The Best of What's Left

Hi. Yeah I'm back.

2012-01-14T16:18:00.000-05:00

When I hear conservatives saying "We need to make this country great again" I wonder...what the hell do they mean?

Define great. Does that mean, what, we roll all over every other country? We kind of already do that.

Should we have the highest rate of conspicuous consumption, energy and resource use of every other civilization that ever existed? Been there, done that.

And IF there is a way to make this country great again (what ever that means) how do they propose to do that with the likes of Ricks Perry or Santorum, Newt Gingrich or Willard Romney at the helm? Maybe Colbert could pull it off. He gets my vote. If I voted Republican, fat chance.

Seven years

2011-09-23T10:09:00.000-04:00

But the good times always outweighed the bad.

Now It Can Be Told...

2011-07-08T13:13:00.000-04:00

May 19th, 2011 I received the payoff from the sale of my house. The place had been on the market since January 2007. On other words straight into the teeth of the most massive real estate downturn in U.S. history. Had I tried to sell it one year earlier odds are I would have sold it much easier and for (I estimate) double what I eventually received.

But OK, that's history. Others had it far worse. Life marches on.

But there's a heck of a story leading up to the actual sale.

We were in China. This was last February. At the Wudang Taoist Kungfu and Taiji Academy foreign students come from virtually everywhere in the world. They do so for all manner of reasons and lengths of stay. Some we became close to. Others not so much. It depended largely on how long they were around (often only a week or so) and of course personality.

Over the winter, when it was very cold, the number of students dropped to maybe six or seven students. So we all tended to bond together more so than in the spring or summer when the roles would swell to three or four dozen folks.

Around the first of the year we had been joined by a French woman whom I'll refer to as Dana, a very pleasant, jovial lady, who was always a joy to be around. She had been with us for close to two months when it came her time to leave.

On her last night in Wudang several of us gathered in her room for a bit of socializing and to bid her a safe journey. We had some snacks and a bottle of "Great Wall" wine. A very pleasant evening. In the event I was telling her my basic life story, lamenting the difficulty in unloading the house. I actually did have a buyer who was living in the house paying me on a "Bridge loan" until he could qualify for bank financing. But the contractual time limit for the financing had expired and even though I had agreed to extend the limit it was looking unlikely anytime soon. I had a constant fear of learning he had moved out with no forwarding address (It had happened before on an earlier sale attempt).

At this juncture I should mention that Dana is a self-described Shaman (Shawoman?). No, Shaman. That in itself is a very interesting yarn. But it's hers, so I'll roll on with mine.

So I'm giving her the sorry details when she asks me to hand her some cards she had laying on a nearby table. They were little, business card-sized things. Laminated and connected with a kind of ring as I recall. She also had a little pyramid-shaped charm, like you'd see on a decorative bracelet. She began waving the pyramid over the cards and having a private conversation in French, which I couldn't understand. It seemed as though she was asking some questions, making the odd comment, occasionally nodding her head as if in response to something.

After a minute she looked up and said "You have a ghost in the house. It doesn't want the house to sell. Until you get the ghost out the house won't sell."

I was stunned! But the shock was just beginning. So, who is this ghost? Turns out it was my mother-in-law! I will tell you that in my story I had mentioned how my mother-in-law had lived in the attached apartment for several years, but a few years before her death had moved in with her surviving daughter. Some might say "Aha! She picked up on that and used it to 'work' you." OK, maybe so. But in the end I don't care. I'm not one for mumbo-jumbo, metaphysical crapola. As a rule I don't buy into Aliens, Yetis or spirit world/human interaction. But read on...

"How could this be!" I asked. She didn't die in the house! Dana replied it wasn't necessary to have passed away there. She explained how the spirit of those "beyond" sometimes go back to a place where they were happy during their physical life. I knew my mom-in-law had loved her little apartment, so that made sense as far as it went.

"What about my wife? She actually DID die in the house. Was she still there?"

No, she has moved on. In the spirit world she is not Jan as you once knew. She is a different "facet" of her spirit. But she is happy and well and wishes you good things (I'm paraphrasing.)

"So what do I do?" I asked.

Dana gave me explicit instructions. I needed to write a letter to my mother-in-law, read it to her aloud, burn it and spread the ashes into the hillside. Even though I was in China the message would be delivered.

I looked at Cabrini and said "I gotta go!" Cabrini had been in other conversations and didn't know what I was up to. "What?" she asked. "What are you talking about?"

I just said I'll be back in a few minutes. Then I ran to our room, grabbed a piece of scrap paper and wrote my letter. I basically told her that, much as I loved her and appreciated her many kindnesses to me during her life, it was time for her to "go into the light." In fact I wrote "I command you to go into the light." I then set fire to the sheet and blew the ashes to the winds.

Afterwards Dana told me the house would sell by the end of March. She added the proviso that since she didn't speak English well and all the messages she received were in French it was possible she may have mistaken certain details of the message. But we agreed to stay in touch. I would let her know what went down.

Well, March passed by and no sale. Oddly, I had been hopeful. I don't know why, nothing else had worked in four and a half years. But I'm a generally positive guy.

About halfway through April I finally emailed Dana to inform her nothing had happened. It was a couple weeks before she replied (some people apparently don't LIVE on Facebook). But toward the end of the month she wrote back. "I checked and checked again for your house... just be patient... it s ok now, just it needs little time more ;-)) that is the message from "Upstairs"...just wait..."

The very next email I checked that morning was from the guy in the house. Suddenly he had come into enough money to give him the down payment he needed to close out the sale.

To shorten a long story my accountant emailed a few days later telling me to check my bank account, it was a little heavier. Indeed it was! My long financial nightmare was over. The house was gone, Baba was in heaven (or where ever) and the cash was in the bank. Zip-a-dee-do-dah!

So how far off was Dana's original call? March...May...How similar are those in Francais?

All Too Soon It's Over

2011-05-22T20:20:00.000-04:00

A couple days ago I posted about the sale at long last of the old homestead.

An even better story was occurring practically simultaneously. Literally (and by literally I mean literally) five minutes after the confirming email of the sale Cabrini got an email from an agency that recruits for the US government. She had posted her resume online the night before.

Long story short she's been offered a job as a (civilian) Social Researcher with the US Army. She reports to Ft. Leavenworth, Kansas the 11th of June for training followed with deployment in four or five months. Its the kind of position she is extremely qualified for and will give her great "Street Cred" in years to come.

We leave for the States in two days.

These past couple days have been bittersweet. Nine months living here has changed us in a fundamental way. We feel like we belong in our little unusual Wudang Taoist community. The temple monks and nuns, the ladies who run the tourist shops, the kids in the school, our teachers...all have made us feel so welcome and accepted here. It's been a time in our lives which we will always look back on with deep fondness.

But life moves on and so must we.

228 South Albatrossaroundmyneck, Columbiana, Ohio

2011-05-20T00:34:00.001-04:00

I thought May 19th was a big deal last year.

Four and a half years ago I put my house of 16 years on the market. Those who have seen or visited the place will agree it was a pretty sweet layout. Secluded, lake front 3800 square feet ranch-style, completely finished basement, attached "Mother-in-Law" apartment, detached Guest house, 40x40 two-story pole barn, all with matching facade. All in all one great house in the great little village of Columbiana.

In the midst of the most drastic economic downdraft of my lifetime I have ridden waves of angst over this. At least five times the house was supposedly sold only to have the deals fall through.

But today, May 19, 2011, exactly one year after leaving the Peace Corps the deal is FINALLY done! Woo! Hoo!

I would like to express my undying appreciation to the bastard SOB bankers of the world who so torched the financial system for their own personal cocaine habits that they completely hosed me (and basically everyone else along the way) out of at least half what I would have gotten five years ago.

If I ever have occasion to visit the graves of the chief culprits from Countrywide Lending, Lehman Bros., Merrill Lynch, etc. KNOW I will happily relieve my bladder on their tombstones. Then I'll shit on their burial mounds. Or vice versa.

Because in the long run we're all dead and all that junk they accumulated will go to someone else.

But for the moment I GOT MINE!

May 19, 2010

2011-05-18T19:15:00.000-04:00

One year ago today we did the Botswana Bugout. It's been a wild, crazy, wonderful ride.

The best metaphor for it is a once great Akron, Ohio-based tire manufacturer: Goodyear.

A few more years like this and I might just live forever...

This Great Idea is also Stolen

2011-05-13T19:06:00.000-04:00

Politicians should be required to wear uniforms like NASCAR drivers. The product logos plastered all over them would represent corporate donors. The size and placement of the patches would indicate the size of the largesse.

All My Best Thoughts Are Stolen From Someone Else...

2011-05-07T20:44:00.000-04:00

I'm reading "The Information: A History, a Theory, a Flood," by James Gleick

It's a wide-ranging book, sometimes pretty difficult to parse. But he includes a quote from a play called "Arcadia" by Tom Stoppard. It's my philosophy of life in one paragraph:

"You should no more grieve for the rest than for a buckle lost from your first shoe, or for your lesson book which will be lost when you are old. We shed as we pick up, like travelers who must carry everything in their arms, and what we let fall will be picked up by those behind. The procession is very long and life is very short. We die on the march. But there is nothing outside the march so nothing can be lost to it."

And that explains where all my old T-shirts went.

I was a Jimmy Carter supporter...

2011-05-04T19:47:00.001-04:00

...Until he failed to lay on a back-up aircraft (Iran, 1980 Failed Hostage Rescue Attempt). Kudos on that Barack.

Some, unwilling to credit the President for making the call to go after bin Laden, are saying HE didn't do it, the American soldier did it. True in the strictest sense.

However from every wet-behind-the-ears Second Lieutenant to the highest General officer and on up to his boss this one thing is also true:

The Commander is responsible for everything his unit accomplishes or fails to accomplish.

This About Sums Up How I Feel About the Osama bin Laden Deal

2011-05-03T19:35:00.000-04:00

All this flag waving and talk of justice served doesn't obscure for me the (now apparent fact) that we gunned down an unarmed man. They say he resisted. Was he throwing rocks? (The conspiracy theorist in me suspects a CIA Wet team did the actual deed, including the crashed helicopter in the compound. Navy SEALS provided the legitimacy of the hit. But hey, that's just me.)

We are so desperate to believe in anything as a united people that this pathetic action is rousing our spirits. It's not a sporting event like the Olympic games. Chants of "USA! USA!" turn my stomach.

We have conveniently forgotten Osama bin Laden was trained, unleashed on the world and betrayed by the U.S. government during the war against the Soviet Union in Afghanistan. Remember the Rambo flick "Dedicated to the brave freedom fighters of Afghanistan?" That was the Taliban.

It's easier to cheer on the murder of a super villain than to take stock as citizens of the country that we have let run astray. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad the SOB is dead and no longer poses a threat to the world. If I were President I would have ordered the hit too. But it sickens me to see my fellow Americans taking such zealous glee in his murder. That's the thing that sticks in my craw. As a nation, we have forgotten many things, among them the ability to think critically and the resolve to make our government accountable for its actions against the rest of the planet. The notion, if anyone truly buys it, that killing Osama bin Laden makes the world a safer place is inane. Our actions in Afghanistan, Iraq and elsewhere have guaranteed a ready supply of terrorists willing to blow down our doors. Stop waving your flags with such ignorant delirium.

Somehow I think Thomas Jefferson would be spinning in his grave.

Osama bin Laden is Dead

2011-05-02T02:36:00.000-04:00

For months after 9/11/2001 I was in kind of a state of stunned disbelief. Oddly similar to how I feel now. I take no pleasure in this. It's justice served and deservedly so, but what price have we as a country and culture paid to achieve retribution? This is no time to breathe easy.

I gotta ponder on all this...

This "Birther" Business

2011-04-29T01:04:00.001-04:00

I'm following this bullshit via the New York times and many of my Facebook friends. Now President Obama has felt compelled to post his birth certificate online so the world will know that being born in Hawaii makes you an American citizen.

Still, the howling mob of idiots scream "Fake! Fake! Fake!"

And I'm wondering just what is really going on here. No one can seriously doubt that Barack Obama is a natural born Amurikan. This goes deeper. Almost beyond race. But not quite.

Then it came to me in the night. "Our" world is passing away. What do I mean by "Our" world. I'm a 61 year old white guy. From my earliest years I was taught the history of the world through Caucasian eyes. Christopher Columbus, Thomas Jefferson, George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, Florence Nightingale, George Armstrong Custer, Teddy Roosevelt, Susan B. Anthony, George Patton, John Glenn. All white. Mostly men. No doubt, like you, that was my frame of reference.

For almost all of American history our story has been dominated by white folks. Oh sure, there were the likes of Martin Luther King, Rosa Parks, even Muhammad Ali. But they fit into the story because they were "homegrown" so to speak.

But now the story is shifting. It's been shifting for some time, but the rise to the White House of a black man has brought it into sharper focus, especially since he is the son of a non-US-born father. That's key.

For years we've known the fastest growing minority in the US is among Spanish speaking people. There's that whole movement to have English declared the "official language" of the United States. Bet you find a lot of Birthers are involved in that.
You can declare all you want. People are still going to speak what they're comfortable with.

