Life in 2D

I am Becoming Less Interesting

2011-05-13T11:00:00.000-07:00

I used to do cool things and put them on my blog. Then, I bought a house and got married. There went all my money and time -- or at least that's my excuse.The last time I posted anything worth reading on this blog was years ago. Time is just ticking away and I've got a lot of the world left to see!

I know a lot of people put their house projects and dog pictures and stories about their family on their blog, but that doesn't seem like anything novel by now. I even take conventional trips to locales like Maui and Philadelphia. But even they don't seem like much to blog about lately. I started an education blog last month. It's a lot of fun to have an outlet for my professional soapboxing. But it's not walking the Camino or roughing it in South America. What's happened to me?

So, this Spring I'm dedicating myself to falling back in love with my life. We've only got about one shot at this life and if I'm not having a blast then literally what's the point, eh? Some hard decisions will need to be made. I'll probably need to strip away things that are time sucks (work...cable tv...pulling weeds, obsessively checking my bank statements, work) and replace them with things I love, like exploring new places, planning amazing adventures, making dope mix albums, completing all my random domestic projects, and reading.

I'll let you know how my mini-life makeover's going soon.

Get your iPhone dirty with gardening apps

2011-04-11T09:06:00.000-07:00

Above: Plum blossoms in Japan. Jess Tuerk

It's too early in most parts of the country to put seedlings in the ground, but it never hurts to start daydreaming about that lush and leafy garden that you plan to have come July. Sure, gardening is oh-so-analog, but I went out to the raised beds with a hoe in one hand and my phone in the other to test out these great apps for the spring planting season.
1. GardenID ($2.99) by MEDL Mobile gets high marks for its usefulness in picking out climate-appropriate veggies and flowers. My favorite thing about GardenID is that it contains specific information about different varieties of each plant so when you're at the nursery picking them out, you know whether Green Globe or Imperial Star artichokes will do better in your soil.
2. Garden Tracker (FREE) by Portable Databases lets you plan out your garden plots in a grid—perfect for these cold spring days when we wish it was warm enough to actually put those seedlings in the ground.
3. Soil pH ($0.99) by Toni Salter If you've ever wondered how to get higher yields or why your peppers aren't producing, look to your soil content. This straightforward app gives a step by step on how to test your soil, as well as a directory of the optimal levels for hundreds of plants.
4. Herbs + ($2.99) by Daniel Wall is an excellent way to start a "kitchen" garden full of medicinal and culinary herbs -- indoors or out. The app is an excellent choice for planting and growing advice in addition to medicinal uses.
5. Flowers! ($0.99) By Levitate LLC What I love about this app (in addition to its beautiful photos) is that it's a flower quiz, so you're challenged to learn about different plants and their upkeep.
6. Ideas4recipes (Free) Should you be adventurous this spring and plant kohlrabi or celeriac, or perhaps you find yourself with a counter full of spaghetti squash, find recipes to match the veggies you have on hand with Ideas4recipes,
7. Farmers Market Finder (FREE) by Tika And if you're hemmed in by skyline and concrete with not a container garden in sight? Do the next best thing and use the Farmers Market Finder app to support local growers.

The world is still small

2007-12-07T14:45:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago I got an email out of the blue from a woman named Kelley, at the Uof Oregon who found me through my Cota article and was herself writing a research paper on female travellers. She wanted to ask me some questions and read my blogs to potentially use in her research paper. "What an original academic area of study!" I thought. Why didn't I think of that? I'm sure there are millions to be made in academia, right?

Fanscinating person that I am, she decided to use my blogs as her case study. I have never been analyzed like this outside of the psychiatric evaluation for the Peace Corps, but all said and done I think she hit the nail on the head. Unless she is implying that I am masculine. I am not masculine. Well, maybe in certain aspects. Whatever the term means, anyway.

The following is entitled "Every(wo)man’s Travel Writing:
Performance of self in adventuress travel blogs" by Kelley Totten
I have included it in its entirety because I think it is pretty interesting. But if you want to get to the part about me, scroll about half way down.

