inside the frame

...and what will Haiti look like tomorrow?

2010-02-15T17:43:00.001-05:00

Bay of Cayes near Ile-a-Vache, Haiti. 2007

Yangtze River Valley Tradition

2009-10-27T11:44:00.003-04:00

Reed Sandals, July 2009.

Shot outside an old house in the Yangtze River Valley in CheXi, Hubei Province, China.

suggestions for a lively October 25 (thinking ahead):

2009-10-21T10:56:00.006-04:00

Find a chocolate festival. Preferably in Europe (you know, if you're there). Walk around. See the sights. Maybe sample some chocolate.

Perugia, Italy. Chocolate Festival. October, 2008.

One of the charming things about Italy is that each little town has a unique personality. Everyday practices, from what sort of food people eat to more seasonal customs, such as when festivals blow through town or the details of religious processions, find their roots deep in history. Witnessing these in a smaller community opens a different country than many visitors encounter when experience "Rome," (though this, undeniably, is Italy too).

Haitian girl learning to walk

2009-10-19T18:12:00.006-04:00

Haitian girl. Ile-a-Vache, Haiti, 2007

Reality in one of the poorest corners of Haiti: if you are born with a physical disability your parents likely won't be able to care for you. Abandoned by her parents, this little girl is in the loving care of a nun (Sr. Flora) who runs an orphanage for the severely disabled. One day she may be able to walk on her own.

My reasoning to post this photograph now was quite purposeful. One of the most frequent Google searches that drives people to my blog is evidently, "Haitian girls." I don't know the motivation behind these searches but I lived long enough in Haiti not to ask. Still, one can hope, the searches are well intentioned.

Francesa, sea breeze child

2009-10-17T14:47:00.006-04:00

Bald Head Island, North Carolina, 2007

It's been pouring and unseasonably cold in DC for the last few days. This photograph is like a breath of fresh, warm air. I need one! So I thought I'd share it with you too.

website update & fix

2009-10-15T16:01:00.002-04:00

I noticed a lot of traffic to my blog was coming through my website (relatively speaking) so I finished some of the updates I have been meaning to make to it. However, I realized after posting the changes that some of the links on the "menu" need to be fixed and that there are some compatibility issues with Windows operating systems. I am working on these! Sorry for the trouble...

And, by the way, if you have feed back on anything, do not hesitate to contact me.

Andalucía to lose your heart

2009-10-13T18:25:00.008-04:00

Door.* Barrio Albycín, Granada, Spain, 2009

In 2004, with minimal knowledge of Spanish, a carry-on bag and a small digital camera, I moved to Granada, Spain... and fell in love. Passion, mystery, effervescence, and sensuality intoxicated me, drew me in. I departed in tears a couple of months later with a copy of Cervantes short stories open in my lap (perhaps reading "La Gitana;" my Spanish had come a long way), determined to dedicate entire courses to learning about (Islamic) Spain during my last year of college.

In retrospect, I attribute part of my ability to engross myself in life in Granada, Summer 2004 to leaving technology and related trappings behind. As any shutter-bug will tell you, photographing life often means not taking part in it; and (painfully) I'd left my SLR behind that summer. Additionally, living alone with out a computer, Internet, television means you get out there. Meet people. It changes the rules of the game (back to the way they were). That one summer, I pretended - I lived - as though I were a "granadina." And - gasp - I learned Spanish really quickly.

Did I mention, too, that I fell in love with the place? That I learned every little pretty nook and best deal tapas place? That I had my favorite bars, cafes, churches, walks... and some good friends too. And I was there for about 8 weeks.

Sometimes your memory plays tricks. But to my delight, when I returned in 2009, even in the drearier winter months, my memories of beloved Andalucía proved true. On this most recent visit, I brought my camera. So finally I can share more about one of my favorite places.

*The door pictured is very typical of the Arab neighborhood that sits on a hill faces the famous Alhambra: the Barrio Albycín. The barrio itself is as magnificent in many ways as the old Moorish castle: beautiful to explore by day, mysterious to walk by night (with a friend). It's filled with wonderful charms around every corner, like this door: Doesn't it make you wonder what's inside? The metal workmanship - intricate and very typical of the southern Spanish region - at once seems to welcome the onlooker and yet firmly prohibits you from coming farther. It is just one of many subtle tributes to the coalescing Islamic and Christian cultures of southern Spain. Note, too, the green trim around the door as it contrasts with the bright Andalusian reds of the brick.

Tourism in China: Wish you were here!

2009-10-08T17:06:00.014-04:00

Huangguoshu Waterfall, Guizhou Provice, China

At first, this photograph is about two things: aesthetics and a darn good back story. The massive waterfall (largest in Asia) in the background contrasts dramatically with the antics happening in the foreground. This combined with the vibrant colors really draw the observer into the scene (click the photo to see a larger version). Too, at a cursory glance, these folks seem like part of a show. But upon closer inspection (check out the man's pressed trousers and glasses), it's clear they are probably someone's grandparents - tourists! - horsing around in rent-able traditional garb.

Most importantly, (and this is why it's one of my favorites photographs) this photograph reveals some interesting characteristics about China that in the face of tire-tariffs and a weak dollar (well, even before that, let's face it) we neglect. It hints at a natural grandeur and beauty impossible to to imagine. At the same time, it expresses something intimate: a silly element to an older couple's sense of humor. I would venture to say I experienced this sort of refreshing joviality in my interactions with people throughout the country - this willingness to act goofy or make jokes at the expense of one's self for a laugh.

Importantly, the photo also gives a peep the thriving internal market for tourism, which includes path-side vendors who rent period costumes in which tourists can be photographed. (In addition to Ming-style grannies, I saw silk-robed teens and all manner of anachronistic ridiculousness... all over the place). However, in July on a Friday, hundreds of Chinese visited this waterfall; I didn't see any Westerners. China, despite its welcome capitalist market and vast offerings in the trade world (sure, it'll take our $ for investment and manufacturing) has yet to really profit from basic tourism. Yes, despite the Beijing Olympics.

The proof is in the pudding (no, not in a statistic put out by the People's Republic): try to find a postcard in Shanghai. I dare you. (And this with the World Expo 2010 coming up). All I'm saying is that someone's missing out...

**To read about my visit to Guizhou, see Wild Wild West of China. To check out links for tourism in Guizhou, go to China Tourist Maps and click GuiZhou. To be wowed by China's nature offering, check out BBC's documentary "Wild China" (awesome) at Amazon.

Divine Tuscan Hilltop Family Chaos

2009-08-14T13:30:00.004-04:00

“You…” she points at her watch “pasta…” she points at the boiling pot of water containing the pasta “seis.” She smiles gently at me. “Ok?” “Ok,” I respond. Holding up six fingers, “Ho capito.” I understand. And I mark the time on my watch, determined to get this right. Then the marchesa bursts through the kitchen door, with her arms in the air, saying in Italian and Hungarian “Oh, carina… il cafe. My coffee.”

She places herself at the unfinished kitchen island and pops a slender cigarette in her mouth. The cloth-covered stuffed tomatoes offer a brief distraction before she lights her cigarette and tastes from her demitasse. She heaves a sigh, welcoming the respite from two hours of cooking in the now sweltering but deliciously aromatic kitchen.

Then the piccolo principe - only two, blond, with round eyes of blue - wakes up. His mother comes in to fetch him. And the marchese, his Nono, follows suit. The family hovers about this child, and not without cause, for he charms the way he says “O, Dio,” and “O, Mama,” corks wine bottles, makes up little songs, and laughs easily and often. Nono and Nona both tend to his afternoon snack, and the soft-spoken Hungarian cousin to a meat dish. The whole scene distracts me completely and I forget the time for the pasta.

Suddenly, bubbling from the stove reminds the marchesa and she cries, “The pasta!” Her cousin turns, looks at me guiltily. I say “culpa mia, culpa mia,” immediately, which is really quite a shame since the marchesa had just been singing my praises about what a help I was. Oops. I smile shyly and look at the cousin. She looks back at me, smiles and shrugs. The marchesa grumbles and resumes other kitchen activities, ignoring the pasta fiasco. Her cousin begins to dress the slightly soggy noodles with a poppy-seed paste, lemon zest and sugar. “Ok,” she whispers, smiling. “Ok.” And hands me a bow-tie for tasting. Ok, indeed. Just fine.

Soon, the wind of chaos blows in again. A servant goes to bring coffee to someone. “Vai!” “Dove?” “Come?” “Con questo! Dai” “Grazie.” “Ok!” Then someone gets a new idea. Moving something... “Can’t be done that way!” “Come?” Workmen shuffle around. “Cose?” “Perque!” And then dust settles again.

Chatting resumes over what little remains to be done in the kitchen. At this point I just sit. But nothing will budge me from my spot. Perhaps they will tell me to move more tomatoes or salt something. The marchesa tells me I do not have to help in the kitchen, if there is something else I would like to do. But I say I like to. What else will I do? What I have been doing the last two weeks: reading, writing, yoga, etc.? Anyway, it makes me feel useful. And less far from my own family. “Ah,” she replies. “Yes, that’s good. But also your family must be less chaotic.”

“Oh, noooo.” I smile. And explain my part Irish, part Italian, all Catholic family, with four of us growing up, fifteen cousins and dozens of second and third cousins. Divine chaos, divine, divine chaos defines our family get-togethers. Perhaps that is the energy of good families. Chaos and love.

These are the afternoon activities of a family at a (not-quite-finished) hilltop, Tuscan villa. And here I am, a part of it all. Why am I here? The paterfamilias has enlisted me to help improve his English. This we do when he can be spared from playing with his child, talking to his wife (the most beautiful 8-month pregnant woman I have ever seen), supervising construction , rounding up friends for a jetski outing or dinner party, watering his grass, hunting, or blackberrying or… well, eating. The latter takes a great deal of time; life revolves around it, understandably, as this is bella Italia.

This afternoon for lunch, we all sat “inside” to eat. The villa, built Roman style but to gigantic scale, has two cavernous rooms with yet unfinished fireplaces and still open, stable-like doors. The breeze blows in, but the wasps – a major problem just now – do not. So there we dined on meat and tomatoes, cucumber, and fried potatoes. To finish we had fresh peaches and grapes and some leftover tart. A little coffee, too.

When the piccolo principe went for a nap, quite a tiring afternoon playing in the baby pool, chasing cats and dogs, running from wasps, rolling about with Nono and Nona, the mater and paterfamilias and the Noni relaxed for a few moments on the couches at the gigantic room’s entrance, from where one can see a nearly complete panorama of the Tuscan hills. The gentle cousin made her way to her room in search of lighter clothing for a little sun bathing.

Only a few breaths went by, and familiar chaos began again. “Where is the mattress of the guest?” “The cupboard is in the wrong place.” “I have to watch him fix the closets, O, Dio!” “Senti, amore, what are we going to eat tonight?” And within a blink I found myself seated alone with the marchese, as he finished his pipe (he had not yet been called away, though his time came within moments), chatting about language.

I like this Calabria born man, with his bright blue eyes and his great patience. Last night, some fireworks surprised us all after dinner. We watched, from above, in silence. During the grand finale, the marchese remarked, “Ah, the grand finale. Il strazia bracchi.” “The what?” I asked, wanting to know the word in Italian. He smiled, a little embarrassed, “it’s the Neapolitan for ‘grand finale.’ ‘Strazia bracchi.’ It means… ‘strazia,’ break. ‘bracchi,’ the underwear.” He laughed. “It’s slang. From Naples.”

Into..... Civilization and the City of Lights

2009-08-13T08:32:00.001-04:00

In just 8 or 9 relatively short hours by plane, I went from the capital of China to the capital of France. The world's fastest train carried me a whizzing 431km/h to the Shanghai airport from whence a plane zipped me to Beijing. From there, and without further adieu, another plane dropped me ahead of schedule at (the loathed) CDG airport in Paris.

Once in Paris, well, I queued for a half hour to buy a ticket of equal cost to the super-fast Maglev train for the RER train that took five times as long and was filled with gypsies and graffiti. Ah, back to civilization.

Of course, I had to transfer trains too. And with my two carry-ons and my 50-lbs rolling bag, that was no small task. As always and even with explicit directions, the RER system confounded me, as I went down the wrong platform and up again to find the right one, only to discover I couldn't go down again without going up yet again. A pleasant looking security man with a mean looking German Shepard took pity on me, or perhaps it was that my tear-swollen eyes and and the sweat rolling down my temples, and told me to follow him when I asked, in a trembling voice, (gimme a break, it was already past midnight, China time), how the (HELL) I to get down to the other platform.

I have to imagine we made a mad scene, me in my hat and my three bags and him with his vicious K-9 in its studded, black leather muzzle. He chatted away in Parisian slang and I "oui-ed" along until we landed where I needed to be. One stop and many sketchy looking folk later and I found myself on Haussman Blvd at an overpriced cafe, having wine with a French screenplay writer I'd met several months before.

Paris may have lovely weather in the summertime but it sure brings out the freaks. This was all new to me... I am a Paris-by-summer-virgin (or was). As I waited for my brother, sipping a cafe and pouring over J D Salinger's short stories, I ignored the street insanity before me like a professional (as it doesn't differ much from the usual Bologna scene, to which a year of living had me quite accustomed).

When finally my brother arrived (late plane from Italy where things run less efficiently than they do in China), we had a glass of wine and a midnight, sidewalk dinner of Steak Frites and Salade Poulet. Have you ever noticed that the French like to sit like sardines, all lined up along the sidewalk, so as to best people-watch? It quite differs from the manner in which the Chinese sit grouped around the largest tables they can find (2-3 people to a 5-10 top table) in wide spaces like courtyards or parks.

The next day my littlest broski - as he likes to refer to himself in emails to me - and I did a speed version of our favorite sort of Paris visit together. Food, shopping, sightseeing, coffee, sightseeing, wine, shopping, sightseeing, food, wine, food. Oh, and chatting chatting chatting. As he was oriented in the 8th, we made our way toward the 5th and 6th to begin our day. At one point, during haircuts, I described my desire to learn to pincurl my hair and my brother pointed out that he always learns pointless girl trivia while hanging out with me. I pointed out that that was, in fact, what sisters were for. And, likewise, that he served perfectly for feeding me rich philosophical and historical trivia, thank you very much, and making me sound much more intelligent than I might otherwise. (Turns out his trivia came in very handy later during some dinner parties in Tuscany, making me sound very educated indeed).

Later in the day, I learned that Napoleon had his own entrance at the opera, big enough for him to ride in astride a horse.

In the evening, we lost ourselves in the lovely shops of the 6th and a cozy little wine shop that must have had a very different atmosphere when, centuries (years) ago, artists and philosophers sat about and sucked at their Gauloise, creating a foggy, aromatic haze in the rafters. When we finally wandered back to the apartment little broski called home temporarily, hunger had turn us both into evil versions of ourselves so that any dinner planning became impossible until we remembered the cheese and champagne we'd procured to assuage our low-blood sugar afflictions.

Somehow, later, we found ourselves seated in a fancy little place in the 5th, decor recalled the 1920s - or maybe a little earlier - with mirrors and metal molding everywhere. We feasted on snails, pate, suckling pig and roast duck. For desert we shared a creme brulee. The waiter fancied my brother a bit (lovely eyes, he told him) so after we polishing off our drinks and paying we ducked out before anyone got any ideas... The rain dampened our plans to find dancing or ride the big ferris wheel and watch the lights.

In the morning brunch was delicious but became quickly painful as the waiter took a seemingly pointless lunch break in the middle of serving our table and couldn't be budged to get our check. Clock ticking... plane to catch. When finally a taxi dropped me at Orly, I joined the already impossibly long line for my discount flight to Italy. Merci beacoup, French attitudes about serving tables. But the flight was delayed any how. So I guess I can thank French attitudes about timeliness for it not mattering in the end anyhow.

I made it to Italy, late. And it was hot when I got there. And, I should point out, it was August 1: The beginning of holidays in Europe. So let me lend some advice: if you do not speak Italian, this is not the day to land in Italy. As I rushed to make a late bus and make the last regional train going to a tiny town north of Rome, I never would have known what to do if I hadn't been able to ask quickly in Italian and understand the response. Everything was crowded and running late. Back in the developed world!

I arrived in fine form, sweating and stressed, for my first day on the job as an English teacher in the rolling coastal hills of southern Tuscany.

China in Sum, if I may

2009-08-11T09:38:00.010-04:00

One of China's most remarkable qualities is its ability to produce endless contradictions. It contains some of the poorest regions of the world and has been home to some of its greatest disasters (the Sichuan Earthquake 2008) and conflicts (Tibet, the recent terrorist attacks in the western provinces, decades past massacres and genocides). It also houses a great part of the world's factories now and has proven enormous economic success in the last couple decades. It possesses great expanses of mountains and deserts, cold and hot, camels and pandas, giant cities and humble rice villages. There exist delicate and ancient secrets buried deep in gorges, beneath tropical foliage and craggy rocks. The most sophisticated of technologies carry passengers on the world's fastest train from one of the world's largest cities to an enormous international airport at 431 km/h while the same city's streets teem with bikes and rickshaws.

The Chinese government is one of the most closed and secretive in the world. But the people and the culture are open and warm. There exists a dual inclination to obey, to a degree, the regulations set out by the government and also to evade them. The system may be socialist but yet the machine at work supports one of the strongest capitalist systems in the world.

As I sit and try to compose thoughts about my days in China, I find the task I rather overwhelming one. The hospitality shown me by my friends and those I encountered in different cities around China touched me deeply. One friend drove with me, though I had a driver to take me, all two and half hours to the airport in Wuhan, stayed for lunch, and saw me off through security, waving all the way. He showed me the honor one would to a dear friend - only having known me ten short days. Another friend insisted upon shipping all my purchases back to my apartment for me by DHL so I wouldn't have to carry them with me through the rest of my travels. Yet another took me to dine an Italian restaurant, thinking I might miss the food I loved so much.

No longer in China, I find myself constantly confronting those misconceptions about the Chinese I myself once also held: They are truly a diverse, interested and interesting people and, in my opinion, some of the most generous.

I also met Americans and Europeans on my travels. People who, like me, had found their way to China in search of something - be it a job, money, love, adventure, themselves, the next step, mystery... Some of these people were profoundly interesting. Some, not so much. I chatted with people working in hotel design (a hot business), marketing, environment, oil drilling, English teaching, economic development, finance, banking, and TV. Sometimes I met people who came just to visit (few yet).

