam, despite the negative hype are actually a very open and tolerant group. Morocco represents this full heartily, it is one of the most progressive Arabic nations. As a trading hub it has a deep history of diversity and global awareness giving it a very liberal yet traditional culture.
Making our way deep into the Souks we felt as if we had stepped into a scene from Aladdin. Snake charmers, henna artists, storytellers and of course a few con artists all rally for our business but more then anything just our attention. Genies sell magic positions and the Berber people sell magic carpets; nothing can explain the frenzied atmosphere of the markets. Moroccans have an uncanny ability for language, many can not read or write yet they speak at least four or five different languages. They can peg your native tongue, crack a joke and lure you into their shop in one grand swoop.
The few nights we spent in the Sahara were truly Arabian nights. Arriving via camel in perfect sync with the setting sun, we enjoyed the show on top of a dune. Following this we ate a traditional Tajine stew with our hands while seated on magic carpets . The after dinner trio (Sandy Bottoms) of local tunes was a bit all too cliche, yet brilliant. I thought the stars in Grand County were vivid, but this sky surely used up three wishes to create such allure. The next morning we awoke before sunrise to witness the desert´s transformation into dawn, Arabian nights warming into days.
Leaving the desert we traversed into the Atlas mountains where we dipped in and out of Oasis retreats. The Kasbahs would disappear into the terracotta colored mountains if it were not for the Indigo and Saffron colored rugs hanging from the windows. We ventured into one of these fortress/commune villages and found ourselves engaged in a rug barter. The nomadic salesmen could earn Oscars for their skill in persuasion and drama. Buying and selling rugs is an all day affair involving mint tea, a tour of the family house and formal introductions to the actual weavers and wool dyers. Not to worry, they do accept American Express but you still have to haggle for a fair surcharge.
It is amazing how a smile and hello can lift the veil of a culture and that a hand shake still holds true value.
http://unco.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2057912&l=1f5d1&id=42105091
Arriving in Marrakesh we found ourselves fully immersed in Arabian culture. The veiled women and turban sporting men soon became familiar and comfortable sights. The few Arabic words we picked up dissolved any disconcerting moments or thoughts of unrest. The people of Islam, despite the negative hype are actually a very open and tolerant group. Morocco represents this full heartily, it is one of the most progressive Arabic nations. As a trading hub it has a deep history of diversity and global awareness giving it a very liberal yet traditional culture.
Making our way deep into the Souks we felt as if we had stepped into a scene from Aladdin. Snake charmers, henna artists, storytellers and of course a few con artists all rally for our business but more then anything just our attention. Genies sell magic positions and the Berber people sell magic carpets; nothing can explain the frenzied atmosphere of the markets. Moroccans have an uncanny ability for language, many can not read or write yet they speak at least four or five different languages. They can peg your native tongue, crack a joke and lure you into their shop in one grand swoop.
The few nights we spent in the Sahara were truly Arabian nights. Arriving via camel in perfect sync with the setting sun, we enjoyed the show on top of a dune. Following this we ate a traditional Tajine stew with our hands while seated on magic carpets . The after dinner trio (Sandy Bottoms) of local tunes was a bit all too cliche, yet brilliant. I thought the stars in Grand County were vivid, but this sky surely used up three wishes to create such allure. The next morning we awoke before sunrise to witness the desert´s transformation into dawn, Arabian nights warming into days.
Leaving the desert we traversed into the Atlas mountains where we dipped in and out of Oasis retreats. The Kasbahs would disappear into the terracotta colored mountains if it were not for the Indigo and Saffron colored rugs hanging from the windows. We ventured into one of these fortress/commune villages and found ourselves engaged in a rug barter. The nomadic salesmen could earn Oscars for their skill in persuasion and drama. Buying and selling rugs is an all day affair involving mint tea, a tour of the family house and formal introductions to the actual weavers and wool dyers. Not to worry, they do accept American Express but you still have to haggle for a fair surcharge.