adventuress
–noun
1. a woman who schemes to win social position, wealth, etc., by unscrupulous or questionable means.
2. a woman who is an adventurer.
adventurer
–noun
1. a person who has, enjoys, or seeks adventures.
2. a seeker of fortune in daring enterprises; soldier of fortune.
3. a person who undertakes great commercial risk; speculator.
4. a person who seeks power, wealth, or social rank by unscrupulous or questionable means: They thought John was an adventurer and after their daughter's money.
–http://dictionary.reference.com
Torun Elsrud cites a 1994 dictionary entry that defines “adventurer” in similar language as the entry above, with the following added onto the definition: “ –fem. Advent’turess (chiefly in a bad sense).” He then asks, “If this describes a contemporary and accepted view on male and female adventurous activities, who wants to be an adventuress?” (Elsrud, 614)
I do. Many of my female friends do. According to a popular women’s travel spokesperson, Marybeth Bond, the self titled “Gutsy Traveler,” “75% of those who take cultural, adventure or nature trips are women” (my emphasis, http://gutsytraveler.com/mbbStatistics.html). But do we call ourselves “adventuress”? We define ourselves as the masculine adventurer, the traveler who seeks risk, breaks out from her comfort zone and compiles “extreme” stories of bravery and courage.
Elsrud’s article, “Risk Creation in Traveling – Backpacker Adventure Narration,” argues that adventure travelers construct their identities through narratives that authenticate the traveler, reifying their status above mass tourists. His article focuses on risks taken (whether “real” or constructed) and its use as a tool to create a personal narrative. Elsrud regards the “traveler as a narrator, and the journey as a narrative. [His paper] describes acts as well as tales of traveling as meaningful symbols with which travelers make statements about their identity” (598). Interviewing primarily female solo travelers, Elsrud writes in his conclusion: “[…] women appear to be as “adventurous”, “risk-taking” and “daring” as any male traveler interviewed, indicating that they are upholding the cultural narrative described in [his] text rather than contesting it. However, this ignores the possibility that the narrative itself may very well be gendered” (613).
This paper examines adventure travelers’ online blogs as a contemporary manifestation of travel writing. Examining the blogs as performances of identity and highlighting a specific case study, I will explore if and how female travelers conform to or contest a masculine conception of adventure or independent travel.
The traveler’s blog as contemporary travel writing
An online Google search for “travel blog” lists over 23 million links. Travelers use online “blogs,” short for “weblogs,” to document their travels in a public space. The blogs allow travelers to post itineraries and photos, in addition to journal-style entries documenting their adventures. Intended primarily for friends and family, these travel blogs are posted on specific websites such as www.travelblog.org, www.travelpod.com, and blog.realtravel.com. The sites typically feature “Editor’s Picks” or a rotating selection of blogs on the front page, or entry point, into the website. The sites explicitly advertise themselves as a place to explore new places, suggesting visitors travel vicariously through the exploits of strangers.
Discussing round-the-world websites1, Jennie Germann Molz writes:
These narrative and visual representations of global travel become a virtual terrain where readers at home or at work can daydream about being on safari in Africa, riding the Trans-Siberian Railway, or playing on the beach in Thailand. […] The regularly posted installments are intended not only to keep readers updated on the travellers’ activities, but also to make readers feel as though they are actually a part of the round-the-world trip” (Molz, 2004: 171).
In the first chapter of Casey Blanton’s Travel Writing – The Self and the World, Blanton explains travel writing’s seduction for readers as a forward moving text that acts as a journey metaphor as it re-presents experience. According to Blanton, travel writing also functions as an educational tool for informing us about the other. “The persistence of this kind of writing is undoubtedly related to human curiosity and to a travel writer’s desire to mediate between things foreign and things familiar, to help us understand that world which is other to us” (Blanton, 2).
Though this paper can not replicate the depth and scope of Mary Pratt’s Imperial Eyes, her terminology and approach as outlined in the Introduction should be considered in this discussion of travel writing. Most significantly, she writes of the “contact zone,” a typically disproportionate division of power that occurs between two people who were previously separated geographically, historically and culturally (7). Similar to historic travel texts, the contemporary traveler documents her contact zones via the travel blog. The traveler’s voice and imagery re-present the interaction at the contact zone from her perspective, rather than giving voice to the local. Pratt presents her work within the scholarship of travel and exploration literature while dismissing the notion of “travel writing” as a genre: “I have aimed not to circumscribe travel writing as a genre but to suggest its heterogeneity and its interactions with other kinds of expression” (11). Though she focuses on European travel writing in her text, she suggests flexible boundaries of the genre, allowing space for new literary and expressive interpretations of travel, a suggestion that allows for my argument of the travel blog as a form of contemporary travel writing.
Definitions of the adventure traveler and the construction of risk
Though people who travel may be classified into a debatable list of “types” and categorized by general traits (Cohen, 21-24), due to the limitations of time and space, in this paper I will use the term “adventure traveler” to suggest someone who seeks personal challenge or risk in their often unplanned itinerary and whose preferable mode of travel is typically with a backpack for an extended period of time. Elsrud defines the adventure traveler as an independent traveler in opposition to the more conventional traveler who is often labeled a “tourist” and seeks out package tours and group travel. “The adventurous traveler is usually regarded as a ‘real traveler’, a person interesting enough to write books and magazines about and to be followed around by a documentary film team” (Elsrud, 598). Munt notes that travelers seeking out “real” experiences are often motivated through literature, using as an example, someone who travels to South America after reading Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude. Munt considers this type of travel as “reflective of emergent postmodern tourism practices among a new middle class” (101). He does not argue against current scholarship on the “post tourist,” but instead suggests that an “other” postmodern tourist model exists, raising questions of status and identification. The “other” postmodern tourism focuses on the “real” holiday and involves specialized, tailor-made tourism (Munt, 102). “It should also be noted that ‘real’ among the new middle classes indicates a desire for authenticity, for ‘honesty,’ however circumscribed that may be in reality” (Munt, 103). As I will show later in this paper, adventure travel bloggers support Munt’s theory as members of the (white) middle class that place emphasis on experiences that reflect their personal ideas of “authentic” or “real.”
Connected to the idea of “real” travel is the notion of “risk.” Adventuress Betsy Elliot wrote, “I like to push my limits and have crazy stories for my friends later. I
like challenges and have friends that push me. My risks are small compared to others but they are real to me” (email correspondence with author). Elsrud writes that although risks may truly exist, the risks presented through travel narratives are often cultural or social constructs (598). Travelers present experiences as risks, whether intentional or not, as a device to construct a story that allows them to either maintain or elevate their position within their cultural structure.
Performing identity and self in travel writing
Although travel blogs write about an “other”, purportedly documenting one’s itinerary through an other’s land, they rely on personal experience as a means to convey their biased documentation. According to Sandra K.D. Stahl, people share personal experiences stories as a way of creating value systems (and through their retelling, personal values are remade and refined): “through personal experience stories we articulate and then test the values that identify our selves” (275).
“…I thought ‘I have to go on a long-haul trip, otherwise I’m not going to be the sort of person I want to be’ (Cathy, a young independent tourist)” (Desforges, 926). Desforges introduces his essay with this quote to exemplify his argument that a certain type of traveler consumes travel experiences as a means to create a self identity. Desforges distinguishes three terms – identity, subjectivity, and the self – in his discussion of a general theme of personhood. In tourism studies, the notion of identity is related to a collective whole representing location, region or class. Desforge’s study echoes Munt’s classification of travelers seeking out “alternative” tourism experiences: “[Munt] argues that these destinations are imagined and encountered as places where individual achievement, strength of character, adaptability, and worldliness can be performed and narrated, particularly among young tourists accumulating cultural capital to assert a middle class identity” (928). Subjectivity, an important concept when discussing travel blogs, refers to the methods by which people produce their world experience, as opposed to acquiring experience. The idea of “self” focuses in on a more personal understanding of identity. Desforges notes that although tourism scholars and tourists often refer to a quest to discover self, he refers to more recent theory that “conceptualizes [self] less as something to be discovered, than as something which is actively constructed through tourism practices” (929). Tourist blogs reinforce these concepts as they convey through narratives and photos a constructed self. Their subjectivity manifests itself in the blog, presenting created experiences that help reinforce notions of identity and self. The travel blog can be viewed as a performance, exhibiting the traveler’s self as a carefully created role within and connected to the context of a foreign locale. Blanton explains it in terms of the conventional travel writers of today:
The awareness of the interconnectedness of all matter and the role of the observer/narrator in collecting data leads the contemporary travel writer to literally and metaphorically connect himself to the world, since he sees that the world is, in fact, himself. These ‘post-Viet Nam’ travel writers, for the most part, travel alone, usually by foot or third-class conveyance, coming closer to the people among whom they travel than ever before. Freed from the essential certainties of self and other, this traveler embarks with less cultural baggage but with an inner struggle to define himself and assert his own presence among others who are even less clearly focused than himself (26-27).
The “internalized contact zone”
Ruth Jenkins draws on Pratt’s “contact zone” to define the internal interaction that occurs in the inner struggle to perform self in travel narratives. Jenkins defines “internalized contact zones [as] the subjective frontier in which the encounter is between a potentially authentic self and that constructed within the context of cultural experience” (19). Though Jenkins examines the internalized contact zone in terms of the Victorian woman traveler, her concept can inform the process that occurs in women’s travel blogs. Using an example from Victorian travel writer, Mary Kingsley, can elucidate Jenkin’s theory while contributing to a historical context in which to recognize gendered perspectives on travel. Mary Kingsley’s travel writing illustrates this concept well. Kingsley’s internalized contact zone exists between her portrayal of herself as an independent woman and as one of proper English society. When Kingsley decides to stay on board her boat traveling in west Africa, rather than go in to meet a French nun, she reveals in one line the duality of meaning that occurs in the internalized contact zone: “feeling quite certain I should get much misunderstood by the gentle, clean, tidy lady, and she might put me down as an ordinary speciman of Englishwoman, and so I should bring disgrace on my nation” (351). Kingsley opens herself up to both her own subjectivity and her constructed perception of the nun; she feels herself to be unfit in both language skills and dress to meet this stranger, while she simultaneously perceives herself in the eyes of the stranger who would construct a false impression of her as a representative of English society. I would also argue that Kingsley’s use of the term “ordinary” here suggests an ironic tone that embraces her role as an adventurer and extraordinary female, in contrast to an implied feminine role conforming to social norms.
Elsrud questions if similar constraints exist for contemporary women travelers who possibly construct their personal narratives in masculine terms that simultaneously reaffirms and contests the notion of gendered travel. He suggests that women are caught between this dichotomy. Though he does not refer to Kingsley directly, he notes a similar use of irony in female travel narratives: “Possibly irony, through dissociating properties, supplies the distance a woman needs when she realizes that she has been given the opportunity to act, but in the process of doing so may lose her identity tale to a gendered construction” (Elsrud, 614).
Janet Wolff refers to travel as intrinsically masculine and discusses the implications of using travel metaphors in academic texts, arguing its contribution to an androcentric body of cultural studies theory. In her discussion of female travelers, Wolff suggests that the gendered construction of travel limits women’s ability to perform self through travel narrative: “My argument is that the ideological gendering of travel (as male) both impedes female travel and renders problematic the self-definition of (and response to) women who do travel” (Wolff, 234). My research with travel blogs and interviews, however, contests this idea. Using one woman’s travel blogs as a case study, I will show how women adventure travelers find ways, whether in masculine or feminine terminology, to perform self through travel – they indeed “do” travel.
Explanation of Method
As a solo traveler on an “around-the-world” trip in 2003-2004, I wrote mass emails that I sent to friends and family. Although I had some amount of control over audience, these emails acted essentially as travel blogs. As I started a general search of travel blogs I found I often compared strangers’ travel narratives to my own. Though my research on numerous travel blogs inform my research, I will focus on one specific blog – Jess Tuerk’s blog – for this paper. I found Jess’ online travel articles and blogs through a Google search of “adventure women traveler blog”. Upon reading of her travels in Peru, I found that we currently share a hometown – Eugene, Oregon. After an inquiry email, she called and we conducted a phone interview. I also sent out an email questionnaire to 18 female friends who at some point in their lives have considered themselves “travelers.” Though I only cite a couple of these interviews in this paper, the email and phone conversations have helped inform my perspective on the diverse experiences women have as travelers.
Adventuress Travel Blogs
“I never considered myself an adventure traveler until I got to Peru, where even a short bus trip can turn into an adventure – road blocks, llamas, livestock, rocky cliffs, flat tires and all” (http://www.gonomad.com/womens/0710/peru-rafting.html). Jess Tuerk begins her travel narrative with this statement, posted as an online travel article titled “Rafting the Cotahuasi – One Woman’s Whitewater Adventure.” This article led me to Jess’ travel blogs. In a phone interview, Jess elaborated on her approach to travel: “Part of it is whim. When I leave for a trip. I have an idea- I have a plane ticket. I just sort of go with the wind. I don’t know, I just follow wherever I seem to be leading.” The “wind” led Jess down the Class IV and V Cotahuasi River, near Arequipa, Peru on her first ever white water rafting trip. She wrote about the experience originally in her travel blog in May 2006, and then re-presented the experience in an online article posted in the fall of 2007. A comparison of the two suggests that in re-writing her experience, she is re-constructing her personal values and re-performing self. She emphasizes the risk and danger in her later account:
In May 2000, a 36-year-old British adventure travel journalist -- like myself, perhaps simply yearning for a good story and unique adventure -- was ejected from her raft above a Class V rapid, and her body was never recovered.
The 2000 expedition faced a combination of higher-than-expected water, poor judgment and bad luck. Could our party also fall victim to these circumstances? Was I, the inexperienced, young, female rafter amongst four stronger and river-savvy kayakers the Cota’s next probable victim?
One thing I knew for sure from my solo travels abroad was never to discount the emergency situation potentially lurking around every corner. As I finished chewing my lumpy oatmeal I swallowed hard at the thought.
(http://www.gonomad.com/womens/0710/peru-rafting.html)
In Jess’ original blog, she refers to the potential danger her inexperience can lead to in this adventure, mentioning the traveler to whom she relates to in spirit, though not in shared fatal experience:
Sergio needs me to paddle and I am going as hard as I can, but we hit a rock and I slide over the edge of the bright yellow raft, aware of what it about to happen. I am in the water, just ahead of the raft, and I see the river flowing over me. I reach up, please God, just out of reach of the blue rope. I throw my hands up again and catch the frame this time but cannot pull myself up and into the raft. I feel Sergio grab my life vest up an it is enough for me to tumble hand and foot inside. I hear him tell me to get the hell in the raft and paddle. Tough love, but truer words were never spoken. In 2001 a young BBC correspondent was lost on the Cota and her body never recovered. If I have never been on a rafting trip before, I have now been christened. (http://www.gonomad.com/womens/0710/peru-rafting.html)
Jess seeks out travel experiences that pose a challenge, both in terms of getting there and “surviving” outside of her comfort zone: “I like to go to unexplored places. I would rather it be kind of hard, kind of gnarly because that’s really fun” (personal interview). She tells me that she considers herself an independent traveler, though notes that calling oneself a “solo” traveler is “a kind of a misnomer – you’re not alone because there are people everywhere you go. I never really feel alone.” Blog entries confirm this, with a cast of different characters traveling in and out of the entries, mirroring their physical interactions in and out of Jess’ itineraries. Jess’ use of the term “gnarly” and her quest for “unexplored” locations, in terms of scholarship, suggests a masculine identity. In reading her article and in our conversation, I can not help but wonder if she indeed is constructing her identity in male terms. When I ask her who she travels with, if she prefers male to female travelers, she pauses and has difficulty answering the question. It is not that she is unsure, it is something she has not thought about. When I ask if she ever identifies herself as a female traveler, she says no. “It’s not about male or female to me. That’s just not something I really think about,” she tells me (personal interview). Jess has faced specific obstacles in her travels, which makes her aware of gender, but she does not feel that being a woman impedes her decision to travel. If anything, one might argue that her “masculine” language empowers her to overcome the obstacles. In an article she writes for an online posting with Transitions Abroad, Jess writes about her experience being assaulted in India (in this case, risk is presented as an advisory, rather than as a personal identifier):
When I finally got off the train at 1 a.m., it took me 45 minutes to get the stationmaster to take me seriously enough to file a complaint and another 15 minutes of haggling with him to send a policeman to escort me to the station. The final motivation for him to do so was a call I placed to the U.S. embassy in New Delhi.
[…]
I would never recommend that females stop exploring India by train, and I would spend 1,000 more hours on them to take in such a bewildering and beautiful country. (http://www.transitionsabroad.com/publications/magazine/0607/solo_woman_travel_in_india.shtml)
Jess displays her control of the situation and her ability to invoke action with the authorities. Her power may have been questioned through the assault, but she asserts herself in the situation, refusing to let it stop her from her personal journey.
Jess left on her first extended trip, spending six months traveling through India, Southeast Asia, Japan, Eastern Europe, as well as a few locations in Western Europe. In her initial travel blog, she performs her career identity as an educator, including “quizzes” for her readers (many of whom are her former students) who sign on to her “guestbook” to answer the questions. Jess mentions in our conversation that she found the emails and posted comments on her blog to be “amazing,” enjoying the support, encouragement and interest she received from home. She maintains her “home” identity while simultaneously presenting herself as the independent travel in far-off, exotic lands. She mentions in her final blog of this first trip that she embarked on this adventure as an effort to “find my way back-- back to the woman whom I knew had drowned in a regrettable period of depression.” She continues to explain her motivation for the journey, and its result: “and I slowly made small reconnections with the woman whom I had lost” (http://mytripjournal.com/journals/tuerk2005/entry49.html). As she gets ready to travel home, she reflects on one of her favorite books titled “The Long Way Home.” Her questions and reflections suggest an internalized contact zone between the “Jess of Home” and the “Jess of the Road.” Her travels become a metaphor to try and reconcile the two Jess’ and return to a new home, created through her new self identity.
Though Jess does not label herself as a “female traveler,” she performs her gender through her travel blog. Jess’ travel blogs contests Wolff’s assertion that a historically gendered approach to travel limits women’s abilities to define themselves in their own journeys. In an interview with another adventuress, Lori Constan rejects a gendered label: “I identify myself as a traveler. I am ALL woman but do not find it necessary to describe myself as a female traveler” (email correspondence with author). Lori’s adventure travels involve climbing and skiing expeditions, which she will typically undertake with a partner.
Perhaps Jess’ final statement in her first travel blog best illustrates her feminine association with her own identity of herself as a traveler. She ends her blog with the lyrics from a Be Good Tanya’s song entitled “The Littlest Bird.” The masculine identity of an old hobo with his rambling ways is juxtaposed with the feminine voice and bird imagery. The singer recognizes her vulnerability and addresses her fear, overcoming it to continue to fly.
Well I feel like an old hobo, I'm sad lonesome and blue
I was fair as the summer day now the summer days are through
You pass through places and places pass through you
But you carry 'em with you on the souls of your travellin' shoes
Well I love you so dearly I love you so clearly
Wake you up in the mornin' so early
Just to tell you I got the wanderin' blues
I got the wanderin' blues
And i'm gonna quit these ramblin' ways one of these days soon
And I'll sing
The littlest birds sing the prettiest songs...
Well it's times like these I feel so small and wild
Like the ramblin' footsteps of a wanderin' child
And i'm lonesome as a lonesome whippoorwill
Singin these blues with a warble and a trill
But i'm not too blue to fly
No i'm not too blue to fly cuz
The littlest birds sing the prettiest songs...

This isn't mine, but

2007-11-13T21:33:00.000-08:00

isn't Baby Hennessey pretty cute? Betsy, I got the hint already. She's waving at us all. Hope you don't mind me posting a picture of your womb on my blog.

I'm a bit bored as I sit in a Quality Inn in Klamath Falls, OR on a trip for Connections Academy. I'm administering state tests to a bunch of youngsters tomorrow morning, as per NCLB requires me to. I will withhold all editorializing, for fear that I might get put in jail for breaking some fine print Patriot Act teacher statute.

I'd like to take this opportunity, while I sit rotting in this smelly town in southern Oregon and there's little else to do, to rant instead about cable television, of which I've watched about 4 hours of tonight. I have no more will to live or go outside anymore, but I did get really excited to find a reality show about people who paint designs on cars. Switched back to a very special 2 hour The Biggest Loser, and then finally settled on a TLC destination weddings show. And for a little bit of culture, threw in the dance contest show with Tom Bergeron (because I thought it was America's Funniest Videos at first) on commercial breaks. Turn off your TV's people, it's turning us all into drooling morons.

Leaving

2007-10-12T18:43:00.000-07:00

Eugene's trees are at their "peak" right now -- one of the best color season's I've ever seen.

Ooh ooh I found it!

2007-10-11T18:10:00.001-07:00

Woohoo, the picture of mi amigas from the August visit to Lansdale. From the left: Kristi Fretz (Ohio fame and fortune), Caroline Wicks (if you were paying any attention you recognize her from her visit to Portland in August), Laura Malick-Glaudel (at 3 (?) months looking pretty good there in the middle), yours truly, and Quincy Carpenter (who I was really worried about after reading this article in the Boston Globe http://www.boston.com/news/local/massachusetts/articles/2007/10/05/quincy_carpenter_assaulted_in_ny/?rss_id=Boston+Globe+--+City%2FRegion+News).