No doubt, the economic crisis can be felt in China too. People talk about it - as they do everywhere - but here, unlike in the US, the government has taken the unlikely opportunity to use money usually invested abroad for heretofore neglected domestic projects. For a country with a 50-60% savings rate, too high, really, for a developing country and high even compared to developed countries, this comes as a disguised blessing. New construction is everywhere - and this time not on factories and high-rises - but on roads, bridges and other necessary infrastructure. Could the financial collapse of 2008 bring a better quality of life to the common Chinese person? It's possible...

At this point, while sitting on a cushion in southern Tuscany, I want to conclude with some thoughts (in accord, I think, with the opinions of one James Fallows, who I have mentioned before and whose book, "Postcards from Tomorrow Square," I recently finished and immensely enjoyed): It is evident from spending but 4 weeks in the Republic of China that a strong economic and political future for the US will necessitate a strong relationship on every level with China. This includes more visas for students and teachers, better attempts at understanding the motive of our neighbors across the Pacific and more openness and willingness to shift our own policies toward them. China is strong but it is not "there yet." Links may be made that will become strong bonds. China and America have more in common than not what is not might be yet change. For now, the Chinese seem to have a deep curiosity and, for now, respect for the US. That is something we should not disregard lightly.

Shang Hai on Life

2009-08-10T04:54:00.009-04:00

A visitor spending time alone in big cities like New York, Paris, Berlin, and Shanghai might compare a bit to a kid standing just outside the display window of a great toy store - like NYC's FAO Schwartz - or wandering around the aisles, but without permission to play with any toys.

The city sparkles and entices and a while a lonely, short term visitor can participate in sightseeing, shopping, eating or pampering activities, she cannot expect to truly engage in what makes the city sparkle, glitter and "go." Nonetheless, with the right sort of attitude, one might derive a great deal of pleasure from simply gazing from the outside, so to speak, and taking in the delicious sights and sounds and tastes of the Shanghai toy store.

So, Friday night I dined Italian style with some Chinese friends at a restaurant run by a Shanghainese woman who lived 30 years in Milan and spoke lovely, lilting Italian and whose food, really, was as good as one can expect for Italian food halfway across the world. Afterward we went to see Harry Potter. This time, my movie viewing experience was in English, since unlike Transformers 2, I'd been anticipating this flick for about a year or so.

The stunning and (excuse me for judging, I love the Harry Potter movies) annoying cultural revelation I made that night that everyone seems to whip out the mobile devices more at movies than any time else - more so than while driving, on the subway, walking, standing on the street corner looking bored. Oooo... glowing lights..... There is just something, I suppose, about a dark movie theater, particularly one in which occurs the fantastically exhilarating climax that determines the fate of one Mr. Potter. Between the rattling of candy bags and flicking iridescent lights across the dark room... well, you get the point.

The next day I thought I'd brave the Bund alone. If you've been following, you'll known that I dined there my first weekend in Shanghai, and so it seemed an appropriate place to close my China chapters. After weeks of planned (though delightful) outings with my Chinese friends, the silent hours of aimless wandering was pleasant change.

By day the Bund reminded me of 5th Ave. NYC with a river-side Central Park directly across the street (though it's completely under construction in preparation for the 2010 World Expo). As I walked along the wide sidewalk, passing Armani, Dolce Gabbana, Gold Exchanges, Development Banks, shouting rickshaw drivers, laughing tourists (mostly Chinese, though the odd Westerner too), buses, and vendors, the wind blew and the sky shined a brilliant blue and I recalled the city's birth in the Opium Trade and comeback when the Shanghai Stock exchange reopened and international traders and businesses moved back in the last few decades.

Doubt ye not Shanghai's glory.

The shopping in this quarter too rich for my wallet, I simply made my way all the way down the promenade for a better view of the Oriental Pearl on lovely bridge. There I joined the cluster of tourists to take photos on the unlikely clear Shanghainese summer day.

In the evening I made my way to the French Concession for a two hour acro-yoga, ashtanga session during which I had my proverbial butt kicked by a tattooed, pony-tailed, American expat yogi. Afterward, some ladies from the class recommended a nice mani/pedi salon that in turn recommended a nice massage parlor where I enjoyed a deep tissue massage while my nails dried. Within a few hours my body had forgotten all about the twisted handstands I'd attempted.

The French Concession has been historically and still is where most ex-patriots prefer to live in Shanghai. It is asthetically the most pleasing area of the city, lower buildings, festooned with parks, and has the longest stretch of Art Deco buildings in the world. The latter comes as a bit of a shock, considering it is also the area where the Communist Government of China made its first gain in the '20s, hence the name of the neighborhood (which doesn't exist in Chinese), the "Concession." Truly, the neighborhood defies square block construction and faded, unimaginative architectual design the country's image projects.

Reflective of a great, growing, bold international city with vast professional opportunities, the ex-pat scene in China is young, bright, beautiful, and intense. Forget NYC, Paris, or San Fran. If you want to go somewhere to live life and make money, go to Shanghai where there's money to be made in just about every field, the night life is hopping, the people are pretty, and seem - from what I could tell - rather whip smart, too. Clubs are clubs, but as clubs go - the ones I saw had fantastic live bands, free champange for the females on ladies' night, a cleanc crowd, open spaces, great DJ's, weird add-ons like outdoor pools and seemily effective bouncers (but then, Shanghai's a pretty safe city too). Like all ex-pat scenes, one notices the darker underbelly of life abroad - local girls skanking out to expat guys, a touch of hedonism amongst the expats, and other behavior that goes along with these themes.

When out and about, one cannot help but learn a great deal about the Shanghainese life and culture - or at least a corner of it. And I think I did. But far be it for this lowly wanderer to claim intimate knowledge of a city quadruple the size of New York City with less than two weeks under her belt. Nonetheless, I can testify that the subway system is one of the best in world - if not the best, some Shanghainese do, in fact, wear their PJs on the streets, that there's a major fad in Shanghai - and throughout China - surrounding SMSing, mobile games and anything else on a little LCD lit screen. Ah, the Wonders of communication technology. I can also tell you that the city's booming and, economic slump and population problems aside, the 10s of millions of people-large city seems on the up and up in a big way.

If you have time, check out the 2010 Shanghai Expo... "Better City, Better Life" (one day). When out in this big city for a short period, there's no fun to be had if you just go out and have it. But after a couple weeks there, one does have the impression that to get into the gears of the city, much more time is needed.

Shanghai Daze Dog Night

2009-08-07T05:17:00.002-04:00

As celestial events go, a full solar eclipse ranks as one of the most miraculous, most awesome and maybe - at times in history and in some places on the planet still - most fearsome. This July, from along a thin strip of southeast Asia and the Pacific Rim islands, appeared the longest solar eclipse of nearly the next half millennium. One of the best places from which to view this event was Shanghai -- geographically, though not necessarily meteorically speaking.

It rains in Shanghai in the summer. It rains. Buckets.

When I woke in the morning around 6am, the sun was visible in the sky but dark ominous cloud loomed behind it. Rather than curse my stupidity for leaving Jingzhou, where the weather was clear and lovely but a day early, I decided to pray. By my figuring, God's almighty and thus shouldn't offhandedly dismiss a prayer to see such a great event as a full, 10-minute solar eclipse. A once in a life time thing.. right? So, I didn't even ask Him for the full deal. "Just a gilpse, please. That's all I ask." Thinking my humility might be rewarded with, maybe, some magnanimity...

The Hua Ting Towers had become a home, if I had any place to call "home" in China, as I spent more nights there than any other place (about two weeks in all). I headed for the now familiar 5-star breakfast buffet and entered the massive dining room (to my mind, mini replica UN cafeteria) filled with squeaking tourists and businessmen from all corners of the planet, sucking noodles, slurping coffee, smoking cigarettes, and guffawing loudly. I swear the hostesses conspired against me daily, because I inevitably found myself cornered by several Japanese and some Chinese, all with (traditional breakfasts) large bowls of noodles before them; wet noodles that need to be hoisted heavily with chopsticks into the mouth and then vacuumed in the rest of the way, broth to follow later with much lapping noises.

Oh, give me a quite cafe corner or breakfast nook with a coffee and a pastry or one egg over easy on toast. I cannot bear breakfast-included buffets... especially ones with wet noodles.

In any case, after a breakfast of whatever I decided I could hold down that day (yogurt? Juice and a piece of fruit or cereal? The places that cater to Westerners, God bless them), my friend Grace and I went out, into the encroaching gloom, toward the stadium park across the street to find a place to view the eclipse.

In the week or so leading up to the great solar event, the Chinese government (news) had really broadcast information to the people, from what I could tell. Not understanding (really) or reading the People's Language (Mandarin), I rely on my ability to interpret pictures. From the photos of solar eclipses I saw on front pages it seemed to me, well... the word was out. My friends started counseling: "Be sure to watch the eastern horizon around 8:45am!! The darkest minutes will be at 9:40!"

In Shanghai, people sported the latest fashion, a short lived style: solar eclipse viewing glasses. Thick, heavy, square-shaped, grandpa lenses. Seeing these perched on peoples heads (not to mention the pair gripped in my own sweaty palm) only made the pain of those darkening clouds more acute. The weather worsened as the hour approached.

As Grace and I neared the park where still hopeful crowds amassed, the Man upstairs answered my prayers and gave me what I would later cherish as my one and only glimpse of the solar eclipse: The clouds parted to reveal the first quarter of the Earth's shadow as it began its half hour long march to cloak the Sun. Just a sliver of a shadow but enough for distinction. A glorious sight. Then clouds rolled back over. And, eventually, dark gray, sheet-like rain consumed the scene.

Around the park the punky looking, smoking Shanghainese, downtrodden, damp-looking families, half interested loudmouthed Aussies, frazzled local photographers, one lanky, croissant-munching and very focused photo-snapping blond guy and various other Shanghainese moved under a building overhang. But no one left the park. Everyone meant to witness this event.

Gray light turned to dark yellow. Yellow turned to dark gray. Then we simply slipped into night. The temperature dropped maybe 5-10 degrees Celsius. And at the peak of the eclipse, we stayed in dark, cold rain for ten minutes, motorcycle alarms going off as people shuffled around, unnaturally loud laughter, camera flashes blinking everywhere, loud, excited conversations replaced subdued disappointed tones, security guards closing around crowds, and streets and building lights blinking on everywhere.

For ten minutes one July morning in Shanghai, it was night.

And then the reverse process began. Black faded to darkness and then yellow and then gray and we began slipping into a rainy, dull morning again.

Later I talked to my friends in Jingzhou and they told me they could see the stars at the full eclipse. One said he could die tomorrow he felt so overwhelmed by the beauty. I haven't looked at the photos they sent yet... But I am I grateful for my glimpse of the mid morning night.

(photo courtsey Frank Zhou)

Wild Wild West China

2009-07-26T12:09:00.032-04:00

A land of opportunity, where the sky is blue, the air is cool, the land is vast and green but the topography strange, where the people rush and shove and hurry from place to place. A land void of Westerners where a women leads a lonely camel by his nose down a road -- inexplicably. These were my first impressions of Guiyang City in Guizhou Province in far, southwestern China.

At this point, you may be wondering (or not, at this point, if you have been following my blog at all) what on earth would drive me to these hinterlands (look up Guiyang, Guizhou on Google Maps). Well, I'll end the suspense: the trading part of the company I'm here with brought me along to learn about purchasing contracts and to see how a ceramic sands manufacturing plant operates. Moments after landing, the manager of the ceramic sands plant we were to visit whisked my travel partner, "J," and I away to the factory to talk shop, broker a deal and walk around the the plant.

One can often judge from the airport, I have noticed (and have also had these observations confirmed by others), how many Westerners one will run into in a place here. There were more Pandas wandering around than Westerners, which is to say, none. And, giving me little hope for other Western comforts, a trip to the restroom confirmed it: all holes in the ground. I girded my belt (so to speak).

We left the airport in a Fiat with the plant manager and headed as straight as one might hope to the factory. Construction everywhere. The trip took us over hill, under dale, overpass, underpass, around lines of enormous life-sized Tonka Trunks and through the city outskirts and countryside. When we arrived at the factory, we went to the office to "discuss things." I had the privilege of listen in... to the Chinese. Which I don't speak.

Ideas ran through my mind, as I sat spinning the green flowers in my hot water (tea): I could look very attentive, "listen" along and throw in a few "haw. haw. twa twa twas" for good measure ("uh huh uh huh, ya ya ya" in Mandarin). I could also succumb to sleep for a few short minutes, but might this be rude? Or mightn't it, given that I understand nothing... I could also stare incessantly at one point on one mans face to see if he'd react but this would probably be counter productive to the business deal and thus lessen my standing as a mature intern from a prestigious masters program. So, I looked interested, drank my tea, sat demurely and waited until the next step...

At last, show and tell! A tour of the factor and... more hard hats! This time, I didn't have the nerve to ask for photo-ing of hard hat experience. But I was dying to. In any case, we walked around the factory and "J" explained things to me as we went along.

With deep respect in my heart, I tell you that this factory looked in no way like it could produce a world class product and yet, it does. The light of day visible through the ceiling, ware and tear visible on every machine and tool, soot gathered in corners, beams sagging with age, one would never guess that to open a shipment bag, one would find perfect and durable ceramic sand ready for fracturing in oil fields and able to withstand enormous pressure underground. How do they do it? Perfect and meticulous systems operations, application of the Model T factory methods and conscientious planning.

Later we drove into the city. Guiyang is poor meets high tech in a fascinating way. With billboards advertising the latest in communication: Netbooks with 3G! men trundle down the street with their mules, and the sidewalks team with street vendors who look a few shaves down the poverty scale than what I saw in Jingzhou - bonier arms, cheaper wares, scratchier and louder voices.

Guiyang the city contrasts sharply with its calm, peaceful weather. It is load and garish with blinking lights and pushy people, honking horns and incessant traffic. The city is built in the mountains, funny mountains that look like large green ant hills sprouting up here and there, which perhaps accounts for part of the city's insanity, as buildings seem sort of stacked one on the other with no room to spread out - as there is in Shanghai and Jingzhou , for example. Or, perhaps, the people are driven stark raving mad by their outrageously spicy food. But more on that in a moment...

"J" and I had dinner that night with the plant president and our driver/host, the plant manager (conversation in Chinese). They had never, evidently, dined with a Westerner or met more than one other couple of Westerners, in the case of the President. Had I photographed dinner, someone surely would have lost face, but how I wished I could have. It was straight out of someones dreams (and others nightmares) and much of it tasted delicious - particularly the spicy noodles, Peking duck and tofu soup with spicy dried bean curd. But of note, too, was the Foot of Goose - webbing and all - with its soupy, orange sauce. I tell you, if you haven't had a toe joint in your mouth, well... it's weird.

The president expressed his overwhelming joy at my eating abilities and talent for drinking Mao Tai - official Chinese liquor (the real brand, which is actually brewed there in Guiyang) to me via J. After all, I could hardly blow him away with stimulating conversation, as I sat in silence during the meal watching the giggling waitress call her friends in behind every ones' backs to stare at the Westerner, daydreaming about the conversation topics at the table, and figuring out how to eat goose toes without getting orange sauce on my cheeks. Nonetheless, the president felt sufficiently impressed by my ability to consume all things Chinese to compel him to say I was a "great international woman" and to invite me to "the Wild West of China to make..." here he rubbed his fingers together to indicate the international sign for $$$.

Bauxite anyone? That's what Guizhou's got to offer, among many other opportunities, goods, raw materials, tourist attractions, I have came to believe during my three nights there. Guiyang is a alive and producing but seems to boast much potential yet. (After all, sigh, the skies are still blue there...)

The next day we traveled out to one of the most beautiful and mystical places in the world. First we drove two hours out of the city, through countryside I could never have conceived of in my wildest imaginings. To access the waterfall, one must traverse a charming bonsai garden, bursting with life and flowers, its streams teeming with colorful fish. Then through a pathway, you come upon a natural bowl-shaped riverbed canyon and see one of the world largest waterfalls. Here you must begin the long, two hour long trek around the canyon to see one of all of the 6 angles from which it is possible to view this waterfall. The pilgrimage is long but the climax takes you behind the waterfall itself.

Of course, the government has marketed all of this to the max and it crawls with tourists. Signs that read "your soul will stir with the silence and beauty" become laughable as the only stirring I felt was to throw pushy tourists over the cliff's edge. Yet, the majestic beauty of the place still overwhelms the crowd. The imagination can still wander to times past when a lonely wanderer, like the Ming Dynasty wise-man who discovered the falls, might have stumbled upon these sights.

Have I mentioned how cheesy tourists here can be? No.. these old folks are not part of a show...

Lunch was a delicious and humble affair - my favorite. Very similar to the food of Jingzhou except this time we could pick out the pigeons the plucked and cooked for us. The smoked pork/tofu combo was to die for, I tell you - get thee to Guizhou for this dish. And the home-brewed rice wine delighted.

Now, no one let us in on this little secret, but there was more sightseeing to come! Our host just led us through some gates and mentioned something about a boat. A boat? Um, no one said any thing about a boat when I was being fed pigeon and pork and wine... A little van showed up and drove us straight up a vertical cliff (I swear). We got out, there were some guys playing cards (there are always guys playing cards...). But I was miffed - we were up on a mountain. Where was the water? The boat? Someone pointed DOWN a vertical cliff (hadn't we just come UP one?) to some stairs I was evidently supposed to descend.

Follow the leader...

At the bottom of the stairs, sure enough, was a large pool of water. A deep mountain lake, in fact. And boats sat lined up in a way that reminded me nervously of the Blue Grotto in Capri. "Where're we headed, boss? Did you know we were doing this?" "Um, no!" Came the response.

Well, my visions of the Blue Grotto weren't so off, it seems. We piled into a boat with a bunch of other Chinese tourists and headed across the 28 meter deep, cool mountain pool toward a narrow but tall crevice in the cliff-side ahead. Finally, someone felt like translating for me: that's a cavern.

It was, beyond words and imagining, the largest, most expansive cavern I never knew existed. 28 meters down from the water's surface and 138 meters high from the water's surface to the ceiling at the highest points. As we tunneled and rowed and ducked around, we saw all manner of stalactites and rock formations, which I was told were calcium rock of a sort. My mind ran to the Anne McCaffery books I obsessively read, which, if you are a fellow nerd, you will know, means that these caves were DRAGON sized. Huge. Enormous. No Blue Grotto.