It is amazing how a smile and hello can lift the veil of a culture and that a hand shake still holds true value.
http://unco.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2057912&l=1f5d1&id=42105091
Discovery on a Shoe String
Be it Kips, Bahts, Dongs or Dollars we have been pinching pennies along the way. As we travel from country to country we have picked up on a few money saving tips. When backpacking staying in a hostel is a must but all hostels are not created equal. From the charming bungalow on a river in Laos to a dingy warehouse closet in Hong Kong, we have stayed in a wide range of places. Asking to see your room before you commit is worth while, and many places will include brekkie and Internet. As for hot water and fresh towels, that is asking a bit much when you are paying around $3 dollars a night. We have come across some hole in the wall joints, but hey nothing like being neighborly.
Why spend money on a doubledecker bus tour when you can visit just as many places and get a workout at the same time? Early morning jogs are proving to be the best way to get acquainted with a new place. We avoid the overpriced city tours and get to see neighborhoods wake up. In Laos we came across young Buddhist Monks making their first Alms (every morning they ask for breakfast in a hymn like ritual requesting generosity from their community). We have also found ourselves playing impromptu futbol matches and partaking in the never ending water-fights in Thailand. The annual water-festival is underway and the kids really take the holiday seriously; no matter who you are you are going to get wet.
As for transportation, we have jumped on the back of motorcycles in Hanoi, Vietnam, bargained with the tuk tuk drivers in Chiang Mai, Thailand and taken some brake testing night buses; all in pursuit of saving a buck, literally. Boats have also proved to be an interesting mode of transportation. They might be slow but they give you time to watch the village people go about their daily chores. Watching the men catch fish, children playing in the river and mothers washing clothes is much more interesting then flying over the top of all the action. The fancy, air-conditioned, orderly, reliable, sterile and heinously overpriced modes of transportation are the easy way to cross borders. Who wants that when you can feel like a gypsy and ride with the locals and their pets? If all goes well you'll even get a seat! Patience is a virtue, as leaving anywhere on time is unlikely especially when the bus may need a push start.
The friends and fellow travelers we have made along the way have given us tours, advise and even their couches. Having some key insider information or a contact has been a real treat and a money saver. We have fallen prey a few times to the swindlers waiting for us to arrive with our "turtle-shell" packs on that scream "I am not from here." Coming across a couch-surfing network on-line has also proved its worth. The key to this network is good Karma, and when we return we will give a hand to any fellow travelers in need.
Our laces may be getting frayed and our turtle shell packs are taking a beating but they'll make it through till the end as our savvy and thrifty ways have done us well. As for the mothers out there lay your worries to rest; think of all this as character building and training for motherhood.
On the road again like a band of Gypsies we go down the highway.....(in a rickshaw, tuk tuk or boat......next challenge, Europe.
Why spend money on a doubledecker bus tour when you can visit just as many places and get a workout at the same time? Early morning jogs are proving to be the best way to get acquainted with a new place. We avoid the overpriced city tours and get to see neighborhoods wake up. In Laos we came across young Buddhist Monks making their first Alms (every morning they ask for breakfast in a hymn like ritual requesting generosity from their community). We have also found ourselves playing impromptu futbol matches and partaking in the never ending water-fights in Thailand. The annual water-festival is underway and the kids really take the holiday seriously; no matter who you are you are going to get wet.
As for transportation, we have jumped on the back of motorcycles in Hanoi, Vietnam, bargained with the tuk tuk drivers in Chiang Mai, Thailand and taken some brake testing night buses; all in pursuit of saving a buck, literally. Boats have also proved to be an interesting mode of transportation. They might be slow but they give you time to watch the village people go about their daily chores. Watching the men catch fish, children playing in the river and mothers washing clothes is much more interesting then flying over the top of all the action. The fancy, air-conditioned, orderly, reliable, sterile and heinously overpriced modes of transportation are the easy way to cross borders. Who wants that when you can feel like a gypsy and ride with the locals and their pets? If all goes well you'll even get a seat! Patience is a virtue, as leaving anywhere on time is unlikely especially when the bus may need a push start.
