Life in third person

Niña

Cuatro y medio 

Casi cinco meses

Tiene cinco meses

Si muy linda

Si ella es muy feliz

No llora mucho

Está durmiendo

Solo camping–what would Orwell say?

Scaring myself silly

On Sunday I camped on the side of a mountain during a lightning storm and spent most of the night chanting, “I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to be alone.” Twice I flipped through my camera to stare at a photo of my mom.

Rain and hail drummed down and lightning lit up the orange tent material, but on top of this were the flashing lights and siren of the bear alarm. This was a homemade motion-activated system that a shepherd family had installed next to their wooden house, to deter bears from their bee boxes. It was the hail, surely, activating the system every few minutes, but every time I heard the siren, I imagined bears.

Imagination by far provided the scariest parts of this whole experience. I had heard there were wolves and bears, so I imagined them. I had read that it was possible to lose the path on the way to the alpine lake, so I imagined being lost. That night, thankfully, the gentle voice in my head whispered: “You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to wake up tomorrow and finish a solo hike to the lake.”

Clear skies the next morning

But even though I had surrendered the plan, my mind and body remained on high alert. Adrenaline coursed through my body, and I had anxious, confusing dreams. The next day, when I went on a short walk before breakfast, I was forever looking behind me. I ate quickly, packed my tent, and descended to the village to rest in the company of a little old lady who made us lunch.

What would Orwell say?

“The truth is that many of the qualities we admire in human beings can only function in opposition to some kind of disaster, pain or difficulty; but the tendency of mechanical progress is to eliminate disaster, pain and difficulty.”

Modern life rarely lets us hone or prove the attributes that we still like so much in ourselves and each other.

“In books like The Dream and Men Like Gods it is assumed that such qualities as strength, courage, generosity, etc., will be kept alive because they are comely qualities and necessary attributes of a full human being. Presumably, for instance, the inhabitants of Utopia would create artificial dangers in order to exercise their courage.”

Tell me this doesn’t make you think of the kid in Into the Wild. There were so many safeguards that he did not take, precisely because in taking them, he would have taken away the danger and his ability to exercise courage.

All the other times

I thought of all the times I have half-consciously let outdoor activities become more dangerous than they needed to be. Running out of water on a kayaking trip. Exiting the forest with a cell phone for a flashlight. Walking a no-shoulder highway at night because we started hitchhiking late and I didn’t write the address or phone number of the destination farm.

These are all good stories now. We kayaked like champions and sang songs to keep up morale. We took care of each other in the woods so we wouldn’t be scared of shadows. We made it to the farm by bravely walking past barking dogs and kindly supporting each other when we tripped in the bushes in the ditch. Everything that Orwell imagines, basically.

What is interesting to me is that I usually create these situations without acknowledging, at least out loud to other people, that I am doing it. I quietly let things go wrong. Maybe it’s because you’re not supposed to be the author and the protagonist. The game-designer and the player.

This last experience was different. I didn’t make it to the lake, to come down flushed and excited about my bravery. I was more like, “Woah, so there’s a limit. And apparently I hate camping alone.”

Conclusion

I do want to be “a full human being”, strong and courageous and generous. But I think I will go about developing these qualities in a more direct way, instead of sneakily half-mindedly laying traps for myself and my companions (friends, I’m sorry–please keep doing things with me). And probably no more solo camping.

3 Things I Really Notice

...upon returning to Turkey, in particular the southeast, after five days in the Republic of Cyprus.

1. The heat

Before this jaunt to Cyprus, I had forgotten the finicky dampness of the mountains, and the temperature shift that other places experience when the sun goes down. Here the weather is reliably hot. Morning, noon, and night. When I walked down the steps from the airplane in Gaziantep, back into the encompassing heat, I remembered flying into Saudi.

2. The helpfulness

People here are truly helpful. Outside the airport I asked a man how to get to the otogar. He said that the transfer bus should go there, but to check with the şoför, whom he naturally called over. The şoför confirmed, took my bag, and invited me onto the bus. Several people on the bus made sure that I succeeded in getting off at the otogar.

I can't help but compare this to the events the same morning in Cyprus, in which I was stranded in a village because the bus driver opted to drive past me at the village centre bus stop. I was less annoyed with the driver (after all, I was on the wrong side of the street after forgetting about the British system) and more annoyed with the tables full of local men who had observed me sitting on the side of a road with a backpack for 10 minutes leading up to the bus and 10 minutes after it went by, without saying anything.

"Oh, the customer service in Turkey!" someone exclaimed recently. But that suggests that the excellent service is only for customers. It's not. Most of the help I receive is from random strangers who will never benefit in any material way from me. I need to keep reminding myself that the rest of the world is not like this (but probably should be).

3. The ease

Outside the otogar of Gaziantep–I don't even have to go in or ask–a man finds me a bus to Urfa and takes my 20 lira for the ticket price. When I board the bus, an attendant asks for my ticket. I don't have one, I say. I payed that guy outside. Oh, no problem. Such is the degree that you can trust people in Turkey (Note: Istanbul is another country). I am given as much free water as I like. The bus stops for us to rest and eat. The bathroom costs the usual 1 lira, but of course it is reliably clean. The self-service restaurant serves its reliably good stews. Even though I have paid and sat down, it is still not too late to ask for a fresh ayran for which the waiter takes a lira. Fellow passengers and bus attendants let me know when the bus is leaving. Back in Urfa, I walk through dark streets to my apartment without worrying for an instant about safety. I know much of this has to do with speaking some Turkish and having spent time here, but still, still, it's easy.

Hazards of Living Alone

This video was originally to celebrate and make fun of my enormous new living space. So many rooms, so much marble flooring. So little furniture to impede dancing.

Now it is also to celebrate breaking back into my blogging account, after Google barricaded me with impossible security questions and a verification system based on a forgotten phone number.