As with most Chinese Adventure days, this one wouldn't end and, after encountering the last part of it, boy am I glad it didn't. The food in Guiyang, the hotpots, are even hotter than Jingzhou . We started with mutton on a stick; J, who is from near Beijing, almost couldn't handle those. Then the hotpot came, with river fish so fat and juicy and veggies (finally, broccoli!) and red spicy hot sauce. It was OUTRAGEOUS. But everyone was doing it! So I did it too! J could only eat a couple bites.. After his third can of tea to wash it down, he called it quits... Which is when something drew our attention

A family eating next to us with a particularly cute baby. He was seated on Daddy's lap and was enjoying a... super spicy mutton on a stick! He munched away like the mutton was a chew toy and sucking off all the spices, hot pepper juice spread across his cheeks and lips (he was maybe 9-months-old). SPICY BABY! But his existence begs the question, do mothers in Guizhou nurse their while swilling rice wine in between taking large bites of a chile peppers?

Guizhou is wild...

Pensive Post - Thoughts on China

2009-07-25T00:27:00.008-04:00

There exists, perhaps, no account of "China" that is complete. No explorer, no writer, photographer travel-loguer, film maker, anthropologist, documentary maker, or sociologist can sum up this great country in terms broad or specific enough to create a picture that would fairly or rightly portray "The Middle Kingdom." Despite the pervasive image projected through the Chinese government's 1970's and '80s propaganda machine (that somehow still lives on in many Westerners' minds today), China is an outrageously diverse place - mind blowingly so - and, I dare say, always has been.

Let me offer a few points to ponder from my, albeit, limited travels in China (Shanghai, Hubei and Guizhou Provinces). The first idea I would proffer is that China is surprisingly comfortable culture-wise to Western and, in particular, American, visitors. Already, some friends have written me in response to my posts saying, "I never would have guessed China would be like that, I am fascinated..." and have said it is now on their top places to visit. Don't get me wrong, the hole-in-ground toilets, pervasive spitting, shoving, food (for some, no doubt), and other common elements to a developing country take some getting used to (especially if you are totally new to them). But the culture is, in a way, comfortable.

What do I mean by that? Well, the Chinese (that I have encountered) are totally and unassumingly individuals. Their bizarre and unique cellphone rings typify this, in a way (I have heard no repeats, yet). Whether they adhere to the culture norms of their ancestors, break custom, wear flashy colors and short shorts, spike their hair, bleach their hair, don the newest fashion (sparkles), dress like a baby doll, rock a military style, play the stay at home mom, cry at a love song (we're talking men here), shout at the top of their lungs in a cave to hear an echo, or decide to move to a city to pursue a new career and forsake their country life - everyone is marching to their own beat.Journalist James Fallows describes the Chinese as each doing their own thing until they "get caught," which is, also, a very Latin behavior and one that I am quite familiar with given my previous travels. And the individualism comes out in all kinds of ways. The implications of this culturally mean that we Americans feel a bit at home when we come to visit.. The implications of this economically mean that our American companies and entrepreneurs feel right at home when they come to stay.

This leads me to my second point. Since I am here for an internship I have had the pleasure of watching my Chinese friends work and learning from them. After a few short weeks here, I am convinced that great opportunities lie ahead for China and anyone willing to build stronger relationships here (on every level). Of course, I have met people who fit the description of the "non-creative" stereotype I have read about in books and articles - vertical thinkers, etc. The people who blow me away are those working on a shoe-string budget, factories that seemingly would produce nothing producing a stellar product, factories run like American or German factories in the hinterlands, or engineers trained in computer science who understand the whole linear and lateral workings of a dynamic, multi-layer, international corporation and their role in it. China maybe a "socialist market economy" but whatever is happening here is making things happen in a big way, beating the proverbial capitalist *butt* (so to speak, or at least getting there), as the bustling cities will testify.

The cities really, truly hum with activity. Everywhere you look, bikes zoom by, motos dangerously zigzag intersections, cars honk, pedestrians wander about, vendors peddle their wares. Everyone seems to be buying and selling. If there's an economic depression its obvious in the countrysides and present in peoples conversations - but not so in the streets of the cities. Construction is everywhere, too. When asked, people have said that only in the last year did much of the construction I see begin. Stimulus plan in action! Here's a kudos to the Chinese government for turning to a domestic need in a time when the global market slowed. If you know something about the Chinese economy, you know that dollars spent investing abroad have been dollars neglected on domestic spending (the Chinese need more roads, better roads, more bridges, etc. etc.), so this is a great and wonderful thing to see. But some will ask, who is the future for?
The one-child policy still maintains that Chinese families can only have one child (unless both parents are only children, one parent has a doctorate, or heavy fines are doled out, in which case the parents may have 2 children). It was implemented when population growth was out of control in the 1970's. But now it means that China's cities grow older, year by year. In the countryside, things are less regulated, but for cities, aging populations is a major problem. And the Chinese really do seem to want to have more kids. From speaking to my friends here, qualities I have noticed across the board are strong family values and a desire to have more children. I have heard "you are lucky in the States, that you can have such big families."

In addition to the widespread (it seems) Chinese emphasis on family and family values, another widespread phenomenon - one which is shared, in my opinion, with Italy, is a deep sense of identity with the cultural heritage of one's province, people and region's customs and food-type. This, to me, is one of the most important factors in China and makes the notion of a centrally controlled Middle Kingdom almost laughable. It also makes China a spectacular, mysterious, marvelous and intriguing place.

First of all, when you travel from place to place, people will proudly tell you why their city/province/region is important. They will tell you which of the 50+ minority groups live their. They will take you to eat the local food and hope, even if they are too polite to show they care, that you love it and will be ecstatic if you do -- telling you, maybe, that you have given them "big face." They might take you to the local tourist sights, which are frequented by hundreds of Chinese from all over the province (in my experience) who have come to learn more about their history. And the differences between the regions from North, South, East and West cannot be contained here in this tiny paragraph. The breadth and depth available for discovery lead one's imagination to wander and one's lust for discovery wild. It would be possible to spend a lifetime here and still find another magic stone with unimaginable treasures beneath it.

Lastly, I would like to point out that, from my personal experience here, I have noted that chivalry not dead. It is alive and well and in China. Women are served first. Women walk in a room first. I have been helped and assisted by men to the point of hitting my head and almost falling off a curb and inflicting other bodily harms to myself or others (one can get hurt if one isn't used to these sorts of niceties). But the manifestations of this chivalry can be quite something, too: Some stories about girlfriends go something like "well, I can't go to the river bank, that's where my first love broke my heart..."

My favorite, though, is watching men, dotted throughout a night club, break into passionate sing-along when the love songs come on. Eyes closed. Heads thrust back. Tears practically rolling down their cheeks. They are totally into every word. The girls, on the other hand, sway with slight smiles on their faces and enjoy the music. Chivalry, nor romance, my friends, is not dead in China.

And neither is the spirit of growth, learning and entrepreneurship. China marches on an interesting path. Building complexes called "Bright Future," and the like, testify to the vision many Chinese have, I think, for their country. There is a great wave rising from within this country (I don't think we have seen it yet) and the wise will ride it, in some way or another.

Plucking out your own lunch!

2009-07-23T10:37:00.005-04:00

And boy were those suckers good...

Photo tour of weekend with Old Egg, Water Torture, Really Old Dead Guy, Drunk Baby

2009-07-20T03:05:00.020-04:00

English: a hot commodity these days! And what Friday could be complete for an English-speaker in a foreign country with imparting a little wisdom in 40 minutes to over 8 classes packed with kids?

"I have 3 brothers..." THREE BROTHERS!!??!?!?!? "I have 15 cousins..." FIFTEEN COUSINS!!!??!?!?! "I like rock music too..." YOU DO??!!! "Sure, I like beef.." ME TOO! ME TOO!

Let me tell you, if I ever have to teach, I'll focus on rugrats. So easy to please. In fact, too easy to please. We had one near hyperventilation, pass-out case. But in the end. Great success.
Recommendation: when talking to Chinese kids, rivet with tales of copious siblings and cousins.

~~~~

Your friendly neighborhood All-Goat-Part-Restaurant bringing to you goat meat kebabs, goat jerky (as far as I could tell), goat soup with greens, goat ribs, fried goat cheese and probably other things if you have the stomach for it but I didn't see it...

Also to be enjoyed with tasty goat vittles: roast beef in gravy, mushrooms, and lotus seeds (great for taking the edge off of spicy foods).

~~~~

You've heard about it - perhaps horror stories. Maybe you've even seen it. Well now I have not only done that but I've chewed, swallowed and held it down. Yes, that's the 1000-year-old egg, folks (in photo, served Jingzhou style, with tofu and super hot pepper). First of all, it's only 40 days old, or so. And it's a duck egg. Big deal. They wrap it in clay, or something. And then they treat it. It looks a LOT grosser than it tastes, really. Mostly it just tastes super sulfer-y. Recommendation: avoid it, as a rule, but if offered, do try it (some people do like it), just for the "ick, wow, I've done it" factor.
~~~~

When it gets hot out here - and it gets HOT - men just don't wear their shirts (see blurry spy-shot at restaurant). Even men wearing business pants and dress shoes will tuck their shirts up to their nipples or just take them off and throw them over their shoulder (note: this is not all but a good many). At first it seems curious. And then you sit through a meal in what feels like 114 degree heat and it makes so much sense. Recommendation: pack light for southern Chinese summers.

~~~~

More on food. Jingzhou, a crossroads city, is known for its food, has lots of restaurants and many different types of things to eat - most of them delicious. I know something about cities like this, having recently lived in the Italian equivalent: Bologna.

I seem to have made the right friends here because they have taken me to every good place to eat you can imagine. But I won't bore you will the details. Suffice to say, I have had some smoking hot jellyfish cooked to a tender perfection and surprisingly scrumptious (trust me), some delectable crayfish, spicy enough to take your mouth and good enough to shame maybe even the Louisiana Creoles, some kickin' steak that might challenge even the Kansans and Texans I've dined with at their grilling and blackening skills, and some of the most delicious pork and (fresh) rice noodle soup that probably exists on this earth. The homemade microbrew to go along with the soup wasn't bad either.

The presentation of the food here (cucumbers carved into dragons, even on fruit plates at bars!), even when you aren't at a 4 or 5 star hotel, is awesome. It makes me feel (and perhaps I'm a total geek) a bit like I'm in a science fiction fantasy novel or movie. But I think that the food gets tastier and more fun (and edible) the less expensive it is. So. Recommendation: if you are an honored guest, find a way for your hosts to be convinced that you would actually REALLY enjoy eating local and then DO take their recommendations.

~~~~

Sightseeing. Always an adventure (in part because constant construction here creates fun obstacles and in part because the westerner often becomes the object of interest and because sometimes the visit will be interactive). At CheXi on Saturday, I learned all about one of Chinas 50+ minority tribes, heard some of the guys there yodel (yes.. yodel) and watched them dance, and learned about bamboo paper making using paper mills. I also got to try it. Is this what they mean by Chinese water torture? Recommendation: that the heavens you were born today and not 100+ years ago as a servant in CheXi who had to mill paper or grind gun powder.

~~~~

What Sunday would be complete without more massages and food? But first, I saw a 2,100-year-old corpse. Yes, that's right. And we're not talking mummies, here. He's got flesh and guts and a brain with mass, eye-balls and everything else - even limber limbs. This guy was found buried 10 meters down in the old walled Jingzhou city (maybe he was governor or something) with all his funeral regalia. Now they've got him on display in the museum in a pressurized chamber, floating in a vat of formaldehyde. Everything on display. Everything. Except for the sunken eyes and pasty flesh, he could have died 10 days ago. If it weren't so awesome it would be revolting.

At dinner I witnessed another Chinese anomaly: Drunk baby. My friend Irene and I went to a great little restaurant to eat and were just hunkering down to enjoy our bowls of soup when a one-year-old staggered, as one-year-olds are wont to do, past us calling for his "mama!" We looked up to see him parents attentively watching him, while finishing their meal. So Irene said to them, in a friendly way, something like "your baby's calling for you." And the mother said, "oh no, he's fine, just a little drunk. "What?" Irene said between translating for me, "Drunk?"

At this point I am examining the baby more closely and sure enough, his staggering is far more pronounced than it otherwise might be and his shouts for his mother (and now his grandmother, who is not, I should point, anywhere in the vicinity) are far more brutish than a one-year-old's ought to be. He's cheeks are also flushed.