The friends and fellow travelers we have made along the way have given us tours, advise and even their couches. Having some key insider information or a contact has been a real treat and a money saver. We have fallen prey a few times to the swindlers waiting for us to arrive with our "turtle-shell" packs on that scream "I am not from here." Coming across a couch-surfing network on-line has also proved its worth. The key to this network is good Karma, and when we return we will give a hand to any fellow travelers in need.
Our laces may be getting frayed and our turtle shell packs are taking a beating but they'll make it through till the end as our savvy and thrifty ways have done us well. As for the mothers out there lay your worries to rest; think of all this as character building and training for motherhood.
On the road again like a band of Gypsies we go down the highway.....(in a rickshaw, tuk tuk or boat......next challenge, Europe.
"Don't Know Much About History..."
But I do know that I am intrigued...
No matter how many episodes of China Beach or scenes from Good Morning Vietnam you've watched, nothing can prepare you for Vietnam. The dichotomy of the frantic rickshaw filled streets and surreal countryside will undoubtedly intrigue you. History books and research may help acquaint you with the past, but nothing sinks in more then actually seeing the sights and hearing first hand accounts from locals. As we make our way down the coast from Hanoi to Ho Chi Minh City (a.k.a. Saigon) we are collecting bits and pieces of the history that has survived in Vietnam . Forced to defend their sovereignty from the French to the Chinese, Vietnam has proved both resilient and optimistic. The "American War" history is rather daunting, though the years of depression and recovery were just as grueling.
One evening, aboard an old Junk sailboat in Ha Long Bay, we got to visit with a Laos women. With a tear in her eye she described her mothers strength as she fled with four young children during the Viet Cong invasions. We also learned that her mother's two brothers had fought on opposite sides during the Vietnam war. Later, we were shown around Hanoi by two local students who recounted stories from the Subsidized Economy Era (1975-81 Food-stamp depression) which their parents endured. They told us of how their grandparents had raised pigs in the house and grown vegetables in the bathtub of their one-room flat because the government could not issue enough food stamps to feed the whole family. The wee glimpses we've obtained can only give us a small idea of how war and hardships can change a country forever. However, little bitterness or resentment is felt as the country bounces back time and again.
During a tour of the Cu Chi Tunnels we got to speak with a man that worked for the South Vietnamese as a translator. He worked side by side with US troops from 1962-72 and then spent the next ten years in a correctional facility also know as a re-education camp. He pointed out an inscription on a US Army issued Zippo lighter that read "The unwilling working for the unable, to do the unnecessary, for the ungrateful," (Saigon 1970) A heavy quote, but one of the many sentiments felt at that time. Physically entering the tunnels, made this war a reality for us as members of a generation who have limited realization of what war can do. This man was very wise and understanding as he saw so much during the war and yet has a very optimistic vision for peace throughout the world.
The streets are crowded, dirty and pushy and can be very frustrating at times, but once you figure out how to maneuver your way through the chaos you'll find treats hidden within the madness. A distinct flare is left over from the French occupation as a baguette is never hard to find, and much of the architecture has a colonial flavor. The Chinese have left their fingerprints everywhere as well. We see Pagodas and Cantonese writing throughout the country. Perhaps the biggest treat of all is viewing the traditional conical hats dotting the rice paddies or previewing a water-puppet show, proving that the culture has maintained its own unique identity. Vietnam is a little overwhelming but we will leave with a whole new appreciation for the resiliency of the human spirit.
An everyday saying heard throughout Indochina and printed on t-shirts says "SAME SAME... but different." This really sums up the attitudes and lack of animosity the people feel. We all have differences in culture, but the base values of every society do not seem to vary. The complexities of war and history are hard to grasp and I am no buff on the subjects presented here but at the end of the day people are people, same-same.
"...what a wonderful world it could be."