After spending a good deal of time with our hands on Laura's belly, we all wanted a piece of the action. Okay, well, I did. And then I forced everyone to take this picture.

www.gonomad.com

2007-10-07T15:56:00.000-07:00

I know, i know. I think the name of the website sounds suspicuously like "gonads" too, but at least they published my pictures and personal essay.

http://www.gonomad.com/womens/0710/peru-rafting.html

or read about mine and other just as fabulous trips on "Travel Reader" blog here:
www.gonomad.com/travelreader

Where's Waldo Lake

2007-10-02T19:22:00.000-07:00

you ask? Well, it is apparently high, high up in the mountains. Waldo Lake is Oregon's second largest (after Crater) and is quite deep in places - up to 400 ft. It is an outdoors paradise of hiking and mountain biking trails, boat launches, and camp sites. A late September hike sounded like such a romantic idea -- sun, colored autumn leaves, crisp air, the clear waters reflecting the sun and sky... Actually, I just wanted to get out of town while the Duck's game was happening. Alas, even the people in the parking lot at the lake were listening.

Emily Hall (yes THE Emily Hall, of North Penn High School and Boston University fame, is apparently still folllowing me around the country and has landed in Eugene for an anthro degree), her boyfriend Thomas, Melinda Penwell (see the Tahkenitch Dunes hike for more on Melinda), and Hannah the Therapy Dog, and I all piled into the 2-door Civic for the leisurely Saturday afternoon
drive south and east into the mountains.
This is Emily asking the Gods why she wore blue jeans on a snowy hike. It was a wet snow, with about 4 inches of accumulation. Since the air temp was hovering just above 32, we got bombed with big wet snow balls falling from the pine boughs for just about the entire 7 miles. Good thing we all had our big leather boots on. It was sure fun slogging through the wet slush with such great people, though.

After this shot, my camera battery died.

Driving is more fun when you're legal

2007-09-16T21:05:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I finally cajon-ed up and took the Oregon driver's license written test. I was pretty frightened of it (a certain G.L. took the test 5 times before passing, but she's a NY driver...enough said). Yes, the answer to your question is that I already took one of those oh...10 years ago in PA, but apparently Oregon wanted a piece of the action in my bank account as well. I guess I can't complain about that since I haven't paid any sales tax here. (How does Oregon pay for services like police, you ask? what police?).

But! I digress. The moral of this blog is that I PASSED with a score of 28/35 (85%!) and (drumroll) got my motorcylce endorsement as well. I am now legal to ride around at free will on two wheels and the wind in my hair. Send all congratulatory notes to: the Comment button just below.

PS There's an interesting debate that's been brewing about a National Driver's License, which to me right now sounds appealing except that it's sponsored compliments of GW and the centrifuge of evil, the Patriot Act...http://www.wired.com/politics/security/news/2005/05/67498

I Heart Bumperstickers (but on other peoples' cars)

2007-09-05T19:42:00.000-07:00

Boldly Leaping Into 2007

2007-09-05T19:29:00.000-07:00

This is the new purchase, a refurbed AT&T 8525. I know the technology has been around a while, and no, it's not an iPhone ($500 v $99), but I still think enough of my new little smartphone to consider nicknaming it in the future as it develops more of a personality. I have been using it for work for about a week now and have no complaints. I really like that the keyboard slides out from the side -- all those darned blackberries are too small to type on. I highly recommend a smartphone in general, people-- these are the future of personal computing!!! I didn't want you to get left behind or anything.

My favorite feature is pictured below: BubbleBreaker. High score: 715

Blogger now takes videos!

2007-08-26T17:52:00.000-07:00

A blast from the past to test it out

From March 2005 - In Cusco, Peru.

Music Montage #2
From January 2005 - A goodbye to Philadelphia, off to South America

Tahkenitch Dunes Hike

2007-08-26T16:56:00.000-07:00

It's the weekend in Eugene and most people around here get out into nature at least one day of the two. The sunny and 80 weather is hard to pass up.

My friend, fellow amateur x-country skiier, Euginian, and matchmaker Melinda Penwell set up a hike around Tahkenitch Dunes yesterday. Her husband, Mike, dogs Pepper and Hannah, Carrie Tennant, and I all braved the "more difficlt" 6 mile trail. Now, I won't actually admit that it was difficult, because I don't like to admit such things... but it was one of the better hikes I've been on in Oregon.

If you like changes of scenery on your hiking excursion, this is definitely the one to take. It's got the beach, ocean, sand dunes, pine forest, lakes, and older-growth all wrapped into one. Some uphill dunes climbing ensure that you break a sweat and get your drive's worth. I liked it especially because it was a loop. I hate backtracking.

To get there: 1.5 hrs. From Eugene take 126 West and then head south on 101 for 14 miles after reaching Florence. You reach Tahkentich trailhead parking first, but go past that approx. 1 mile to the campground and start the loop hike there.

Summer 2007

2007-08-22T20:04:00.000-07:00

Well, folks. Let's see. It's been one hell of a summer. A bit of a play-by-play:

In June...
I wrapped up the schoolyear and said goodbye to my amigos and estudiantes at Pleasant Hill, Oregon Connections Academy, and Lane Community College. I would put up their pictures, but I don't have their expressed written permission, and I wouldn't want anyone seeing herself on a random blog one day without her expressed knowledge. Except my friends. I will use their faces at my convenience without much regard for their feelings.

My parents visited for a week. Mom touched the Pacific Ocean for the first time ever. A highlight for me.

I moved out of the Blue Trailer at 441, where I lived this past year, to greener pastures across from Monroe Park. It was a move up in many ways. and included a final goodbye to R.B., who I will miss. But probably a very wise move. I have a backyard, hammocks, ping ping table, dart board, private bath, office, 2 great roommates Nick and Bill, and attic bedroom.

And, in the "personal healing" category, I heard from a certain J.B. for the first time in 3 years. If anyone out there knew me at that time in my life, you know how much the words "I am and every will be sorry," have meant to me this month. A satisfying end to a chapter in my life.

In July....
I attended my second Eugene Pro Rodeo and had my first brush with barrel racing.
I said goodbye to many of my new Eugene friends, who found teaching work in different parts in the country and state. Every weekend was a going away party, it seems.
I was graced by a visit from miss Caroline Wicks, who I would like to believe loves me enough to fly across the country to Portland out of her unabashed love for yours truly, however... I think that it was probably the marine biologistapalooza that drew her out here. We visited the Japanese Gardens, Rose Gardens, and Chinatown together.

In August...
I know I was going to wait til next year to travel all, but I just couldn't resist building in a little "side trip" to Spain, since I was going all the way East to visit the folks in Philly anyhow. It was on the way. Or something.

But first, I stopped in Lansdale and spent a fabulous evening having dinner with the parents and chatting it up with Caroline (ahem, 2 weekends in a row?? is that really necessary?), Laura, Kristi, and Quincy. Four of the best friends I could ever ask for. Who has the picture of our magical night together?

The next day, I was graced with a visit from another old friend, John Serrao, who was conveniently en route back to Syracuse from an exploratory trip to D.C. I think he was wowed by all that the Northeast Extension had to offer. Sorry, I forgot to take a picture of the wowed look on his face after he drove it.

And then, it was off on a flight from PHL to Charles deGaul airport to Barajas airport on Tuesday night. The trip deserves its own entries, not this "what I did on my summer vacation" blog crap that you've just invested 2 minutes of your lifetime scanning.

La Playa de Galicia

2007-08-13T21:23:00.000-07:00

After a few hard days of walking the Camino (okay, we really didn't go even half as far as most people walking it, so I feel like I wuss) it seemed like a good idea to high-tail it to the beach. Fernando picked us up from Sarria and shuttled us to the car. An hour or so later in the late afternoon I found myself standing for the first time staring out over the Cantabric Sea. Azure, moody, vast, and dynamic.

We spent a bit swimming while the sun was still cooperating, and then I fell asleep happy and loving life on the beach reading while Fernando and Oscar showed off their volleyball skills for the woman sunbathing topless just next to us.

Not bad spending your summer vacation hanging out with two handsome Spanish boys, who both speak English, on a beach in Europe. Maybe I've done all right with my life after all.

El Camino de Santiago

2007-08-11T21:22:00.000-07:00

Last time I was in Spain I had wanted to check out the Camino, but didn't have time. This trip, I was determined to do something about that pang of traveler's regret that comes from going a long, long way to see a land and a people, but not going that last step to experience something really important. To me, the Camino de Santiago was important to experience this time.

Most people in the U.S. look at you blankly when you mention the Camino - which is good in so many ways, but I do think it deserves top billing as one of Spain's most valuable experiences for travellers.

A little history for you: Caminos span all over Europe (even one that starts in Russia) and all end up at Santiago de Compostela - where St. James is said to be buried. The most popular route, the camino frances, begins in France and traverses down and over for 800 km and takes the average walker over a month to complete. Pilgrims (pelegrinos) have been walking the Way of St. James (the brother of Jesus) for over 1,000 years. In 1993 it was dubbed a "UNESCO WOrld Heritage Site" although I have been to many of these and not sure what that really means exactly.

The route is marked with yellow spray-painted arrows directing pilgrims which direction to take on roads, trails, and paths. The way is also marked by the scallop shell, as seem below.

In addition to walkers, bikers also abound on the route, which seems to me like an ideal way to "do" the entire camino frances. Some time I'll definitely go back and try the entire way on two or less wheels, although I'm not sure how to attach paniers to a unicylce right now. Some also ride horses and donkeys. Less ideal, if you ask me.

I had an authentic Galician guide, Oscar, below, who professes not to have changed at all since his last stint on the camino back in 1993. He does, however, point out at every opportunity how the camino itself and the towns it traverses have changed since then. I like to give him a hard time and bunny ears in pictures.

I'd like to tell you that I went the entire way, but time was limited. We started our pilgrimage in Piedrafita, walked for 27 km on day 1, slept in Tricastella. One day two, we walked 23km to Sarria. Below is a pictures of Piedrafita in the far distance, and a good illustration of the nice hill we started out walking up.

One of my favorite parts of the walk were the crumbling old farming villages that I would never have imagined existed if not for getting to walk through them. The Galician countryside is rustic and unbelievably beautiful.

Watch out!

Many people walk the camino, of course, for its religious significance. The sins being wiped away thing and not going to hell for eternity is a HUGE motivator, I'm sure. If that's your thing. For many people who do the walk, it's pure athleticism and tourism. Then there's a bevvy of pilgrims who are on some kind of life-tranisiton cleansing process. For me, I needed to feel what the Way was like, to experience a living and breathing history that keeps so many hundreds of years of collective memory. So many stories and lives and struggles faced along the very same path that my feet were to follow.

Knowing this, I was surprised that as I walked I felt that the walk was so personal - It seemed as if it were only mine and mine alone as my steps added up to shuttle me into unseen panoramas and villages. The steps became a meditation, and with no other distractions, I was free to think about the path of my life. The lessons learned by so many thousands of pilgrims were lost to me, and I had only the next step ahead of me to plant and my own body and soul to move along the road. Leave it to a really long walk a far way from home to bring a little bit of clarity and meaning back into my life.

Our last 8km! Picture worthy.
Me journaling in Sarria after a good rest, ready to head to the beach.

"Buen Camino!"

A Spanish language account of the camino can be found at: http://oscarcastedo.blogspot.com/

Holy Toledo

2007-08-02T21:21:00.000-07:00

I think that saying, "Holy Toledo," must come from the fact... ahhhh I have no idea right now to tell you the truth. But there is one very impressive catedral there. I had the good fortune of driving up to Toledo from Madrid -- it makes a perfect day or side trip from the city. By bus, allow an hour. But if you cozy up to a nice madrileno with auto capabilities, make that 45 minutos on the A-4 Autopista. Less if they are Formula 1 fans.

The above picture is of Toledo Cathedral, which is apparently one of the largest Gothic style cathedrals in the world. Also apparently, it must be viewed from the inside to be properly appreciated. Apparently, you should get there during God's business hours if you want access. In all my recent disavowel-ing of organized religion I had forgotten that God locks the gates to his house/tourist attractions. Oh well, my dress was probably too short for entry anyway.

Okay, so maybe the "holy toledo" exclamation comes from the fact that it is famous for a period named "La Convivencia" when Jews, Arabs, and Christians co-existed peacefully. Once inside the city walls, be sure to just wander and get yourself lost amidst the antiquated colorful casas that line narrow and steep streets.

The old city of Toledo is situated on a hill, surrounded by a wall and the Tagus river on all(?) sides. These pictures were meant to demonstrate that, but instead I think better show off my cute summer dress, so I'll include them:
Below: statue of Cervantes (Toledo is located in La Mancha) that is popular among tourists. I'm ashamed of my unoriginality in this picture.

And of course, like a good tour of any city these days, you can wind your way back to Plaza Mayor and treat yourself to a Toledo Bic Mac with a McFlurry for postres.

La Vita Dulce

2007-08-02T03:58:00.000-07:00

Well, I just couldn´t seem to keep myself away from planes, trains, and Spain for that long. The idea of a vacation somewhere Spanish speaking and far away from the US tugged my heartstrings too violently this summer, so I hopped an Air France airbus to Madrid. It´s my 3rd time here, and it always seems to tickle my fancy. I am trying to get honorary spaniard status - I hear that takes five or more trips, however. No amount of begging seems to get the EU to issue any of those magical passports, however.