The east and west coasts teem with people of Asian descent. Pockets of various ethnicities exist in what seem like the most unlikely places. Somalis in New Marshfield, Ohio? Who'd a thunk it in 1968?

We always like to claim America is a melting pot. But that seems to work only if the ingredients come from Europe. If you're from east of Istanbul or south of Cairo the welcome mat isn't always so welcoming.

Doesn't matter. People are still drawn to America because our economic, social and political potential is still the best in the world. We are inexorably linked to the world outside our borders. And the world is linked to "us."

The sooner we quit thinking about "Them" and "Us" the better off we'll all be. It's ALL US! The face of America is changing every day. The America of 2111 is going to look a WHOLE lot different than the America of 2011. Get used to it. Better yet, embrace it. We are a better people and a better country when we realize this.

The Birthers don't get this. Probably they'll never get it. They'll be swept away by history.

Good riddance!

World’s Oldest Man Dies at 114

2011-04-15T08:44:00.001-04:00

Walter Breuning of Great Falls, Montana was the world's oldest man. Not person. Apparently there's a woman in Georgia who is 26 days older. But Walt passed on a couple days ago. In a recent interview he laid out some some interesting advice for living a long life:

— Embrace change, even when the change slaps you in the face. ("Every change is good.")

— Eat two meals a day ("That's all you need.")

— Work as long as you can ("That money's going to come in handy.")

— Help others ("The more you do for others, the better shape you're in.")

Then there's the hardest part. It's a lesson Breuning said he learned from his grandfather: Accept death.

"We're going to die. Some people are scared of dying. Never be afraid to die. Because you're born to die," he said.

And so it came to Walter Breuning. All in all he sounded pretty Buddhist.

We could do worse...

Wishing Good Fortune to Purple Heaven Temple

2011-04-11T07:53:00.000-04:00

Some pilgrims from Taiwan laid out this message today. I took the picture from a terrace above the courtyard so it's actually upside down. Odds are you can't read the Chinese characters anyway. After almost eight months here I recognize maybe five characters...out of the three thousand (or is it six thousand?) total.

Hooray! Hooray! The Federal Budget has passed!

2011-04-08T23:58:00.001-04:00

This bit of political theatre only served to remind me that "We the people..." are totally irrelevant to the whole process. It was just a show. Not even a good one.

It's a sorry example of American life.

The 2010 Federal budget was $3,456,000,000 so we can assume the new one is in that neighborhood. The talking heads are saying they cut $38 billion. So basically they cut one percent.

A pox on all their houses!

Climate Change and "Experts" Who Deny it's Existence

2011-04-06T06:53:00.000-04:00

"It’s difficult to get a man to understand something when his salary depends on his not understanding it." Upton Sinclair

OK I cribbed this from a NYTimes Paul Krugman Op-Ed. But it pretty much nails it.

Of ebooks, China, and the internet

2011-04-06T00:12:00.000-04:00

Oh how I love living in the 21st century! In the brief hiatus between Peace Corps and coming to China I got myself an ebook. Amazon's Kindle seems to be the most popular model, but I had to order it via mail. Maybe after two years in Botswana I was untrusting of postal services in general, but I never got around to placing the order. Instead, while visiting my buddy Mark in Toledo, I picked up a couple Barnes & Noble "nooks" at a local store. Mark, nice guy that he is, even bought me covers to protect them.

And I must say they are fantastic. Purchasing books was never so easy! But it turns out B&N will only allow online purchases from a computer located in the United States. This was a problem since I was on my way to China for a year.

A Barnes & Noble rep in New York suggested I get a Virtual Private Network or VPN. A VPN, through the magic of the interweb, allows your computer to "appear" to be in the continental US. My VPN runs around $80 a year and makes my laptop appear to be in Oakland, California. Ergo I now have 90+ books on my nook and never have to leave behind favorites in my travels because my backpack is too full and I'm over the 20 kilogram airline weight limit for checked bags.

Many people say they prefer an actual book, that they like the feel of the pages, etc. Fair point. I do too. But ebooks are the wave of the future for those who still read. In fact I predict young folks will be more inclined to read on these gadgets. Time will tell. Fact is the growing sales of ebooks (now an official category on the New york Times best seller lists) bodes well for the technology.

It turns out there is another advantage to a VPN. It is a well known fact the government of China blocks such internet sites as facebook, Youtube and many blogs (doubt if they've picked up on this one). Of the 500 million registered facebook users in the world only something like 14,000 are in the People's Republic of China. that's an incredible number considering China has 1.4 billion people. Yet I have many friends here in-country, foreigners and Chinese alike who regularly post on facebook and Youtube. The reason? VPNs and other software that allows this.

Except for dissidents and some attempts at protests against government policies, the Chinese rulers seem to take a fairly light-handed approach to life online. It's true they employ official hackers to try to counter the potential deleterious effects of the web against them. But I suspect ultimately it will be to no avail. Regular citizens can read about the 1989 Tienanmen uprising and arrests, beatings and jailings of well-known dissidents, including Nobel Prize winner Liu Xiaobo. The lid is off this Pandora's box and it will be very difficult to put it back on.

This is a big country with a LOT of people. Much of it still rural and still developing. The critical mass for political change may still be decades off. Or it may not. Six months ago who saw the uprisings in the Arab world coming? No one. Not even them.

Why Is It...?

2011-04-04T00:44:00.000-04:00

If someone is against gun control, is for increased defense spending and thinks Ronald Reagan was a great president you can bet money they think man-made global warming is bullshit.

But if they are for same-sex marriage, increased spending on education and thinks George Bush was a tool of Dick Cheney you can wager that same bet they think man-made global warming is real.

None of the mentioned beliefs have anything to do with global warming. I wonder what that says about us.

Taoism and Buddhism

2011-03-30T04:00:00.000-04:00

The Buddha is represented in several different ways. Sometimes Caucasian, sometimes Asian depending upon where in the world he is found. Often a laughing fat man is considered the Buddha.

The Yin Yang symbol is often used to represent Taoism. Many natural dualities—e.g. dark and light, female and male, low and high, cold and hot— are thought of as manifestations of yin and yang (respectively).

For seven months we have been living, training and learning in the Wudang Taoist Tai Ji and Kungfu Academy. We train in a Taoist temple. Often the temple is visited by Buddhist monks and nuns. Many Taoist monks and nuns live and work here.

Much of the philosophy of our martial arts training is incorporated in the Tao. And much of the Tao is very similar to Buddhism in it's precepts.

We had a Taoist monk here to teach us about Taoism a couple weeks ago. He laid out some things about both schools I thought might be interesting.

I won't get into the whole Taoist "catechism" nor the history of Gautama, who became Buddha. I just want to throw up a simple comparison given by the monk in which each purports to teach us how to live.

To boil it down, each philosophy (I refuse to call them religions as neither are confessional) has three basic "Pearls."

Buddhism's are:
1. Wisdom
2. Patience
3. Compassion

Taoism's are:
1. Compassion
2. Moderation
3. Humility

You can right away see the similarities. Buddha preached "The Middle Path," which could also be considered Moderation.

Both start within ourselves, but in a sense face different directions. Buddhism teaches us how to deal with the world outside of ourselves, while the Tao looks more inward. Another way of looking at them is that Buddhism is more concerned with one's mind while Taoism is more focused towards the body, hence the martial arts component.

Now these are VERY simplistic explanations and I wouldn't want to assert any authority on these words. But it is clear to anyone exposed to these bodies of belief that the keys to being a good person lie within.

This is Kungfu. This is What it's Like Here (Thanks to Hani for the Quote)

2011-03-29T11:26:00.000-04:00

“The master of the art of living makes little distinction between his work and his play, his labor and his leisure, his mind and his body, his education and his recreation, his love and his religion. He simply pursues his vision of excellence in whatever he does, leaving others to decide whether he is working or playing. To him, he is always doing both.” Lao-Tzu

Thoughts on Botswana

2011-03-26T20:20:00.003-04:00

I'm coming up on the one year anniversary of finishing my Peace Corps service in Botswana.`Haven't written much about that episode of my life but a couple thoughts have been buzzing around my head in recent days.

Peace Corps released a sort of self-congratulatory video celebrating it's 39 years in Botswana. I was amazed to see how similar scenes of villages in photos from the 60s and 70s were to the village I lived in and to most of the villages I saw when I was there. The same mud and stick houses, pit latrines, chickens in the yard, etc.

Forty years of not only Peace Corps, but uncounted millions in dollars, Yen, Euros, Pounds and Renmimbi have been poured into this country and except for the Gaborone area (The Capital city) not all that much has changed. This is a country that has had no wars, has natural resources (e.g. diamonds) and a booming tourist industry.

I was struck by that because in 1975 and '76 I was stationed in South Korea with the army. At that time the countryside was pretty similar to Botswana's. Rural, under-developed, mud and stick houses, old men carrying firewood stacked high on A-frame "backpacks." Seoul, the capital was pretty modern. But once you left that city it got "country" real quick. In 2003 I returned to find an extremely modern developed country. Nothing could be found of the "old" Korea I once knew. This was a country with no outstanding natural resources and sharing a border with North Korea and their two million man army poised for attack.

I just wonder what is the difference.

This isn't about Peace Corps or any of the dozens of other Aid programs and their effectiveness. I'm not against helping others in need. It is after all the Golden Rule. But after 40 years what's the point?

Spirituality and Mount Wudang

2011-03-26T00:40:00.002-04:00

We are here studying TaiJi and Kungfu on one of the most sacred places in Taoism. Taoism is a major philosophy or religion if you will here in China, very closely akin to Buddhism. Both TaiJi and Taoism began right here on this mountain so it draws people from all over the world. Seekers.

I suppose you might say we came here as seekers as well. For me it was just to get into great shape and experience 21st century China for a bit. But our school gets people often who seem to be seeking some kind of ethereal, quasi-religious, transformative experience. Kind of a "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon," floating through the bamboo trees kind of thing.

Of course there is no such thing. Even here on this holy mountain physics rules. No one floats. People get insight, sure, but that can happen anywhere.

Life for us here is very physical. We get up in the morning, train for two and a half hours, rest for lunch, train again another two and a half in the afternoon. It's hard. I've dropped 13 pounds. Gained flexibility. Gotten stronger. But it never lets up. Day after day it's the same program. Winter, 19 degrees Fahrenheit? Outside in the snow kicking. Summer, 85F? Kicking. Rain? Kicking. It never ends (Except Wednesday afternoons and Thursdays).

Still no out-of-body experience.

And yet it's a transformative place. We have looked into our lives and found deeper meaning to who and what we are. But it occurred to me this morning this is not my first time for such a similar experience.

Military veterans of every branch of service from any country in the world will relate their basic training to this experience. I went through Ranger training almost 40 years ago. Yet I carry the lessons learned there with me every day. Now NO ONE in their right minds would try to sell the military as an "ethereal, quasi-religious, transformative experience."

But brother let me tell you, it is as life changing and meaningful as anything one can ever experience.

And I think that's what we have here on Wudang Mountain.

I do like to watch the bamboo swaying in the wind though. From the ground...

On Michel de Montaigne

2011-03-26T00:21:00.002-04:00

I've been reading some of his essays. Montaigne has been called the world's first blogger. He lived in France in the 16th century. But if you read him you'd swear he wrote yesterday, and specifically to you.

So the dude has inspired me. I've said before I was going to blog more. But I haven't. This time it'll be different. Every stupid, insipid, insulting, asinine thought that pops into my head is going up.

Let the insanity begin...

Good-bye 2010, hello 2011!

2010-12-31T03:58:00.003-05:00

Just a few minutes ago our TaiJi school informed us we would have the next two days off to celebrate the calendar New Year (not the Chinese New Year in February). So, whoopee! We're going to nearby Shiyan tomorrow morning for some rest and dining.

Twenty-ten was a very active year to say the least. We began it in Zanzibar. Cabrini's and my first night dive together the evening of January 1st was a thrill. We surfaced to a full moon rising over Stone Town, a thrill I'll never forget.

Later in the year we got to spend some time among the African wildlife in the Okavango Delta.

Then of course we finished our Peace Corps service on May 19th. Immediately we bolted for wonderful Cape Town, South Africa where we got a tremendous adrenalin rush doing some shark cage diving among other things. During that trip we relaxed along side Lake Malawi (my only new country visited in 2010, climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro (summiting at 6:45AM, June 17th), cruised the Nile, visited ALOT of piles of ancient Egyptian rocks and got some great reef diving in at Sharm El Sheikh.

Finally, after over two years we got a few minutes back in the US and A. Six weeks actually. It was great, but the road still called.

August 25th found us landing in Beijing. If you ever want to see what's going on in China now's the time to do it.

Four months later we are living and training at the Wudang Taoist Kungfu and TaiJi School in the Wudang Mountains. We're loving it! The training is generally hard, but we're surrounded by gorgeous vistas. Our biggest challenge now (aside from the twice daily workouts) is the January and February weather. It'll be cold but together Cabrini and I will see it through and come into Spring lean and mean.