No matter how many episodes of China Beach or scenes from Good Morning Vietnam you've watched, nothing can prepare you for Vietnam. The dichotomy of the frantic rickshaw filled streets and surreal countryside will undoubtedly intrigue you. History books and research may help acquaint you with the past, but nothing sinks in more then actually seeing the sights and hearing first hand accounts from locals. As we make our way down the coast from Hanoi to Ho Chi Minh City (a.k.a. Saigon) we are collecting bits and pieces of the history that has survived in Vietnam . Forced to defend their sovereignty from the French to the Chinese, Vietnam has proved both resilient and optimistic. The "American War" history is rather daunting, though the years of depression and recovery were just as grueling.
One evening, aboard an old Junk sailboat in Ha Long Bay, we got to visit with a Laos women. With a tear in her eye she described her mothers strength as she fled with four young children during the Viet Cong invasions. We also learned that her mother's two brothers had fought on opposite sides during the Vietnam war. Later, we were shown around Hanoi by two local students who recounted stories from the Subsidized Economy Era (1975-81 Food-stamp depression) which their parents endured. They told us of how their grandparents had raised pigs in the house and grown vegetables in the bathtub of their one-room flat because the government could not issue enough food stamps to feed the whole family. The wee glimpses we've obtained can only give us a small idea of how war and hardships can change a country forever. However, little bitterness or resentment is felt as the country bounces back time and again.
During a tour of the Cu Chi Tunnels we got to speak with a man that worked for the South Vietnamese as a translator. He worked side by side with US troops from 1962-72 and then spent the next ten years in a correctional facility also know as a re-education camp. He pointed out an inscription on a US Army issued Zippo lighter that read "The unwilling working for the unable, to do the unnecessary, for the ungrateful," (Saigon 1970) A heavy quote, but one of the many sentiments felt at that time. Physically entering the tunnels, made this war a reality for us as members of a generation who have limited realization of what war can do. This man was very wise and understanding as he saw so much during the war and yet has a very optimistic vision for peace throughout the world.
The streets are crowded, dirty and pushy and can be very frustrating at times, but once you figure out how to maneuver your way through the chaos you'll find treats hidden within the madness. A distinct flare is left over from the French occupation as a baguette is never hard to find, and much of the architecture has a colonial flavor. The Chinese have left their fingerprints everywhere as well. We see Pagodas and Cantonese writing throughout the country. Perhaps the biggest treat of all is viewing the traditional conical hats dotting the rice paddies or previewing a water-puppet show, proving that the culture has maintained its own unique identity. Vietnam is a little overwhelming but we will leave with a whole new appreciation for the resiliency of the human spirit.
An everyday saying heard throughout Indochina and printed on t-shirts says "SAME SAME... but different." This really sums up the attitudes and lack of animosity the people feel. We all have differences in culture, but the base values of every society do not seem to vary. The complexities of war and history are hard to grasp and I am no buff on the subjects presented here but at the end of the day people are people, same-same.
"...what a wonderful world it could be."
Dim Sum and then Sum
Acquiring a Taste for the Orient.
Article 5
From Peking duck in Beijing to piping hot curries in Thailand our pallets are getting a work out. Every culture seems to embrace their own flair in the kitchen, or street cart if you will. We are sampling everything. Curiosity never killed any of my cats, though I may have eaten one recently (unknowingly). By no means am I a food expert, but I now know the difference between Low Main and Chow main. And yes, both Lisa and I are now certified "Thai Culinary Artists;" maybe one day I will make you Pad Thai and Lisa can garnish it with a lotus flower made from an onion. (May look as sweet as a rose but will surely bring a tear to your eye.)