I am staying in my friend Oscar´s apartment in a neighborhood in the northeast of downtown. It is a residential community with huge brick apartment buildings for blocks upon blocks, conveniently and not by accident located in close proximity to multi-national corporations like Johnson and Johnson, Unysis, Genesis, Xerox, and Vodafone (this list could go on for a page by itself). I am amusing myself this afternoon by taking in the local flavor of this residential neighborhood, checking e-mail, and shopping for some food for almuerza in a little bit. It felt great to eat dinner at 12:30 AM last night and wake up ungodly late. When in Madrid...
It is a respectable 96 and sunny outside. This afternoon, Oscar and I will take a train to Segovia, just outside Madrid, for some good old fashioned tourism. Tomorrow morning, I catch a bus up to somewhere in Valladolid for a week of ¨englishtown¨ and then the remainder of my stay on the Camino de Santiago in the cool and rainy, apparently, northern Spain.

Hasta luego.

Paulo Coehlo

2007-06-29T22:25:00.000-07:00

"A Warrior of the Light is never predictable.

She might dance down the street on her way to work, gaze into the eyes of a complete stranger and speak of love at first sight, or defend an apparently absurd idea....

She is not afraid to weep over ancient sorrows or feel joy at new discoveries. WHen she feels that the moment has arrived, she drops everything and goes off on some long-dreamed of adventure. When she realizes that she can do no more, she abandons the fight, bt never blames herself for having committed a few unexpected acts of folly.

...She does not spend her days trying to play the role that others have chosen for her."

- Warrior of the Light Manual

Tomorrow, I move on.

Tuerks invade the West (temporarily)

2007-06-25T19:48:00.000-07:00

Since I've been in Oregon, Quincy and Shane came out for a very brief visit last July, and since then, no one from my past has come out for a visit. Is it me, guys? I was just mulling over with another East Coast escapee how very daunting and liberating all at once that can be -- in live in a place with none of your past, only what is in the present and future. The entire West is sort of like that, come to think of it - with the oldest thing around being trees. In the east, the oldest things around are the houses, perhaps

So my point is, that when Mom and Dad pulled up in front of the old blue 15th street doublewide trailer, it was a strange and unfamiliar collision between present and past. It was wonderful seeing them, and I did my best to show them what Eugene and environs had to offer. Not sure that the granola-ey environmentalism struck many chords with them, though :)

This was Mom's first trip west of Houston, TX. The weather on the coast cooperated beautifully for them, although my dad was a bit disappointed that it wasn't warm enough to swim without a 6mm wetsuit.

They also managed to cram in visits to Japanese Gardens, Rose Gardens, OMSI, Breitenbush Hot Springs, Saturday Market, REI Bicycling 101 class, Fall Creek hiking trails, as well as many fine eating establishments around Eugene. They will be missed!!!

I Swear I'm Not a Hippy

2007-06-18T00:08:00.000-07:00

Memorial Day was almost in June, right? In that case, June kicked off with a fabulous weeked (dare I say the best on the West Coas yet?) of eating at the Eugene local favorite Keystone Cafe for breakfast, followed by an outdoor Spearhead concert, then a backpacking trip up to Lake Donaca (okay I didn't quite make it all the way into Lake Donaca, but my intentions were such), then- icing on the cake- a day at Breitenbush Hotsprings, where old hippies go for a weekend and wind up spending the rest of their lives.

On the way into Donaca, I know it appears as though I'm hugging a tree, but really just wrapping my arms about it and expressing my appreciation. There's a very subtle difference.

Sarah, Heather, Kirvan,Bosco, Sage, and Me -- trying to get the timer pose on the camera down...

There are really only two things you need to know about Oregon: The trees are huge, and traffic's not as bad as everyone says it is...

June has also marked the end of the schoolyear for me-- goodbye to teaching at Lane Community College until their budget allows part-time faculty again and a summer break from the Reaching Out Mentoring Center. It also has meant lots of Saturday Markets, where it is generally accepted for people to drive trucks like this one with little happy meal figurines glued to the hood, presumably to increase gas mileage:

Also in June, I have lost the company of Rob to the usual kayaking missions, but also a new love, the Big Red (non-running) Chevy Suburban that now graces the back porch while it is serviced. I like to keep an eye on Rob while he is working on it in case he falls into the engine block area and cannot climb his way out:

And tonight, Sunday, I look forward to a week full of visiting form Mom and Dad, who flew out from Philadelphia just to visit. That probably merits its own posting soon!

May is a many spendid thing

2007-05-20T15:32:00.000-07:00

Ahh, the flowers! The scents! The sunshine! The diesel engines? The allergies? May's been a mixed bag of old with the new, good and the bad, lucky with the unlucky. A ying and yang kind of month, ya? I continue to juggle a few fun and fulfilling jobs with a full and at times absurdist Eugene lifestyle. May has been a time to reflect on what I want for the short-term future, as well as plan ahead for what I wish the more global sense of my coming years will include. I continue, as always, to scout precipitously for prospect of future opportunities and open doors. However, I know and struggle with the fact that some of those doors are already open for me right here and now and all I have to do is walk through them. While my brain and feet are itchy to trapse across international borders once again, I reign them in with practical considerations and long-range planning. Friends I have met in Eugene now make their own career plans that will spread them out across the Oregon and the world and I re-discover as I have over and over again in life that I can take the greatest comfort in only myself. As opportunities are presented to me in the next few months, I feel certain that it will become clear where my next path will lead.

May began with Rob accepting a teaching position in Hood River, OR, which is about 3 hours north and east of Eugene by way of Portland. About that same time, he coralled a big, honkin, non-running red diesel suburban into our back yard by way of disassembling the chain link fence. Ahhh, Rob - always I have such mixed feelings!

Rob is now a tiny person in overalls being sucked into the Suburban's powerful engine abyss!!!

I have successfully been adjunct teaching at an online high school before I start my day at Lane Community College and onward still to the Reaching Out Mentoring Center in Pleasant Hill. Lane County taxpayers have repeatedly voted down all efforts to fund public safety or educational expenses through income taxes, therefore I am unsure of the future of the hole sweet teaching gig at Lane. Frankly, I am more alarmed at the lack of police force and public safety measures (not)enforced in Lane County, but ti would be nice to keep a good job, too.

The remainder of May has consisted of random hikes, random gatherings, and a general optimism that June will bring lots of good times and relaxation. I look forward to Marcia and Tony's visit, the end of the school year, and going off to eat a huge bowl of 3 flavor sherbet right now.

A lot of girls sitting at a table: Jess, Heather, Amy, Gina, Christie, Seema, Stephanie

New home smell

2007-05-19T21:32:00.000-07:00

I've transferred all my monthly ramblings into one streamlined, semi-public, separate-from-business dealings, and oh-so-uninteresting looking blog spot. I know, I know. I have some loyal friends and family (okay, maybe just mom) who have tirelessly stuck with me virtually on what seems like 10 or 11 different websites. And no, a megahuge-o media conglomerate has not offered me a retirement package for the use of www.jesstuerk.com, but this blog solves my problem of why I haven't been using the aforementioned website as much as I wanted to: it wasn't fit for private ramblings because I wanted to keep it for business/professional ventures and it wasn't fit for professional information because I wanted to write blogs and post pics regarding my shocking personal adventures of things like attending nudist camp open houses and shopping online for underwear. Hence, jessicatuerk.blogspot.com is born. This place will be relegated to all things intensely personal and interesting about my daily life (like today's big development of me discovering why no clothes were being dried properly in the drier -- see? developments that would be sad to miss out on if you mistakenly visited jesstuerk.com instead).

Oh Man

2007-01-16T19:35:00.000-08:00

I feel so guilty about not putting anything up that it's prevented me from putting anything up. What has been going down the last months since I wrote about voting? Well, lots. Jobs, trips, arguments, Philadelphia, you name it. It's the middle of January and I am at the tail end of a three day weekend that turned into a 6 day weekend because of so many snow days. I'm getting ahead of myself - I am now working at Lane County Community College teaching writing and with Reaching Out Mentor Center coordinating a mentorship program. Both are part time, and I still have lots of time on my hands to do my own writing and projects. I'm taking more of a focus to learning the west coast fiddle -- that Ken Burns Civil War movie (the 42 hour one) theme song, Ashokan Farewell is being played on the home page by yours truly. (Ashokan F. isn't actually a song that was around during the civil war, but written in the 90s by Jay Ungar). I made a very extended trip home to the east coast that was fairly packed with parents, family, and friends getting together. It felt nice to be back with everyone such familiar places - adding confusion to what coast I will call home for the next few years.
I'm still splashing my life with new and untried activities - looking forward to cross country skiing and attempting to roll in a kayak within the next few weeks. I long to travel to an exotic new locale, but money and career seem to call right at this moment. Aiming a bit away from the vagabond lifestyle for a minute, I'm looking into more domestic pursuits, getting a dog, buying a car, buying decorating pillows, renting videos, and throwing dinner parties.
A year ago this week I was preparing for the South America trip and wondering what the next year would hold for me. I might have thought I would be living in Africa somewhere on a teaching contract, or Peace Corpsing it up in Eastern Europe by now. But I am in Eugene, OR. What will the next year hold for me? How will I change? How will the world change?

Selling a Car on Ebay?

2006-10-16T19:54:00.000-07:00

Apparently while I was busy shopping for a car in actual lots, Ebay motors became the biggest car seller in the United States. Intrigued, I decided to try to sell my 2002 Civic EX online - to someone willing to bid on a car sight unseen, owner unknown... Who are these people? Car dealers? Flippers? My auction ends in three hours and the reserve has not yet been met, so I am still dubious that the process will work. According to Ebay I have 24 potential bidders "watching" the car to see what the price does. Will I be able to sell an $11,000 piece of merchandise online? If so, it will be beyond me as to how. To be updated...

Weird Yards Of Eugene

2006-10-05T19:32:00.000-07:00

http://eugeneweekly.com/2006/10/05/coverstory3.html

The Dawning of October

2006-08-10T19:52:00.000-07:00

It's Sunday and everyone else is watching football. I am in Oregon and watching the "US Army Invitational Rodeo" televised from Reading, Pennsylvania. There are many reasons why it is more entertaining to watch that the traditional Sunday lineup. Among those reasons: Cowboys. it's sponsored by 4-H and PBR. no annoying commentary shows pre and post rodeo.uncontrollable livestock. lassos. clowns. it's not football. and on and on and on.
Can't believe it's October -- see you soon.