We're planning on staying here until at least August. After that, what the hey, more travel. We want to visit Lhasa in Tibet, Sikkim in India, Bhutan, Vietnam and BACK TO SRI LANKA!!!!!

With all the travel and everything this year I only read 79 books, fewest since 2006. Probably won't do much better this year, although my Nook ebook reader from Barnes & Noble makes access to books VERY easy!

But for this moment now we want to say Happy New Year to all our friends, fiends and loved ones!

"Why We Travel" by Pico Iyer

2010-11-24T23:08:00.001-05:00

Reprinted from "WorldHum," The Best travel Stories on the Internet.

We travel, initially, to lose ourselves; and we travel, next, to find ourselves. We travel to open our hearts and eyes and learn more about the world than our newspapers will accommodate. We travel to bring what little we can, in our ignorance and knowledge, to those parts of the globe whose riches are differently dispersed. And we travel, in essence, to become young fools again—to slow time down and get taken in, and fall in love once more. The beauty of this whole process was best described, perhaps, before people even took to frequent flying, by George Santayana in his lapidary essay, “The Philosophy of Travel.” We “need sometimes,” the Harvard philosopher wrote, “to escape into open solitudes, into aimlessness, into the moral holiday of running some pure hazard, in order to sharpen the edge of life, to taste hardship, and to be compelled to work desperately for a moment at no matter what.”

I like that stress on work, since never more than on the road are we shown how proportional our blessings are to the difficulty that precedes them; and I like the stress on a holiday that’s “moral” since we fall into our ethical habits as easily as into our beds at night. Few of us ever forget the connection between “travel” and “travail,” and I know that I travel in large part in search of hardship—both my own, which I want to feel, and others’, which I need to see. Travel in that sense guides us toward a better balance of wisdom and compassion—of seeing the world clearly, and yet feeling it truly. For seeing without feeling can obviously be uncaring; while feeling without seeing can be blind.

Yet for me the first great joy of traveling is simply the luxury of leaving all my beliefs and certainties at home, and seeing everything I thought I knew in a different light, and from a crooked angle. In that regard, even a Kentucky Fried Chicken outlet (in Beijing) or a scratchy revival showing of “Wild Orchids” (on the Champs-Elysees) can be both novelty and revelation: In China, after all, people will pay a whole week’s wages to eat with Colonel Sanders, and in Paris, Mickey Rourke is regarded as the greatest actor since Jerry Lewis.

If a Mongolian restaurant seems exotic to us in Evanston, Ill., it only follows that a McDonald’s would seem equally exotic in Ulan Bator—or, at least, equally far from everything expected. Though it’s fashionable nowadays to draw a distinction between the “tourist” and the “traveler,” perhaps the real distinction lies between those who leave their assumptions at home, and those who don’t: Among those who don’t, a tourist is just someone who complains, “Nothing here is the way it is at home,” while a traveler is one who grumbles, “Everything here is the same as it is in Cairo—or Cuzco or Kathmandu.” It’s all very much the same.

But for the rest of us, the sovereign freedom of traveling comes from the fact that it whirls you around and turns you upside down, and stands everything you took for granted on its head. If a diploma can famously be a passport (to a journey through hard realism), a passport can be a diploma (for a crash course in cultural relativism). And the first lesson we learn on the road, whether we like it or not, is how provisional and provincial are the things we imagine to be universal. When you go to North Korea, for example, you really do feel as if you’ve landed on a different planet—and the North Koreans doubtless feel that they’re being visited by an extra-terrestrial, too (or else they simply assume that you, as they do, receive orders every morning from the Central Committee on what clothes to wear and what route to use when walking to work, and you, as they do, have loudspeakers in your bedroom broadcasting propaganda every morning at dawn, and you, as they do, have your radios fixed so as to receive only a single channel).

We travel, then, in part just to shake up our complacencies by seeing all the moral and political urgencies, the life-and-death dilemmas, that we seldom have to face at home. And we travel to fill in the gaps left by tomorrow’s headlines: When you drive down the streets of Port-au-Prince, for example, where there is almost no paving and women relieve themselves next to mountains of trash, your notions of the internet and a “one world order” grow usefully revised. Travel is the best way we have of rescuing the humanity of places, and saving them from abstraction and ideology.

And in the process, we also get saved from abstraction ourselves, and come to see how much we can bring to the places we visit, and how much we can become a kind of carrier pigeon—an anti-Federal Express, if you like—in transporting back and forth what every culture needs. I find that I always take Michael Jordan posters to Kyoto, and bring woven ikebana baskets back to California; I invariably travel to Cuba with a suitcase piled high with bottles of Tylenol and bars of soap, and come back with one piled high with salsa tapes, and hopes, and letters to long-lost brothers.

But more significantly, we carry values and beliefs and news to the places we go, and in many parts of the world, we become walking video screens and living newspapers, the only channels that can take people out of the censored limits of their homelands. In closed or impoverished places, like Pagan or Lhasa or Havana, we are the eyes and ears of the people we meet, their only contact with the world outside and, very often, the closest, quite literally, they will ever come to Michael Jackson or Bill Clinton. Not the least of the challenges of travel, therefore, is learning how to import—and export—dreams with tenderness.

By now all of us have heard (too often) the old Proust line about how the real voyage of discovery consists not in seeing new places but in seeing with new eyes. Yet one of the subtler beauties of travel is that it enables you to bring new eyes to the people you encounter. Thus even as holidays help you appreciate your own home more—not least by seeing it through a distant admirer’s eyes—they help you bring newly appreciative—distant—eyes to the places you visit. You can teach them what they have to celebrate as much as you celebrate what they have to teach. This, I think, is how tourism, which so obviously destroys cultures, can also resuscitate or revive them, how it has created new “traditional” dances in Bali, and caused craftsmen in India to pay new attention to their works. If the first thing we can bring the Cubans is a real and balanced sense of what contemporary America is like, the second—and perhaps more important—thing we can bring them is a fresh and renewed sense of how special are the warmth and beauty of their country, for those who can compare it with other places around the globe.

Thus travel spins us round in two ways at once: It shows us the sights and values and issues that we might ordinarily ignore; but it also, and more deeply, shows us all the parts of ourselves that might otherwise grow rusty. For in traveling to a truly foreign place, we inevitably travel to moods and states of mind and hidden inward passages that we’d otherwise seldom have cause to visit.

On the most basic level, when I’m in Thailand, though a teetotaler who usually goes to bed at 9 p.m., I stay up till dawn in the local bars; and in Tibet, though not a real Buddhist, I spend days on end in temples, listening to the chants of sutras. I go to Iceland to visit the lunar spaces within me, and, in the uncanny quietude and emptiness of that vast and treeless world, to tap parts of myself generally obscured by chatter and routine.

We travel, then, in search of both self and anonymity—and, of course, in finding the one we apprehend the other. Abroad, we are wonderfully free of caste and job and standing; we are, as Hazlitt puts it, just the “gentlemen in the parlour,” and people cannot put a name or tag to us. And precisely because we are clarified in this way, and freed of inessential labels, we have the opportunity to come into contact with more essential parts of ourselves (which may begin to explain why we may feel most alive when far from home).

Abroad is the place where we stay up late, follow impulse and find ourselves as wide open as when we are in love. We live without a past or future, for a moment at least, and are ourselves up for grabs and open to interpretation. We even may become mysterious—to others, at first, and sometimes to ourselves—and, as no less a dignitary than Oliver Cromwell once noted, “A man never goes so far as when he doesn’t know where he is going.”

There are, of course, great dangers to this, as to every kind of freedom, but the great promise of it is that, traveling, we are born again, and able to return at moments to a younger and a more open kind of self. Traveling is a way to reverse time, to a small extent, and make a day last a year—or at least 45 hours—and traveling is an easy way of surrounding ourselves, as in childhood, with what we cannot understand. Language facilitates this cracking open, for when we go to France, we often migrate to French, and the more childlike self, simple and polite, that speaking a foreign language educes. Even when I’m not speaking pidgin English in Hanoi, I’m simplified in a positive way, and concerned not with expressing myself, but simply making sense.

So travel, for many of us, is a quest for not just the unknown, but the unknowing; I, at least, travel in search of an innocent eye that can return me to a more innocent self. I tend to believe more abroad than I do at home (which, though treacherous again, can at least help me to extend my vision), and I tend to be more easily excited abroad, and even kinder. And since no one I meet can “place” me—no one can fix me in my resume—I can remake myself for better, as well as, of course, for worse (if travel is notoriously a cradle for false identities, it can also, at its best, be a crucible for truer ones). In this way, travel can be a kind of monasticism on the move: On the road, we often live more simply (even when staying in a luxury hotel), with no more possessions than we can carry, and surrendering ourselves to chance.

This is what Camus meant when he said that “what gives value to travel is fear”—disruption, in other words, (or emancipation) from circumstance, and all the habits behind which we hide. And that is why many of us travel not in search of answers, but of better questions. I, like many people, tend to ask questions of the places I visit, and relish most the ones that ask the most searching questions back of me: In Paraguay, for example, where one car in every two is stolen, and two-thirds of the goods on sale are smuggled, I have to rethink my every Californian assumption. And in Thailand, where many young women give up their bodies in order to protect their families—to become better Buddhists—I have to question my own too-ready judgments. “The ideal travel book,” Christopher Isherwood once said, “should be perhaps a little like a crime story in which you’re in search of something.” And it’s the best kind of something, I would add, if it’s one that you can never quite find.

I remember, in fact, after my first trips to Southeast Asia, more than a decade ago, how I would come back to my apartment in New York, and lie in my bed, kept up by something more than jet lag, playing back, in my memory, over and over, all that I had experienced, and paging wistfully though my photographs and reading and re-reading my diaries, as if to extract some mystery from them. Anyone witnessing this strange scene would have drawn the right conclusion: I was in love.

For if every true love affair can feel like a journey to a foreign country, where you can’t quite speak the language, and you don’t know where you’re going, and you’re pulled ever deeper into the inviting darkness, every trip to a foreign country can be a love affair, where you’re left puzzling over who you are and whom you’ve fallen in love with. All the great travel books are love stories, by some reckoning—from the Odyssey and the Aeneid to the Divine Comedy and the New Testament—and all good trips are, like love, about being carried out of yourself and deposited in the midst of terror and wonder.

And what this metaphor also brings home to us is that all travel is a two-way transaction, as we too easily forget, and if warfare is one model of the meeting of nations, romance is another. For what we all too often ignore when we go abroad is that we are objects of scrutiny as much as the people we scrutinize, and we are being consumed by the cultures we consume, as much on the road as when we are at home. At the very least, we are objects of speculation (and even desire) who can seem as exotic to the people around us as they do to us.

We are the comic props in Japanese home-movies, the oddities in Maliese anecdotes and the fall-guys in Chinese jokes; we are the moving postcards or bizarre objets trouves that villagers in Peru will later tell their friends about. If travel is about the meeting of realities, it is no less about the mating of illusions: You give me my dreamed-of vision of Tibet, and I’ll give you your wished-for California. And in truth, many of us, even (or especially) the ones who are fleeing America abroad, will get taken, willy-nilly, as symbols of the American Dream.

That, in fact, is perhaps the most central and most wrenching of the questions travel proposes to us: how to respond to the dream that people tender to you? Do you encourage their notions of a Land of Milk and Honey across the horizon, even if it is the same land you’ve abandoned? Or do you try to dampen their enthusiasm for a place that exists only in the mind? To quicken their dreams may, after all, be to match-make them with an illusion; yet to dash them may be to strip them of the one possession that sustains them in adversity.

That whole complex interaction—not unlike the dilemmas we face with those we love (how do we balance truthfulness and tact?)—is partly the reason why so many of the great travel writers, by nature, are enthusiasts: not just Pierre Loti, who famously, infamously, fell in love wherever he alighted (an archetypal sailor leaving offspring in the form of Madame Butterfly myths), but also Henry Miller, D.H. Lawrence or Graham Greene, all of whom bore out the hidden truth that we are optimists abroad as readily as pessimists as home. None of them was by any means blind to the deficiencies of the places around them, but all, having chosen to go there, chose to find something to admire.

All, in that sense, believed in “being moved” as one of the points of taking trips, and “being transported” by private as well as public means; all saw that “ecstasy” (“ex-stasis”) tells us that our highest moments come when we’re not stationary, and that epiphany can follow movement as much as it precipitates it. I remember once asking the great travel writer Norman Lewis if he’d ever be interested in writing on apartheid South Africa. He looked at me astonished. “To write well about a thing,” he said, “I’ve got to like it!”

At the same time, as all this is intrinsic to travel, from Ovid to O’Rourke, travel itself is changing as the world does, and with it, the mandate of the travel writer. It’s not enough to go to the ends of the earth these days (not least because the ends of the earth are often coming to you); and where a writer like Jan Morris could, a few years ago, achieve something miraculous simply by voyaging to all the great cities of the globe, now anyone with a Visa card can do that. So where Morris, in effect, was chronicling the last days of the Empire, a younger travel writer is in a better position to chart the first days of a new Empire, post-national, global, mobile and yet as diligent as the Raj in transporting its props and its values around the world.