The Chinese have several styles of cooking, and keeping it all straight can be as confusing as understanding the language. Here are the basics. For one, Cantonese from the south-west of China is what Americans are most familiar with. Some favorites you might recognize would be sweet and sour pork, sesame chicken and Dim Sum. Dim Sum is the typical brunch consisting of a variety of dumplings filled with savory or sweet goodies delivered to your table via cart. Sichanese is a style from the west of China that is usually piping hot and is made with flower peppers, ginger and peanuts, like Kung Pao Pork. The North is famous for Roast Peking Duck and noddle dishes. The cooking styles and flavors are diverse but all are accompanied with tea and eaten with chopsticks.
Using chop sticks can be quite a formidable task but practice and hunger can shorten the learning curve. The style, shape and material used to make chopsticks vary between countries but the concept is the same. The real rule of thumb is to use your thumb and forefinger to move only the top stick. Meals are always served family style, so everyone can try a few main dishes. As for when a bowl of egg-drop soup is presented and no cutlery to be had what's a civilized girl to do? Just pick up your bowl and slurp away, the louder the better. The alternative is to eat the "street meat" sold on a stick, which could be anything from a mysterious looking sausage to a whole octopus (choose the sausage- less rubbery).
Red, yellow, green....what color to choose? Curious to try them all, we have quickly learned that curry is a staple in Thailand. Regardless of the 99 degree weather and 100% humidity a good curry has to be hot and spicy. A variety of curry dishes are renowned throughout the Asian Pacific regions, all packing their own punch. As for Thai curries they tend to be lighter and more aromatic. A red curry is made with red peppers, green with green peppers and yellow is made with turmeric and cumin spices. If you find them to be too hot order the mangostein and sticky rice with coconut cream to wash it down.
Taking a few cooking classes and asking the locals what is what at the floating markets has broadened our grasp on the Asian culture. We seem to be eating our way around the world but with the food comes the stories, history and well another notch in the belt. (By the way Chow Mein is fried noddles and veggies and Low Mein is boiled noddles).
Eat, Drink and Be Merry!
Article 5
From Peking duck in Beijing to piping hot curries in Thailand our pallets are getting a work out. Every culture seems to embrace their own flair in the kitchen, or street cart if you will. We are sampling everything. Curiosity never killed any of my cats, though I may have eaten one recently (unknowingly). By no means am I a food expert, but I now know the difference between Low Main and Chow main. And yes, both Lisa and I are now certified "Thai Culinary Artists;" maybe one day I will make you Pad Thai and Lisa can garnish it with a lotus flower made from an onion. (May look as sweet as a rose but will surely bring a tear to your eye.)
The Chinese have several styles of cooking, and keeping it all straight can be as confusing as understanding the language. Here are the basics. For one, Cantonese from the south-west of China is what Americans are most familiar with. Some favorites you might recognize would be sweet and sour pork, sesame chicken and Dim Sum. Dim Sum is the typical brunch consisting of a variety of dumplings filled with savory or sweet goodies delivered to your table via cart. Sichanese is a style from the west of China that is usually piping hot and is made with flower peppers, ginger and peanuts, like Kung Pao Pork. The North is famous for Roast Peking Duck and noddle dishes. The cooking styles and flavors are diverse but all are accompanied with tea and eaten with chopsticks.
Using chop sticks can be quite a formidable task but practice and hunger can shorten the learning curve. The style, shape and material used to make chopsticks vary between countries but the concept is the same. The real rule of thumb is to use your thumb and forefinger to move only the top stick. Meals are always served family style, so everyone can try a few main dishes. As for when a bowl of egg-drop soup is presented and no cutlery to be had what's a civilized girl to do? Just pick up your bowl and slurp away, the louder the better. The alternative is to eat the "street meat" sold on a stick, which could be anything from a mysterious looking sausage to a whole octopus (choose the sausage- less rubbery).
Red, yellow, green....what color to choose? Curious to try them all, we have quickly learned that curry is a staple in Thailand. Regardless of the 99 degree weather and 100% humidity a good curry has to be hot and spicy. A variety of curry dishes are renowned throughout the Asian Pacific regions, all packing their own punch. As for Thai curries they tend to be lighter and more aromatic. A red curry is made with red peppers, green with green peppers and yellow is made with turmeric and cumin spices. If you find them to be too hot order the mangostein and sticky rice with coconut cream to wash it down.