Indian Train Travel for Women

2006-08-01T19:33:00.000-07:00

Train Travel Safety Tips and Advisories

“How in the world did I get here?” It was 2 a.m. I was in a mosquito-filled police station and jail in Agra, India, home of the world’s most beautiful and famous monument to love. I had walked there, willingly, with two men in khaki uniforms and berets.
In India, train travel is the way to go. It’s an efficient way to visit all corners of the sub-continent and certainly economical. On this particular night I had splurged on second class for my shortest train ride in India yet (four hours), yet it had cost no more than $4 (I paid $12 for a 32-hour ticket that had taken me from the northeast corner in Kolkata to the southern state of Goa.)
So far I had wracked up a total of over 60 hours on the Indian Railways as a solo female traveler without much incident. This particular night, despite my usual alertness and precaution, I found myself in a second class berth on an uncrowded train, alone with a middle-aged businessman from a small village near Agra.
It is usual for the passengers on trains in India to be curious about foreign travelers—staring, whispering, talking loudly, are quite common. Those who are comfortable with their English are likely straight out ask how and why a single woman should be traveling alone in India. Wonderful conversations and invitations can develop over the course of a long train ride in this way. But in India females are usually accompanied by a father or son, and female travelers often raise eyebrows and questions.
This night, as usual, the passenger across from me, the businessman, was curious as to my origins and purposes. He explained his business to me and I explained my solo travel while we ate the dahl, roti, and yogurt served on the train. I expressed to him an anxiety about not knowing when my stop would be, since they did not announce the stations, and he congenially offered to alert me when the time came, should I nod off to sleep. Disarmed by our nice conversation, my bags all chained up and locked as is highly recommended, and full of food, I drifted off.
I awoke to the sense of hands on my blouse. Frightened and in denial, I slapped him away and slid to the opposite end of the berth to close my eyes tight in pretend sleep while I thought of what to do. Within minutes his hands landed on my upper thigh, and this time I leapt up from the berth and created a commotion.
When I finally got off the train at 1 a.m., it took me 45 minutes to get the stationmaster to take me seriously enough to file a complaint and another 15 minutes of haggling with him to send a policeman to escort me to the station. The final motivation for him to do so was a call I placed to the U.S. embassy in New Delhi.
Tips and Advisories
I would never recommend that females stop exploring India by train, and I would spend 1,000 more hours on them to take in such a bewildering and beautiful country. The following tips and advisories are for female travelers especially, but also for the male solo traveler, to ensure healthy and incident-free travel aboard the Indian railways:
Unlike many other destinations, in India if you are a solo traveler you will often be the only Westerner on a train.
Ask for the upper berth (it will say “UB” on your ticket stub) when buying your ticket—it has a far greater degree of privacy and you can stretch out any time, even in the middle of the day.
Avoid the lower berth or middle berth; you will not be able to stretch out until everyone decides to go to sleep.
Purchase all tickets as far in advance as possible. It is a good idea to purchase a few legs of your journey all at once while you are at one major station so you are assured a seat on the date that you want.
Do not make prolonged eye contact with any males; it can be seen as a sexual invitation.
Although you will be asked for your sex at the ticket office, this will not generally mean that you will share your berth with other females.
Sleep and ride with any bags that fit right on your berth—use them as footrest and pillows. All travel documents should be in contact with your body at all times.
Study all the passengers around you after the train leaves the station. Do not shy away from pleasant conversation because you are afraid for your safety, but do not feel a false sense of ease because you feel like you know them.
Do not plan to change your clothes while on the train. An ankle-length cotton skirt, dark colored t-shirt with sleeves, and a long cotton scarf is ideal.
Pre-arrange all hotel information at your intended destination before boarding your train, especially if you will be arriving after 5 p.m.
Do not get off the train to stretch, even at prolonged stops at major stations. Stay within eye contact of your berth at all times.
If you feel uncomfortable in any situation on a train, do not hesitate to change your seat immediately, with or without first asking the conductor. If you sense trouble, move first, ask later.
If you find yourself the victim of a crime, report the situation to the conductor and request to speak to a police officer. Gather the names and addresses of any witnesses.
If you are the victim of a sexual assault in India, report it to the authorities immediately and don’t give up or be surprised if the men in charge to not take you seriously. Place a call to the nearest embassy of your country of origin as soon as you can, and don’t be shy about telling the authorities that you are doing so; it gets them to act. You will be asked by the police to write a full report of the incident and, if possible, identify the perpetrator at the station. In my case, this took up the entire morning of my day in Agra—a price I was happy to pay.
Don’t shy away from independent female travel—just be careful.
For complete timetables, names of trains, and planning ahead, visit www.seat61.com/India.htm.
Jessica Tuerk is a freelance writer and high school teacher. She travels the world as much as she can and encourages everyone she knows to do the same.

How the South America Trip Ended

2006-05-15T21:13:00.000-07:00

Here I am again, on the last day of another journey that has taken me places I never would have imaginined, that I wish you could have experienced with me. In 4 countries, 28 hostels, and 90 days one learns a lot of lessons. Anyone out there who has any means to travel, should travel, and as much as possible. You learn of history, culture, and language, you meet the most beautiful people you ever imaginied, you eat food unattainable and unheard of at home, you have conversations that teach you more than college classrooms, your outlook alters forever, and you change and you grow.I have gotten thousands of ideas for writing inspiration and chasing down the dream has been well worth it. I hope that when I am home I will continue working towards a writing career and not abandon it for something more secure. Shout outs to everyone who I have met on the road -- everyone knows that it is the people you befriend that make a trip special. I like life on the road without a worry as to what city I will sleep in at night, with all my belongings on my back. I will miss it and probably one day do it again, but look forward to seeing friends and having a home once more. In the end, I am filled to the brim with good thoughts and memories. Thank you Dad, who is my ground control at home and has helped out in any way I asked or wanted. Thank you mom, for your support and your emails. Thanks everyone else who has continues to track my journeys and adventures all the way til now and sent me your good thoughts, messages, and prayers. It has meant the world. See you in the States! Love,Jess

Epic Journey

2006-05-06T21:11:00.000-07:00

Part I
I'm back on the map today, in Arequipa, Peru, just arrived last night into civilization once more from the Rio Cotahuasi rafting trip. And what a trip it was. From Buenos Aires, I flew out on an early morning flight into Lima, where I waited for an afternoon bus to head down to southern peru -- a 14hr ride in itself. In Lima, I met Danielo, a fantastic Limenean IBM consultant who had spent some time in Mechanicsburg, PA, of all places, on a business trip a few years back. Standed in hot and overwhelming Lima for the long afternoon, Danielo took pity or compassion on me, not sure which, and took me out to lunch on the foggy cliffs, previously pictured in the beginning of my travel diaries. The overnight trip was smooth, arrived with just enough time to shower before taking off for the 12 hour van ride, 6 people and about a ton (? literally?) into the Cotahuasi region, where we finally stopped at 2 am to camp. The stars that night were the brightest I have ever seen in my lifetime, nearby galaxies and shooting stars so vivid that i wanted to lie awake simply stare in awe, as I pondered how the hell I had gotten to that remote and chilly spot on the ground in Peru, in a sleeping bag under the night sky, after 30 hours of transit from beautiful Buenos Aires. Life takes you places.We camped there for two nights awaiting the mules, who met us there on Tuesday for the 14 km hike into the canyon. Tuesday bright and early we loaded down 6 burros and psyched up for the descent into the canyon -- not as easy a hike as I had anticipated, but breathtakingly beautiful vistas and along a much more interesting ancient Incan trail than the ''inca trail'' itself, really. The next day, after suiting up in a wetsuit, dry top, helmet, and lifevest, took a few practice safety swims across the river at the put-in and tried to take in all the info I could about safetly on the river-- which I knew would at some point be very valuable later on in that remote and unforgiving place. Already a bit worn out at 11 am, 6 of us -- 4 in kayaks and 2 in a big yellow raft filled with cargo, took off down the Cotahuasi.To be continued...

Part II
The Cotahuasi, it turns out, was declared the deepest canyon on the face of the planet in 1991, just shy of 3600 meters deep - more than twice the depth of the Grand Canyon. It is remote, even for Peruvian standards -- under the Incan Empire, the people of the Cotahuasi originally dodged conquistador rule for over 100 years due to its isolation far from Spanish centers of trade (1). But the people of the Cotahuasi, during the Incan Empire through to the present day, also depend on Cotahuasi's location as a route from the mountains to the Pacific - - the XXX kilometer stretch of canyon hosts narrow dirt trails up and down the sides of the canyon, creating a trade route that connects small towns and villages such Chuquibamba and Iquipe, and onward to the ocean.Our group uses the narrow Incan highways to leave camp on the following day and hike ourselves and down to a camp at the base of the river, where we will begin rowing. Five burros and one mule, who live in a town at the bottom where we are head, transport all our gear. They are herded by four Cotahuasians and a yellow dog. The burro drivers seem quite friendly and content and have apparently grown quite accustom in recent years to Vellutino's repeated requests for plastic-boat toting pack animals. The burros, on the other hand, look less than affable about the matter. The 14 km hike to the put-in is spectacular, if not as easy as I had assumed it would be. An hour in, we reach Catarata Sipia, where the river canyon slots narrowly and drops 150 meters to create a spectacular and humbling waterfall that instills fear and awe for the power of the river. A permanent rainbow hovers over the falls, visible only when you are brave enough to inch far enough to the edge of the rock that drops off into the dark abyss over the violently frothing falls. I have never run a river before and am not about to do it by falling in. I crouch low to the ground as possible without looking too ridiculous, but still feeling and looking like a coward, and creep up to the edge of the abyss and peer inside. I feel the powerful vibration with my body and breathe in the vapory mist and it is cool on my face. The rainbow is there, ever-present, an eternally beautiful phantom hovering over the falls. I think to myself about all the people, ancient and recent, who have come to this spot and seen this rainbow that has existed since an age unthinkable, since the very formation of these rocks and this waterway. The hike is sunny and winds up and down along the side of the canyon walls. The path is a geologist's wet dream and I am wishing that I had paid more attention in Earth Science class. Blood red rocks streak the adobe colored canyon walls, entire natural rock faces look expertly chiseled and squared, sparking minerals glitter in the sunlight. There are such unlikely colors in the rocks- ones I have never before seen in nature. Mustard yellows, bloody oranges, jade greens, deep clear whites, and they are all made more spectacular by the crystal blue sky. The area is mined for copper, obsidian, silver, iron, and other minerals, mostly by foreign companies. The thousands of layers of rock that lie underground in most places on Earth are exposed here and ready to tell the story of their formation to whomever is ready to listen. Along the way, we pass a half dozen or so locals, usually traveling alone, usually with a burro, and often, inebriated off the wine produced locally in the canyon. Some ask about our bolsas with much interest and wish us well. It is not often that gringos pass along these trails. Less often with plastic boats. I ask Vellutino how many groups have come down the river. He looks up into his brain thinking. There have only been 6 or 7 commercial trips so far on the Cotahuasi, the first being in 2001 with Bio Bio Expeditions. The first descent of the Cotahuasi took place in 1994 by four Americans, Vellutino, and his two brothers. Since then, he has run the river somewhere around 27 times, more than anyone else in the world. I am with the right man, at least. I have never been on a rafting trip. Tomorrow, that all changes. I am suited up in 4 layers of clothing and they feel tight and I am wet from two practice swims across the banks of the river and I am exhausted and hungry. But it is time to start off down the river. My wetsuit and dry top keep me warm in the icy water waves that crash over the boat one by one. If I was ever a quick learner, now is the time to cash in--- two major rapids, ¨Broken Neck Canyon,¨ approach us within the first hour of being on the river. Sergio sits in the middle of the boat and steers the raft with oars, I sit on the front left with a paddle for power, and just the thought that Sergio might be relying on me for power is at once scary and funny to me. I have just enough power in my upper body to hold out through a downward dog, and not much more. Sergio is nervous at first and hits what I have now come to know from the others as ''giant mother holes;'' spaces on the downstream side of river boulders that suck and churn the water backwards. At their least harmful, holes are spots that keep your raft in its powerful current until you power enough out of them, at their worst, they flip rafts. But we run ¨Flatwater Canyon', a name bestowed on this powerful rapid by the first descenters in 1994 for its irony and being anything-but flat. The river is high and powerful, perhaps the highest it has ever been run. The very highest it should be run, say the guides. And there are plenty of holes. Sergio and I learn fast during those two rapids - Class 4 ''plus'' he calls them. He learns that I have no idea what I am doing and gets familiar with the oars once more. I learn about holding the hell on with my foot in the floor rope and about ''high siding'' -- jumping as fast as you can to the side of the boat that is up in the air to prevent flipping. We have made it through these first two rapids by the skin of our teeth, and I am feeling more relaxed that I made it. I look up to see amazing stone terraced farms and that Incan highway that runs all the way, somehow, to the Pacific. The stones are stacked neatly into walls, the walls lined up neatly in rows. The engineering effort is spectacular-- But the kayakers heard correctly. The rapids are continuous on the Cotahuasi and the water remains very white even between major sections. In an instant, I realize that the foot rope that keeps me in the boat has come untied and I frantically try to tie it back and keep myself inside. Sergio needs me to paddle and I am going as hard as I can, but we hit a rock and I slide over the edge of the bright yellow raft, aware of what it about to happen. I am in the water, just ahead of the raft, and I see the river flowing over me. I reach up, please God, just out of reach of the blue rope. I throw my hands up again and catch the frame this time but cannot pull myself up and into the raft. I feel Sergio grab my life vest up an it is enough for me to tumble hand and foot inside. I hear him tell me to get the hell in the raft and paddle. Tough love, but truer words were never spoken. In 2001 a young BBC correspondent was lost on the Cota and her body never recovered. If I have never been on a rafting trip before, I have now been christened. On Day 3 the group comes to a Class V rapid called ¨Marpa'' that is, luckily for me, dangerous to get out and walk. The red canyon walls fall abruptly into the river without any rocks to walk over, and the portage takes me up and over the cliffside instead. At the top of the ridge the canyon walls reach up farther toward the sky and there are piles of stone that were once obviously parts of the ruined walls. It is big - the lost city of Marpa. A flash of bright white catches my eye. Sitting in the corner of two stone walls are three skulls and some bones scattered beneath. My heart beats faster when I notice the dirty red textile piled next to the skulls. Could this have been the final garment of one of these people? A poncho worn Marpa has several burial sites (chulpas) and there are bones scattered throughout this lowest section of the ruin. Chills run down my spine and I forget that I am parched and in a wetsuit and helmet on top of a desert canyon wall at the base of the deepest canyon in the world. I am overjoyed to see remnants of not just terraces, but houses, irrigation systems, and a round slate sundial. Hurriedly, I snap my photos and hike quickly down to the other side of the rapid to meet Sergio. At night I sleep in the middle of one of the ancient abandoned terraces just above camp and I fall gently asleep under the waxing moon and milky way, sore and happy and glad that I decided to take my first rafting trip. The 4th day is long, and the continuous 4 and 5 rapids are challenging. We pass through Meter Canyon, Centimeter Canyon, and finally, High Side for your Life, one of the last biggest rapids that I watch Vellutino steer the raft through from the rocky shoreline. We descend further at breakneck speed to the confluence where the Cotahuasi River meets the Moran and it becomes the Ocona. The class III rpaids here seem harmless and gentle to me now. At the confluence, the wind kicks up and I can smell a hint of the sea. Conical shrimp traps sit on shallow rocky streams feeding into the river and every once in a while, a straight-faced local appears on the shoreline, checking traps or traveling onwards. None wave. The next morning we are up at 5 to catch a few donkeys to town. It is a grueling 2 mile hike at 530am over a huge rockbed, with lots of cargo on our backs. It is a 2 hour combi ride on dirt roads to Iquipe, where we transfer all the stuff again onto a bigger, faster, scarier combi ride (4 hrs) to Calama on the coast. From Calama, we ride a different bus up the coast and inland to Arequipa, another 5 or 6 hrs.