In the mid-19th century, the British famously sent the Bible and Shakespeare and cricket round the world; now a more international kind of Empire is sending Madonna and the Simpsons and Brad Pitt. And the way in which each culture takes in this common pool of references tells you as much about them as their indigenous products might. Madonna in an Islamic country, after all, sounds radically different from Madonna in a Confucian one, and neither begins to mean the same as Madonna on East 14th Street. When you go to a McDonald’s outlet in Kyoto, you will find Teriyaki McBurgers and Bacon Potato Pies. The placemats offer maps of the great temples of the city, and the posters all around broadcast the wonders of San Francisco. And—most crucial of all—the young people eating their Big Macs, with baseball caps worn backwards, and tight 501 jeans, are still utterly and inalienably Japanese in the way they move, they nod, they sip their Oolong teas—and never to be mistaken for the patrons of a McDonald’s outlet in Rio, Morocco or Managua. These days a whole new realm of exotica arises out of the way one culture colors and appropriates the products of another.

The other factor complicating and exciting all of this is people, who are, more and more, themselves as many-tongued and mongrel as cities like Sydney or Toronto or Hong Kong. I am, in many ways, an increasingly typical specimen, if only because I was born, as the son of Indian parents, in England, moved to America at 7 and cannot really call myself an Indian, an American or an Englishman. I was, in short, a traveler at birth, for whom even a visit to the candy store was a trip through a foreign world where no one I saw quite matched my parents’ inheritance, or my own. And though some of this is involuntary and tragic—the number of refugees in the world, which came to just 2.5 million in 1970, is now at least 27.4 million—it does involve, for some of us, the chance to be transnational in a happier sense, able to adapt anywhere, used to being outsiders everywhere and forced to fashion our own rigorous sense of home. (And if nowhere is quite home, we can be optimists everywhere.)

Besides, even those who don’t move around the world find the world moving more and more around them. Walk just six blocks, in Queens or Berkeley, and you’re traveling through several cultures in as many minutes; get into a cab outside the White House, and you’re often in a piece of Addis Ababa. And technology, too, compounds this (sometimes deceptive) sense of availability, so that many people feel they can travel around the world without leaving the room—through cyberspace or CD-ROMs, videos and virtual travel. There are many challenges in this, of course, in what it says about essential notions of family and community and loyalty, and in the worry that air-conditioned, purely synthetic versions of places may replace the real thing—not to mention the fact that the world seems increasingly in flux, a moving target quicker than our notions of it. But there is, for the traveler at least, the sense that learning about home and learning about a foreign world can be one and the same thing.

All of us feel this from the cradle, and know, in some sense, that all the significant movement we ever take is internal. We travel when we see a movie, strike up a new friendship, get held up. Novels are often journeys as much as travel books are fictions; and though this has been true since at least as long ago as Sir John Mandeville’s colorful 14th century accounts of a Far East he’d never visited, it’s an even more shadowy distinction now, as genre distinctions join other borders in collapsing.

In Mary Morris’s “House Arrest,” a thinly disguised account of Castro’s Cuba, the novelist reiterates, on the copyright page, “All dialogue is invented. Isabella, her family, the inhabitants and even la isla itself are creations of the author’s imagination.” On Page 172, however, we read, “La isla, of course, does exist. Don’t let anyone fool you about that. It just feels as if it doesn’t. But it does.” No wonder the travel-writer narrator—a fictional construct (or not)?—confesses to devoting her travel magazine column to places that never existed. “Erewhon,” after all, the undiscovered land in Samuel Butler’s great travel novel, is just “nowhere” rearranged.

Travel, then, is a voyage into that famously subjective zone, the imagination, and what the traveler brings back is—and has to be—an ineffable compound of himself and the place, what’s really there and what’s only in him. Thus Bruce Chatwin’s books seem to dance around the distinction between fact and fancy. V.S. Naipaul’s recent book, “A Way in the World,” was published as a non-fictional “series” in England and a “novel” in the United States. And when some of the stories in Paul Theroux’s half-invented memoir, “My Other Life,” were published in The New Yorker, they were slyly categorized as “Fact and Fiction.”

And since travel is, in a sense, about the conspiracy of perception and imagination, the two great travel writers, for me, to whom I constantly return are Emerson and Thoreau (the one who famously advised that “traveling is a fool’s paradise,” and the other who “traveled a good deal in Concord”). Both of them insist on the fact that reality is our creation, and that we invent the places we see as much as we do the books that we read. What we find outside ourselves has to be inside ourselves for us to find it. Or, as Sir Thomas Browne sagely put it, “We carry within us the wonders we seek without us. There is Africa and her prodigies in us.”

So, if more and more of us have to carry our sense of home inside us, we also—Emerson and Thoreau remind us—have to carry with us our sense of destination. The most valuable Pacifics we explore will always be the vast expanses within us, and the most important Northwest Crossings the thresholds we cross in the heart. The virtue of finding a gilded pavilion in Kyoto is that it allows you to take back a more lasting, private Golden Temple to your office in Rockefeller Center.

And even as the world seems to grow more exhausted, our travels do not, and some of the finest travel books in recent years have been those that undertake a parallel journey, matching the physical steps of a pilgrimage with the metaphysical steps of a questioning (as in Peter Matthiessen’s great “The Snow Leopard”), or chronicling a trip to the farthest reaches of human strangeness (as in Oliver Sack’s “Island of the Color-Blind,” which features a journey not just to a remote atoll in the Pacific, but to a realm where people actually see light differently). The most distant shores, we are constantly reminded, lie within the person asleep at our side.

So travel, at heart, is just a quick way to keeping our minds mobile and awake. As Santayana, the heir to Emerson and Thoreau with whom I began, wrote, “There is wisdom in turning as often as possible from the familiar to the unfamiliar; it keeps the mind nimble; it kills prejudice, and it fosters humor.” Romantic poets inaugurated an era of travel because they were the great apostles of open eyes. Buddhist monks are often vagabonds, in part because they believe in wakefulness. And if travel is like love, it is, in the end, mostly because it’s a heightened state of awareness, in which we are mindful, receptive, undimmed by familiarity and ready to be transformed. That is why the best trips, like the best love affairs, never really end.

Yeah

2010-09-23T00:10:00.000-04:00

I know what I said. Still...

Reason #23 Why China Will Rule the World

2010-09-16T06:30:00.003-04:00

I want you to take a good look at this seemingly simple roll of toilet paper. Do you see that big number 3? That's THREE PLY amigos! The Trifecta of asswipe.

In Botswana we made do with single ply. It was a hardship, but it was Peace Corps and Africa and sacrifices were to be expected.

When we returned to the States we got back into the double ply routine thinking "That's right America! We're number one with the number two!"

But now I've been "re-educated" if you will. We were once great. But the torch has been passed.

I know. I know, you'll say "Hey, Gillete Fusion! Five blades!" That was then. This is now.

We had a good ride. And sure, we'll be importing three ply into Mal-Warts soon. But the message has been delivered.

Beijing It Is!

2010-08-27T01:13:00.004-04:00

We've been here a couple days. Turns out we have to wait a couple more for our train to Wudangshan. It's a twenty-some hour trip. We could've left earlier but the only class seats available were something called "Hard Seat." Even the train's website said these seats were basically Hell and you'd be lucky to arrive with your possessions and sanity intact.

Ergo we got "Soft Sleeper" class seats. Better than a sharp stick in your eye.

So we've been exploring the neighborhood near our hotel. In the days to come we plan to visit Tiananmen Square and other famous spots. Cabrini and I have seen these places before but they are pretty cool in their own rights.

There are some interesting shops all around us. But this one caught my eye. From now on this is where i get my threads.

Saw "Inception" Tonight

2010-07-16T23:37:00.002-04:00

Excellent flick! DeCaprio is great at playing the tortured soul. It has a kind of "Matrix" air about it. Good action. The final scene is a gripper. Gotta see it a time or two to retain everything. Be interesting to see how Rotten Tomatoes judges it.

My only question is this: am I actually sitting in front of a computer writing this?

Two Weeks Back In America...

2010-07-15T20:55:00.002-04:00

I keep surfing the TV channels for something good to watch. So far nothing holds my interest for more than a couple minutes. Well, not exactly. I still like Colbert and John Stewart. But even my standby MSNBC and Keith Olbermann can't hold my attention.

And who is this Glenn Beck idiot? People believe in this clown? This guy spells trouble for this country. Like we needed it.

And advertisements (radio AND TV) irritate the shit out of me. What crap!

In other news, Cabrini and I got our visas for China. Here we go!

Back to America

2010-07-12T20:08:00.000-04:00

So, wow, what a trip! We made it back to the US on July 1st. And we had ourselves a time. I've added some pictures to kind of summarize our trek from Cape Town to Cairo.

So we started out by going down to Cape Town, South Africa. First thing we did was go shark cage diving with the Great White Sharks. It was like watching Shark Week except those suckers were about six inches from our faces. Intense!

We climbed Table Mountain, visited Robben Island and saw Nelson Mandela's prison cell, went on a wine country tour, kayaked, scuba'd, ate lots of food. Just had a great time in one of the great cities of the world.

So from Cape Town we worked our way north to Malawi. Spent a few days relaxing on the shores of Lake Malawi. We wanted to get some scuba diving in there (it's supposed to have some of the best fresh water diving in the world) but the Dive Master was sick the day we had booked, so no go. Hey sometimes you win sometimes you lose.

After Malawi we went back to Tanzania. Cabrini and I had visited the Serengheti, Ngorongoro Crater and Zanzibar back in January. But this time we had one thing in mind: Mt. Kilimanjaro! So we caught a train (24hours) across southern Tanz, then bused to Moshi where we met up with Bibi and Azizi of Maasai Moja trekking company. They took us in and treated us like family.

Long story short seven days later we summited Kili. It was a beautiful experience! Fifty or five thousand pictures can't tell the story, but one will have to do.

Then it was Cairo. After the obligatory trip out to giza to see the piles of rocks we flew to Aswan for a cruise down the Nile.

We saw some of the coolest temples in the world and an absolute TON of hieroglyphics. Aswan, Edfu, Luxor, Karnak, Valley of the Kings and more that I can't even remember. Of all the temples, monuments and various archeological sites in the entire world Luxor has fully one third. It's amazing.

Finally we fly to Sharm el Sheik on the Red Sea for some great scuba diving. We didn't have a good dive in Cape town (rough weather), and the dive in Malawi was scratched. But the reefs we dove on at Sharm were beautiful. Great visibility, beautiful colors, a gazillion fish. Fantastic.

So we didn't have an underwater camera, but you can see how awesome the water was.

Finally it was back to Cairo. Re-connected with my old friend Hani. Then it was catch a flight to JFK and just like that our African adventure was over.

Two years. Man, where did it go? It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. I met a wonderful woman. Saw amazing things. Did amazing things!

I'm going down to Costa Rica next week to see Mick for the first time in almost two years. Cabrini and I have a few things to do in August. But the biggest thing is on August 24th we hit the road again. Well, the skies to be exact. We're going to China. More about that later.

Sorry if the pictures are incomprehensible or out of order. I hope to get back into the blogging routine. If I could just stay off facebook...

Strange Days

2010-04-12T02:20:00.000-04:00

Sixteen days and a wake-up. On May 19th I´ll exit Botswana after two years in the Peace Corps. It doesn´t seem real.

Although at times it felt like it would drag on forever now it feels like we arrived fifteen minutes ago. But as they say, it´s all over but the shoutin´.

I´ve been asked if it was worth it. Would I do it again? Would I recommend it?

And my answer is a resounding yes! Or no. Or maybe. (I'll probably need a couple years of psychotherapy to fully be able to answer that.) Was it life changing? Sure. But no more so than four years in the army, 25 years of marriage, a night on the town, or a good steak. It's just a matter of degree.

So what now lies ahead? What is the ever popular "Way Forward?"

When getting ready to come here I was interviewed by the Columbiana Morning Journal and asked "what are your plans when you finish Peace Corps?" In typical smart-assed style I just said "It shall be revealed unto me."

Here is what has been revealed thus far:

On the 19th Cabrini and I hop a bus for Johannesburg, South Africa, change buses there and move on to
Cape Town. Gonna spend a couple weeks there. Check out Robben Island (UNESCO World Heritage site), where Nelson Mandela was imprisoned during Apartheid times, go diving with Great White Sharks, climb Table Mountain, drink some nice wine, eat good food and get out of there before the World Cup starts. Then we'll fly north to Malawi. Spend a week or so along Lake Malawi, hoping to get a dive or two in what's supposed to be some of the best fresh water diving in the world.

Eventually we'll work our way north back into Tanzania. Our goal is to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro, th tallest mountain in Africa (19,350 feet) and the highest in the world climbable without specialized equipment. And yet another UNESCO WH site...

Once we finish that little workout we basically plan on flying to Cairo to complete the Cape Town to Cairo trip. After visiting the ancient piles of rocks outside Giza it's back to America.

At least that´s the general plan. We might get sidelined by gorillas, guerillas or some other offerings of Afreaka. But all in all looking for an early July return. Then it gets interesting.