The mother explains to Irene that, well, her baby likes a little beer now and again and so she obliges. The baby is still staggering around demanding his mother. The parents collect their son and put him back at the table where he sits unhappily for a few minutes before getting up to make the rounds again. Irene and I look at each other. Drunk baby.

~~~~

Lesson of the weekend: "Learning about other cultures makes your heart bigger" and maybe a little stranger.

teaching torture with tolerant teach-zilla.. happy ending!

2009-07-16T02:14:00.003-04:00

When I sat down at my desk on Wednesday morning I heard my office mate, Frank, speaking on the phone, " *Chinese Words* Portia *Chinese Words* *Chinese Words* *Chinese Words* Portia *Chinese Words* *Chinese Words* Portia *Chinese Words* *Chinese Words* *Chinese Words*." (((Click))) "Frank," I said, "One day, sooner than you might guess, you'll do that and I'll be able to figure out what you're saying about me..." "Oh," he replied, "don't worry. It was only good things." ***long pause for dramatic effect followed by devilish grin*** "you think..." ***my smile turns to quizzical look*** "So... uhhh... what are you planning?"

Wednesday could have been a relaxing day, hang out with the Quality Control Department, learn a little, take care of some personal stuff, etc. etc. go back to the hotel, catch up on emails, sleep. But my lovely new friend had something else in mind for me. Apparently the COO of this company (the vice-Leader?) has a buddy who runs an English school and they got to talking (as the Chinese, I am learning, inevitably do) and my name came up. And well, they thought it would be a great idea for me to go and speak to the kids at the school in English about my travels.

Great. Some people are afraid of spiders, maybe some of heights, or getting quarantined by foreign communist governments. Me? I'm terrified of speaking in teaching environments to high school-aged kids. Maybe I was traumatized for life by my experience in Haiti when one of my monstrous 21-year-old eighth graders called me a racist for kicking those students out who didn't bring books to class (90% of the class). Or maybe it is the fact that I am aware that I am simply not very good at teaching and so avoid such environments... either way.............. GULP.

Frank says, "no problem, it will be easy. You just have to talk for like an hour." "An HOUR!?" "Well, maybe a half hour. Then they'll ask questions. Then we'll have dinner! Easy."

Ok, they're bribing me with food again, I'm a sucker. I'm in.

In the afternoon I'm dragged, knees almost knocking, to the school building where the tragedy that will be my first public speaking appearance in China will occur. Everyone is very nice. Jimmy, the head of the school welcomes me to his office with tea. Above his desk is a large, maybe 20x25 inch photograph of Jimmy in front of the Statue of Liberty under which is written in massive Chinese and English letters "Jimmy in America!" God, I do love the Chinese.

Very soon, too soon, I am ushered into the classroom. My heart sinks to see a teacher in the corner who looks in every way like the caricature of the anal retentive, humorless librarian-type school teacher. I pray she will disappoint.

Jimmy: "Class, this is our foreign speaker, American visitor, PORTIA!"
***followed by a barrage of compliments I won't repeat***
Class: ***mumbles hello***
Jimmy: "Say hello class!"
Class: "Hello"
***halfhearted***
me: "Hello everyone, very nice to meet you!"

I sit next to the teacher and, squaring my shoulders, I open my speech with some Chinese.. a little ice-breaker, if you will (a recommendation of a friend who is very good indeed with kids and things of these sort). The IDEA is perhaps if I look like an ass first, maybe kids won't mind so much looking like asses too when they are inevitably forced to say something to me in English by humorless teacher!

me (in Chinese): "Hello! Excuse me, I would like to ask, can you speak English? I speak a little Chinese, but badly."
***silence***
Teach-zilla: "Maybe you could speak to them in ENGLISH. They want to hear you speak English."
me: "Ahem. Well... I have now said almost EVERYTHING I know in Chinese, and I guess you all speak English very well! So let me tell you a little about who I am and why I am here in China...."

***30 rather painful but maybe successful minutes later***

Teach-zilla: "That was very interesting, wasn't it class?"
Jimmy: "Everyone needs to ask questions! Let's go around the room!"
Teach-zilla: "Yes, do you all have questions for our native American guest?" (she refers to me as the "native American guest" and not by name for the rest of the time)
***points finger at the first slump-shouldered victim***

In the course of over an hour, children of varying levels of Chinese were forced against their will to interact with me. And I, against my will, to interact with them. When the dialogue would falter, Teach-zilla would turn to me and say things like "You need to ask them questions, Chinese children won't just talk to you." And when I would try to come up with questions to ask about, say, hobbies or activities, and they wouldn't reply she would say things like "Chinese children study all the time," and look very smug, indeed.

Nonetheless and despite Teach-zilla's desperate attempts to make me look and feel as small as a mushroom, I got some awesome questions and thoughts:
one kid asked: "So, you study the economy. Why are some countries so rich and some countries so poor?"
me: "well.. that's a great question, I took a whole course that tried to answer that question and no one agreed in the end..."

***10 minute summary on course, including my opinions why***
Teach-zilla: "Well, China, you know has a socialist market economy
***long quizzical pause on my part... mmmKay, moving on...***

one asked: "do you like computer games? "one said: "i used to be a professional ping pong player, but my parents said i wasn't good so i stopped."
***moment of silence***

one kid said: "Hello, please let me introduce myself, my name is Jack. J-A-C-K. Jack. I have many hobbies, I like football and basketball and playing computer games. I am studying English and Japanese too. Thank you very much for coming in to talk to us."

one kid gave me the 2,000 year history of Jingzhou in 3 minutes.
Most of them hid behind there hands and turned bright red before saying a few things.

Jack (back for more) asked: "I want to know how you learned so many languages"
me: "well, I think the trick is you have to think like a little kid and not worry about making mistakes. Just talk and practice and not worry about what people think of you (colorful example provided of me making an ass of myself in Italy)."
Teach-zilla (in for the coup de grace): "Well, the Chinese can be a VERY intolerant people. But I am very tolerant. I do not mind if you all make mistakes, do I children?"
***silence. awkward. swallowing. coughing.***

After the Chinese hour-long (read: 1 clock hour = 2 Chinese hours) teaching (torture) session, Jimmy took six kids, Frank and myself to dinner. We had typical Jingzhou food -- fish and rice and hot pots of meat and chicken and some other things. There was a chicken foot sticking out of the chicken hot pot. Mmmmm. At dinner, lessons continued, I learned how to say "boyfriend, girlfriend, I'm full, corn juice, I'm hungry," and an assortment of random phrases in Chinese.

Part way through the meal, a plate came around with fried round things in in it. "Happy Balls!" One kid exclaimed. Excuse me? "They're called 'happy balls,'" Frank explained, "friend sweet potato." Oh goody, I thought. Sounds delicious. As I reached in, everyone watched eagerly, eyes focused on my every move. "Uh. what gives?" I asked. "They are watching you use your chopsticks," Jimmy replied. "Ooooo," I looked at my closest neighbor, "You think I can't pick up happy balls with my chopsticks?" He nodded vigorously. "Oh you just wait, I won't drop a thing." And I deftly maneuvered my chopsticks, clamped down perfectly on one happy ball and popped it into my mouth. The kids were gleeful. As was I. Fried sweet potato is delicious.

Lesson of the day: Kids say the darndest things. And I still suck at teaching..

holy rollin' frac pump!

2009-07-14T23:17:00.006-04:00

I'm in big-kid heaven. At my new post in Jingzhou, I get to learn not only how an international corporation came into being and is operated but also how humongous oil drilling tools are manufactured. The latter means I get to hang out with engineers and play in hardhats and walk around warehouses and workshops with enormous, larger than life equipment that I only got to read about in my energy classes last year. Basically, it's like my childhood Tonka Truck toys have come to life and are moving all around me... sweet!

In order to hang out with liquid nitrogen tanks and 11 ton trucks, first you get "250 guy"(an expression in Chinese that means "stupid guy") safety training. After I was explained that I should not slip on oil, look at directly at welding, touch sharp metal objects or take flying leaps into moving machines (obviously, some people DO need this training), "the leader" (as the Chinese sometimes refer to "the boss" or the guy in charge) took me on a tour of the company workshops. When "the leader" handed me a hardhat and safety goggles, I wasn't sure the day could get any better (much giggling inside to self). But later we passed by a 12 ton cement mixing machine and my expectations were exceeded once again (much whooping inside to self).
After gazing with awe at fracturing machines, and pumps and cement mixers and huge engines, they let me play with the super-smart brain team that designs all the equipment. At first, they were a little scared of me.. well, some of them were a lot scared. It might have been the thought of having to speak English with me for a while or maybe something else? But the most terrified of them all (he turned some lovely shades of red while trying to explain a program to me) overcame his fear most admirably and mustered up the strength to ask for my phone number before I left their department. Fortunately, the truth bites: I haven't got it memorized!
The various teams taught me how fracturing equipment is designed and made, how cement mixers work, and how a pump is made. (Dad, I have been inspired to build that "Invisible Engine" you bought me back when I was 16. Set aside some time one weekend this fall!) It was a learning experience! But getting the info out of the geek-squad took a little doing. Each engineer would ask the same questions and the dialogue went something like this:

Q "Soo, um, Pah-sher (what my name sounds like in Chinese), what you study in school?"
A "Well, I did Comparative Literature for my BA. And for my MA, I am studying Economics and International Relations, with a focus on Energy and Technology in Emerging Markets."
**a confused look. perhaps, processing**
Q "So.. Um, I don't know what to tell you about (fill in name of large equipment here). What you want to know...?"
A "Well, why do you just show me how you design (fill in name of large equipment here) and how it works!"
Q "Really? You want to know that?"
A "Sure, why not?"
Q "You don't think it boring?"
A "No! I think it's fascinating"
**confused look followed by fascinating barrage of information**

And the day comes to an end with yet more lovely Chinese people and the Leader trying to kill me with more delicious Chinese food and drink. When dinner ended at 9pm, the Leader said "why don't you take this opportunity to have a rest." And I said, "well, fortunately tomorrow night I have no plans." "That's what you think," he replied with a slightly evil grin.

Lesson of the day: the word in Chinese for "engineer" and "eunuch" sound very similar (really, no joke).

big dam Chinese weekend in Jingzhou see Wall eat food!

2009-07-14T06:09:00.026-04:00

My hosts have determined that, when not learning about big oil machine manufacturing stuff, my social life and sightseeing here in China will never end. So this weekend in Hubei Province and Jingzhou City, I learned a lot and had a great time (as you might have discerned from the Scottish-themed rodeo bar night).

what means to have big dam Chinese weekend in Jingzhou see Wall eat food?

Damn! The Chinese sure known how to build a dam! Saturday my assigned host (who signs a mean Karaoke version of Mr. Denver's "Country Road") took me to Three-Gorge-Dam. This practical project, begun by the government in 1997 to help prevent the Yangtze from flooding and to provide power to China from Shanghai to the Western provinces, has also been turned into a tourist attraction. Ah, how I adore the practicality of mind of these people. Fantastic! And who doesn't want to see REALLY big dams and humongous machinery? It's really a sight to see.

The corner stone of the dam project.

Dam!

big dam building materials.

no need for big dam building materials to go to waste... make them into an amphitheater.

all politicians should write poetry, particularly after swimming big rivers like the Yangtze like Mao did.

fishing boat from Yangtze and new equipment

Transformers 2 is a fabulous movie when screened in Chinese! What Saturday night would be complete without dinner and a movie? One of my new friends took me with her 6-year-old daughter to see Transformers 2. Oh yes, it was dubbed and, I think, perfect that way. I hope they make the third movie in Chinese - the evil robots sound even evil-er. Strange, though, popcorn here is sweet (my dentist is going to kill me). Later we dined al fresco on a boat on the Yangtze River and a fireworks show went off in the distance.

Didn't I tell you last week that Sundays are massage days? I'm going to try to keep the theme... But aside from a great massage, which was my friend's idea, we saw some really old stuff around Jingzhou City, which is a 2,000 year old city and very important to Chinese History. We went to a Buddist Pagoda built to stop the Yangtze from flooding in the 16t century. Apparently it worked and no one knows why. And we saw the Great Wall of Jingzhou that was craftily designed to keep bad guys out. Lunch was a zesty affair at a hot pot place (if you say you like spicy food here - you better mean it - the delicious seafood dish was so spicy I thought my lips would fall off). Someone needs to open a REAL Chinese restaurant in DC because I am going to miss all this business next year.

Buddhist Pagoda.

close up of the pagoda...

Buddhist carvings.. Buddha, etc.

the Buddha

hanging out.. by the old wall .

even more hanging...

the Jingzhou city walls.
Jingzhou City's Great Wall

ancient playground. ...

Lesson of the weekend: if you are offered a rest, take one.

Scottish themed rodeo techno hiphop jazz bar, DRINK UP!

2009-07-12T09:21:00.019-04:00

I LOVE the Chinese! They positively lust for life. In fact, they are bananas for it! And I just love people who look at the world that way.

Perhaps you've never heard the culture or people described particularly this way. And maybe it isn't every breathing Chinaman. And maybe it has something to do with the double-digit growth the economy here's been recently experiencing. But how can a people who invented fireworks and who have 133,235,258,987,217 different delicious ways to eat about every kind of edible thing you can imagine (meat on a stick is one of my faves) and still take the time to carve a cucumber into the shape of a dragon and stick it on top of your lobster sushi not be called completely crazy about living?

So now I am basically in the geographic center of China in a little city call Jingzhou. It's a very important city to the history of China because it's on the Yangtze River and because of its strategic geographic location at the center. My introduction to this grand little city this weekend was sublimely absurd and solidified my growing belief in the Chinese life lust. It all began with dinner and a Scottish themed rodeo techno hip hop jazz bar.

From Shanghai to Jingzhou, door to door: 7 hours. I'm a little dead from traveling but no, my knew host will hear none of that. He said, "maybe, we have dinner, make some friends, go out to a bar!" At dinner, more female soup (the boys had something else), my first of many treasured encounters with Hubei province food (so spicy, sooooo good), AND my introduction to Chinese liquor and the expression "gam bei," (drink up).

Don't be an honored guest at a dinner table with Chinese and Chinese liquor unless you can handle the taste of Ouzo (or something like it). There's a lot of drinking to your health. Also, if you want to be impressive, learn to your chopsticks well in advance. My stick wielding skills aroused so many stares at dinner that I finally demanded applause, since they all insisted on watching so closely any way (for me to mess up, I was pretty sure.. and 'cause I'm a southpaw, which is evidently bizarre).

Following dinner, my new friends brought me to a place that came so close to heaven on this earth I thought I might have been dreaming. Pinch me, there were Chinese people running around in kilts, walls covered in flat-screens playing weird music videos and rodeos and Formula 1, projected light shows dancing to the music, cold scotch & sodas, sparklers you could play with inside (is that a fire hazard?), glowing lollipops, more dragon-carvings of fruits, and kickin' music.

Then the shows started. We went from live jazz sax played with techno pop in the background, super-speed hip hop dancers dancing to some techno version of bagpipes, and then a pop-lock dancer dancing to techno.

At some point later in the night a chick got up a did a pop cover of Shanaina Twain and a dude did a cover a "West Virginia Mountain Mama." People were screaming. Really, the greatest thing might have been every one's enthusiasm. Genuine enthusiasm. I was screaming and crying inside for joy. Only sheer mental will power got me away from that place; I was ready to make a home on the cozy benches.

If anyone wants to start a business with me...

The rest of the weekend was so delightful it deserves its own undivided attention on another post... TBC...

But for the moment, in case you aren't convinced about the life lust thing: As I sit writing in my hotel room 15 stories above the street, 50 people are gathered below dancing a square dance (I swear, it's to the beat of my folk-y music) while in the distance fireworks explode (for apparently no reason) for the third time I've seen this weekend (more about which I will write later).

Lesson of the day: Life is delicious. Drink up.

Honored Guest... or Lowly Intern?

2009-07-11T20:57:00.008-04:00

I sense some growing concern in a few of you (names unmentioned) that there may be a little too much fun being had and not enough work being done. After all, I am here for an internship. That means peon-ship in Washington-speak, right? So what gives?? Now, just one second, folks....

Firstly, what some of you are noticing with respect to my experience thus far in China has much to do with the fact that I'm selective posting. There HAS been office drudgery (sort of). Furthermore, I did travel half way around the world and needed a few minutes (days?) to catch my breath and, uh, relax a little. Thirdly, and importantly, I can't just post ANYTHING I want about the company I'm working for..

Plus, I'm in China. I mean, I remember from back when I was a White House intern, this less-than-bright intern posted something on his blog about "W" coming to visit his office, and when and where. The Secret Service tackled the frontally-lobe challenged intern on his way to work and remotely exploded his computer. No they didn't do that. But he got in big trouble.

Big Brother is watching. That's all I'm saying.

Mostly, formally, lastly and most importantly, the big question: Am I an honored guest, or a lowly intern? There is the cultural matter to contend with here in China while performing my servile tasks as official summer peon. In the States, particularly in my hometown of Washington, the intern holds the position lowest on the totem pole at any organization. When photocopying is to be done, you get s/he to do it. After all, IF s/he's being paid, it's not much and so her/his time is worth the least. Here it's a different story. While my time may be worth relatively little when compared to my Chinese friends, I am a guest and as such am treated that way. The Chinese are incredibly welcoming to and simply seem to love their Western guests. It's almost unbelievable and at times totally embarrassing.

So you see, this attitude kinda mucks up the drudge-intern role a little bit. And if I told you more about my digs, etc. I'd just be bragging. So, suffice to say I'm over fed and well taken care of and if only I hated Chinese food (which I don't) or caught a nasty parasite, I might starve here in China.

A little about what I am learning: Something about ERP software, which is fantastic. I always wanted to know the guts of logistics, in particular global supply chain. The company is making sure I learn something about how manufacturing companies function on every level (I do mean every level). And so I'm visiting the two manufacturing components of the company to hang out and learn. In ServaShanghai I got to wear plastic protection goggles and walk around manufacturing warehouses with HUGE equipment.

I am still desperately hoping that there is hardhat with my name on it in the near future.

Lesson of the day: The Chinese and the Italians would get along swimmingly at the dinner table and on the road. They both order way too much food, most of it looks bizarre but tastes fantastic so you can't stop eating, and they eat family style. They also both drive like nuts, disregard all traffic directions, run reds as though they were not even there. I am thinking Marco Polo and the Stoics brought more of a lasting impact to Latin culture from the East than we realize.

Very Beautiful Cultural Ming Dynasty Water Village Land

2009-07-09T11:08:00.026-04:00

As presumed, the straw hats get pointy and plentiful as the landscape gets lusher and wetter. Here are some shots from a water village in the province neighboring Shanghai. It's still really a village today, in most respects, but it's also like a theme park, like "Water Village Land." You have to buy tickets to enter. Likely, there are some places in China that operate like this today - people hopping from shore to shore by boat (the boats reminded me of punting at Oxford but grittier) - but there wouldn't be the well preserved Ming Dynasty attractions, etc.

At one point, I had a "Darjeeling Limited" moment (for you Wes Anderson fans out there) when I stepped into what I was told was a sculpture exhibit but what was, in fact, a sculpture exhibit of Buddhas and a temple. At the end of the tour, which was in Chinese (a language I do not speak), I was led through the temple, shown how to pray to Buddha, led through the prayers, looked upon sternly when I giggled a little, asked when I was born, pointed in the direction of my proper Buddha, given a little card, and asked for 100RMB. The part of me that is Catholic and that knows when I'm being scammed said, "wait a minute," and rejected the golden, inedible fortune cookie. But I did learn that I was born in the year of the Hawk, an auspicious year. Don't worry, Mom. I'll always have luck.

And now, photos... without much explanation, as I am not Sino-expert, nor Ming scholar and so shall not pretend to be:

W elcome to the Venice of Ming China

Merchant's House
Goodbye lady of the house.. I am off to the seas to make money for this bronze panel that will tell the story of our lives.

The seas.

Punting.

I don't know what these dried fish are for, but they intrigued me as I hope they do you.

A little propaganda in the Ming Statesman's house.

But, my, the statesman had a lovely kitchen.

Commerce.

18th century book club (I joke not).

Ming tea garden.

Traffic jam.

Unfortunately, you have to pay extra for these gondoliers to sing for you. We wouldn't pay so our lady ignored us and talked to her friends on the shore.

I can't imagine cleaning clothes in this river makes anything cleaner...

Oh, and I think I found the smell of China. It's a real smell. Of cooking, and burning and life. The cities just smell like disinfectant and pollution so all that gets masked .

Hello, Kitty! Slurp noodle in hotel on Thames when plane lands. Cigarette?

2009-07-08T20:29:00.018-04:00

Here are some random observations, in no particular order, about life in one of China's Megalopoli
*Disclaimer: I live in hotels, not with families. And, while these observations occurred directly in the downtown and surrounding areas of Shanghai, China, they likely apply to some aspects of Chinese culture in general.

The Chinese have a penchant for inventing new cartoon characters (remember the Olympics?). These bright, blimpy personages dominate the public sphere particularly before and during major events, like the Shanghai 2010 Expo and quickly become favorites for all ages. Nonetheless, old goodies like Hello Kitty are not forgotten.