Argentina - Spring 2006

2006-04-25T16:07:00.000-07:00

This strikes me as ENTIRELY inappropriate, acting like a dead person on the grave of a dead person in Ricoletta Cemetary. What was I thinking?

Again! Entirely INAPPROPRIATE! What is it with BA that makes tourists crazy? I think it's the hormones in the beef.

* more pictures to come when B.C., travelling companion extraordinar gets his act together takes pity on my busted-ass camera self.

04-25-2006 - Meat Fest 2006
I'm in Buenos Aires, beautiful capital city of Argentina. Since arriving on Sat. morning via overnight bus down from Iguazu, I've been lazing about and viewing the town by foot. Two highlights of note-- 1) a Velez/Boca futbol match, both hometown favorites, erupting into a riot at the end and the game being called off, and 2)the Meat Fest that was last night's dinner. 1) Video and pictures to come, the experience was everythign I `had hoped futbol game 1 in La Paz was going to be -- sold out stadium with general admission seats only, people on their feet jumping in rhythm and chanting for the entire game... when... at tie 2-2, in the last 3 minutes, Velez gets a penalty and Boca kicks in a goal, kicked out by a lineman standing inside the goal. Fans throw the contents of their belongings onto the field, hitting a player. Riot police come out. Riots grow larger. Fans throwing their seats at eachother. The game is called off. Riots continue. Stadium is emptied. Police cavalry comes out, with tear gas. See the textbook south american soccer experience. 2) Neighborhood parilla restaurant grilling up entire cows and pigs at once. The menu for 2... Starter: Grilled provolone cheese and chorizo (sausage)Sides: Mashed potatoes, side salad for showEntre: 1 Porterhouse, well done1 lomo steak, medium doneBebidas: 700 mL vino tinto -- 1/2 cabernet, 1/2 malbecAgua con gasPostres: block of Alemendras ice cream con chocolateWhat's happened to me? Just bought tickets to Don Giovanni opera at Teatro Colon, one of the world's best acoustical opera houses.

Bolivia - Spring 2006

2006-04-01T16:08:00.000-08:00

03-26-2006 - Surfacing in Bolivia
No, I havent gone missing again, Ive been idling for a tad bit in a town called Copacabana, Bolivia to rest up, although resting wasnt exactly what I did there. No viable internet connection exists there, so here I am writing a few days after I intended. Tonight I have come back to civilization in La Paz, capital city of Bolivia, after a quite harmless 4 hr ride, although even the harmless ones usually include adventure, white knuckles, and spectacular views. On Thursday morning I rolled out of Arequipa, Peru -- the first morning of my stay that was clear enough to actually see the Volcan Misti towering above the city -- didnt actually think it was there til then. Feeling queasy and bleary eyed, I rode into the sunset to the Bolivian crossing, managing to use a plastic bag to throw up in a few times! The scenery on the way is something in between South Dakota and the third world, with wide open grass fields spanning most of the way, interspersed with stone walls, llamas, sheep, mud houses, backdropped by dramatic snow capped mountains. Just thankful that we didnt break down on the side of the road, I got off in a town called Puno to change to a bus that would drop me at the border. Bolivians are generally some of the most helpful people I have ever met, event the guards with machine guns and army fatigues. A customs official laughed us through the gate, saying that unless we wanted to declare marijuana or explosives, we had no business with him. The minibus ride into Copacabana revealed the banks of Lake Titicaca and the reed marshes, and only 2 km over the border, I could sense the more laid-back and jovial outlook of the bolivians over the peruvians. Chalk it up to the coca, perhaps. The Boliviano is worth about 1/8 American dollar, and the cost of living for a westerner is embarassingly cheap here, beat only on my travels by India. For two days in Copa I stayed at a lakefront hotel, ate fresh caught trout, fresh juice, ferried out to Isla Del Sol, hiked the most gorgeous trails Ive ever seen, and stayed on the island, all for less than US $10. The people here are by majority Amayra, the indigenous ethnicity, and extremely proud of their heritage and, well, proud in general. Outisde the city, women dress in the traditional wear, while the men all seem to go for baseball caps and some variant of the North American male uniform. An odd pairing when walking dow the street for sure. The dramatic rich/poor split is evident in La Paz even 5 hours into my arrival here. Dinner was at the bolivian equivalent of a chuckie cheese, where the elite take theri families to eat sunday dinner and celebrate childrens birthdays, etc....Up the street encampments of 5-10 year old boys hustle shoe shining, fingerpuppets, and postcards in the pouring rain just to support their families. It isnt hard to understand what makes a country elect a socialist leader. Im safe and sound. Lots of pictures coming tomorrow. Need to settle a few small details like getting a new bank card and then swiftly buying football tickets first, but they are coming. I had to make sure that with the money I have I was able to eat and sleep first, then perhaps make things like photo cds and movie clips. I love hearing from you all, keep the posts coming and I will too.Love,Jess

03-29-2006 - Traveller's Paradise and some new pics
Well, well, well, so much has happened. I am BACK in La Paz after a 4 night field trip tp a bucolic (in the coca-growing sense) and beautiful Coroico, Bolivia, via the ¨Most Dangerous Road in the World¨, so says the UN. I made it 2 ways and am alive to tell about the last few days of my adventures...After a night at the Bolivar v. Columbia soccer game in La Paz, I booked a mountian biking trip down the death road so that I could make it to the jungle resort town of Coroico. That morning I was to leave I woke up and puked some and some other stuff in the hotel bathroom and decided it best to take a minivan. How much safer one is is debateable, but it was sure easier. We descended 3 hours to the north into the cloud forest on a one lane road that quickly deteriorated into a one lane dirt path along 1000 ft drop offs. The word is that there is about one deadly accident every 6 days or so, and alonf the way the crosses aside the road don't do anything to muster confidence as a mac truck barrels at you head on as your van crosses under a cascading waterfall and muddy road. We busted a tire a short ways from town, and the hot and humid air, not dissimiar from Philly weather in August, was a delight to my senses. Butterflies flitted past and the sweet smell in the air of every wild plant that I have never seen nor sensed before was a big joy. The holy grail of butterflies, the Blue Morph, turned up on my 4 day stay over and over -- it looks like a flying blue hologram flashing through the air. I arrived at a hostel with a pool and a room with a view of lush green mountains, pics wont do it justice really, and spent the next days hiking into amazing jungle waterfalls to go swimming, and taking in the wildlife around town. Today I caught some Bolivian newscasts and there was a segment on the Americanos Mas Tantos, the stupidest Americans, by a Bolivian vote. Top picks: Tom Cruise, Dick Chenney and Paris Hilton (tie for 2nd), George Bush, and Michael Jackson. Bolivians are pretty smart I think. From here it'll be up to the real jungle and pampas for some more hardcore adventure. Look for pictures tomorrow (Tuesday). I want to thank everyone for all your messages and thoughts, or even if you arent leaving any messages, for following along. See you tomorrow.Love,Jess

04-07-2006 - Try, try, again
Well, well, well, here I am , back from spending the second day at the La Paz airport , watiing to see if the weather would clear for us to land in the jungle. Apparently, I wasnt supposed to get up there, so on to plan B (C? D?) instead. Travel in Bolivia is not supposed to be fast, easy, or go to plan, so you make the best out of the hand... a game of soccer in the airport, joy in finding the New York Times (wednesday's) being sold by and old man there, the thrill of completing the crossword... An emotional rollercoaster of a week for sure-- news ofthe birth of a beautiful baby in Ithaca, finally getting my debit card in the mail, waiting around for news of good flight news, feeling a little ill-- and most disturbing of all, authorities found the bodies of two Austrians, who had been missing since Feb., shot to death in a cemetary in La Paz. Needless to say it was hard for me to breathe sitting in the taxis to and from the airport this week, shallowly breathing and watching for any sign of disturbance or irregularity in the driver, in the neighborhoods, in the streets, in the route. http://www.katharinaandpeter.info/http://www.cnn.com/2006/WORLD/americas/04/04/bolivia.bodies.ap/index.htmlThe inconvenience of being held back in La Paz an extra few days this week has also allowed me to make a trip up to the Presidential Palace, retreive my debit card, buy black market ray bans, eat at a favorite Italian restaurant 4 meals in a row, and watch Paceñans doing their thing in the streets. I read in the World Factbook that 64% of Bolivians live below the poverty line- to be able to live in decent hotels and eat at more expensive places with the well-off Paceñans has been a mixed bag for me. After I read that, I caught an article regarding wealth distribution in the US -- the richest 10% of the poplation control 70% of the wealth in the country. If one can understand why the socialist movement has strong roots down here, one wonders where it is in the US of A. Today I'll get on an overnight bus at 8 pm to Potosi, Bolivia and arrive tomorrow morning.

04-10-2006 - Me, my, in a Bolivian mine
A miner jackhammering a place for the dynamite to sit
Well I am in Uyuni, Bolivia, heart of...absolutely nowhere. Accordingly, the Internet access is somewhat limited in its speed and I can only offer these 3 photos for now. I actually made it out of La Paz, although I didnt really believe it would happen until I was on the bus and out of city limits. Spent all last week trying to get out of it, and I thought for sure the bus I booked would break down or lose a tire or be cancellled or something. The cama, or bed, bus overnight into Potosi was amazingly comfortable, if without a bathroom. I arrived in town at 6 am and by 9 am was on a tour of about the only real thing for a tourist to do in the town-- the mines. Potosi is a mining town since about 1600 when the Spanish realized what amazing riches were hidden about in the hills and mountains in southern Boliviaand exploited the hell out of the indigenous people, as well as African slaves brought in to pick up the slack. Today, the people there are still being exploited by American and EUropean companies, being paid measly sums and scarring the landscape, bringing in unbelievable riches for the owners. The safety precautions at a Bolivian mine are up for debate. Before entering the mine, we stopped to get headlamps, rubber boots, and a coverup outfit, as well as stopped to buy presents for the miners that we would meet within. Presents include bags of coca leaves, sticks of dynamite, bottles of soda, rubber gloves, and grain alcohol for drinking. Of course. Im not one for confined spaces in general and climbing into tight tunnels in the mine, hearing and feeling far-off dynamite explosions move the air was almost too much for me to take at certain points!! We were able to witness miners at work in miserable and dreadfully unhealthy conditions, working for good money in Bolivian standards, but the equivalent of $200 us per week for the most dangerous, most excrutiating work I can really think of. I dont think Ill be buying any silver in the near future, having a new appreciation for the misery that a high world demand has created for many thousands, not to mention the environmental ruin it is bringing the area. I was a wuss and felt the need to go running out of the mine after about 10 minutes of only watching the men chisel the walls and breathing the particle and chemical laden air, but I stuck it out to get more of the feel. Their lives are unthinkable to me, unthinkable that human beings can get used to such a life and unthinkable that human beings are the ones who create the conditions that necessitate such lifestyles. I made it out alive, only to realize that the miner guys wanted to give us our own explosives demonstration with amonium nitrate. A learning experience for sure. I have a movie, if im ever in a internet place fast enough to load it.