Welcome to Urfa!
Welcome (back) to the blog!

I envision posting a fair amount in the coming weeks, focusing on learning Turkish (and maybe Kurdish), understanding cultural phenomena of eastern Turkey, and the usual life musings that arise when you have an abundance of time and space and an absence of familiar routines.

Defining "globalization"

a "multidimensional set of social processes that create, multiply, stretch and intensify worldwide social interdependencies and exchanges while at the same time fostering in people a growing awareness of deepening connections between the local and the distant."

-Manfred Steger, 2003 (He wrote a book on it, anyway).

Packing

Everything must fit in a small black duffel bag. The duffel, until a moment ago, had four tags. I smiled as I cut them off, because not one was valid.

1. 

R.B. Leighton.

c/o Nirvana Gardens Hotel

Katmandu

2.

Marian Leighton

c/o Saudi Aramco 

Box 9687

Saudi Arabia

3.

If found please contact the nearest Gulf Air office.

4.

Hakiki Koç

Türkiyenin Her Yerinden

Koltuk No: 6

Talk about baggage.

How cool is my mom?

BHUTAN, LAND OF THE THUNDER DRAGON

 November 11 – 22, 2010 

This will be my third tour to Bhutan and it offers a blend of the best of the first two. The Kingdom of Bhutan in the heart of the Himalayas is situated between Tibet to the north, Nepal to the west and India to the south and east. In order to protect its unique cultural heritage, Bhutan admits only a small number of tourists each year. We will explore Western and Central Bhutan, driving over high passes and through dense pine forests, visiting remote valleys, monasteries and museums. Late September to late November is considered to be the best time of the year to visit Bhutan, as it is mild and clear, offering magnificent views of the Himalayas. Bright sunshine keeps the days warm while the temperatures start falling toward freezing at night. We will witness harvest time in Bhutan along with the brilliant fall colours of changing foliage.  We will see Bhutan’s imposing architecture, beautiful artwork and have the opportunity to observe the role of religion in Bhutan. Bhutan is the only country in the world devoted to the Tantric form of Mahayana Buddhism and the influence of the red-robed lama is visible everywhere.

This trip is the perfect opportunity for the adventurous and flexible traveler. Bhutan continues to be one of the top world destinations and it is definitely not to be missed. We will have 10 days and 9 nights to explore this amazing country. 

Don't you want to go on her trip?

Viaduc!

On Christmas Eve day, I drove with four strangers from Girona to Paris. They laughed at me when we crossed the border from Spain to France, because I reached for my passport. Had I taken the train, I would have been forced to travel at night, and I would have missed the scenery, not to mention the French immersion experience.

un Clio noir (a black Clio)

j'ai decouvert (I discovered)

en trein (in the process of)

rentrer/retourner (to come back)

moins cher (less expensive)

le région (the region)

ça fait trois mois (it's been three months)

en fait (in fact)

bourré (drunk)

prepare-toi (prepare yourself)

trés haut (very high)

viaduc! (viaduct!)

impressionant (impressive)

une falaise (a cliff)

requien (shark)

l'autostop (truck stop)

le trajet (the trip)

un truc (a thing)

dessiner (to draw)

les paroles (the lyrics)

á doite/ á gauche (to the right/ to the left)

putain! (fuck!)

It was all thanks to the French website for carpooling with strangers and some roughly hewn French emails. Language opens doors they say; even car doors. Emmanuelle, the driver, left the first opinion on my website profile:

Joyeux Noel! Super trajet, on a bien rigolé! Mary a plein de choses a raconter ! Yihaaa

Travel revelation remembered #5

You can do what you want.

Two blocks up the hill toward Gaudi’s famous Park Güell, I turned around. I took the metro to the train station and bought a ticket to Figueres, two hours north, and spent the afternoon in the theatre and museum devoted to Dalí. I did not think twice about Park Güell or leaving Barcelona early.

Everything is different!

At a bar in Valencia, I meet a Polish girl. She says she spent one hundred euros and two full days on a bus to get there. 

“It is our first time outside our country!”

She smiles happily at her boyfriend and translates for him. She studied English at school, but this is her first time to use it.

“Do you understand me? Yes?”

When I speak, she leans in and stares at my lips. Her big, brown eyes search for the shapes of the sounds. She is unquestionably beautiful, made more so by her enthusiasm.

“Wait! Wait! Wait!” she shouts when she needs a word from her Polish friend, the one hosting her here.

“At first, everything was very weird for us. Everything is different!”

“For example?”

“The climate, the people, the city, the food…the hardest thing is that everything is so…Wait! Wait! Wait!”

“Late?”

“Yes! Late!”

I gesture to myself and smile. I arrived an hour late. She takes a photo of us together as a souvenir of her first conversation with a Canadian, and I spend the rest of the trip wondering what the world would be like if I had never traveled before.

el 21 de deciembre

diez menos diez

tren

qué dijo?

se rompió

vamos

taxi

madre mia

preguntar

dinero

recuperar

llegar

enviar

sympática

no pasa nada

These were some of the words I used or heard that day, getting from Cartagena to Valencia.

Lechuga

numero

amigo

Marruecos

Francia

hablas

entender

Mauritania

la gente

sobrino

años

la vida

dura

el campo

lechuga

estacion

Two men from Mauritania sat in the otherwise empty bus station in Cartagena. It was midnight and freezing. They helped me use the pay phone to call my host. One spoke French and the other Spanish. I said I had never met a Mauritanian, so they showed me their passports and pointed out the work visas, which they now used to pick lettuce. They had driven taxis at home and used their savings to get to Europe, not knowing that they would spend all their wages on housing and food. Neither had a family. They laughed about ten years of hard work to end up in a bus stop at midnight.