A long snort, a deep, throaty hocking sound followed by a weighty splat: This sound will always remind me of China. When the sound originates near somewhere your ear or is accompanied by a visual head cock, all you can do is hope that the immanentloogie doesn't land on you or your shoe. According to my friend, during the SARS event, Hong Kong banned spitting (if you can call it that) and now the only folks still doing the nasty deed are cabbies (who discretely spit into personal cups for fear of fine). Personally, I think China should take this Swine Flu epidemic as an opportunity...

One large, elegant, sweeping arm gesture, originating at the shoulder joint, will indicate to a lost person or a guest where they should go. No awkward finger pointing. No flapping hands. No vague directionals "that way" or "left." No skeezy Latin body contact. Just a great, wide gesticulation of the arm.

Yesterday I saw the Chinese "Village People" or maybe they were "New Kids on the Block" walking down the street in matching mesh camo tanks with a yellow dog.

Evidence to Shanghai's outward-looking nature, outlets in hotels and office buildings can manage American, European or Asian plugs. And in case they can't, street vendors everywhere sell adapters. What's Chinese for "Vive La Chine?"

Lately, I find myself identifying a lot with Bill Murray in "Lost in Translation." Not that I'm an old, balding, married man missing my family, or that I'm even in Japan. But I am in an Eastern culture, it's new to me, the language is perplexing and I'm living out of very nice hotels where the clientele is mostly business types and old dudes.

The Chinese are very good and efficient umbrella walkers. Most people carry them when it rains and many when its sunny. I haven't been stuck yet.

The kids here are damn cute. And they do the sweeping are gesture thing. Which just makes them cuter. I need to get one to say "NiHao" back without giggling and covering his mouth.

The nouveau riche are the same everywhere, it seems. But they get the best neighborhoods here in Shanghai! One is called Thames River and has plastic dear poised outside the gate.

No matter what district I go to in Shanghai at night... it glows. It vibrates. It shines. It's like New York City at New Years on steroids. It's fabulous. Was someone talking about carbon footprints?

Has anyone mentioned how friendly the Chinese are?

Everywhere has a smell. And I haven't figured out China's (or at least Shanghai's yet). Sometimes, though, you don't figure it out until after you leave a place and identify the smell. The smell of slightly dirty rivers and damp, underground waterways congers memories of Granada, Spain. Smells of burning trash and tropical vegetation reminds me of Haiti. Smells of cooking dough and spices, gypsies, dogs and damp old buildings makes me think of Bologna. But China, I don't know yet...

Welcome back to the old school... and to smoking offices. At least in office hallways. I keep waiting for Darren Stevens and Larry Tate to walk by. Or their Asian equivalents. Wished I'd brought Febreeeeeze for the clothes.

Mainland Chinese, my dear friend pointed out, isn't so bad sound-wise when it comes to learning the language. It has a lot in common with the southwest English accent: lots of "arrr" and "yrrr" sounds. But sounds aside, language learning here presents a different barrier... cultural. The gap is wider than with Arabic (odd, right?). Even telling stories back and forth in English can be tough. And if one party already has a notion of what they think you want to say in their head, well, forget trying to make yourself understood. "I would like wine." "Ok, you try it sometime."

The farther East I get the more painful my yoga classes become. Ouch.

Beware noodle restaurants: So good... so slurpy. When eating noodles, go with friends and make up your mind to slurp and suck your noodles along with them. No judging. Do not go with a weak stomach, especially because there might an old man sitting near you with his shirt open, sweat pouring down his face face, broth flying off his noodles and bouncing off his belly as he sucks away. Wear black.

Soup (papaya and unnamed sea creature) to make you pretty.

The number of stereotypical-looking straw hats increases the farther you get from a city center. I have high hopes for my trip to a traditional water village today.

A few quotes regarding boys and girls: "Hot girls always get smart men. Lot's of people here. You should go out here tonight." "I will find you two hot bellboys to help carry your stuff down." "I think girl babies always prefer boys and boy babies always prefer girls"

Thank God bamboo is strong (I think, I remember from 7th grade science).

Lesson of the week: China's on track to build about 4-5 airports per province over the next 3-5 years. Maybe I will go into the the airplane engineering business...

(to look forward to: post on Water Village... and post on Manufacturing and Business in China!! Which is what I am here to be learning, really.)

Lose Self, Lose Face, Lose ATM Card... Shanghai Wonderland!

2009-07-06T02:28:00.007-04:00

When you only have 10 days to discover a new city and a new culture, you've gotta figure things out quickly, meet people, see the sights, get lost, and enjoy yourself... When there's a character-based language involved, an Eastern culture, confounding technology, and spectacular sights, sounds and experiences, the resulting first few days can be overwhelming and absurdly wonderful.

I am here for an internship, in case you were, in fact, wondering how the heck I ended up in China this summer. So Friday I hoofed it to work, navigating the bikes, motos, and cars that defy the boundaries of sidewalk and road. After a few hours with my friendly new colleagues, I decided there should be an "Office Space, China." The office is one space, like a department store, that seems to transcend most cultural gaps - except the air here is filled with multi-tonal Mandarin and higher-pitched cellphones ring-tones. Then, of course, there are the difference like, say, being told, "you probably won't find any of this software stuff interesting, probably, since you're a girl..." (thought: "well, one of my brothers is an actor...") Ah, well.....

After work, I had a drink on a friend's friend's friend's rooftop in the French Concession - a lovely neighborhood with trees, micro-brew bars, Moroccan restaurants and many an expat. A large group later found its way to an all-you-can eat and drink sushi place where food, sake and beer keeps coming until you can't eat or drink any more. For only $3-a-head, this seems quite dreamy... until you can't bare the sight of a 2-foot tall sake bottle or the smell of shrimp tempura.

When the established, Shanghai residents went out for more drinks, I decided it would be prudent to take my still jet-lagged self back to the hotel, otherwise I might never get back. Visions of getting lost in a Chinese oblivion danced in my head. However, it occurred to me it might already be too late when my new friend Bob (fluent Mandarin speaker), with the combined effort of my "get home card," could not make clear to the taxi driver where I needed to go.

**A "get home card" is the business card or the piece of paper or even the text message that contains the information in Mandarin and phonetic Mandarin about where you need to go. You can show this and/or read this to your taxi driver. It should be fool proof.. Otherwise you will be driving around a strange city with no idea of where you are and no ability to tell your cabbie how to get you home.**

A taxi ride from the French Concession to my hotel should have cost ~15 RMB ($1.5).. 50 RMB later, my chick cabbie and I were telling each other emphatically in our respective languages that something was up, "DUDE.. this is NOT the hotel.." She called her English-speaking people and I called my Chinese-speaking people and we swapped phones. Heated conversation ensued. The taxi driver lost face. But my lost self made it back to the hotel shortly thereafter with no cab fare to pay ("lost face" cabbie insisted). Another heated conversation and unintelligible debate. I end up winning (by using one of my 3 Chinese words -- "yes." Perhaps more loosing of face?). I handed her some yuan for the cyclical and bizarre trip.

The next day an Indian yogi bent me into a pretzel at a random expensive but lovely studio, I managed two successful cab rides between my hotel from the French Concession, and I met up with a very old friend who flew in from Hong Kong to hang out. For dinner, we went to a place called "M" on the Bund from where you can observe the insane Shanghai light shows on the buildings (happy 4th) and the famous Oriental Pearl (see above photos with large skinny, glittering building). Dinner, a lovely French fare, lasted just over 3 hours and afforded us much time to catch up after a half-decade separation.

Later we had a drink at the nightclub/bar downstairs where (mostly) expats sat about looking swanky and stoic, all ignoring the thumping techno music. It was an odd crowd - but expat crowds tend to be - though not so impressive for people watching. The bold exception was an androgynous couple that swung its attention from male to female all night.

As Sundays should to be... mine was a lovely one, complete with a foot massage. It might have been marred by the discovery that my check card was gone but fortunately, my hotel is lovely and the manager located it in the ATM machine immediately when I called in the morning... somewhat in a panic. You see.. where most places give your card back before you get your cash, here in China, you get cash, then have to ask for your card. Oops.

Any way.. My friend and I masted the Shanghai metro (people are so helpful here) and found our way to the People's Square (see photo) where we wandered for a bit between the main street and side streets (see photo). We found "Shanghai's #1 Department Store!" and discovered that electronics have gotten ahead of themselves here. We found a lovely little shack for foot massages. We haggled for designer knock-off dresses. Mine has a sequined face on it. Necessary. We ate yummy pork dumplings that gave me a belly ache hours later. And we parted ways in the evening she for her apartment in Hong Kong and me for my swanky 5-star in one of Shanghai's many business districts.

I have 4 more days in Shanghai before I head to Jinzhou in Hubei province. More adventures to come...

Lessons of the weekend:

* must learn some Chinese or continue to suffer the consequences of fruitless shouting matches between, say, taxi drivers who let me off in the middle of an intersection when I would prefer to be dropped on a curb and/or at/near a destination
* Chinese food tastes food but it doesn't necessarily do me good...
* Downtown Shanghai life is a light show... better than NYC at New Years

Welcome to China. Do you Approve? :-|

2009-07-04T12:50:00.006-04:00

The audio speakers terminal had warned it would happen, so had a sensational article... as well as the State Department: travelers to China would not be admitted before extensive, on-plane screening to ensure that the NIH1 (Swine Flu) virus does not come in with them. If we failed inspection.. into a little white box with us, for a week. Sure enough, upon landing in Shanghai, androgynous figures in bunny suits wandered on to the plane (I watched "Andromeda Stain" before traveling. My thoughts ran back). The health inspectors held a laser gun (a temperature-taking laser gun) up to the head of every passenger. Anyone suspicious had their temperatures taken orally.

The air buzzed with nervous laughter from Chinese and foreign passengers alike. Flashes blinked as amazed participants in the event eagerly captured the moment, already banking (all of us) on the fact that we would not end up in quarantine for a week due to a slight sneeze or due to someone behind us having a slightly elevated temperature or the last name Sanchez.

When the laser-gun slinging, clean suit people cleared our plane, applause broke out. The plane cleaned out in record time. Once through customs I saw a blinking light next to the woman who had unceremoniously, but efficiently stamped me into the country. It asked me if i was totally unsatisfied, unsatisfied, satisfied, or very satisfied with her service. Hell, I thought, I'm here and not in a white box with no windows sitting next to 20 passengers whose names I don't know and no cellphone communication. Well done, China! The newspapers were wrong! My swelling gratitude needed focus and so I popped a thumb down on the big blinking :) and granted the stoic-looking Chinese woman a "Very Satisfied." Thanks! Xiu Xiu!

The rest of the day I spent alternately by myself and in the care of some people from the office where I'll be working while I'm here. Mostly, though, my tired and jet-lagged brain ran with the refrain: "what the %^&* am I doing in China?" with some frequency. At a restaurant we went to one of the guys behind the live sea food counter tried to get me to order the "spiny dragon" which - must say - did look appetizing to my strange sense of what looks appetizing . However, I was glad I said no when I saw the same guy later take his long thumb fingernail and stab the limp foot of the world's largest clam, shake his head, and put it back in the display case. (I noticed the health inspection had given the restaurant a :-| on the enormous sign on the wall and wondered what the difference between :-( :-| and :) were..). We ate fried shrimp.

That night I took my free drink voucher, sat down and had a free glass of wine at the hotel lounge. And a lounge, indeed, it was. Maybe the Chinese are very literal (I am starting to think they are because when I told the kind woman who picked me up at the airport today that I wanted to try drunk shrimp sometime while I was here in China, she found me a restaurant where I could eat raw (alive), alcohol-doused shrimp on my first, jet-lagged night here). There were lounge singers in the lounge. Singing lounge songs. In lounge dresses. The looked like something out of the '70s or '80s. Thoughts ran to some scene from Lost in Translation, though, given the sparse clientele. The phonetic, Whitney Houston-style warbling was lovely, though. I finished my drink, snuck some photos and thought - I'm gonna like China.

Lesson of the Day: be careful what you ask for, you might end up with wet converse and a plate of wiggling drunk shrimp!

Wandering the Piedmont and Alpine towns of Italy

2008-10-14T06:21:00.008-04:00

The regional train from Bologna to Turin (Torino) takes about 4.5 hours. About an hour before reaching Turin, the Alps become visible in the distance. The outskirts of the city reveal its recent industrial history (Turin is home to Fiat, Nutella, among other things). But the center of town has all the charm of a large, "European" city with a wealth of history and culture defining and shaping its uniqueness.
We "discovered" Turin one afternoon as we looked through guide books of Italy, trying to determine our weekend destination. Capri.. Elba... Tuscany? Then our eyes fell upon the Lonely Planet page called "off the beaten path." Turin, it suggested, was - for better or worse - still largely ignored by the touring public and should not be overlooked. Generous aperitivi offerings, we read, uncrowded tourist attractions (the Shroud of Turin), lovely views of the Alps. It sounded intriguing so we booked a hostel.

Day one of our weekend was dedicated to walking the city. Discoveries - not listed in tour books - abounded: a 2nd century AD Roman theater at the foot of the famous Duomo, modern art hanging on the sides of buildings and featured in squares, royal guards in uniform (costume-like uniform), lovely little churches with candle-lit Friday services sung in Latin. And, as touted by Lonely Planet, the aperitivi (Italy's version of tapas) were incredibly generous - overwhelmingly so. But at the end of every westward facing street loomed the snow-capped Alps.

As much as we loved Turin, the suggestion of mountains posed such an enticement that we made plans to leave the next day. See full photo album of Torino.

When we said "we want to hike" in unison, the woman in the train station's tourist office - who likened the ability of my friend and I to speak in perfect unison about our wishes for the weekend to the nephews of Donald Duck - randomly suggested Oulx. Oulx? We'd never heard of it. Sounded fun... We took the print out of B&Bs and made reservations at the first one we called.

The magic that Oulx - and the town Sauze d'Oulx, just above - nearly defies description. We took the regional train west into the mountains. The trip took about an hour and half. The higher we climbed, the more astounding the landscape. Our B&B, run by a young Italian couple, was simply a condo, which we had to ourselves, located near the center of town. A bus took us up higher into the mountains where it was suggested we look for hiking trails. The town we ended up in, Sauze, was where - we discovered that day - most of the Olympic 2006 Winter Games took place.
Being the only tourists in town, we enjoyed the full attentions and hospitality of the (mostly) British expats who worked there. The hike we did took us nearly to the top of Triplex, a mountain in the Via Lattea (Milky Way), which is renowned for its fantastic ski trails. The day ended with a large mug of hot chocolate by a fire and later a dinner at The Falcon - an excellent restaurant run by an English couple who transplanted to Sauze a couple decades ago. See full photo album of the Alpine towns.

Following the "unbeaten" paths (finding off-season tourist destinations) in Italy is the way to go. My friend and I learned, in the mountains, what it was like to truly have our breath taken away.

off the beaten path...

2008-10-05T17:25:00.002-04:00

more about where and how soon...

Photos of 5 Terre, Porto Venere and Bologna!

2008-09-26T04:49:00.002-04:00

I haven't had a moment to blog about these trips yet.. but check out the Italia section of www.portiamills.com for the lasted posted photos of Bologna, 5 Terre and Porto Venere !

Lago di Garda

2008-09-08T10:57:00.002-04:00

Saturday morning, some friends and I picked up a car from Hertz in Bologna and drove north - past Modena, Mantua, Padua and Verona - toward Lago di Garda (Lake Garda). Minus getting a bit lost, it took us a couple hours to reach our destination, Riva di Garda, on the northern-most point of the lake. We spent the day walking around the quaint town, eating, hiking in the mountains there and planning our next move.
The next day we drove down the western side of the lake to a town called Limone, recommended by my aunt who enjoys vacationing in Garda from time to time. Limone proved a lovely town, tucked into the base of the mountain side and sprawling along the deep glacial lake. Next, we headed further south, through Mussolini's old retreat and several other picturesque villages.
In one rather large town, we got a bit turned around -- Italian highways are not intuitive for the average American driver. A family of RV-cruising northern Italians helped redirect us toward the bustling town of Sirmione in the far south of the lake. The latter proved as the guide books described: quite touristy but worth the visit for historic landmarks and Roman ruins. The kiwi and blood orange gelatto that I enjoyed before we headed back to Bologna may have been my favorite part of the day, though, aside from the dip in the lake.

photo album from trip

Castiners in Haiti

2008-04-12T23:43:00.001-04:00

By Portia Mills *
Rural Haiti may seem an unlikely place for a gathering of Castine “natives.” But on a Friday evening in mid-March, an unexpectedly large group of folks with deep ties to Castine—Danielle and Larry Mutty, their adult son Paul and his daughter Sarah, Joe Kilch, and I—all gathered around a large dinner table to enjoy the evening air and chat with Fr. Marc Boisvert at his orphanage. Fr. Marc is well known to many in Castine from his first diocesan assignment, as well as Pwoje Espwa, the orphanage he founded in 1998....

Click here to read the rest!

food prices: wake up to the problem and the cause

2008-04-09T10:02:00.005-04:00

Food and gas prices have gone up astronomically in the last year or so. In the USA, Europe and other wealthy regions of the world, we deal with the blow by tightening our belts or shopping at Sam's Club instead of Whole Foods or using public transportation more often or modifying vacation plans. Sure, it affects us but not on any devastating level. It is, therefore, very difficult for us to understand the profound impact these high prices have had on developing nations all over the world.

We need to wake up to this crisis and we need to treat it like the priority it is.

Like or not, we are now a global community and when an Iowan farmer shifts production it isn't only his immediate community or market that feels the affects. Yesterday, Paul Krugman wrote in a NYT op-ed "You might put it this way: people are starving in Africa so that American politicians can court votes in farm states." His column lays out in glaring detail how interconnected our world is on every level now - finance, energy, agriculture, even weather. Its worth the read.

Here are the basic facts:

trade policies set by leading economies directly affect prices of essential items in poor countries
economic success and development in China and other rapidly growing economies drives up cost of grains and energy globally (see Krugman's piece)
droughts and crop blights in Australia and other countries that are leading producers of the world's grain contribute to rising costs
biofuels are a disastrous miscalculation, driving food prices up and promoting deforestation in regions that cannot afford more slash-burn stripping

Some of these things are in our power to change, some aren't. Acknowledging that maybe its better to use oil and continue searching for more, less expensive energy options might mean we have to stomach certain immediate realities we don't like (CO2 emissions, oil-dependency - take your pick) but isn't it a far greater crime for the Haitian poor to eat mud cakes because a bag of rice is far beyond their means? The recent civil unrest there speaks to the gravity of the situation. Something has to change.

The economy of the world is in flux and we have concerns about our portfolios, a Middle-East dominated oil production, the falling dollar, and global warming. But what is a global community without people? Shouldn't these concerns fall to the wayside in light of starving millions?

Our community, our neighbors and trade partners and friends and - for some of us - our families are suffering. We need to wake up to the food crisis. Something has to change.

NEWS ~ Avian Bird Flu in Haiti?

2008-01-18T11:07:00.000-05:00

When countries like Haiti make the excruciatingly slow climb out of poverty and corruption, an apparently minor hitch could have disastrous implications on that plodding progress. Today, the Sun Sentinel ran an op-ed on the potentially devastating impact of Avian Flu, now making the rounds in the Caribbean, on Haiti.

While Puerto Rico, a U.S. protectorate, can probably easily weather any disruption in trade between itself and Dominican Republic, Caribbean countries - like Haiti - without the safety net of the U.S. economy, will suffer. The Sentinel writes, "egg prices in Port-au-Prince jumped 25 percent to more than $3 a carton, according to news reports." Little fluxes like these, with high gasoline prices effecting costs too, present terrible difficulties to the majority of Haitians, whose meager incomes place them well below the poverty line.

Though the strain found in the DR is less virulent than that recently found in Asia, the Sun Sentinel's editorial board rightly points out that

Haiti can't bear this now — not while making slow, but what appears to be steady progress under President René Préval. The country imports at least 1 million eggs and hundreds of thousands of chickens from the Dominican Republic daily, according to the country's agriculture minister. A bird flu epidemic and food shortage would further stress a population whose health is already compromised. It could also wipe out a means of livelihood for merchants who sell poultry products.

Some might remember the last animal-related food disaster to impact Haiti: the slaughter of the Creole Pigs. When the African Swine Fever virus spread to Haiti from the Dominican Republic, the U.S. government put enormous pressure on the Haitian government to slaughter all their pigs - offering a seemingly excellent eradication and re-population plan. Thus, Creole Pigs were slaughtered and U.S. shipped in pigs from the Midwest. But the American swine were higher maintenance, requiring imported feed, clean water and falling ill more often. The program failed disastrously and had lasting and continuing impacts on poor farmer.

I would like to under second the Sun Sentinels recommendation that: "The United Nations, USAID and other humanitarian organizations must do everything in their power to help address the problem before the situation worsens."

portiamills.com updates

2008-01-17T10:15:00.000-05:00

For months, I completely shirked my blogging and website in lieu of other activities. Now that some of those obligations are behind me, I'm trying to make up for lost time. Please check out www.portiamills.com to see the latest updates. The newest sections are "families," "who's there," and "work and play."

In coming weeks, I hope to reorganize the site to post photographs from other locals and trips. Your feed back, thoughts and ideas are, as always, most welcome and appreciated!