04-15-2006 - An Odyssey into Chile, plus new pics
¡Hola amigos! I've come to the travelling surface once more, this time across a new border, into Chile. I had the most incredible last three days of sightseeing southwestern Bolivia, which offers some of the most unique vistas that I can think exist on the planet. The first day we loaded a Land Rover with 6 tourists, 1 cook, and a driver and soon came upon flats of 8 meter deep pure salt that stretches 12,000 sqare kilometers -- perfect blinding white flats that look like snow to the eye. The flats get covered in a think layer of water during rainy season and reflect the surrounding mountains and clouds perfectly. Ill post pictures, of course, as soon as I can get them.The second and third days were spent driving through rocky to sandy desert, viewing flamingoes, a red lake, a green lake, multi-colored mountains, steaming geisers, hot springs, Dali landscapes, etc., etc. At the night the full moon illuminated the desert landscape and lit up the atmosphere with blue light. I never thought I would see flamingoes backdropped by snowcapped active volcanoes in Bolivia. Who knew. Well, Im in tourist-trap San Pedro, Chile, just over the border right now, about to go mountain biking this afternoon, then I depart for yet new frontiers in Argentina tomorrow morning-- Easter. Happy new beginnings to everyone out there still reading this and Ill update on Monday morning! Love all around,Jess

04-20-2006 - Odyssey pictues
Oh boy - well did it, I finally broke my old Pentax Optio that the crooks didnt even want, but it leaves me a little high and dry while Im in one of the most scenic places in SA -- Iguazu Falls-- Puerto Iguazu in Arg, within a stone's thow of Uruguay and Brazil. Not often you can see three countries at once in a glance. Of course, it did take some work to get here -- a 30 hr bus trip from salta... but some things are worth the struggle. Some arent... but Ill let you know if a little while. Attached only some of the pics of the Salar roadtripin Bolivia, but they dont really do any justice whatsoever. pink flamingoes and red lakes should come soon. Holy crap,it's the end of April already.Love,Jess

Lima Being

2006-02-15T19:18:00.000-08:00

My plane delayed two hours last night and arrived in the hostel at 1:30 am. It being Dia de San Valentin and eveything, everyone seemed to be out and about enjoying themselves in Miraflores, even small children playing on the playground at that hour. School is out for the summer here, so I guess it makes a little sense. Lots to say, not a lot of time to write it. I am off to the town of Cusco, at the foot of the Andes, via bus this afernoon. A 20 hr. Bus ride, so my day has so far consisted of a trip to the bus station and my first Southern Hemisphere grocery store experience. My Spanish has improved since arriving 12 hrs ago, so Im looking forward to test driving it some more, of course there isnt really another option.Lima is exactly as I imagined it to be. Humid and warm, a litle smoggy, lots of noise and insanity on the roadways. As it should be for a heavily populated city in Peru maybe. My impressions to come. Only bad news is there is a mysterious rash on my face that began before I left Philly and is kind of itchy, blotchy and red. I think some weirdo allergic reaction to moisturizer??????? Ill disgust you all by posting photos in a bit so that you can all diagnose it by google images and get back to me. I will try asking for Cortisone cream at the farmacia later on perhaps. So aside from a swollen and itchy face, I have so far experienced no disasterous health issues in 20 hs, lets hope that it continues for the bus trip. Oh, man. Sorry, out of time for now and this is a s____ty keyboard that i have to pound on to get it to type this. Hasta,Jess

The Things I Carried

2006-02-13T19:17:00.000-08:00

Phew, a whirlwind week its been here in my life. Leaving a home base has more intricate details to work out than one initially thinks. If you're going to not be home for a really really long time, what needs taking care of? Bills, taxes, emergency arrangements, health, emailing myself projects to work on... plus the packing. Turns out I need to get an emergency yellow fever vaccine later on today, which is only a surprise because I tricked myself into thinking I had one last year for India. Do'h. Didn't. Just meningitis, polio, hep a and b, malaria, tetanus, and typhoid. If you ever need the yellow fever one, set aside $125 US for it.I was in Boston over the weekend at a special job fair for teachers looking for work at American schools abroad -- turns out to be a whole new world that you just don't know exists until you visit such an event! Teachers making their entire careers out of continent-hopping every 2-6 years. Seems like a wonderful lifestyle, actually. I was offered a job at the American School of Kuwait and the American School Foundation in Mexico City, which I have about 10 more hours to consider. I'd appreciate any feedback from anyone out there as to whether to accept it or not. I'm at 50/50 most of the time. Here's some information to help you with the quiz question. My packing list I think is pretty complete if you want to use it for when you quit your job and travel around (plus, email me really quick if you think I forgot anything!!! Please!!):

1 twin size sheet sleep sack3 pairs of pants1 skirthiking books3 pairs socks9 pairs underwear, 2 brasHygiene kit (containing the usual shampoo, wash, etc.etc.) -- pretty heavy thingTevasiPod and chargercell phone and chargerponchoumbrella2 small cans of deetcopy of the kite runnercopy of Neruda's workssunglassescamera and case and extra memory cards and batteriesplug adaptersheadlamp plus extra battsmini-Spanish dictionaryWerther's originals2 plastic bags4 luggage lockspassport and documents, with holder belt4 tank tops3 long sleeve tops1 light jacket1 light sweater1 sleep pants1 dresssmall medicine kit including vitamins, antibiotics, and malaria med1 compass8 Luna barsi leather journal, 1 70 pg notebook1 Lonely Planet South America on a shoestring guide1 12 oz water bottle1 16 oz virustat water filter1 coloring book and 1 sticker book for the kids20 tea bags for the volunteers... and a partidge in a pear treeeeeeeeeee!

I'm Back Into It

2006-01-23T19:15:00.000-08:00

I am considering this new excursion in my life an experiment on the degree to which it is possible to do exactly what you feel you want to be doing and still support yourself in a sustainable sense. I wasn't fired or anything from my teaching job, contrary to some rumors I hear are going around! (Ha. Although a dark part of me almost likes that scandalous version of the story.) No, I am hiking up my skirt of my own free will and moving in uncharted directions in my life, but following my intuition where it may lead. I'll come around to teaching again in some way in the near future, I'm sure; you can't stay away from things that run in your blood. This jounrney is the result of feeling, as Paulo Coelho has written, that I couldn't live the double life anymore - "in the one life obliged to do things I did not want and fight for ideas in which I did not believe" and "discovering another life in my dreams, in my readings, and in my encounters with people who share my ideas." I'm sure many of you out there can identify at least partially. Finding yourself dying a slow death in meetings you don't care about (did you know there's only around 750,000 hours in the average person's life? Too short for an hour spent at a meeting about when the next meeting will be), starting to believe TV commercials that tell you you need a teeth whitener, noticing your own creativity and passions succumb to passivity of the every day grind, finding yourself lined up like a lemming at 6:15 am in Wawa and envying the coffe counter guy's job, knowing a better way is out there but not able to find where or when that particular train boards. That's me.If you've ever thought of making a dramatic change in your life to follow your heart, this new trip is dedicated to you -- together we'll see whether or not letting your dreams guide you pays off. I just happen to be fortunate enough to be in a circumstance which allows me to conduct this happy experiment -- I know that many are not. Chances are high that my money will run out before I'm physically or mentally spent, but could be the other way around too. In many ways I have found myself feeling envious of my peers who have found such seemingly beautiful contentment in their work, or love, or spiritual lives. My whole life it seems that the young adult development model of 1) college, 2) steady job 3) steady significant other 4) sometimes a graduate degree 5) buying real estate 6) promotions at work 7) maybe some kids, etc. etc. (you get the picture) has been ingrained in me as the probable, normal, and desirable way in which life would unfold. While I have found a profession that I love, people I love, etc. etc., I have not found the same contentment in my work, love, or spiritual lives just yet (although I wouldn't name it so much "discontent" as just perhaps "searching" or "restlessness"; feeling drawn to a different path, I suppose I would say?) I'm not scared, on the contrary, I'm excited to get to live out the further exploration of myself and the world. "There is a bridge that links what I do with what I would like to do.. and slowly, her dreams take over her everyday life, and then she realizes that she is ready for the thing she always wanted. Then, all that is needed is a little daring, and her two lives become one." (Coelho, The Warrior of the Light Manual pg. 90).Now, what do I need to pack for this?

South America Tour - 2006 Started

2006-01-20T19:13:00.000-08:00

PHILADELPHIA: A cold school night this past December, looking for reasons to remain in Philadelphia and trying to ignore the tugging feeling in my stomach that told me to stop doubting myself, my finances, my abilities... I made the command decision to set foot on a new journey. I quit my job. I sublet my apartment. Took 2 bags of clothes to the Salvation Army. Upped my Spanish intake. Researched the travel writers' market. Passport. Shots. Backpack. Layers. Deet. Journal. Boots. Smile. Check. My flight for Lima, Peru takes off on February 14th. So I hope you enjoy following me around the Southern Hemisphere for a spell. I learned last year that your messages and well-wishes and questions are necessary to my travel in ways I cannot express, so check in with me as much as you want.

Peru - Spring 2007

2006-01-03T17:29:00.000-08:00

02-17-2006 - In the belly button itself

Hola from Cusco, a town of about 100,000 that is extremely interesting and beautiful indeed - a bit of a challenge to get here but well worth the transportation struggle. Ill put up some pictures tomorrow evening of all that I speak of here... I left Lima in the afternoon on Wednesday without seeing a whole lot except for some very foggy cliffs onto the ocean, one upscale neighborhood, and some more colorful barrios outside my taxi window. Not the way I usually like to travel for sure, but I was expected in Cusco. My bus ride on a "Cruz de Sur" Imperial bus was different -- I went with a well-reputed company, paying a bit more for it, and was glad I did after the 20 or so hours I was at the bus drivers mercy. Watched 6 movies total and played 1 Bingo game to keep busy. We first went south through Ica and Nazca, which have monstrous sand dunes and not so many people. Five hours later dinner of rice and fried chicken was served on the bus, which 5 hours later was deposited by reverse digestive action into the bathroom toilet (3am, bus wobbling back and forth around hairpin curves as we ascended the Andes). The Himalayan roads have nothing on the route through the Andes. The views out the window as I awoke from my sweaty slumber were spectacular -- lush green mountainsides tiered with crops, small villages dotting the tops of the hills hedging the water flowing at the bottom of valleys. Not such a bad sunrise if I say so myself. I arrived at "Bruce Peru" volunteer organization around noon and was greeted by 2 other Americans, 2 Kiwis, and 1 Walesean, and Milagrosa y Rosasia, two Peruvians that work there as well. A lovely nights sleep was followed by a trip up into the hills to a small one room school for a summer school program that is actually ending next week. Bruce Peru works to enroll children who live in extreme poverty into regular schools. After the summer school ends, one week will be spent literally walking the steets doing some social work in attempt to locate children whose parents will not send them to schools. I have oodles and oodles to learn about the culture and the children, and my Spanish is a definite roadblock to making a lot of progress with that. On Monday Ill begin intensive one on one lessons for 2 hours a day in the afternoon hours, so perhaps that will help! In the fun festivals and curious traditions department, it is the week before Carnival here and apparently the "thing" to do is just run around shooting strangers with water balloons and super soakers. Jejeje. And sometimes foam. It reminds me a bit of my Holi experience in India last March where you are squirted with colors, and I figure this is less picturesque but much better for the laundry situation. In one day of being here, Ive been the victim of 4 or 5 water balloons, some foam, and lots of super soaker ambushes:) Pictures as soon as i can get them. Im sitting here in a tank top and jeans and am perfectly comfortable. Hows February at home?PS Sorry for the blatant lack of apostraphes today. Love to all,Jess

02-21-2006 - Altitude, pub quizzes, and other details

Tuesday afternoon here, and stopping by to put up some pictures and pass on some details about just a few of my impressions and life here, as some of you have already requested. I have lots floating around upstairs but hard to feel inspired when at an open air computer terminal, unfortunately. I have been away for only a week (seems like so much has transacted in such a short time!) and it has taken me this amount of time to get settled in enough to be able to think. Orientation to a new place is a job unto itself and can be exhausting- health, language, layout, people, food, routines... Just got over a bit of a bug from last night, thanks to my antbiotic WMD Ciproflaxen. To be able to reflect and think during this orientation time is really tough and only today has the smoke been seeming to clear in my pea-sized brain. As the picture suggests, I have been eating more meat here than I have in the past two years. At the organization, we get home from school about 1 and the cook has made something brilliant like mashed potatoes and steak, tomato soup, pasta salad, and we eat together. The afternoons and evenings are generally mine for getting lost, napping, reading, and learning spanish, although next week it looks like I will begin teaching adult English classes a few evenings a week. I am in very good shape from all the up hill wandering and not eating ice cream. I spent the afternoon posting flyers, for of all things, a Pub Quiz night being sponsored by our organization tomorrow night at one of the gringo hangouts. The money raised will go towards paying the way for the kids to get into a school and buy the required uniform. There is a thriving nightlife here for peruvians and gringoes alike, and many a volunteer will go out every night until 2 or 3 am dancing. It is certainly an intersting contrast between work at the school in the morning and then the social scene n the evening, and one which I have a good deal of trouble justifying. Ive been out dancing just once, and all that you might think about the men here is true. haha. Life is inexpensive here. The money is called the "sol" (s.) or "soles" (pl.). An hour on the internet will cost you 1 sol, or the equivalent of $0.33 US. Not as cheap as India but Ill take it. A night at a simple but nice hostel, 15 to 30 soles. A liter of Cusqueno (peruvian beer) will run about 10 soles. An alpalca sweater, around 40 soles up to 100. Hope everyone had a descent Presidents Day. I just learned of a transit strike here that will shut down bus and taxi service for the day tomorrow, meaning no school. The workers are protesting the governments actions in attempts to make bus-turck travel safer. Several fatal accidents in the past few weeks have drawn international attention. In lieu of school, I will travel with a friend to parts of the Sacred Valley unexplored... Pisac, Ollantaytambo, Urubamba... and perhaps even taste a G.P. at a local market. All my love,Jess