I haven't seen my son Mick since December '08 and he's now in Costa Rica doing HIS Peace Corps bit. I'll be zipping down thataway for a couple weeks. Otherwise I'll be frantically re-connecting with friends and family as Cabrini does with hers in New York...

...until mid-August. One of our fellow Botswana volunteers is getting married out in Montana on August 14th. Cabrini and I will re-unite to attend the nuptials.

THEN its back to NYC in final prep for our non-stop flight on August 24th, JFK to Beijing. The plan is to spend upwards of a year at Mt. Wu Dang Taoist Academy for the martial arts. Its located on yet another UNESCO WH site. Gonna learn my self some Tai Chi.

After that? Well, kinda back where we were a little over two years ago. "It shall be revealed...yada, yada, yada."

An Homage to Shortness

2010-02-08T01:08:00.000-05:00

I woke up this morning and nearly broke my neck falling out of bed. It felt like the floor was ten feet below the mattress. "What the...?!" And then it hit me.

Today I am officially (and for the second time in my life) "short." Not the kind of short you may be thinking of. Granted I stand 5'6", tall for a short man. And I mean no disrespect to little people.

But as of this moment I am a two-digit midget. My time left in Peace Corps Botswana is rapidly drawing to a close. The last time I experienced this phenomenon was 1976 in Korea. US Army. What a difference three and a half decades make.

By May I´ll be parachuting off a curb. Ninety-nine days and a wake up. Giddyup!

Happy Turkey Day (Unless you´re the bird)

2009-11-26T02:18:00.000-05:00

Peace Corps policy is that we don´t get the day off for American holidays. So today is just another day in the Kalahari Desert. (if you work in Peace Corps headquarters you get both American AND Botswana holidays off. A total screw job in my opinion.)

Anyway, it doesn´t bother me. Although some yams with butter and gravy would go down pretty well. Maybe some fresh blackberry pie. And another slice of the bird. Don´t care if its light or dark meat. More gravy...

Where was I? Oh yeah, also Happy 62d Anniversary to my parents. I like to think they are living "Happily Ever After."

In other news: Monday, December 1st is World AIDS Day. Exactly two years ago on that date I received notification from Peace Corps sending me on my way.

I´ll be traveling up to Kasane on the Zimbabwe/Zambia border for the national commemoration. I see where the spread of AIDS worldwide appears to be stabilizing...except in southern Africa. Fifty percent of maternal deaths in Botswana are due to complications of AIDS. One in six children is an orphan. It´s a perfect storm.

Be of good cheer!

And Then There Was One...

2009-10-22T01:47:00.000-04:00

It was 1977. I´d gotten out of the Army the previous year. Was single. Twenty-seven years old. Getting fat.

I had tried playing racket ball to stay in shape. But there were few courts in Athens back then and court time was tough to get.

One day, while waiting for a court to open up I decided to jog around a bit to warm up. And thus the die was cast.

It wasn´t bad at first. I built up to three miles and stuck to it fairly well. Wasn´t looking for much more.

Then one day I was getting a haircut at Max Carsey´s shop down on Court Street. He had a copy of "Runner´s World." That did it. I was hooked.

Looooooooooong story short this morning my three mile jaunt brought me to mile number 99,999 lifetime. (I don´t count runs done in high school gym or Airborne shuffles. Just ´77 onward.)

Thirty-two and odd years. Forty marathons (Best- 2 hrs, 39 mins flat; Columbus 1984), 17 Bostons. Fastest mile- 5:03 (pedestrian), best 10Km- 33:42, best ten miler- 56:19, half marathon- 1:14:40.

In one eleven year stretch I recorded 44,000 miles, over 4,000 miles per year. I wonder how I was able to do it.

But tomorrow morning I´ll make my goal. A hundred grand by age 60. With weeks to spare.

Don´t think I have another hundred thou in me. But I still have a few. And the next day I´ll start on them.

Five Years On...

2009-09-22T13:59:00.000-04:00

Those who follow this blog know the significance of this day. Five years ago Jan, my wife of 25 years, passed away. And every year I post something on this date about her, about me, about what it´s like.

In the past year I´ve begun a sort of metamorphosis. I´ve written this post out on that topic about five different ways now. And none satisfy what I want to say.

But basically it boils down to this:

I´ll always love her. I´ll always remember her. But it´s time to fully engage in this life. I can´t continue to measure time by how long its been and what has been lost.

This blog is the Best of What´s Left. Not the Best of What´s Left Behind.

This is my last "Anniversary of" post. Of all people she would approve.

Paradise in the Indian Ocean

2009-08-12T03:24:00.001-04:00

Just got back from nearly two weeks in Mauritius. Got re-certified in scuba after 36 years. With me is Cabrini. We had a wonderful time! Nuf said.

Artsy Fartsy

2009-07-23T09:31:00.000-04:00

I did this over the weekend. From looking at my last post you can see my immediate inspiration. It was a combination mosaic/water colour (get that UK spelling?)with salt, Thokolosi salts (don't ask) and some kind of beans (mung?).

There's one part I'm particularly proud of. I posted this directly on facebook and no one got it.

Wild Kingdom Lives!

2009-06-16T02:29:00.000-04:00

This was awesome. John John Kempf, the Afrikaaner guy who took us all out into the CKGR, was driving alongside these guys (or were they running alongside us?). I was laying on the roof of the Range Rover snapping away as we rolled over the plain. He was yelling "Are you getting this?" I'm yelling "Yahoo! Keep going! Keep going!"

It was a moment.

It's Not All Donkeys, Goats and Cattle...

2009-06-16T02:08:00.000-04:00

I'm having a terrible time posting pictures on blogger. Hope at least this one comes through. Saw this big guy a few weeks ago when camping in the CKGR (Central Kalahari Game Reserve). He wasn't overly thrilled about giving ground. But we were two vehicles and he apparently didn't like the looks of us. We were a bit gamey at the time.

I Am Not Dead

2009-06-15T14:41:00.001-04:00

Reliable sources inform me I have not posted here since April 29th.

My excuse is I have no excuse. Just haven´t heard the muse.

Sorry.

So...I´ve been in Peace Corps 14 months as of tomorrow. The day-to-day is pretty unremarkable.

Oh! I have started teaching reading at Rethuseng, the local Junior Secondary School. Forms two and three. That´s like 9th and 10th grades. About 30 and odd kids in each class. Once a week.

So far I´ve done it once. It was fun. Their reading level is below what I´d expect for kids that age. But that´s just me. Overall they seem nice. It´s something to do that feels good.

I´m closing in on 100,000 miles run lifetime (not counting the army). I want to hit that milestone by my 60th birthday. Got less than 500 miles and about seven months to do it. Shouldn´t be a problem.

Starting to think about life post-Peace Corps. Got some ideas, but don´t want to discuss them here yet.

Otherwise everything goes well here.

Jiminey Cricket!!!

2009-04-29T05:57:00.000-04:00

This is a Corn Cricket. They are huge. Apparently when the Corn Crickets appear that means the end of the bug season. I've been seeing them all over for more than a month though. And there's still a lot of bugs around.

This Is Teaspoon!

2009-04-21T08:37:00.000-04:00

The happiest dog in the 'ville of Charles Hill. Teaspoon started life as the pet of a former Peace Corps volunteer in nearby Karakubis. When she left her boyfriend moved to Chuck.

People in Botswana typical treat dogs with the care and tenderness usually reserved for rats in your pantry. To show kindness or affection is somewhat akin to pure lunacy.

But Teaspoon was weaned on Americans. And she LOVES to run with the other PCV in the village and me. She can't understand why we can't keep up with her. Naturally she was spayed early on. So her teats don't drag in the dust like most feral dogs around here. Also she mightily enjoys showing off her speed when she goes after various goats, cattle, chickens, donkeys and other quadrupeds.

If I happen to be out at night Teaspoon comes along for escort service. Of course I have to give her a reward.

Just one of the treats of African village living.

One Year In Peace Corps (Amended from Yesterday)

2009-04-16T08:37:00.000-04:00

So today marks one year since I pulled out of Columbiana, looked across Arrowhead Lake for (what I hope) the last time and headed to Cleveland for the short flight to Philadelphia and the Peace Corps..

So today marks one year since I pulled out of Columbiana, looked across Arrowhead Lake for (what I hope) the last time and headed to Cleveland for the short flight to Philadelphia and the Peace Corps..

Ordinarily I do my year in review on January 1st. But this is a more significant date.

So what has transpired in the last 365 days?

First, the raw numbers:
Miles run-978 (My lowest since 1977, yet still on pace to hit 100,000 miles by my 60th birthday. I only have to average 2.5 per day, not as easy as it sounds, but eminently doable.)
Countries visited- five (South Africa, Botswana, Namibia, Mozambique and Swaziland, in that order)
UNESCO World Heritage Sites visited- Squat. (Not a good year for cultural and historical edification.)
Books Read – 113 (Not bad. Lot’s of alone time. Also explains why my Setswana is so bad. Ga ke bua Setswana sentle!)
Times I’ve ALMOST sold my house- Three (Last time was close. Within five days of the closing the buyer lost his job. Curses!)

So what else? Phew! Lots!

The reason my companeros and I came here is to help in the fight against HIV/AIDS. I doubt any of us had much of an idea how hard that thing is. You know, as bad as it was, AIDS in the US was brought under “control” relatively quickly. Certainly it could have been handled MUCH better (Read “And the Band Played On…”). But the Grim Reaper no longer hovers over every potential sexual encounter like he did in the late 1980s-early 90s.

Would that it were so easy here. We are up against so many variables it boggles the mind. Every couple months it seems a new focus arises. ABC (Abstinence, Be Faithful, Condomize). Circumcision. Multiple Concurrent Partners. Sexual Networks. So far no magic bullets.

BILLIONS of Dollars, Euros, Yen, Yuan and Pula have been poured into this over the last 20 and odd years. Yet the problem ceases to go away. Or even get much better. Whole bureaucracies have sprung up around the banner of HIV/AIDS. I can’t even begin to keep track of all the NGOs (Non-Governmental Organizations).

I can’t be expected to understand it all and/or what it will take to make any difference.

I have to self-censor this blog because Peace Corps monitors blogs and what we say. But here is my current opinion (subject to change tomorrow. Or even this afternoon.):

First of all one must recognize that historically Africa has been a hard place to survive. I often say for untold millennia Africa has been a pretty easy place to wake up dead on a given morning. Bugs, snakes, Africanized bees, malaria, dengue, Yellow Fever, wars, big animals that like to eat you. Africa has it all. For 200,000 (or is it two million?) years evolution here has been developed to ensure survival of the fittest. I don’t want to go into everything I think that entails. But suffice it to say it’s a life-pattern significantly different from what we in the west call “normal.”.

The influence of the western world in Africa has only been for around 150 years, give or take. Most countries here were colonized by the “Great Powers” in the late nineteenth century. Independence came to Africa barely fifty years ago.

Two hundred thousand years vs. 150.

I speak of Botswana, because that’s what I know best. But I also think much of what I say can be extrapolated throughout alot of sub-Saharan Africa.

Things here may APPEAR familiar to us. The clothes are basically the same. The cars are the same, except for the whole “driving on the left” thing. Television pumps American style entertainment into living rooms. Internet, though not ubiquitous, exists. Coca-Cola is Coca-Cola (only with REAL sugar, not corn sweetener. Big difference!) Over all it kind of LOOKS like us.

But those things lie only on the surface. Underneath the skin “Survival of the Fittest” still calls the shots. Behaviours that ensure propagation and survival of the species still reign supreme.

We think we (Africans and westerners) are all driving together on the same road in the same direction. But my feeling sometimes is we are in opposite lanes, going opposite directions, both hoping to arrive at the same place at the same time. We will never understand each other. We CAN’T understand each other! The cultural gaps are too wide.

I seriously doubt that our two years here will make any critical kind of difference. Even the six or so years since Peace Corps was reintroduced to Botswana hasn’t seen much improvement. Most likely 20 years here wouldn’t make much difference. Am I sorry I came? To the contrary. I HAD to come! How else would I learn? It is in the best efforts of evolution that we try to help our fellow humans survive and thrive.

How will this all turn out? I don’t know. I’m a doomsdayer. I see the potential scenario for Apocalypse in every society, ours included (I had a ball with Y2K. Of course I was wrong!).

What happens if/when the HIVirus mutates and the Anti-Retro Viral (ARV) drugs lose effect? Or the Botswana government, in the current financial crisis, can’t pay for the ARVs? Or Zimbabwe melts down (even more) and war spills over the borders. What if. What if? What if!

Maybe a cure will be found. That would be a HUGE monkey wrench in a lot of careers! Sometimes I think history will judge us from a distance of a century or so and say “Those blind fools! Couldn’t they see how stupid they were? If only they had done X or Y or Z!”

I don’t write this as an indictment. My service here is no better nor worse than if I was digging irrigation ditches in Mongolia. I’m glad I came. Sometimes we must tilt at windmills. Don’t read this and say “Oh, Wigal is unhappy. He’s sorry he came.” I am very happy. I have learned a lot and have found my happiness here. Four years ago I was at the nadir of my existence when I happened to fly into Beirut, Lebanon and my life changed immeasurably (Yes, Joseph). For the better I think. Botswana also is having that same effect.