NEWS ~ mobile phones take over

2008-01-16T12:36:00.001-05:00

Digicel reaches nearly 2 million customers in Haiti after only one year of business there.

Read the full story.

the real technological revolution

2008-01-16T11:36:00.000-05:00

In 200 years, little has changed in the dominantly pastoral Haitian landscape where ill clad workers stand under a relentless sun in grazing fields or rice paddies. In the last several years, though, with the introduction of cellular phones, one might see the almost surreal sight of a field worker chatting on a cell. The implications of technology and portable devices are enormous in countries with inadequate infrastructure. This phenomenon cries out for more effort focused on how to fully employ the potential for local businesses and development efforts.

Technology has only just started to impact all aspects of life and work in the developing world. As I witnessed in Haiti with cellular phones, newer technology fills in where older, infrastructure-heavy technology failed. Most Haitians, for example, do not have land phones and probably never will. Over decades, TELECO, the conventional phone company, formerly run by the Ministry of Public Works, Transport, and Communications, managed infrastructure that has served only thousands of over five million potential customers. In the last few years alone, Digicel and Voilá (Irish and Haitian cellular providers, respectively) started building towers, setting up “charging stands” in town centers (since most Haitians have no electricity), and offering free minute deals; now millions can have a phone.

Much more effort needs to be focused on how wireless communication devices have begun to change communication and, as the isolation for many people falls away, the nature of culture in Haiti and similar countries. Equally important for the developing world are the impacts on local government, businesses and non-profits. In just years, cellular phone towers did to a mountainous island what wired communication, in decades, never could.

Laptop computers could have similar potential, though perhaps on a smaller, or longer-term, scale. They are much easier to transport, re-sell, donate and, by virtue of the battery, use in areas with unreliable electricity. There is real potential, though with many challenges, for projects that employ the same ideas as America’s “Laptop for Every Student” and the global “One Laptop Per Child” project.

New, smaller satellite dishes or possibly emerging ultra-low-cost and small wireless portable TVs will offer yet more potential for technological innovation to bring information and opportunity to the developing world – and critically to perhaps help advance educational and economic efforts in remote regions. Indian farmers, for example, have been using satellite technology in recent years to emulate farmers in the developed world, to track product prices in the market, check the weather, and learn more about other farming techniques.

The potential value of harnessing the new, portable information technologies deserves much greater attention. For this reason, more effort need be focused on what types of affordable technologies might be encouraged, and disseminated, and on low-cost services to support and expand the capabilities of these tools to help advance humane causes and economic development around the world. What has happened thus far is only a beginning, but has illuminated the potential of this profoundly important opportunity.

During Hurricane Dean this year, the Haitian government, refusing to acknowledge a potential natural disaster, would not put announcements out on state-run radio programs about evacuation opportunities for people in risk zones. Digicel, however, seized the marketing opportunity and sent out text messages to all its customers, offering updates on the tropical storm - for a fee. This last point, of course, drives home exactly the need to find creative, low-cost and perhaps subsidized ways to advance such technology.

Tofu in this American Paradise

2008-01-15T23:17:00.000-05:00

What do a U.S. congressman, a weapon-designing chemical engineer, an American general and a Disney executive have in common? Aside from a slew of impressive accomplishments to their names, they all immigrated to the United States, eventually naturalized and, today, they received "Outstanding Americans by Choice" awards.

The event was held at the White House in the Eisenhower Executive Office Building (formerly the Old Executive Office Building) - incidentally, a building designed by an immigrant - where 25 other immigrants from 18 different nations became American citizens. Among nationalities represented were Afghanis, French, Brits, Filipinos, Peruvians, Iraqis, Chinese and a large handful of Pakistanis. Men, some dressed in service uniforms, women, young and old stood to pledge their allegiance to the flag. In his remarks, the director of US Citizenship and Immigration services mentioned that 650,000 immigrants naturalized in 2007. In 2008, he expects the number to be much higher. Each one of these, he pointed out, has his/her own unique story. Some of these stories are breathtakingly remarkable.
Living in Washington, D.C. affords easy access to the random events that occur only in the capital at places like national monuments, government buildings, and association headquarters. Today, when I went to lunch with the woman under whom I served as a White House intern, I was asked if I would like to tag along for a naturalization ceremony at which some fairly impressive Americans would be receiving awards. Field trip to the EEOB? You bet I wanted to go!

There is just something so cool about being "cleared" into a government building and handing your ID to secret service agents before walking around enormous halls that have seen some major history. So that alone would have been enough to make my afternoon. But what I witnessed today in one of the rooms off the high-ceilinged corridors stirred renewed pride in my country.

A marine sang the anthem while the Color Guard stood in rigid attention. Everyone said the pledge of allegiance. Then, after America's 25 newest citizens promised to defend and uphold, etc. etc., the US Bureau of Citizenship and Immigration Services recognized four outstanding Americans. First, a Cuban-American U.S. congressman, who fled Castro with his parents in an early wave of refugees, told the room that they could accomplish anything they wished in this country. Next, a Vietnamese-American woman, with a series of accomplishments in science advising and weapons design that seemed incongruous with her slight frame, stood to dazzle the room with her eloquent and patriotic remarks. Following her, a Chinese-American general spoke of fleeing China in the 1950's and of rising ranks in the Army, in which he proudly served for a career. Finally, a English-American businessman thanked the director and Bureau for his award, saying that he and his Mexican wife had found the opportunity and diversity in America unique and necessary to realizing their dreams together.

Each one of the award recipients positively exuded pride in their citizenship and in the accomplishments that have served their adopted country. As the Vietnamese-American chemical engineer said, "America is a stir-fry. In a stir-fry, you want each ingredient to retain its flavor. You want the tofu to taste like tofu and the carrots like carrots. That's what makes it great. I will continue being tofu and doing all I can to help make this great American stir-fry the paradise - I repeat, paradise - it is."

"is it safe to travel to Haiti?"

2008-01-14T22:24:00.000-05:00

"If you take a bus to Port-au-Prince, make sure your ride is there to pick you up right when you get off. Better yet, don't get out of the bus until you can actually see your ride, and make sure you have to walk no more than ten yards to get there. When I [finally] saw [my friend's] car through the traffic, it was as if the clouds had parted and a ray of sunshine directly from God was shining down upon me," a friend wrote to me the other day about his bus trip from Les Cayes to Port-au-Prince. Though overjoyed to hear he was unharmed, I must say I was not surprised at his tale. My word to the wise always is, "unless you are Haitian, don't get on the bus in the first place."

Despite the fact that things really are better in Haiti these days, my friend's bus trip confirms that safety still has a lot to do with circumstances. In late Spring of 2007, a boat of westerners sailed into the waters of southern Haiti - coming into Les Cayes to fuel and gear up. They found the island fascinating and, not having planned to do so and unfamiliar with the country, decided to spend a little time visiting around the coast. The next evening, while anchored off another coastal town in the southern department, they were attacked. A mob of Haitians had cut their line, and were walking and boating across the sandbars and shallow harbor with torches chanting for money. The small group of sailors, who were too far for any timely rescue, managed to escape - but only just.

The near misses are not reported. That my Creole-speaking American friend got "scared for the first time" in Haiti will not be in a U.N. report. That a boat of westerners almost did not make it is certainly not evening news. But these anecdotes are important because they reveal a continued state of volatility in Haiti. Travelers should feel more comfortable about the kidnapping situation (or relative lack there of) and a safer capital city, but they should still heed travel warnings to stay away from potential mob scenes, avoid public transportation (or tap-taps, as they are called), etc. etc.

I have decided to take up blogging again (for several reasons) and begin with this topic because lately I have received several emails from people traveling to Haiti and their primary concern is usually security. These people are finding me through expat directories and Google searches for Haiti. Thus, let this entry show that 1) I still stay up on what's going on down there, 2) I am more than happy to share my opinions, 3) I am going to start sharing them more regularly here!

Homecoming Weekend 2007, Cornell University - A Story in Photographs

2007-10-15T16:38:00.000-04:00

Excuse the indulgent post...

Friends as good as family.

Ithaca's Farmers Market

Cayuga's Waters

A rare win for Cornell football

A jolly reunion at Stella's

"The aim of life is to live, and to live is to be aware, joyously, drunkenly, serenely, divinely aware."

a reminder....

2007-10-12T13:23:00.000-04:00

that life is wildly, fantastically and amazingly beautiful. Even on a foggy, Maine day, there is beauty. Some times, we need reminding.

Espwa in Need

2007-10-12T11:05:00.000-04:00

The difficulties of operating a 600-child orphanage that supports a Haitian staff of nearly 200 and also involves itself in far flung educational and housing projects, as well as some infrastructural and sustainable projects, cannot be underestimated. Pwoje Espwa operates on a yearly budget of about one million dollars (US) and certainly still has the infrastructure, capacity and need to spend a whole lot more. Operating funds contribute to everything from mattresses for the kids, animal feed, salaries, gasoline for vehicles, the occasional medical expense incurred from injury and disease, (600 kids in a tropical climate...), and so much more. Despite the farm, the project is unable to support itself (not even nearly). It relies heavily on charity and some key, larger NGO support.

Last week, I heard from the founder and director, Fr. Marc Boisvert. In response to my request for updates, he informed me that they are so desperately in need of help. They always need help but for him to mention it specifically... that really means it's dire.

At some point I had fantasized about helping create a more substantial or sustainable source of funds for Espwa. Though that project is always at the back of my mind, at this point it seems more realistic to just spread the word that help is needed. Miraculously, before I even had the chance to voice the plea, a friend contacted me and wanted to know where to send his money - out of the blue, just like that. If there are others of you out there who want to help out, go to the online donation site. You can also read about more specific projects at Free the Kids.

Thank you for all those who have helped, will help and who simply pray for and support this orphanage. Good things happen there.

the travel Bildungsroman

2007-10-09T11:08:00.001-04:00

Eat Pray Love and The Sex Lives of Cannibals have three things in common: they are books, they are topsellers and they are about travel. The two are not, however, both good. In an effort to see what folks are buying, reading and liking travel-log-wise, I read both.

Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat Pray Love, does a fantastic job of exploring her emotional progress in various exotic settings. I began to drool while reading her descriptions of Neapolitan pizza and had fleeting fantasies about visiting Bali but overall learned very little about the people and places she encountered on her travels -- especially in India where she spends 99% of her time in an Ashram. Gilbert's true journey is not through the physical locations that create the setting for the novel but through her psyche. While the latter is a somewhat interesting as an exercise in introspection, it falls a bit short of satisfactory for the readers looking to read about exotic places and their inhabitants. One has the impression that one is reading the author's most intimate journal entries (especially during the encounters with her Brazillian paramour) -- so if you're into that, pick up the book, read and enjoy.

In The Sex Lives of Cannibals, Mr. J. Maarten Troost uses his odd-ball perspective, daily mishaps and victories to create an interesting picture of the folk of the nation of Kiribati (pronounced KEER-I-BAS, he will remind you several times). His sense of humor leaks through every page such that I often found myself laughing out loud (in public) as I read. Thankfully, he saves any self-psychoanalysis about his behavior, decisions and love life from the pages of his novel. The reader is therefore able to enjoy his adventures and get a sense for what it might be like to actually live in an isolated, Pacific, nation. This novel is a travel bildungsroman: we learn in the end that the shiftless youth has, in fact, grown into a man but he allows the reader to infer this through action -- there is little telling and much showing. And, too, we get a sense of who the I-Kiribati (kind hosts to this young man during some years of maturation) really are.

After reading these works, I must conclude that Ms. Conlin and Mr. Zimmand, two teachers that shaped my writing through an insistence upon the use of active verbs rather than the passive voice, terse and pithy prose, and passages that "show" rather than "tell" (SORRY for this sentence), were absolutely correct! I also concluded that should this blog, my journal and daily emails ever coalesce to form a creative work suitable for publication and public consumption, it should be more Troostian than Gilbert-esque.

I do hope Troost writes again to reveal to readers more crazy things in this world that we may or may not ever have the chance to see ourselves. Good author.

things to see

2007-09-30T08:51:00.000-04:00

"Hey! Look at that house hanging off the cliff up there!"

"Portia, if I do that, we'll drive straight off the mountain."

"Oh, it's too bad, there are so many interesting things to see."

"Sorry, I have to concentrate."

"It's OK, I'll just tell you what I'm seeing."

"Oh dear God, this will be scary..."

So, what you're saying I have an infantile and unique view of the world?

COOL.

I found this spider on a walk in South Carolina. Love the red spikes.

restructuring the frame

2007-09-22T20:27:00.000-04:00

At times, it seems that this planet circles the Sun at a trillion miles per hour. The sun has barely risen before it is setting again and at the end of the day what have we to say for ourselves? What have we to say for ourselves at the end of a year? C.S. Lewis says that the process of living necessarily needs to be progressive. What, he ponders, would life after this be like if a vice that we let get perpetually worse through the decades continued to decline at the same rate for eternity? This, he muses, would truly be - perhaps the very definition of - a living hell: to live until infinity with, say, an irrepressible and worsening inclination to.... (fill in blank).

Each day, then, each moment, each breath should be trending in a positive direction. Easier said than done, right?

In some ways, I guess, moving to Haiti was an attempt to better myself as much as it was an effort to better the lives of others. Strangely, the two are connected and in devoting time the latter, the former just seems to happen -- same for me, I hope. But still, I neglected important things while living in that equally slow-paced and stressful environment. To tend to that neglect, I will have to do, for lack of a better expression, a little soul searching -- something I find much more difficult (and scary) than exploring dangerous developing countries. I have always been good at fun and adventure but have famously struggled a bit with happiness and peace.

This year will be an adventure but not like Haiti -- different but equally challenging and exciting and a whole heck of a lot less sweaty.

Not even a saint has a y=x2 correlation between time passing and improvements made. Rather, successful onward progress is directly correlated to our ability to manage, deal with and learn from both small and large tumbles. So I'm workin' on recovery skills. What child does not eventually pick himself up off the ground if he falls in the course of learning to walk? We are human and thus intrinsically flawed (19th century French thinkers debate this point... but let's just say). We will fall.

what's up now...

2007-09-19T19:36:00.000-04:00

I have blogging unfaithfully but, instead, furiously updating www.portiamills.com with photographs and stories that document what I learned and saw in Haiti. Please go check out the latest updates.

Soon, the blogging will recommence.... with some reflections on what it's like to be back in the land of the Super Size Coke.

updates to the site

2007-09-16T01:21:00.000-04:00

Check out www.portiamills.com if you have not been there recently. I have been making changes to the site, some of which is still under construction. When it's finished, there will be several hundred photographs of landscapes and people that I took during my travels in Haiti.

the smell of wild sea roses

2007-09-13T11:34:00.000-04:00

Stopping to smell the roses on Caterpillar Hill, Maine.

embracing my inner newcomer

2007-09-12T12:37:00.000-04:00

Sometimes it takes a little extra push to engage one's "hometown" like a newcomer. The transients, expatriates, exchange students, etc. often take more energetic and aggressive attitudes toward meeting people, visiting places, seeing attractions and generally enjoying the town. In every major metropolitan area, there are publications, lists, books, sites and newspaper sections dedicated to highlighting the good stuff to do in town. Now that I am back in Washington DC (if for only for a year or two), I feel as though I must learn to engage the city of my birth like a spunky, native mid-westerner might -- embrace my inner newcomer, if you will.

In an effort to effect the latter, I called a college buddy, and incidentally a Washington transplant, to discuss/complain about my semi-self-imposed isolation in Chevy Chase. When I left for Haiti over eight months ago, I had friends and relatives who just moved down to the area in the last year. They were getting their bearings still when I left. Upon my return, I find them completely entrenched in all things Washington. And truthfully, I feel more admiration than surprise because I can easily see how this is analogous to building communities and friendships in Wells, England, Granada, Spain, and Les Cayes, Haiti, which I did without so much as a thought.

Though I am in the midst of applying for jobs, masters programs and hunting down a new place to live, there is no reason why I should not attend thematic happy hours, clubs, lunches, joining an association or two and maybe even (eep!) joining a kickball league... right? So... how to emulate those rose-colored shades and see my dear old friend, the capital of our great nation, as a recent transplant might?

Last night I joined a hill-staffer friend for dinner in Chinatown. We picked a bustling place -- one reviewed in a new, swanky Washington magazine as having excellent food. We were not spotted nor did we do much "spotting" but it felt like we were "somewhere," which is a start I think. Next I joined one of those "transplant" friends I mentioned at a thematic happy hour in Dupont. I had called him earlier and laughingly begged him to "reintroduce" me to my hometown. He did literally that -- presenting me to a wide array of his libertarian friends, many of whom write influential blogs and columns for local and national media engines and have a lot to say about national policy... how Washington.

One would think that it would be easier to assert oneself into an American community rather than a foreign community where language and many other things present constant barriers. Strangely, I feel more at home confronting those (usually artificially) boundaries as a transplant, no matter where, than I do learning to relearn my hometown. This time, though, I have decided to take it on as a challenge.

Watch out Washington, Portia's back!

Mid-Coast Maine Sunset

2007-09-10T14:52:00.000-04:00

Jobs 101 or 101 Jobs?

2007-09-07T00:44:00.000-04:00

Qualifications:

• Masters degree in a relevant discipline plus at least three years of progressively responsible experience in the idustry supporting programs in Africa, the Middle East, Latin America.... Asia (East, West and South), the Confederate States of Micronesia and Antarctica.
• Proficiency in Arabic, Spanish, and/or French.... Urdu, Pashto, Farsi, Tagalog, and American Sign Language.... required.
• Experience with proposal development, developing new business opportunities.... microfinance, macrofinance, conflict resolution, peacekeeping, babysitting, thumbsucking....
• Strong writing and editing skills are essential.... have you been published??

As I skim through thousands of job postings, I am learning a lot more about what I want out of a job than what the job actually wants out of me. As I look at some of the posted qualifications, I have to wonder, does this declared ideal candidate actually exist? Just the same, I apply. I apply like mad -- averaging 10 to 15 applications per day. My fingers fly as I tweak different versions of my resume and rework cover letters. Perhaps at the end of this week I could forgo a continued job hunt and start my own business on how to perfectly tailor your CV to fit the narrow categories allowed by different job-posting sites and online auto-application forms.

suspended... for the moment

2007-09-04T08:44:00.001-04:00

One of Espwa's little boys hung some flowers from a spiderweb. It caught my breath to see the little blossoms suspended in air. Images like these - these kinds of memories - and faces like this little girl's float through my mind.

I have not posted in a week because I have been traveling and taking a short vacation. Internet access at my grandmothers and on Isle-au-Haut, Maine is more limited than in Haiti, it seems. Now that I am back in DC, you'll be hearing from me with greater frequency as I attempt to reorient my life in the post-Haiti phases.

the scars to prove it

2007-08-26T14:42:00.000-04:00

Once, there lived a young man who walked around with his beautiful, perfect heart on display for everyone to see. He showed it off, pointing out its flawlessness. All who met him marveled at the sight until one day he came across a certain old man. This old man also carried his heart where others might see it but his was not new-looking or perfect. It had pieces missing, gaps where ill-fitting pieces had been jammed, stitching, and deep fissures. When he saw this, the young man asked,

"Old man, why would you show off a heart like that one? Look at mine, how perfect and smooth it is." The old man smiled. Slowly, he lifted his heart and began to explain, gesturing with one bony finger,

"Each missing piece, each fissure is where I gave a part to someone else. Sometimes I received pieces in return. Some of those pieces fit and some didn't -- but I kept them anyway. Sometimes I gave pieces away but never got anything in return."

The young man looked down at the smooth sides of his heart, its flawlessness, its constant shape. Tears welled in his eyes. He was overcome with helplessness. Understanding immediately, the old man tore away a generous piece of his heart and offered it to the young man. The young man hesitated but then clumsily tore away a bit of his own heart, making room to fit the offering.

"That's a start," commented the old man and the young man walked proudly away, holding his heart high.