2-24-06

Friday around noon here and Im just having a CD made of my lastest mishaps and adventures, so after lunch Ill try to post a few although Im assuming it could take a few hours just to upload. Give me til 3.It was the last day of summer school today, so next week I wont be able to work with kids anymore, only try to recruit them for the school year and teach adult english lessons. I cant say I was super attached to any of the children from only seeing them for one week, but I will for sure miss and wonder about what becomes of them.A lot fo my time lately has been spent wondering and missing. Since there was such interest last year about the Toilets of the World, thought Id take a second and catch you up on what youll be in for when you come down to Peru and visit me. Most places in the town have a ¨Western' style toilet, but in the basic houses and in the villages, expect a hole with places to put your feet. The main rule, whatever the style, is NEVER to put any paper in the bowl... only in the trash can provided. Ive forgotten on more than one occasion and sort of pulled a Ben Stiller in Meet the Parents type routine, but so far i havent packed up any pipes. Later,Jess

03-06-2006 - La vida Inka
Hey there to everyone still loyal enough to check back to the site after a few days of nothing much happening on here! I apologize for disappearing without having time to update. Lots has been transpiring here in the southern hemisphere for sure. I returned last night from a 4 day hike on the Inca Trail, which terminated at Machupiccu on Saturday. We left Wednesday morning, walking up and into the Andes, winding our way through cloud forest, river, mountain, hill, and many an Incan archaeological site -- each one more impresisve than the last. I took off with some people I've met up with here, through an agency that arranges the passes for the trail and provides a guide... as well as many Peruvian porters to lug your camping gear and food up the mountain side. They literally carry everything from marmelade for your toast in the morning to a portable toilet, as mandated (I think) for the trail by the government. The closest experience I've ever had to having a personal servant. I can't say enough about the scenery and vegetation along the trail -- my favorite was definetely the vast array of wild flowers, trees, orchids, etc. etc. , the viewing of which almost made me want to pursue a new career in botany. The weather was just as varied, from sunny and hot to snow to rain to fog. If you're coming down this way and feel like getting some exercise, I'd highly recommend it. Pictures to come, of course. Tomorrow, most likely. As for me, I'm now back in Cusco mode... kind of home away from home for the next two weeks or so. I'm overwhelmed by all that I feel I need to think about and learn while I am here. This morning was spent combing the far-off hills obove the town for chicos who are unable top enroll in the Peruvian school system. We climbed and climbed into the hills and managed to find 8 or 9 kids aged 5-15 who are not being sent, for economic reasons, to school. The kicker is that it only costs around 35 soles ($10 US) to enroll one for the year. If you think my heart isn't breaking up there when I put my hand in my pocket and feel those paper bills in my pocket, well... The organization's strategy is to collect the unmatriculated population and create a school that it runs itself. They have also tried coaxing some of the regular schools to accept one or two exceptional students, but this usually involves agreeing to favors such as fixing the school's toilets or painting the classrooms. Aye mi.4 volunteers, including the social worker, depart today, leaving three of us to remain and find more children. Just getting ready this afternoon to go to my spanish lesson and then to teach an english lesson... (¡Yo penso que mi español esta mejor cada dia!).Even here after quitting the job and moving away, funny how I still find myself wanting more opportunity to sit and write and think, but who can complain.

03-12-2006 - Winding down
Hola, que tal? A quick post to say hi. It's Sunday here in Cusco after my breakfast of a three egg omlette and real coffee -- quite a treat to get real coffee down here since it seems most of the good stuff is shipped up north. It's an ordeal getting decent chocolate too, believe it or not. Foods I missReal butter (not margarine)maple syruphoagieswhole grain breadgood pastafresh lettuce I can eatwhipped creamIm in the midst of writing up some thoughts on Peru so far, so I'll post it here in a day or so when it's ready.

03-16-2006 - St. Patty's Day Arequipa Style
Another saint pat's day spent internationally but not in Ireland. I believe last year I remember writing a warm and sandy entry in my bikini from the beaches of Goa,India. Today I'm layered and suited up in an unseasonably damp city in Peru called Arequipa, famous for colonial architecture, condors, Colca Canyon, and volcanoes. After 30 hours of being awake,I finally made it here,the 'white city' of south america. I got in to the bus termninal at 5:30 am in the dark, collected my stuff, dodged alpaca beer bottle opener sellers and the scamming taxi drivers and made it to a Spanish colonial-style hotel with a double bed that costs around 5 bucks a night. It's foggy and rainy here, which made an interesting white-knuckle bus drive here,and a quiet afternoon of napping, doner kebab (turkey!) eating, and strolling. My big purchase was a new pen from a stationary store. I looked half-heartedly for the famed Juanita the frozen Incan princess, displayed at one of the many museums here, but havent determined which museum yet. Tomorrow I'm slated to go rafting down the chile river for a stint with kayakers i met when in cusco. Jess floating down a class 3 or 4 rapid will be interesting and you can bet ill be clinging to my lifevest most of the time and not actually pitching in to paddle. More soon.Love,Jess

03-18-2006 - Alive and well after being carjacked/kidknapped and rafting celebration
Seems yesterday's entry after arriving safe and sound to the White City may have been a little premature? Had the surprise and scare of my life yesterday when another traveller and myself jumped in a taxi outside my hostel en route to catch a sushi dinner at about 7:20 last night(sushi in peru? mistake #1 perhaps???). We started heading the wrong way down the road and I had one of those gut instinct feelings that something may have been amiss. About 5 minutes down the road the cabbie stopped in the middle of a busy overpass bridge and we were attacked by 4 men who jumped into the car, one on top of each of us and two in the front I believe. There was a lot of screaming on everyone's part, theirs out of an attempt to gag us and ours out of fear and surprise. The two of us were blindfolded with gasoline-soaked rags and padded down for anything on us of any value. On the 20 minute or so ride, you can imagine things that were running though my head -- things of survival, of life, of fear, of Spanish, and intermittent calm like that of a lamb to the slaughter I suppose, of not being able to do anything about the terrifying situation in which I found myself. In the end, I had my debit card, camera, gold ring, 2 hair barrettes, my new pen, and about $7.00 US taken from my body, of which, for whatever reason, they returned to me my camera. They drove us out to we-don't-know-where to wait parked in a garage while 2 of the guys used the credit cards. I sat in the back seat with the smallest of the jackers on my lapas he padded me down in further searches, checking in all the imaginable places for hidden valuables. There we sat for an hour , unable to breathe anything besides the gasoline-soaked rag covering my face, hardly able to understand their slang-laden spanish (and not able to think that clearly). Lots of things flashing around in my head despite the silence in which I sat. Around 8:30 or so the two in the front jumped back in, gave us some cab fare to find our way back home, and we drove to a dark neighborhood where they instructed us to get out and walk away after un-blindfoldeding us, strictly informing us not to look back.. or... I dont know. Needless to say the rest of the night was spent cleaning up credit card messes and trying to regain any sense of composure or security at all, without much sleep on my part. Unexpected things happen on travels, and today I'm chalking it up to one of those things. Another way the universe is trying to tell me to trust my insticts and follow the signs. As always I feel wiser, and even stronger for getting though it okay. I wasnt hurt in any bodily way and as far as I could tell there were no weapons, thank goodness. For anyone looking for a good back, Wachovia seems to be on top of the security and fraud issues, calling my home number even as the attack was being carried out to ask what was going on with my account. I switched hostels today to feel a bit more secure in that they knew where I lived. To celebrate life I decided to still go white water rafting on the chile river this morning with the kayakers I met, it being a good (and free) opportunity, and was determined to have a good time, which it definitely was. Perhaps pictures of me on the rapids to come soon. No pic of the jacking.Much love to everyone and much gratitude,Jess

03-22-2006 - La lluvia cae
Hello to everyone and thank you for all your warm thoughts and concern -- I am absolutely fine, and not coming home before Im scheduled to, etc., etc., and no, I dont think that carrying a knife actually would make me safer. It has defintely been an emotionally trying few days down here on this leg, now staying in Arequipa only to do errand-y type business and getting a bit restless to move on, quite frankly. Tomorrow the journey will include a 6 hr bus to Puno, Peru, then on across the Bolivian border to a town on the edge of Lake Titicaca called Copacabana. I am trying to pack tonight and Im at that point in a trip where you wish you had nothing much to carry at all and start to wonder if you really need more than 4 pairs of underwear, your toothbrush and the clothes that youre in. I just got back from a nice long swim in a country club-esque facility here built for very rich Ariquipenans and feel relaxed, if wet. The swimteam was practicing and kicking my but down the lanes, and I felt almost like I was at home. It is rainy here every day in the afternoons, and the most important item on that initial pack list has turned out to be my plastic rain coat. The clouds have unfortunately been too think to actually get a good glimpse of the active Volcan Misti, which towers (or so I see in pictures) over the city. Streets flood. Laundry stays damp. Bob Marley is playing over a fuzzy speaker (could this be love???) and taxis and minivans, filled over capacity with commuters headed home, splash torrents of street water up onto the window in back of me. Again, thanks for all of your concerns and messages. I am taking as many precautions as I can and keep you all in my thoughts. Pictures soonLove,Jess

Pink Petals, Bloody Hands

2005-08-01T19:40:00.000-07:00

I got to the Peace Park in Hiroshima on a rainy April day, gray and misty spring weather made distinctly Japanese by pink bouquets of cherry blossoms bursting out of their buds all along the Ota river. I had gotten off the shinkansen at Hiroshima alone, all my belongings on my back, and eager to walk the three or so miles to my youth hostel (who can afford anything else when you’re paying in yen?).
I am a high school history teacher, and was of course aware of the enormous significance of the city in modern history and was looking forward to soaking up all the history I could stand. I traveled alone and on a whim on the last day of a seven-day rail pass. Little did I know that the day would forever alter my thinking about myself and about my life in the United States.
The travel blog for Hiroshima sat blank for days after departure out of Osaka even as I sat in a new hostel in Istanbul: I simply could not come up with the words that would convey the grief and confusion that the city conjured in me – much more grave a feeling, even, than a visit to Ground Zero or even to Dachau.
Today, Hiroshima is an entirely modern city: It teems with young people, bustles with businesspeople, glows with neon lights perched high over a huge outdoor shopping arcade… restaurants buzz, life just bubbles.
The bomb exploded 60 years ago directly above what is now the Peace Park, which contains several memorials, a museum, and the A-Bomb Dome, which all spread out tranquilly along the Ota.
I walked through the flowering, grassy park in my clear plastic poncho, on the sacred ground were 150,000 civilians met their deaths and many more were poisoned for life. I tried to rationalize the murders with the American history textbook versions… ended the war… necessary use of force…saved even more lives than it took… But all I felt was guilt.
I viewed the shreds of bloody clothing and body parts of some of the victims that weren’t instantly vaporized by heat. The pacifist in me could not help but view the footage of post-bomb desolation as an act of terrorism. All I could ask was “why?”
I stood at the fence of the gnarled and twisted A-Bomb dome the granddaughter of a World War II veteran who shook her fist angrily at the German descendant in me. The nurturing future-mother in me shed tears for the vaporization of innocent schoolchildren and their mothers -- who the U.S. might now label “collateral damage” if played out today.
But the American citizen in me wanted to escape responsibility of indescribable cruelty inflicted by the press of a button.
Half a world away at home in the states, I didn’t have to face my past, my responsibility for it, or my stake in it. But there, with my eyes connecting with the citizens of Hiroshima and my feet connecting to the ground that became the graveyard for their families, I wasn’t left with a choice. I wanted to be Canadian then, if that would have absolved me of responsibility. I wanted to be written out of the part of history where my president makes a call and peoples’ burnt dead skin melts off and their city disappears. But the blood is on my hands for Hiroshima as it is today in Iraq, whether I like it or not. The collateral damage we Americans are so good at overlooking, turns out, is still in fact damage.
Half a world away now and 60 years later, it is easy to feel like the hero of the free world. Forever victorious over Japan. Our leaders were venerated. Our boys sent home. Japan was rebuilt. But on that cherry blossom rainy day in Hiroshima, I just wanted to be Canadian.
Jessica Tuerk, a teacher and freelance writer from Philadelphia, PA, travels the world as much as she can get away with.

Tuerkalicious's World Tour Travel Blog

2005-06-01T19:11:00.000-07:00

Access to my photos and journals from January 2004-June 2004 can still be seen at:
http://www.mytripjournal.com/tuerk2005

Enjoy!

Spain - Spring 2005

2005-05-20T17:30:00.000-07:00

http://www.mytripjournal.com/tuerk2005

Bulgaria

2005-03-05T00:50:00.000-08:00

http://www.mytripjournal.com/tuerk2005

Turkey - Spring 2005

2005-03-03T00:51:00.000-08:00

http://www.mytripjournal.com/tuerk2005

India - Spring 2005

2005-02-02T17:29:00.000-08:00

http://www.mytripjournal.com/tuerk2005