One of the very few things I can say in Setswana is “letsatse le langwe kwa Paradise!” Don’t worry. The Motswana never understand what I’m saying either.

Look what I Found

2009-03-19T06:23:00.000-04:00

I'm sorry it's taken so long to post. We just got internet in the office I work. It is VERY slow and I have to keep refreshing the page.

A couple weeks ago we had a music/drama tour of the sub-District. Ten villages and settlements in five days. It was a whirlwind tour.

Later I'll try to put up more pix. For now I'm just hoping these will fly.

The one without the baby was of me and some of the crew. the baby was just a random cute kid who hitched a ride with us one day. The mom hitched too. But we let the little guy ride up in the cab.

If You´re Going to Play Around With Facial Hair Now´s the Time to Do I

2009-01-29T06:25:00.000-05:00

If it´s sideways I´m not gonna fix it. I´m trying this with my Nokia E90 cell.
The reviews are mixed. But the Motswana women almost uniformly hate it. Ergo, it has a good chance of staying.

I Should Do A Caption Contest With This

2008-12-15T06:27:00.000-05:00

From L to R: Me, Ebony (Bots 7, Palapye), Brian (Bots 6, Gantsi)
Taken at GLOW (Guys/Gals Leading Our World) Camp last week. All of us in our official GLOW Camp T-shirts.

The look on Ebony's face is priceless. I don't know what Pearl of my wisdom I am saying, but her expression pretty much sums up the response of all the women I've ever known.

The Rainy Season Is Upon Us

2008-12-01T01:24:00.000-05:00

We've been getting some rain here in Chuck Hill lately. The pictures don't do justice to the scene of massive storm clouds rising over the Kalahari. The past couple days have seen downpours create a river in my front yard. But of course it's desert, so the water sucks into the sands almost as fast as it falls. The lightning show is spectacular! After almost six months without a cloud in the sky it's a treat.

So...mom...how's the leg?

World AIDS Day

2008-12-01T01:17:00.000-05:00

One year ago today I opened my mail and learned I might as well give up my Arabic lessons as I was headed to Botswana. Hard to believe a year has gone by already. Commemorations will be held all over the world this day. We remember those who have died, those who live with HIV/AIDS and those yet to succumb to this terrible disease.

Are we making a difference here? Hard to tell. We may never know. Still we must try.

It's what makes us human.

Sompin' About This Just Ain't Right

2008-11-18T03:54:00.000-05:00

I'm not criticizing, but this just struck me as odd.. Christmas doesn't seem the big deal here that it does in America. Of course I doubt it's that big of a deal ANYWHERE else than America. But, this grocery store is owned by Boers. They are white-German-Dutch-Euro-something-or-other (Hey, I STILL can't keep Afrikaners and Boers and various assorted pale faces sorted out here!). Seems like they would have put up a red S. Claus. It IS for sale, something like P1600, which at current rates is around USD$200.

Bet he would look good on my front porch. Here.

Only One Regret

2008-11-05T00:37:00.000-05:00

Sure wish Jan Gill-Wigal was around to see Obama's win. She may once have passed as Hillary's double, but she would have LOVED this!

Comes The Dawn!

2008-11-04T23:31:00.000-05:00

After eight long dark years I am proud to be an American. Congratulations Barack Obama. Congratulations you and me. I've been up all night cranking my shortwave radio and going back and forth between BBC and Voice of America. WE just made the World a little bit better place.

More Pix From My Maun Trip

2008-10-29T03:21:00.000-04:00

OK, Mom said she couldn't see my face on yesterday's photo. So here is one where you can see my beautiful face. When I first saw it I thought "Pete Wigal went to Africa." If you know him I think you'll agree.

Wild Life in Botswana

2008-10-28T08:28:00.000-04:00

Had a workshop over the weekend up in Maun. Had the chance to take an evening boat ride. The ostrich was running along the vehicle on the way up. Thought he (she?) looked pretty cool. The hippos aren't included in Africa's Big Five. Still waiting to see one of those. As for me, I MIGHT need another haircut.

More Chez Mothusi

2008-10-16T08:57:00.000-04:00

So now that I've had four months to settle in I thought some might like to see what some of my day-to-day stuff looks like. So this first one is my automatic dishwasher. It has a soak, wash and rinse cycle. Oddly so does my clothes washer. In fact they are one and the same. Multi-tasking. The second picture is my "Home Office." Not much different from the one I had in Columbiana. Except there is no wireless internet to steal from the neighbors (Oops! Did I say that?)

Itsoseng Pre-School by my House

2008-10-16T08:48:00.000-04:00

Finally I'm getting around to posting about the pre-school. The teachers now love me and the kids think I'm Uncle Mothusi (Too early for Santa Claus. Yes, they celebrate Christmas. Don't know if SC is big here.)

Also Mick tells me a peace organization in Columbia, South Carolina is helping put together another box to send for the kids. Here is their website if you're interested: carolinapeace.org.

This thing is growing so big it I am working to make the materials available to all kids in chuck Hill. The other Peace corps Volunteer and I are trying to find a place like a library (Wait til you see the pictures of it.)or the local medical clinic to have a children's corner. Things take lots of time here to materialize. I'll keep you posted.

Speaking of time, today marks six months since I left Columbiana. Only twenty short months to go!

A Parting of Ways

2008-10-03T04:05:00.000-04:00

Some time back I posted about seeing a certain lady who happens to be a Republican (Not that there's anything wrong with that). Well, we have agreed to a mutual parting of ways. Africa, it turns out, is rough on relationships.

But this is a part of my life and therefore I feel the need to post it here, even though it might not rank as "The Best of What's Left."

Fact is it is unfair to ask someone to invest "Emotional Capital" in a guy who is going to disappear for two years. I've made this statement several times to members of the female gender and have uniformly been met with nods of agreement.

I wish her the best and only good things. I'm certain life will be good under the new Obama presidency.

Remember

2008-09-23T04:23:00.000-04:00

This must be like what amputees go through. Scratching an itch on a part of me that is no longer there.

Fours years. I still have dreams you’ve come back to me. How many times have I looked up and said “What the Hell happened?”

They say “you never forget, but it gets better.” It doesn’t. You just deal with it. Some days I can actually not think about it. Not in September. But some days.

Attended a Peace Corps workshop the other day. They had a Clinical Psychologist make a presentation. Motswana lady. US educated. It was like she was channelling Jan up there. Afterwards I told her that.

I have no higher praise.

I've Been Terrible at Posting Lately

2008-09-20T04:58:00.000-04:00

I just haven't had the access or time. as it is I have four minutes left to post this. Here are a couple pix from a couple weeks ago when Bots 7 was in Kanye for Early Term Reconnect.

One day we took a hike in this pretty little gorge. The other was of running with the local kids.

Woolies?

2008-09-18T08:39:00.000-04:00

I just wonder if this is the same pre-Wal-Mart business that used to exist in Main Street America. I've seen them in Abu Dhabi. They are all over Botswana. Not a bad place to pick up some decent clothes. The bigger cities have Woolworth's grocery stores. Expensive by Bot's standards, but sometimes you can find stuff the other groceries don't have. Of course getting to one ONLY involves 12 hours by bus.

Hardly worth the effort. But if by chance you happen to be there...

Ahh Spring! I mean, Fall! No Spring! Whatever.

2008-08-27T09:37:00.000-04:00

This is an odd feeling. Winter in Botswana is ending. Only because winter here is a sight warmer than anywhere else I've ever been do I feel like it should be cooling down soon.

It ain't. Sure we had some mornings when I'm pretty sure it was below the freezing temperature of fresh water (32 degrees Fahrenheit, 0 Degrees Celsius). But always by 10 AM it was at least pleasant shirt-sleeve weather. The Motswana don't buy that. I'm always amazed when in what is surely 80 degree F. weather people are wearing sweaters, hoods, thick jackets (I saw the same thing in Puerto Rico).

But I tremble to think what lies ahead. Apparently 40s C aren't uncommon. Yikes! At least I'll save electricity by not heating the water.

Still I feel like I should be getting a new coat...

Hey! Primanti Brothers!

2008-08-16T04:10:00.000-04:00

I’m not making a political statement. I just can’t see why they would ruin a perfectly good picture of Primanti Brothers (in Pittsburgh) with Cindy McCain’s mug. This was in a recent edition of Newsweek the Peace Corps sends us.

Man, what I would give for a Primanti’s roast beef piled with fries and cole slaw! And a stroll down the Strip to Mon Aimee Chocolate to drop about $70 on dark chocolate, then across the street to pick up some flavoured pasta and up to Mt. Washington for a look see at the city, then a Pirates game, then throw the kayak in the Mon for a paddle, then stop at Starbucks afterward for a Venti caramel Frappuccino, and then, and then, and then…

Oh well, maybe the Engen station has meat pies today.

Amazing what one picture can do?

What They Need

2008-08-09T04:07:00.000-04:00

Following my picture of the Pre-School I was asked by a loyal reader (one of six) if the kids needed supplies of any kind.

Sigh! Where to start? The government provides the VERY basics, paper, pencils, etc. but these kids (and even or ESPECIALLY older ones) need EVERYTHING! Those who know me well know I'm not the most sensitive SOB in the world. I tell you when I visited that little school and saw what they DIDN'T have it about broke my heart. By that I mean things you wouldn't ordinarily think about: games, puzzles, coloring books, crayons... Americans would blow a gasket if their kids were supplied as poorly. They mean well. It's just there isn't enough money to get the things little kids, EVERY little kid, should have.

Things that make you have to think to solve, to work together with others.

See, the educational system here is about where the US was a century ago. Rote learning. The teacher drills them and they respond accordingly. When you ask a kid for his/her opinion you get a blank stare. You get that even from the adults. After all, they are products of the same system.

You talk to kids and they are stunned that you consider them as thinking people. If you can send anything along those lines you will be doing a world of good.

We talk about building capacity among the people in Africa. Get them to the point where they can develop without outside help. So, how does a coloring book build capacity? If one child realizes he or she CAN think and DECIDE for themselves you have built capacity.

The other Peace Corps Volunteer in my village recently met the former Botswana Minister of Health, a physician. Female even. She told her she was inspired by a Peace Corps volunteer teacher she had in Science class Standard Nine (9th grade). That volunteer will never know she gave a push to a future Minister of Health for a country. that's like a Cabinet post.

So you never know.

Also, if anyone with IT expertise could give some advise or help. One of the schools actually has some IMacs, circa 1997. They are all of course basically paperweights. The operating systems are so corrupted as to be about useless. The kids are taught typing skills on turned off computers. Does anyone have an old Windows OS Disc to try to re-format these things? I don't even know if that is possible. Even if you let me know it can't be done would be helpful information.

My address again is:

Mike Wigal
PO Box 170
Charles Hill, Botswana

That's in Africa

My First Picture of Wild Game That Was NOT Donkeys!

2008-08-06T09:44:00.000-04:00

OK, so donkeys aren't actually wild game. I've seen a jackal, a hyena, a fox and a Springbok (look it up). But those were at night while speeding along the highway. This was taken also speeding along the Trans-Kgadihadi Highway (150 Km/Hr), so it isn't the clearest. I've been spotting them from time to time between Ghanzi and Chuck Hill, but could never get my camera ready fast enough. This was the best I could do.

Africa is famous for the Big 5, Zebra, Hippo, Lion, Rhino and Elephant. No one talks about these guys. The big game is located farther north. Maybe in a few weeks or months when I get sprung from lock-down (Peace Corps requirement for the first three months at site) I'll run into some of the big boys.

More Pictures from the Petroglyphs

2008-08-05T13:30:00.000-04:00

Some of these weren't carved in stone. See if you can tell which.

The Mamuno Rock Carvings

2008-08-04T09:26:00.000-04:00

Went out into the bush last weekend. The head of the Village Development Committee (George), took an archaeologist from Gaborone (Judge), the other Peace Corps volunteer in Chuck Hill (Lesedi) and her mom and me to view the rock carvings done by whomever it was who lived in this area 35,000 years ago.

It was pretty remarkable. Too bad I'll NEVER have enough internet time to upload all or even the best photos of the petroglyphs. But I'll throw up what I can here.

I've spent a half hour trying to get one more picture up. Forget it. This one was about the best. Pretty self-explanatory

I Need A Favor

2008-07-31T09:02:00.000-04:00

I was walking down my road today and was called over by the Cow ladies to take this photo of their day care centre. I would love to give them this picture. But it will be a month of Sundays before I can get to a place that can develop it. It's a big favor, but could someone print this out in color on glossy paper and send it to me?

Again my address is:
Mike Wigal
P.O. Box 170
Charles Hill,
Botswana

MAil takes forever to get here. At LEAST three weeks. But it would give the ladies and those kids a thrill.

Thanks in advance

Good Bye Baba

2008-07-31T08:58:00.000-04:00

Word has reached me that Betty Gill, my mother-in-law has passed. She was 84. And another link to Jan fades away.

Baba (as she was affectionately known) was the Gazda in the Gill family. I don’t know exactly how Gazda translates, but Sloko, my late father-in-law, called her that. Undoubtedly it was Ukrainian in origin and meant she ruled the roost.