~~~~~~~~~~

I am back from Haiti (for now). I certainly have the scars to prove that I gave it my all: heart, body and soul. My legs are mangled from necessary motorcycle travel, my waist marred by massive jellyfish stings and my heart a bit broken. The leaving was bittersweet -- sad to leave behind the Espwa kids, good friends and meaningful work but ready to start a new chapter of my life. No doubt, I'll be back to visit soon and my work as a volunteer with Espwa will continue on a part-time basis from the States.

Please do keep up with my blog. I will still report on Pwoje Espwa and other events in Haiti on a sporadic but regular basis but the focus will shift to reflect, in photos and words, the goings on of wherever it is I happen to be located.

in their hands

2007-08-22T10:54:00.000-04:00

The future of Haiti lies with these young ones.

higher sea levels

2007-08-20T09:56:00.000-04:00

This is the most damage that the streets of Les Cayes suffered in the Hurricane Dean aftermath. So far, only a few deaths have been reported throughout the southern department.

just brushed

2007-08-19T13:26:00.000-04:00

The eye of the hurricane passed south of the coast of Haiti. Thus far there has been little rain and only tropical storm-force winds. A few trees fell and the water on the beaches rose several feet. The waves are actually quite impressive.

Our kids were all staying in the primary school for the night and are fine.

Hurricane Dean moves off toward Jamaica and has, thankfully, left Haiti relatively unscathed.

before the strike

2007-08-18T17:32:00.000-04:00

"Everyone" is watching the progress 0f Hurricane Dean except those in the Department of the South in Haiti. One does not find too many televisions and radios around these parts any how. Locals express incredulity that anything will actually happen (it has, afterall, been over 20 years since Haiti took a direct hit from a major hurricane). The sky is getting grayer -- taking on that yellow color that it often does before major storms -- and the winds are picking up. The vendors are still in the streets, their wares blowing back and forth. The government sent out alerts... but they are not doing much (they really cannot do much).

The market this morning was empty. No one is stocking water. The guy next door is still washing cars. The streets are full of activity.

The UN is doing what is possible in their limited capabilities to aid the local population -- but this is not exactly their mandate. But either way, no one else is here to do anything: preventative relief is not a priority for the global community so funding is nearly non-existant. Aid will come after; already some major huminatarian relief organizations gearing up to fund the "disaster zones."

If Dean comes too close, southern Haiti will suffer greatly -- even without a direct hit.

Hurricane Dean

2007-08-16T18:22:00.000-04:00

No doubt about it, a big one's headed our way.

Hurricane Dean.

The Weather Underground has a pretty good series of maps if you care to view.

The sucker's getting bigger... We're just hoping it slips through Jamaica and Haiti and doesn't head north at any point. Otherwise, next week is going to be all about disaster relief.

a little help for some friends

2007-08-15T16:03:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, a Uruguayan unit of the military branch of MINUSTAH went to visit St. Flora's orphanage on Ile-a-Vache. We asked them to help us help her by providing some "expertise" and "budget estimates." All morning, as we trooped around the property in the glaring sun, a little train of followers kept us company.
Among many things, the engineer was amazed at the antiquity of a the hand pump being used on the only operational well on the property. The "pump" has little rusted buckets attached to a leather belt, which reaches down 18.5 meters. The buckets splash water into a trough when someone winds the handle. Saying that Sr. Flora operates on a shoe-string is an understatement. Hopefully, with this added expertise, a project proposal that is in the works will bring much needed aid to Sr. Flora's 55 kids.

Ankle-deep in Haitian mud

2007-08-10T10:52:00.004-04:00

It rained all night last night and all night the night before that. Now the road leading to the farm is a 1-2 foot river. It's supposed to rain more yet...

Our cleaning lady holds hour-long conversations with the bathroom walls every morning.

stripping away belying smiles

2007-08-09T07:27:00.000-04:00

Despite their tragic histories and less than ideal lives, the Espwa kids smile regularly and "fe desod" (act out) on a daily basis. In fact, catching any one of them in a pensive or sullen moment is rather difficult. Perhaps that goes to show how our screen-less and packed homes, three starchy meals a day and boundless, muddy farmland compare to the alternative, which is nothing - less than nothing - or death from starvation. Yesterday, Paige and I went out to try to "capture" some of the kids looking gloomy. We literally had to bribe them with candy -- and even still, we caught far too many smiles! But man, without a cheerful, toothy grin to hide the sorrow, their eyes reveal naked tragedy. They possess memories that no one deserves, let alone kids their age. This little boy (below) did not need any coaxing, however. It would be hard to exaggerate the harsh reality of going through life with one foot -- especially in a place where prosthetic limbs are only a fantasy.

colonial ruins

2007-08-07T12:39:00.000-04:00

Colonial ruins in Mercen, Haiti.

Saut Maturine

2007-08-06T14:22:00.001-04:00

Rough n' Tumble

2007-08-04T10:15:00.000-04:00

Good News From Haiti

2007-08-02T10:16:00.000-04:00

"Good news" is a sort of oxymoron in any case but it is especially rare for the Republic of Haiti, over 200 years independent, over 200 years of turmoil, violence and corruption. Lately, enough positive changes have occurred in the security sector, however, that it may be safe to say that today, there is some good news coming out of Haiti. One can only hope that with a bit more stability in the capital and the outlying territories, the government and outside investors will be able to help bring an end to the still rampant poverty.

Under President Renee Preval, elected in 2006, Haiti has begun to see peace in its streets. According to NPR's latest piece on Haiti, the UN stabilization mission in Haiti (MINUSTAH) "...has managed to control security because of Preval." Late last year, the president agreed to sign over more authority to the UN mandate, enabling peacekeeping troops to go after gang leaders in the anarchical streets of Cite Soleil.

Figures provided by the U.N. show the dramatic downward trend in the violence nationwide. In January 2006, there were 240 attacks on U.N. troops. Over the past four months, there have been only 12. Kidnappings are down as well: six in June, compared to 162 in December 2005.

The commander in charge of the peace keeping troops, Brazillian Carlos Alberto Dos Santos, is responsible for spearheading this mission. Whether by luck or strategy, the "soccer-mad" Haitian residents of Cite Soleil resisted less to the presences of these foreign soldiers because a majority came from Brazil, a favorite soccer team.

Lourdes Garcia-Navarro of NPR writes,

Furious building is going on at city hall, another sign of improving times. But while everyone concurs that security has improved, Haiti is still a place of abject poverty. There is no fighting, but there also is still no work.

The UN has a mandate to improve public buildings, but foreign aid will have to come from governments as well as private-sector organizations. Less violence and a more stable government infrastructure are the first steps needed toward greater investment. Haiti has a lot of potential; perhaps it is on the brink of realizing some.

Mountains

2007-08-01T12:06:00.000-04:00

Dark Cloud over Kenscoff

2007-07-30T18:30:00.001-04:00

In a different era, Graham Greene wrote in his novel The Comedians about the dark cloud over Kenscoff. Nearly half a century later, it's still there: the black rain cloud that empties itself on the mountains above Port-au-Prince.

R&R on Friday Afternoon

2007-07-30T17:50:00.000-04:00

land of mountains

2007-07-29T08:44:00.000-04:00

quieter streets

2007-07-29T08:38:00.001-04:00

Cite Soleil post-UN gang round-up.

the girls of Haiti

2007-07-27T11:45:00.000-04:00

Still hope of a future...

Saved from starvation...

At serious risk of teenage pregnancy...

Tortured Contrasts

2007-07-27T08:02:00.000-04:00

An old woman sits on a hill situated slightly west of Port Salut. A crop of dying sugar cane surrounds her and her rusty tin hut, which is no larger than a spacious outhouse. She sits facing away from this scenery, toward the road. She has a panoramic view of the southern Caribbean but not desire or ability to enjoy it. Only a few other thatched-roof huts speckle the landscape; each has a stunning coastal view and a resident blinded by poverty and structural violence. Haiti has stretches of coast with little or no development. The few beaches near more populated, waterfront towns are usually destroyed or literally covered with trash. With recent improvements to infrastructure (better bridges, paved roads, electricity) and slow but steady economic growth, the facts about this devastated Caribbean island could change. Miles of empty, turquoise water do not promise change any time soon, though. Even with some real achievements in national monetary policies and with GDP growth creeping ever higher, the government must still face major socioeconomic challenges. Human rights violations remain Haiti's greatest plague. This lingering and gruesome quality of a long-unstable government is painfully visible everywhere in the country and creates a stark contrast to the dazzling colors and uninterrupted panoramas.

tropical waves bring drama to the skies

2007-07-26T11:01:00.000-04:00

Orphans on Ile-a-Vache

2007-07-23T17:50:00.000-04:00

fishing the empty waters

2007-07-21T21:26:00.000-04:00

...the darndest things

2007-07-20T07:24:00.000-04:00

Blan: Looked they burned out the tree!

Timoun: Ya.

Blan: Think there're evil spirits in that hole?

Timoun: Hmm...

Blan: I think there are. Would you sleep in there?

Timoun: (silence)

Blan: Evil spirits...

Timoun: There aren't any. (pause) I'm not afraid of the devil!

Blan: Oh no?

Timoun: Nope! (kicking the air) I'd fight'em.

Blan: (looks at kid)

Timoun: Ya! (still shadow boxing) And 'sides, they burned that tree out to kill the evil spirits. So there aren't any any more. They're gone now.

too much of fire now

2007-07-19T10:21:00.001-04:00

Reading M.S. Bell's biography on Toussaint Louverture, one cannot help but wonder what Ayiti, land of mountains (so-called by the Arawak Indians), looked like at the time of the famous slave rebellion against the French colonizers. Certainly, the verdure of the foothills and mountains exceeded that of even the lushest parts of present-day Haiti. Thousands of deserted slaves found cover in the jungle and rain forest that covered the steep terrain, which now mostly hangs in craggy, naked swaths above the limited plains.
The hills above Port-au-Prince offer a panoramic view of the capital city and the mountains around it. By day, the beige-colored land looks cracked and thirsty. By night, the hills still blaze in places where any vegetation remains. With nothing left to shelter the sun-baked land from tropical rains and winds, thousands die in mudslides like the one in Gonaive not too long ago.

Despite the senseless waste laid to the land here, sadly reminiscent of a destruction wrought all too often upon the people, the land retains a hint of its former ability to produce life. Magical places turn up suddenly and unexpectedly. In the mountains of the south, one still finds handfuls of untouched rain forest.

According to Bell's research, some still attribute Ayiti's 300+ years of tribulation to "the fact that the [slave] revolution was originally founded on fire instead of water," a statement based on the absence of Toussaint (who is said to have been protected by the water lwa - voodoo spirit) from the beginning and final stages of the revolution. Sometimes, in the face of intense structural violence, deaths from natural disasters and rampant poverty, this explanation seems as good as any other...

Bebeto - laughing

2007-07-18T13:38:00.000-04:00

drug trafficking crackdown for Haiti

2007-07-17T17:28:00.000-04:00

One of the few realities to penetrate the smokescreen of fear, lies and sensational journalism that veils the true Haiti from those in the more developed west is that this complex island nation has a major drug trafficking problem. On Monday, the combined powers of the Haitian National Police and the U.S.'s DEA and special forces began a roll-up. These efforts have been met with some success:

U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration agents and Haitian police raided the home of former army officer Guy Philippe near the southern town of Les Cayes... Haiti, the poorest country in the Americas, has long been a key transshipment point for South American cocaine headed for markets in the United States and Europe... While the U.S. and Haitian agents failed to capture Philippe, they did arrest a hotel owner, Lavaud Francois, on drug trafficking charges on Monday, said Osman Desmangles, a spokesman for police in the northern town of Gonaives.

Read the whole article here, (the truest and best article on the story, given my sources). One can only hope that this trend continues. The presence of drug traffickers corrupts so many levels of society, politics and security here -- not to mention the international implications.

Despite my intellectual comprehension of Haiti's dilapidated state of affairs, I still sometimes struggle with the notion that this place is my present reality. The neighborhood where the U.S. air-power swooped down to arrest Guy Philippe is only 10 minutes from my downtown office. Several times, Guy has sat a table over from me at the local watering hole and his wife (incidentally an American from Wisconsin) has exchanged pleasantries with me once or twice at a popular lunch place. Though I came to this country with multifaceted intentions, I had no idea I would find myself close, sometimes dangerously so, to history as it unfolds.

THE FANTBULOUS FOUR-O

2007-07-17T16:51:00.000-04:00

We call ourselves the Fantastic Four. We experience many adventures together (yes that's me on the backhoe).
After a little evening out, we braved our flooded living quarters together. Our names are (left to right in the middle photograph) Portia, Paige, Blood and Erin. We are superheroes. We have incredible powers. We - are - taking - southern - Haiti - by - storm... at least as long as the storms don't take us first (last night was wild).

in a glance

2007-07-17T15:11:00.000-04:00

The southern region of Haiti is the lushest part of the country. The children at Pwoje Espwa eat 3 meals a day and attend school free of charge. Even the streets of Cayes are not completely filled with the sorts of deformed and crippled beggars and street kids that riddle descriptions of Graham Greene's Haiti (though, admittedly, most of Haiti has not improved since the penning of the Comedians).

Nonetheless, the poverty here disturbs. A visitor to our organization cried at the realities she encountered at Mother Theresa's home in downtown Cayes. She had been expecting Mexico-like conditions and instead encountered dejection, poverty and disease rivaled only in Bangladesh, Sudan, Somalia and the like. And yet, the Cayes area cannot compare to the Artibonite region and Gonaive.
The Espwa kids come to us from this reality. Though we cannot offer them everything, we can offer thousands of children a hope they might not otherwise know. We often kid about the face that might "make" Espwa's non-existent trust fund -- we want to do more for Haiti's future. So, we talk about the "honest-to-goodness fly-in-the-eye orphan." We know these exist and that this is no joke, but what we really mean to say is that we must capture that reality and bring it to the consciousness of those who might help.

Claudia's eyes may be bug-free and she may have parents (albeit, very poor ones who have trouble staying employed and can hardly even afford a one-room house in which to shelter their extended family of 7) but her eyes still have a look that one does not see in the developed world. Even with a smile on her face, her eyes have a nearly intangible, but certainly real, sad or wise look to them. What gives these children such a curiously deep glance at such a young age? Can they truly process an understanding of the unfair hand life has dealt them before they even reach the fabled age of reason?

creepy-crawly things i'm forced to live with

2007-07-13T14:46:00.000-04:00

A holy frog, known here as a CRAPO. It's as big as a meaty fist and it's residing in the quad's chapel.

Paige, also known as PAGINA to the Spanish-speaking world or PIDGE to the Creole-speaking world. "Pidge" is my favorite. Say it out loud a few times to yourself.

(guess which one's creepy and which crawly... or is it D, all of the above)

building hope and homes

2007-07-13T12:47:00.000-04:00

Denise (AKA: Matante)

Rosmanie

*************************

Pwoje Espwa literally builds hope for over a hundred families in Haiti by facilitating the construction of homes. Cross International funds this work and we help vet the recipients and select the builders. These two homes were built in Camp Perrin, Haiti, the town where Espwa first set down its roots.

bitter-sweet waiting periods

2007-07-13T12:27:00.000-04:00

Perhaps some are under the illusion that work in the developing world is fast-paced. I like to refer to my experience working here as "The Great Wait." To give you an idea:

The Cayes-office is dark, there is spotty, slow internet. Charcoal dust and the scents of pig entrails and tripe blow in the window from the neighboring kitchen. Two different sets of computer speakers blast music -- one kompa and the other Celine Dion. Working out at the farm is impossible since the guy who's supposed to set up the internet has said "tomorrow" since last week. A large satellite dish sits on the bottom floor of the quad, secure in its corrugated cardboard, taunting us.

We can't get the Haitian government to recognize our NGO status. An ongoing saga. Every day it's going to happen "tomorrow." This prevents us from participating in round-tables with other organizations in the area. This also prevents funding from major international organizations who would otherwise be able to provide immense help.

Organizing and requesting aid from peripherally located organizations means securing a ride into town, finding a printer that works, printing off the request, driving it half way up a mountain, waiting around, handing over the request, waiting, driving home. This can take up to a whole day, which means that not much else gets done.

EDH (Haiti's national electricity company) hooked up power to our farm. This is awesome except that EDH is highly unreliable... So there are surges and 12-48 hour periods with no electricity at all. Yesterday, since our batteries hadn't been recharged for days, we had no power... We waited and waited and finally were able to get something done on our computers by evening.

Now, the upside to all these "down periods" is that the kids are happy to see us around, hang out with us and harass us. If I let go of my neurotic, American expectations to be on the 'net every day, then I can be very happy out here playing with children and running a backhoe (yes, running a backhoe). Then, too, I recognize the ability to have other kinds of successes.

All these things taken into consideration, it'll be bitter-sweet leaving Haiti behind. Right now I am engaged in a transfer of "power." Paige is meeting my friends around town and learning about some of the projects that I have been working on. She'll pick up the mantel where I leave off in mid-August.

Frankie -- the tiniest artisan

2007-07-13T12:21:00.000-04:00

Jackson - one of the coolest kids

2007-07-09T15:57:00.001-04:00

Camp Perrin: Old lady with grandson

2007-07-09T15:52:00.001-04:00

The Beaches at Port Salut

2007-07-09T15:36:00.000-04:00

visitors and septic

2007-07-06T11:35:00.000-04:00

The quad is exploding with visitors, this time mostly female. Actually, I am going into a bit of a shock because my Haiti experience has been, to date, amidst a bevy of boys. Now there's me, Paige, Dee, Jamie, Angie, Erin, and Kelly. What the HECK?! I know... it's weird. I don't think Fr. Charlie knows what to do.

Yesterday I went to the Uruguayan UN base and begged them to come pump the kids poops again. Lt. Colonel Talagorria agree happily. They are there today, pumping away in the heat.

Fr. Bal, our 83-year-old master carpenter, is leaving us now for good. He's finally retiring. We'll do a little goodbye for him today -- surprise, last minute.

More exciting stories about our adventures to come!