Taking a few cooking classes and asking the locals what is what at the floating markets has broadened our grasp on the Asian culture. We seem to be eating our way around the world but with the food comes the stories, history and well another notch in the belt. (By the way Chow Mein is fried noddles and veggies and Low Mein is boiled noddles).
Eat, Drink and Be Merry!
The Sky's the Limit
“Dream it! Plan it! Do it!”-National Geographic Adventure
Marily MacDonald
Wow, I can’t believe I am actually about to embark on a six month Odyssey around the world. It all seems so flippant. Here I am jetting off, leaving all responsibilities and “reality” behind, to do what? Live life to the fullest? Well, heck yes I am. When else could I ever do something like this again? I am putting off that mortgage, two and a half kids and the picket fence for a backpack, two and a half months worth of Malaria pills and no limit to where I will “find myself.” My degree is not going anywhere and those cover letters are written and ready to send out as soon as I get back.
Lisa Auchincloss and I, both Middle Park Alumni (‘02), are setting off together. We graduated from college in May and wanted to ‘get around,’ (as in the world) before we get serious about our careers. The last six months have consisted of saving and planning for this expedition. I have found myself swabbing decks as first mate on a yacht, cooking for a rowdy bunch of hunters, tending bar and patiently teaching three year olds how to ski, all in pursuit of saving enough money to get myself around this blue dot of ours.
Shots, packs and facts, we have done our homework. Registering with the US Embassy’s in the countries we plan to visit and checking up on Visa requirements have kept us busy. Not to mention the shots and meds we had to get; Typhoid, Tetanus, Hepatitis C, Malaria and stocking up on a healthy supply of Pepto and Imodium AD. Packing your life into 2500cc of nylon and trusting your insurance policy have been trying and we’ll find out how practical. Without the Internet planning such an endeavor would be a bit more tedious. We are winging a few aspects of the trip but, all in all, we have everything organized and will have our wits about us at all times.
Now that our ducks are in a row we plan on starting this Odyssey in South America, where we will explore the Inca trail and trace Che Guevara’s path through Peru and Chile. Followed by a brief stint in the emerging economic super power of Hong Kong. Then, we will hangout in the tree house bungalows of Thailand and swing through the jungles of Cambodia. In Morocco we’ll catch the Marrakech Express and find out what Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young were singing about. While in the UK we may loose a few pounds but it wont stop us from getting “out of this world” in Iceland’s unique and diverse topography.
~~I write to entertain, inspire and expand your horizons into the world around us. Our mission is to experience new cultures and broaden our perspective on life. Thus, making us perceptive individuals with a keen sense of adventure and a yearning for understanding and insight. ~~
Dreamt it! Planned it! Doing it!
Marily MacDonald
Wow, I can’t believe I am actually about to embark on a six month Odyssey around the world. It all seems so flippant. Here I am jetting off, leaving all responsibilities and “reality” behind, to do what? Live life to the fullest? Well, heck yes I am. When else could I ever do something like this again? I am putting off that mortgage, two and a half kids and the picket fence for a backpack, two and a half months worth of Malaria pills and no limit to where I will “find myself.” My degree is not going anywhere and those cover letters are written and ready to send out as soon as I get back.
Lisa Auchincloss and I, both Middle Park Alumni (‘02), are setting off together. We graduated from college in May and wanted to ‘get around,’ (as in the world) before we get serious about our careers. The last six months have consisted of saving and planning for this expedition. I have found myself swabbing decks as first mate on a yacht, cooking for a rowdy bunch of hunters, tending bar and patiently teaching three year olds how to ski, all in pursuit of saving enough money to get myself around this blue dot of ours.