Betty was a great lady. She had more than a little influence on raising Mick. Jan’s dying hit her hard of course. It’s tough enough to lose one’s spouse. But to lose your child, regardless the age, it’s just not in the seeming order of things.

Words cannot express my sadness at her passing. She had a big heart and was proud of her Slovak heritage. She accepted me into the family and always went out of her way to make me feel at home in her house.

I’ll miss her and I know Mick will miss his Baba.

I’ve been reading “The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying” lately and it has made Betty’s passing and Jan’s too even more meaningful, if that is possible.

Tsamaya Sentle Baba(Travel Well)

What I Miss....

2008-07-26T04:02:00.000-04:00

It has been asked what I miss. To tell the truth not much. I have pretty much everything I need on a day to day basis. Sure, access to a decent pizza parlor (or just A pizza parlor!) would be nice. But all in all I'm pretty happy with my situation.

I neither have nor want a TV, although a Seinfeld rerun would be enjoyed now and again. If I had the series'DVDs I could play them on my laptop (hint, hint.) But otherwise it's all good. I have a fair-sized stash of books. But I'm always on the lookout for more. ANYTHING by Paul Theroux! I read his "Dark Star Safari" a couple years ago and knew I wanted to go to Africa. Read it again about a month ago and it merely confirmed how glad I am that I came.

A few eons ago, when I was in Korea with the army, I used to absolutely fantasize about drinking Mountain Dew. But there's none of that sort of thing now. I hear other younger volunteers going on about this or that specific thing they crave. Maybe it's a function of age, but there's nothing really that comes to mind.

One thing I have realized is that I am basically stuck (if that's the right word) in Botswana for the next couple years. I'll be able to travel around southern Africa during leave. But my usual jaunts are out for a while. To relieve the travel itch a bit I hiked five miles to the Namibian border last weekend. Just to go through customs, have lunch and walk back.

It was a good feeling just to get a new stamp in my passport. Funny thing, the guy on the Bots side of the border took my passport, looked up and asked "Mothusi?" I tell you I'm famous here!

Anyway, I stopped at a petrol station just over the line, grabbed a bite (love the meat pies here) and crossed back. By 12:30 I was back home. But it counts: Namibia is in. I think number 46.

The road was the Trans-Kalahari Highway, fortunately for me a (more-or-less) major thoroughfare past Chuck Hill.

JOHN LEY YOU HAVE REACHED ME!!!!

2008-07-22T01:31:00.000-04:00

Use my email, John.
mike247worldwide@gmail.com
It's more direct.
Mike
Charles Hill, Botswana

And While We're On The Subject...

2008-07-11T08:22:00.000-04:00

The subject being foodstuffs, They have this catsup here (They call it "Tomati Sous") called All Gold. I'm sorry, but this stuff puts Heinz to shame. I know that is sacrilege to those of us who come from near Pittsburgh. But it's true! It's a little bit spicy (They have a hot and spicy sous too). I tell you I could eat this stuff on applesauce! When I'm finished in Botswana I'll be shipping All Gold to the States by the case.

Why Coke is King

2008-07-11T08:16:00.000-04:00

I’ll say right from the start I’m a long time Pepsi fan. And you can get it here. But, in the Developing World Coca Cola is the 800 kg gorilla. For one thing, at least in Botswana, they have the 440 ml monster King can. Maybe a Pula or so more than your standard 330 ml dosage. But well worth the price.

PLUS, it just tastes better than that found in the US. Why? Check the label. Second ingredient: sugar. Not corn syrup or fructose, blah, blah blah. Real 100% Sukiri. The good stuff.

Hey! In Charles Hill it's the little things that help you keep it together.

My Postal Address

2008-07-10T13:18:00.000-04:00

It has been requested and I am hereby delivering my postal address:

Mike Wigal
US Peace Corps Volunteer
P.O. Box 170
Charles Hill, Botswana

That's it. Mail takes at least three weeks to get here. PLEASE send me something. Anything! (Well, not ANY thing.)

The box cost me 82.50 Pula for the rest of the year. (So OK, that's only about $13US. But still...)

Mail only arrives in Chuck Hill on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I keep checking. But so far...Nada!

I Need To Learn More About This

2008-07-05T04:32:00.000-04:00

OK, the most common "community" or tribe in Botswana is the Bakwena. They speak Setswana. But out here in the west are a group called Herero. I don't know what the whole story is, but apparently they were driven out of Namibia years ago by the German colonists. From what I gather they are largely involved in cattle raising. In fact wealth in Botswana is kind of measured by the number of cattle you own.

So clearly from looking at the Herero women there is some kind of cow influence. I've been told it's an honor to wear this outfit. You see them all over the place. These two ladies I met in Ghanzi at a kind of county fair. Kind of interesting along the lines of the Amish.

Mi Casa Es Su Casa...

2008-07-05T04:15:00.000-04:00

All you have to do is get here. The donkeys are available as transport for small fee based upon hay burned per kilometer.

Actually I don't know what these guys were doing outside the house the other day. But this is my humble abode. The yard is pure Kgadihadi Desert sand. It's common for "yards" in Botswana to be skinned down to bare dirt. Deters the things that creep in the night.

But it's now home. Three bedrooms, ELECTRICITY(!), water, even a water heater. Kitchen, bath and a half, living room with ceiling fan, PLUS a fireplace (doubt I'll ever use it).

Why Soccer Rules the World

2008-06-30T09:05:00.000-04:00

Soccer (Futbol) is THE game in this part of the world (“This Part” meaning from the middle of the Atlantic Ocean east and the middle of the Pacific west, plus everything south of Brownsville, Texas).

On one of my first runs around Chuck Hill I caught this moment looking into the setting sun. It’s just my opinion, but all the soccer leagues and all the soccer moms and dads in the whole entire United States won’t produce the kind of players that these fields do. Barefoot. Thorny. Rocky. A plastic bag stuffed with rags for a ball. Hunger. Passion. Desire. That’s why the best players in the world come from fields like these.

Playing Catch Up

2008-06-27T09:43:00.000-04:00

Time to play catch-up. I’ve been here in Botswana a little over two months now. Early on I journaled my thoughts, feeling and observations. But til now I haven’t had the chance to post them. So here is how it went:

What a whirlwind! It’s hard to recall everything that happened from the time I left Columbiana to finding myself in Africa.

I pulled out of Columbiana (for the last time?) at 4:15AM the 16th of April. A last look across Arrowhead Lake at the home I once had brought tears to my eyes. It was there Jan died in my arms, Mick grew up and I moved out on this journey. I left a lot there. But Columbiana will always hold a special place in my heart.

On to Cleveland. After driving around the airport in the dark I finally located an Enterprise office to drop off my rental. It was 5:30 and the place was closed. There was a key drop which I found with no problem. A few days earlier I had checked it out online and learned though the office itself didn’t open til 9 a shuttle bus to the airport departure gates passed by every 7 to ten minutes. After 15 minutes and no bus I called the Enterprise 800 number. Wading through the various voicemails and helpful, but helpless operators took another thirty minutes.

My flight was at 7:30. So I had time, but was getting antsy. Dark as it was I could see the airport in the distance. My problem was no closer to being solved. Finally I said “screw it” and headed off, dragging two unruly rolling duffels, a back pack and laptop briefcase along an unlit highway with no real shoulder. “This is great,” I muttered. “I’ll be killed before I even leave Ohio.”

It turned out to be less than a mile to the gate and I was safely at the ticket booth in time.

Reaching Philly for three days of Peace Corps pre-departure training I took a shuttle into the historic district and my hotel. Along the way we passed by a homeless guy pushing an old battered grocery cart, piled high with bulging black plastic trash bags. All his worldly possessions. Then it hit me. That guy owns more “stuff” than me!

The Holiday Inn was busy and I couldn’t check in til the afternoon. So I kicked around a couple hours until eventually I began recognizing some faces from my Boits 7 facebook group. For a while there it was Old home Week. I kind of felt bad for those who hadn’t joined that online group. It made intros much warmer. Almost immediately I hooked up with my Scrabulous nemesis, Antonia, from Boston. The day before leaving I somehow managed to best her in our last game. (She probably threw it to make me feel good.)

As a group we spent the next couple days in pre-Departure Training, beginning the transformation process that resulted in our being sworn in as actual Peace Corps volunteers on June 18th.

The morning of the third day we tossed our bags aboard a couple buses for the ride to JFK, actually passing by some of our companion’s homes as we drove through Brokklyn (which by the way DOES look like “Welcome Back Kotter/”The Jeffersons”/”All in the Family”/”The Sopranos” territory).

Waiting for the evening flight I called Mick only (of course) to get his voicemail. It hit me as I was leaving a message that I might not speak to him again for over two years. That thought again had me choking back tears as I croaked out my good-bye. Fortunately he called back, asking if I had been coughing or something. [Mick update: My first text message to him from my new cell number in Botswana brought this response: “Who are you and if youre my father a buffer zone means NO CONTACT”. Nice. Also, Mick has been nominated for Peace Corps service starting next March in either Central or South America for eco-tourism. Good luck getting a CARE package from me!]

After last calls to my parents and “The Republican Girlfriend” I contacted AT&T to shut down my service.

Last plug pulled we boarded the South African Airlines Airbus (Much preferred over Boeing equipment) and took off into the night. We made a quick stop in Dakar, Senegal for passengers, but never left the plane. So, no new country!

The second hop brought us to Johannesburg, South Africa. Jp-burg. The city is considered too dangerous for us, so we were limited to the confines of a very nice hotel for the night.

After a magnificent buffet and glass of South African merlot I hit the sack. My first night in Africa. So far it could have been Pittsburgh.

Next morning we jammed onto another bus for the six hour run to Botswana with a stop along the way for lunch. Important because it qualified me for another country.

Shortly after crossing the border (I much prefer land crossings to flying in. It gives a much better sense of “going there”) we pulled into the Oasis hotel in Gaborone. I was pleasantly surprised to see the hotel faced Tlokweng Road, made famous in the First Ladies Detective Agency novel series as the home of Tlokweng Road Speedy Motors.

Again, however, we were confined to the hotel property for the three days training there. My roommate, Derek, and I did manage a three mile run by making 12 laps of a set of bungalows within the hotel property. My first African run.

While there we began our Setswana lessons, the language of the Batswana.

After three more days we dropped all our valuables and one of our bags to be held in safe-keeping for the next two months and rolled out to the city of Molepolole where we lived until late June.

Moleps (as it is sometimes called) is a fairly large, sprawling city with a distinctly country feel. The main paved (or tarred) road has a kind of shopping district along it, but most roads are dirt.

That pretty much brings it up to the earlier posts about my home and bathing situation. As I write this I am finishing my first week in Charles Hill. I’ll post a lot about Chuck Hill in the coming two years. But I wanted to finish off the initial impressions first.

Hard to believe it’s been nearly three months since my auction. The house appeared to have been sold on that last day. But alas, the deal fell through. So the place is back on the market. Other than that I am happy as a pig in manure here. Sometimes I feel like I wouldn’t care if I never came back. Of course I will.

Mma Kolane

2008-06-23T15:12:00.000-04:00

My Host Mom and Me at the Host Family Dinner
Woman served up a mean plate of Nama Ya Dipodi.

That would be goat meat for you English speakers.

This is Mma getting her hair "Done Up" by Niece Dhumbo (Yeah, I know...)

My Home for the Last Two Months

2008-06-23T12:43:00.000-04:00

I wrote about the bathing situation earlier. Here is the house. Three room starter, with no basement, no furnace, no A/C, no insulation, no GRASS(Awesome!), corrugated steel roof, no electricity, no water.

I loved it. My host family couldn't have been nicer. I loved walking home from class in the evenings. Mma Kolane would fix tea (Those Brits did have SOME good ides). It would be pitch dark shortly after 6PM, so I would read by the light of a paraffin lamp (They call it paraffin. I'm wondering is it's just kerosene.)

Chez Mothusi

2008-06-22T13:16:00.000-04:00

I found my house in Chuck Hill on Google Earth. Can you see me waving?

The big building in the upper right is the Rural Administration Centre. That's where my office is.

The Long and the Short of It...

2008-06-21T14:15:00.000-04:00

Alright, I've tried posting multiple pictures of this. But my internet is so slow the stuff will grow back before I get them all posted. So here's the before and after.
Hope it works:

Check out the car battery powering the clippers...

Not bad for ten Pula (about $1.67).

Short Update

2008-06-16T08:49:00.000-04:00

Two months ago today I left Columbiana. Peace Corps training is officially finished. I swear in on Wednesday. The two year count starts then. I'm hoping to get internet hooked up in my palatial suite in Chuck Hill. Then I'll start posting photos big time!

I am well and happy and in a really good place in my life.

What remains is the hunt for my personal White Whale, the rare and elusive Pygmy Giraffe. Adapted to the low trees of the northwest Kgadahadi Desert.

And the Winner IS....