Led around for a string

2007-07-05T14:40:00.000-04:00

Portia and Paige trembled with excitement. A trip to town! But despite their elation, they wondered nervously how they would travel from the farm where they lived to the shabby, bustling city. Would Jonny drive them? Fr. Marc? Would they (gulp) have to find a motorcycle? But they both knew, despite the transportation obstacle, getting to town was a must. They had a mission and that mission was………. to find some string.

At 10:00am a sweating Haitian youth rushed into the quad where Portia and Paige sat reading (A Heart Breaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers and My Friend Leonard by James Fry respectively), legs crossed, minds elsewhere.

“Vit. Pócia. Pe-a ap rele’w” (Translation: Hurry. Po-see-a. The father is calling you.)

“Li ale?” (Translation: He’s leaving?)

“Wi!” (Translation: Yes!)

“Di pe-a n’ap vini!!” (Translation: Tell the father we are coming!!)

The two girls ran to their rooms, threw their things into their bags and raced to the entrance of the farm. Weeee!! Everyone piled into the vehicle and the green and cream-colored SUV (built and outfitted especially for hot, third world countries) bumped down the rutted road toward town. First stop: an orphanage called FOCSED (just say it out loud).
Everyone, Fr. Marc, Directors Bertony and Eddie, Paige and Portia, one artisan named Sammy and two kids spilled out of the car like clowns. The amiable director of FOCSED, Junot DesRivaux, also a policeman, showed everyone around and introduced the 19 orphans, the youngest of which entertained everyone by bouncing off of cement walls, skidding across the floor next to the railing-less stairway (hearts in throats), and kicking Sammy the Artisan (much laughter).

Fr. Marc entered an office to “discuss things.” Portia tried awkwardly to make conversation with the mother/cook/babysitter/teacher figure. Paige played hide and seek with a child who, in the States, would most likely (and perhaps wrongly) be labeled ADHD. An hour later, they left. Next stop: La Madonne.At La Madonne, Paige and Portia patiently braved the excessively slow satellite Internet access, squeezed some money out of the financial office, grabbed Sammy the Artisan and departed the front gates West, in the direction of La Cayenne. Before even attempting to locate string, the girls need to fuel their bodies with papaille-au-lait (papaya milkshakes) and chicken BBQ sandwiches.

The unlikely trio trooped through the streets of Cayes together, Paige towering over Portia, Sammy trudging alongside the two “blan-yo,” (whities) complaining the whole time of the heat. Soon they arrived at La Cayenne and entered the dark, windy restaurant – dark because Haitian store-owners do not illuminate their establishments with rows of fluorescent lights, a-la-their American counterparts, and windy because La Cayenne has industrial-sized fans in the corners.

Without much ado, the odd threesome selected a table and ordered their meals. Before too long, the waitress set before them one of the greatest treats available in both the developed and undeveloped world: Papaya milkshakes – thick with crushed ice and fresh milk, colored a vibrant Easter-egg orange by the fresh, blended papaya.

Portia and Paige felt rejuvenated and Sammy beamed, sang to himself – delighted that two girls would buy him lunch and a lunch of papaille-au-lait and sandwich poulet at that. They paid and left La Cayenne behind, onto the next destination, the public market.

The three walked on the side of the street, dodging swirly, brown puddles, unrecognizable blobs, and parked cars, Sammy in front guiding them and Portia and Paige behind, looking this way and that, diverted by the colorful, bustling streets and terrified by erratic motorcyclists who turn left onto streets by driving onto the wrong side of the new road and then quickly crossing over to the right side without warning.

“Pistach! Gen pistach! ” (Translation: Peanuts, I have peanuts!”)

“Mab-yo! Mab-yo! Youn sak mab-yo pou 30 dollar!” (Translation: Marbles, marbles, one sack of marbles for ~$4.00US)

“Cheri, ou beswen youn bel chemis! Gade sa, sa bel pou’w! Ou vle?” (Translation: Deary, you need a beautiful shirt! Look at this, this is perfect for you. You want it?)

Paige and Portia were bombarded left and right by vendors. Sammy, on the other hand, passed unscathed, much akin to the way he and other Haitians cross over busy streets: perfectly, calmly. They looked at thick, nylon string, thin nylon string hanging on the walls of a very American-looking hardware store. They moved on, looking at shoestrings, boot and sneaker length, flat, rectangular and spherical, dark and light. They looked at electrical wire (promptly rejected). They inspected threads (too thin). Finally, a large sweating woman reached into her basket of toys and pulled out a roll of black yarn.

Sammy extracted a small wooden cross from his pocket and inspected the drilled hole at the top, looking to see if the yarn would, in fact, feed through that space. Paige nodded emphatically.

“Wi,” Said Portia.

They forked over a few hundred faded, ripped, greasy Haitian gourdes. Now Sammy and the other artisans had the string they needed to make little, crafty rosaries. Mission complete! The girls wiped their brows with handkerchiefs. Sammy complained of heat again. They began the trek back to La Madonne.

On the return journey, Portia and Paige, walking side by side, became diverted by an in-depth conversation on fashion and shopping. When Sammy asked Portia is she had 5 gourdes, she handed them over distractedly, not missing a beat in the dialogue. The next thing they knew, Sammy had fallen behind, was missing. Paige looked around. Portia called out, “Sammy?” Suddenly, from the right side of the street, a motorcycle took off, crossing in front of them, knocking Paige back on her heels a bit. The girls whipped their heads around.

There was Sammy, seated on the back of a motor-taxi, grinning and waving as the vehicle hastened away from the two shocked Americans. “Tooooo hoooootttttttttt!!!!” The young Haitian artisan cried out, as the taxi driver sped toward La Madonne and out of sight.

(to read another version of the story, go to Paige's page).

’Twas a battery killed the beast, a Lazarous story

2007-07-05T11:26:00.000-04:00

The Nikon D-70 lay motionless in the new black camera bag. For all anyone knew, it was finished, out of commission, kaput. But, for all the announcements, mourning and complaining, and even the taking-of-photographs-with-the-small-backup-camera, I was not yet ready to give Ole Trusty (just coined, subject to change) up for dead.

I pondered: What could be the cause of this nonsensical and untimely passing?

Sitting with my knee raised as a prop for my elbow and my fist tucked under my chin, I thought. Could this be it?

(Flashback)

It’s a sunny afternoon in the beginning of June. I’m driving my beastly gray SUV to downtown Bethesda to purchase a new lens. I have been dissatisfied with my old lens, the focus was slow, the pictures less than satisfactorily sharp. I want, I need a new lens.

A spherical, bespectacled, fast-talking, photo-taking salesperson IDs “the perfect” lens for me but 3 minutes after I enter the store. He goes over the specs, the price. I am convinced. I love it. I’m ready to swipe my card. Then, out of nowhere, he asks me how many batteries I carry in my bag.

“You don’t carry around two batteries?!” He looks at me, his eyes bugging behind his thick glasses. The shrewd little eyes catch a look of doubt upon my face. He immediately adds, “I’ll sell you generic. You should have it, either way. This one’s cheap.” He scans the thing and throws it in the plastic shopping bag. Ooooo Kay.

Well, that’s the scene that popped into my head as I sat looking introspective on the second floor balcony of the quad. “I might as well give it a try,” thought I. Thus, I reluctantly lifted the deceased from its resting place. Still dubious, I removed the generic brand battery that I had inserted only several weeks ago and replaced it with the old Nikon brand one. I held my breath. I flipped the switch.

Click Click Click Click Click Click Click Click Click Click Click Click Click Click

With the tap of my right index finger, the camera snapped 10-20 shots in a row. No stickage of the shutter. No freezing.

(Alleluia Chorus from Handel’s Messiah)

The unstoppable duo is back.

(Moral of the story: don’t buy generic and mistrust fast-talking salespersons.)

Feeble Celebrations

2007-07-05T10:41:00.001-04:00

There were no beers on a lawn, no barbecues, no hoards of laughing friends and family, no vacation days, no fireworks. Still, Paige and I donned our red, white and blue in the hopes that there may be a few “Happy Independence Days” launched our way.

No such luck.

However, we were able to coerce Fr. Charlie into a rare photo op in honor of the day. For true musings on the celebration of America's 231 years, read the blog de mon frère. It's touching.

retardo kitty

2007-07-04T17:05:00.000-04:00

Some things change and some remain the same... Tilice, the "baby" cat at the quad insists on this now bizarre habit. She's five months. She's as big if not meatier than her mother. She still suckles.

(And before you ask if we are or aren't feeding them, please know they feast on leftovers and have plenty of rats, mice and frogs to munch on for snack).

the parting of good friends

2007-07-03T15:52:00.000-04:00

It is with a sad heart that I report the passing of my faithful Nikon D70.

It has been with me in Haiti these 6 months -- through thick and thin. We didn't hit it off immediately but given a few months, we were really meshing. When home, I rewarded it with a new lens. It was ecstatic. As a result, we produced some beautiful art together in North Carolina at the end of June.

Then it began to sputter, catch, click. I ignored the signs... not wanting to believe! Finally, it forced my hand, freezing just one too many times. I went to Ritz Camera.

"Sorry, lady. It's definitely not your new lens. It's your body. You're gonna hafta send it into Nikon for repairs."

"How long?"

"4-6 weeks."

"I have a day..."

"Well, you're outta luck then. Cross your fingers."

So I did. I crossed my fingers. As many as my limited dexterity would permit. And my Nikon and I traveled back to Haiti together to bravely document my remaining weeks.

Not a week into my return, I remove the faithful digital, single lens reflex from its bag. We're going to an orphanage run by a Haiti cop! What fun to capture the smiling faces of those 20 cherubs in sharp, perfect digital clarity.

SNAP.

((((((((((CLICK)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

The shutter stuck open. I reload the battery. Don't fret. Just try again.

SNAP.

((((((((((CLICK)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

Sh*&.

I put the D70 back in its fancy black bag and resigned myself to documenting with a sorry, hand-held, happy snap camera.

Floppy Hats

2007-07-02T15:01:00.001-04:00

Paige (right) comes from Arizona. She studied education and will spend a year here with Espwa working on overhauling the English and art programs. It turns out she and I have other things in common aside from an interest in Haiti and Espwa kids.

to heal an infant child

2007-07-01T16:08:00.000-04:00

From the back of her thatched-roof house, the woman heard her eight-month-old son crying. The frazzled lady waited a few breaths. The wailing did not subside; it grew more frantic. At last, she left her pile of washing and rushed around the side of the house to the source of the shrieks.

The infant boy lay kicking and screaming as a stray pig dragged him around by his ears.

The mother flew at the pig, shouting nonsensical things, waving her arms, scaring it off. Then she swept down and scooped up the little child, cradling the wounded ear against her chest. A neighbor, hearing the commotion, rushed over. Within seconds the old lady had recounted the dreadful event.

"His ear... his ear," the woman moaned.

Suddenly, the neighbor remembered: Hospital Brenda! A few years ago, she reminded her distraught friend, a falling coconut had smashed her son's nose. A saintly Canadian nun took pity on their desperate situation and had admitted the boy to Hospital Brenda (incidentally the best Ears, Nose and Throat hospital in Haiti and only right down the road). The neighbor suggested going there first and immediately, as the good sister's doctors had restored her son's nose to normal at very little cost to the family.

The two women tore down the road, the mother pressing a cloth on the side of her now silent son's head. They arrived at Hospital Brenda and, given the urgency of the child's plight, were given instant audience with the little Canadian nun herself.

When Sister Evelyn saw the little bundle, whose ear continued to bleed, her worn face crinkled with worry. Though she had no formal medical training herself, years of "field experience" had given her an ability to assess most medical conditions and incidents with incredible accuracy. Something had to be done for this little one. She gathered the baby, who had begun to whimper, in her arms and clucked her tongue quietly as she listened to the poor woman tell of how a pig was eating her son's ears.

"Of course, of course we can do something. He will be fine... you will be fine little one." Then, looking directly the grandmother, still visibly overcome with grief, she went on, "and don't you even think about the cost."

Photo courtesy Fr. Marc Boisvert

Israel's passing

2007-06-29T11:28:00.000-04:00

Israel Valcourt. Died in front of Klinic Espwa at Castel-Pere on June 29, 2007 around 8:40am. He was 16-years-old.

*********** disturbing/graphic content to follow ***********

Paige and I emerge from the quad. It's not quite early morning but not late yet. Today reminds us of yesterday, sunny breezy, pleasant. We're going to meet Fr. Marc to go into town. Not ten steps from the building, a woman streaks by us, wailing, her hands in her hair, elbows akimbo. Then we hear more shrieks -- shrieks that can only mean that someone has died.

As we pass the clinic, we see a quickly growing crowd and in the midst, a white sheet covering what can only be a body. Security is quickly rounding up children and depositing them in the primary school. Fr. Marc is looking on with a solemn face, standing near the covered body. Later, when he comes over to sit with us under the mango tree, where we have self-consciously retreated, we will learn all the details.

One of the upper administrative staff guides Matante back to her home, she is calling out to God. Another staff member steps away and calls our lawyer, the local authorities and a funeral home. The body will not be removed until it is declared officially dead by the proper authorities. This will hopefully happen sooner rather than later, given that we have 400 curious children to worry about.

Finally, Fr. Marc joins our quiet twosome. I ask him what happen. And he replies,

"Israel died. A seventh grader. You knew him... 16 years old..." he trails off. After a moment, he collects his thoughts and delivers the rest of the story, as he's learned it. His parents are dead. His aunt, with whom he lived, said that last night he was very sick, vomiting blood. This morning he came to Pwoje Espwa to pick up his report card from the secondary school. Then, he and his aunt were hoping to get a ride in one of Espwa's vehicles to the hospital, since the boy could barely stand.

So they waited by the clinic. One of the drivers was summoned and he came expeditiously in a truck. Before he even reached the yard in front of the clinic, the boy collapsed, the rest of the contents of his stomach - and maybe even his stomach itself - were pouring from his nose and mouth. He was dead.

In the U.S., Fr. Marc reflects, this bright young kid might not have died. He would have gone to the hospital the night before, maybe sooner. We don't know yet, nor might we ever, why he died exactly. The doctor didn't seem to know. It all seems surreal -- but it's so real. Painfully real.

I watch as Marc calls over one of Israel's classmates.

"Was he your friend?" he asks.

"Yes," the boy answers, his eyes red.

"Was he sick?"

"I don't know..."

Then Marc pauss, thinking. "Did he have siblings?"

"I think so..."

Behind us, more and more villagers from Madame Combe march through our gate to see their deceased neighbor and stand with his family. The lawyer shows up a few minutes later and mercifully, the state official does too.

**************

Please keep Israel, his family and his friends in your prayers.

bye-bye rasta man

2007-06-28T17:43:00.000-04:00

Jonas was walking in Camp Perrin with 4-inch, coiling dreads bouncing rhythmically about his smaller-than-average cranium. As he rounds a corner, a policeman's eye is drawn by sudden movement in the periphery of his "watch." He strides over to Jonas and grips his arm roughly. Jonas -- who carries only a sad collection of innocuous items in his worn backpack and who was doing nothing particularly attention-getting at the time of the encounter -- looks startled.

The cop drags him to the next corner, mostly wordlessly but also faintly mumbling profanities and the word "rasta," to a barber shop. The policeman plunks a miffed Jonas down in the barberchair and orders and old, boney man in the corner to chop the crop of natty coils.

As the barber goes to work with his razor, the officer leans on the wall in the corner of the shop. He wears a smirk. When the barber finishes, Jonas looks clean-shaven but decidedly less cool... even with the earring. The cop plops a few coins in the barbers hand and walks off, greeting his friends outside with a laugh.

a hair-raising experience

2007-06-27T12:17:00.000-04:00

The rain was coming down it sheets. It was no tropical storm but still very impressive -- with the dark, pregnant clouds tumbling over the sky in a never-ending procession. The sun was obfuscated in this dark, windy mess and so time was lost, as it often is anyway on vacations. Glancing at a clock would have shown it to be dusk... but we thought of no such thing.

Four of us, two brothers, one girlfriend and myself, decided to throw on bathing suits and run down to the beach. Before we even reached the sand, we were drenched, our hair hanging in strings about our faces. Once on the beach, the boys stood ankle deep in the furious surf and complained of cold. They were right, it was frigid with the pelting rain and chilling wind. We girls, after sampling the water along side the boys, decided to wade in waist deep.
On Cape Fear and the Fryingpan Shoals, when the tide goes out, you can walk out quite some ways in the water. Almost immediately, you will find yourself waist or chest deep but then there are little under-water hills that surprise you as the water level drops to your shins. So you keep walking and before long you are over 100 feet from the shore. This makes for an amazing bathing experience. The same shoals, however, are the meeting point of four very strong currents, which create a sort of intense, tunnel that drags every sort of sea beast to the near shores of populated island beaches -- little fishies, crustaceans of all kinds, big fishies, sand dollars, man-of-war jelly fish and sharks.

As Christine and I sought warmth in the balmy North Carolina waves, wading further out from shore and laughing as the rain bounced off our noses, a fifth wheel crashed our party. A six-foot sandshark was taking advantage of the rain, which brings little fishies out to feed in greater numbers, and the expansive 3-5 foot tidal basin created at low tide. Not to mention, it was dusk -- prime feeding time.

In the guide books and the movies, they tell you not to panic and simply move away from the carnivorous beasts as quickly but splashlessly as possible. Yeah right. No one knows how they'll react when they're hit until they're actually hit.

Christine turned to me and with a swallow asked,

"Did you see that."

"Yes!" I think I shouted.

We turned on our heels and "sprinted" out of the water, the waist-high water slowing our desperate thrashing to a mere trudge.

Once back on the safe, ankle-deep water's edge, we asked my brothers if they'd seen our fast moving friend. They replied in the affirmative, chuckling because only one night before we'd all watched Jaws. My eldest little brother swallowed another eruption of laughter as he pointed to our hair, which was suddenly and literally standing straight on end.

The electrically charged air, foreshadowing a lightning strike, caused static electricity to make our long hair stand straight up. This time we all turned on our heels and dashed back to the cottage.

Moral of the story: Don't swim at dusk in the ocean during an electric storm.

In other news, I am back in Haiti and all's well. I will post on things Haitian tomorrow.

Free the Kids!

2007-06-25T17:23:00.000-04:00

Theo's Work has a new and awesome official website. Check out Free the Kids.

travel day tomorrow!

2007-06-25T17:10:00.000-04:00

Tomorrow I am flying back to Haiti. I hear that our satellite internet link has been quirky lately, but I'll surely begin posting again from there as soon as I can.

I also noticed that some fellow bloggers have recently added me to their list of favorite blog sites. Thanks for that -- and I'll be adding you too!