Shots, packs and facts, we have done our homework. Registering with the US Embassy’s in the countries we plan to visit and checking up on Visa requirements have kept us busy. Not to mention the shots and meds we had to get; Typhoid, Tetanus, Hepatitis C, Malaria and stocking up on a healthy supply of Pepto and Imodium AD. Packing your life into 2500cc of nylon and trusting your insurance policy have been trying and we’ll find out how practical. Without the Internet planning such an endeavor would be a bit more tedious. We are winging a few aspects of the trip but, all in all, we have everything organized and will have our wits about us at all times.
Now that our ducks are in a row we plan on starting this Odyssey in South America, where we will explore the Inca trail and trace Che Guevara’s path through Peru and Chile. Followed by a brief stint in the emerging economic super power of Hong Kong. Then, we will hangout in the tree house bungalows of Thailand and swing through the jungles of Cambodia. In Morocco we’ll catch the Marrakech Express and find out what Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young were singing about. While in the UK we may loose a few pounds but it wont stop us from getting “out of this world” in Iceland’s unique and diverse topography.
~~I write to entertain, inspire and expand your horizons into the world around us. Our mission is to experience new cultures and broaden our perspective on life. Thus, making us perceptive individuals with a keen sense of adventure and a yearning for understanding and insight. ~~
Dreamt it! Planned it! Doing it!
An Odyssey of the Mine
A mine blowing experience, with mine over matter conditions; digging deep into the Bolivian mining industry.
Marily MacDonald
Down, down, down we went, the temperature and level of apprehension increasing every step of the way. We ventured into the dark, musty mine a bit dubious as of what we were getting ourselves into. This was the real deal, no safety ropes, railings or liability forms to be had. The mines in Potosi are far from being up to code, talk about venture at your own risk! Having to crawl through stifling passages and ducking makeshift support beams made descending the 275 feet no easy endeavor. I found myself thinking for the first time in a long while, ¨´what have I gotten myself into?¨´ We could hear random rumblings, drips and echos from the mysterious alley-ways that we passed. Air was pumped down through tubes but it still felt like your lungs were constricted. As we made our way deeper into the mine we encountered many of the workers placing dynamite for blasting or shoveling loads of rock into bags to be hauled out by hand. We were on edge as it was, let alone when a two ton cart full of ruble came zooming up behind us giving us little warning to get out of the way. (Which meant finding a wider spot in the path and gluing yourself to the side of the tunnel wall as three men pushed the immense load hurriedly by.) The abandoned 30 to 50 ft shafts were also a bit worrisome. Arsenic, espestice and silica dust get stirred into the air, adding to the many health risks of working in these mines. At least we had hard hats and masks on, unlike the miners. Three hours too much we spent nervously exploring these hellish conditions.
Bolivia is the poorest county in South America yet mineral rich. Zinc, Silver, Tin and Lead can all be found within the mountains surrounding the highest city in the world, Potosi (4090m =13,418ft). The life expectancy is around thirty years for the miners so many of the families are left fatherless. This results in the perpetuation of a vicious cycle, as young boys no older than ten begin their hard lives below ground. The workers pay many respects to the Devil and have even built shrines in some abandoned caverns. Coca is a vital vice (used like ch-aw in the cheek) accepted by the culture as a way to help workers remain awake throughout their shifts. At the moment mineral prices are up and a worker can make $300 US a month which is twice as much as the average Bolivian makes. 250 Co-ops work individually to extract as much mineral rich ruble as possible from the already exhausted mountain, 'cerro rico'. After processing and filtering (where hydrochloric acid and other dangerous chemicals are used generously) a sludge is left consisting of about 30% usable mineral content. Once dried and bagged (all by hand) the matter is shipped to Asia for processing, and the silver is used in microchips. Goodbye Cerro Rico hello Toshiba, IBM, Dell, and Hewlet Packard.
The whole experience was rather daunting. (to learn more check out the film The Devils Workers). Lifestyles vary greatly throughout the world but some situations are so harsh it makes one feel very grateful for what we have. The situation is extreme but the people are hard workers and know no other way. There is defiantly no whistling while you work in these mines.
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