2008-05-31T08:31:00.000-04:00

Charles Hill, Botswana. That's where I'm going to spend the next two years. It's way over west near the Namibia border. A smallish town, the nearest town of any size is Ghanzi a two and a half hour bus ride away. I'll head up there next week for a one week shake down tour. Another week of pre-Service training remains after that. On June 18th we get sworn in and away we go.

I had no expectations on where I was to be assigned. Hadn't asked for any place in particular. But, as I was walking up to learn where I was to go the thought "Charles Hill" popped into my head. I read a book last year about a British school teacher who found himself in Charles Hill for a year. Can't remember the title, but I'll have to run it down.

So it's Chuck Hill for me. I'm entirely good with it. Sadly I'll be far from most of my Peace Corps friends.

BUT, my house will have electricity and running water. Back in the lap of luxury!

And Oh By The Way...

2008-05-12T10:44:00.000-04:00

That bucket I wash in? It doubles as my honey bucket.

Continuing On...

2008-05-08T10:50:00.000-04:00

Got a little internet time so I figured I'd update. Can't log in to facebook for some reason.

Anyway, I'm in Shoshong this week "shadowing" a current Peace corps Volunteer. The guy is a Community Capacity Builder, mainly working with the local PMTCT (Preventing Mother To Child Transmission) clinic. He has a nice house with electricity AND hot and cold running water! Gloriosky! The lap of luxury.

In my first post I neglected to mention that my host family lacks these modern conveniences. My host mom gets up around 5AM each day to start a fire outside to heat my daily bucket of water. I drag a huge galvanized vat into my room and set up for the morning prep. Toothbrush, toothpaste, shaving cream (goes into the bucket to warm it up. I maintain SOME standards!), razor, soap, shampoo. I'm able to do the needfull each morning with less than a full bucket of warm water. ONE bucket. That includes rinsing everything off.

Usually I have an inch or two of clean water left to water the melon we have growing out front. I then empty the soapy water from the vat back into the bucket for disposal in what they call the pit latrine, but we commonly call the out house. It is, in fact, build like a brick privy. More adobe actually.

It amazes me to consider the relative efficiency of all this. Time-wise it's not much more than when I was in the States. On average Americans flush 25 GALLONS of water down their toilets every day. Add showers, shaving and teethbrushing alone and you can see how much we waste.

To say the least I'm quite satisfied with myself.

But it was nice this morning to have running water.

Botswana is heading into Winter now. The Batswana (what the Bots people are called collectively) think it's getting very cold. Personally it's still T-shirt weather. The skies are clear almost every day and I would guess the high temps to be in the 80s. Nights maybe upper 50s. It's not humid, so even running during the day is comfortable. A guy could get used to this.

A couple of us have found a little running route near our homes that takes us out into the Bush. Running the high veldt. It feels like we have left civilization out there. From one hill top you can see for maybe 30 miles. I really feel like I'm in Africa out there.

I'll post pix when I can, but right now it looks like it may be almost two months before I'm able.

Meanwhile my Setswana is coming S L O W L Y! I'm rated Novice Low. Go gona mathata! (No problem!)

They Had Me at "Dumela!"

2008-05-04T03:29:00.000-04:00

That's Setswana for Hello. I've been here two weeks already. I live with a host family of three women and one man. It ain't Kansas, but I love it. The night skies are incredible. And I live right under the Southern Cross.

Classes are long. My days are full. Heading out to an actual site to shadow a current Peace Corps volunteer. In a month and a half we will finish our training and hit our actual jobs. Can't wait.

So far I've loved the whole experience. At times I don't care if I never come back.

Oh and by the way, my name is now Mothusi (Mo Two' See) Kolane (Ko lan' eh). It means "helper."

Every kid in the neighborhood knows me by that. Yesterday at the grocery store I was checking out and the clerk asked me if my name was Mothusi!

I'm famous in Botswana.

Internet is scarce. Will chat later.

Out.

Last Post

2008-04-17T21:54:00.000-04:00

We've been in Pre-Departure Training the last couple days. Lots of team teaching techniques as seen in the picture above. Tonight we are going over our packing AGAIN and nervously waiting the morning move out.

We bus from here in Philly to JFK for the flight to Johannesburg, South Africa tomorrow morning. It's a whole "Joseph" move all over again. I feel right in my element. I'm one of six team leaders to enable the process. All those flights in and out of Abu Dhabi, Dubai, Oman, Bahrain, Saudi, etc. are finally paying off.

By the way, the cemetery holding Ben Franklin's bones is right behind the hotel. Turns out he died 218 years ago today. For some reason visitors to his grave feel compelled to toss coinage onto his tombstone. Go figure...

Game On

2008-04-17T07:44:00.000-04:00

So I'm in Philly for pre-Departure Training. Turns out there are 61 of us going to Botswana. Of those with my job title (District AIDS Coordinator) there are 16.

Thanks to our facebook group it was almost like old home week for many of us.

Tomorrow we fly.

End of Days...

2008-04-14T18:26:00.000-04:00

My Worldly Belongings That's my pal Jeter in the background.
...Not counting the stuff stored under the stairs at my parent's house.

It's all about "Lasts" these past few days. Today I said my last good-byes to my old work mates (especially Lee T.) at the hospital where I once worked. Even though I left there seven years ago I still have a fondness for many of them.

Took my last five mile run around Lake Newport in Youngstown's Mill Creek Park.

Had my last Elmton's pizza. Elmton's was my first Y-town (Struthers for the cognoscenti) 'za back in 1978. Still good and greasy!

Last this. Last that. It's time to go already. I always dislike "getaway" day, where you have to keep an eye on how much time until you need to be at the airport. You count back everything.

Lately it's been getaway month, then getaway week, now comes tomorrow. THE last day.

It'll be a relief to get going. I'll have at least one more post before the jump.

Local Man Gets Ink

2008-04-13T14:46:00.000-04:00

With about two minutes remaining of my fifteen minutes of fame, here are two links to stories about my departure that appeared in the local media this morning. Salem (Ohio) News and the Columbiana Morning Journal interviewed me last week.

Meanwhile, back to REpacking!

It Was Either the First Day of End of My Life or the Last Day of the Beginning of My Life...

2008-04-10T09:10:00.000-04:00

It's been about five days since the big auction went down. I'm still recovering from it. It's a little eerie to walk through that big EMPTY place and hear my footsteps echo. Fortunately one of my yoga friends has lent me a spare bedroom to crash in until I blow out in six days.

Before the auction even began I knew it would be an odd weekend. Friday, the day before the sale I get a phone call about a quarter til two in the afternoon. This lady wanted to know if I was available to show her the house since she had called the realtor and he was otherwise occupied. I said sure, when would you like to see it? She says now. Well, I had a 2:00 o'clock appointment to have the car touched up, but she said she'd follow me in her car and give me a ride back to the house. It was raining anyway, so I was good with that.

I proceeded to show her around the place. We spent about two or three hours. She's telling me she is opening a specialty bakery in Columbiana and has an extended family AND a live-in nurse for her health problems and needed a big house pronto. the bakery would be walking distance from my house. After the tour we are standing in the living room talking and I can see she's wanting to talk turkey. So she asks me what is the lowest price I'll take for the whole enchillada. I'm thinking this ain't how you do it. So I threw it back to her. What's the HIGHEST price you'll pay. And she says "I'll have a certified check in your hands tomorrow morning at 8AM for $250,000 for everything, including my chattels (that's all my stuff I had out for auction!). I was stunned! But not stunned enough to talk her up a few thousand more. But I'm thinking if I can get out of this at one fell swoop for that price I can go to Botswana clean.

So I agree. She says she has to get a hold of her financer/boyfriend (I think) to get the go ahead, but she'll see me in the morning.

As I said I'm stunned. Of all the scenarios I've run through my head this wasn't one of 'em. I call the auctioneer and ask him what would we do. He said he'd never had this happen before, but we could stop the auction and wave everyone off if need be. But until we see the green we'll go ahead as planned.

Good thing. She never showed, never called. Nothing. Admittedly entertainment is hard to come by here in Columbiana. We don't even have a movie theatre. But that was a lot of work for a few hours modest entertainment.

Nonetheless it was a bit of an adrenalin rush.

So now comes Saturday morning. The auction started at 10AM. People were snooping around at 7:30! By 10 there must have been at least 300 people there. Folks were bringing their own lawn chairs and setting them up in front of the auctioneer's stand. The auctioneer starts off by saying for those without chairs I have several on hand to sell. So the first thing he sells (for $2.50) is a couple really old folding chairs with nylon backing. The lady who got them happens to come right beside me to set down. As she sat the dry-rotted webbing gave out and she dumped her ass SPLAT on the driveway. Even though I was cracking up it wasn't a good start.

So the sale gets started in earnest. Things are moving apace. I sell my trumpet for $420 netting me a nifty $35 profit after owning it a mere 44 years. My Nissan XTerra goes for $6100. But, to tell the truth, even though it's all my stuff, I found the thing incredibly boring. I can't imagine wanting to root through other people's junk hoping to find some kind of treasure. I'm sure it happens, but all in all it's still ends up being junk for a new owner.

My yoga instructor canceled the Saturday morning class so everyone could come support me. In fact we all went out for coffee. I was growing ever more nervous because at noon the house would go up for auction.

Comes the witching hour I am so nervous I could chew iron. The auctioneer is giving the run down on the particulars. How it's appraised at $350,000, but the owner is asking only $295 and will offer a bridge loan until financing is secured, the recent values of neighboring property, etc., etc. I tell my dad I can't believe all these nights of sleeplessness worrying comes down to this.

So the bidding starts at the appraised value. Nothing.
It drops to my asking price. Nothing. I'm not too worried, because I figured no one would jump at that level.

Then it drops to 250K. Nothing.
Two hundred. Nothing.
One fifty. Nothing.
A hundred thousand? Finally a nod from someone in the crowd. OK, now we'll get rolling.

One twenty-five? Another nod.
One fifty? One fifty? One fifty? Nada. Nil. Nyet.
$125 grand is the top bid. I'm in shock. Sick to my stomach. In two days I've had two scenarios that I never imagined.

We stop the auction of the house and go back to selling the rest of my junk. I'm wondering what the Hell am I gonna do now? I have ten days to maybe find renters, get the dump cleaned up...CRAP!

About an hour or so later a couple comes up to me and asks to look around. The guy's uncle was at the sale and called him on his cell, telling him to get down here ASAP.

Loooooong story short, they fall in love with the place. Even as I write this they are setting up their finances to buy at a price I can live with. Happily live with.

It won't close until after I leave next week. But, Inshallah, my accountant, who has my Power-of-Attorney, can get it done.

People expressed to me that I would have a hard time emotionally seeing all my belongings leave my life. But to tell you the truth, it hardly bothered me at all. Things I'd owned and enjoyed for over thirty years went out the door without a twinge.

Except for one thing. When the buyer was loading up my beloved Dagger Crossover kayak onto his truck I got a little choked up. I had paddled that thing everywhere. Spent MANY wonderful hours beneath the stars and on the open rivers in it. Great memories. That surprised me.

But when I come back I already have plans to get a new ocean kayak. Which means I must be going to live near a sea...

But for now I haven't got a pot to piss in nor a window to throw it out of. It feels like freedom.

ALL RIGHT! ALL RIGHT!

2008-04-09T22:01:00.000-04:00

I'll update the blog! I've been a little distracted and it will be a big post.

So give some time. I'm still internalizing everything.

Botswana Update

2008-04-02T09:24:00.000-04:00

I have it on good authority the following will be my postal address for the first couple months in Bots:

Mike Wigal
U.S. Peace Corps
Private Bag 00243
Gaborone
Botswana

I accept cash, checks and money orders. And cookies...

My Yoga Group Says Good-Bye

2008-03-31T07:49:00.000-04:00

So my yoga class had a little going away party for me Saturday night. Youngstown Sports Grill. These people have been my local social support group for the past couple years. I'm gonna miss them and my three weekly yoga sessions.

The "King" performing Tree.

To their credit none of the girls yelled "Whoo!"

Bud demonstrates his "Man Crush" on Bob. Bob was into it.

Open House

2008-03-30T17:37:00.000-04:00

Had an open house today. One hour only, from 2 to 3 PM. Must have been over a 100 people show up to go through my stuff. Many of the neighbors came over too.

Crazy feeling to have complete strangers go rooting through all your stuff. But in the end it's all just "stuff." I've made my disconnect. My renter, Karen, told me she got a little emotional when she saw the old bucket of baseballs I used to pitch to Mick for batting practice. Funny how the mundane flotsam of our lives sometimes unwittingly impacts others.

Hope whomever shows next Saturday brings their wallets.

Here's the ad for the sale of my worldly belongings.

Gettin' Down To the Short Strokes...

2008-03-28T15:04:00.000-04:00

Well, we're getting down to cases now. I came home last Sunday night and was surprised when I couldn't pull into the garage. While I'd been gone the auctioneers had been busy getting the place ready for the sale next Saturday.

Except for the major pieces of furniture the house was EMPTY! Not a plate, knife or spoon. The only toilet paper left was what was on the roller. I couldn't even scrub the commode because the brush was gone! No food except what little was in the fridge. Everything is laid out on display in the garage and barn.

Even my beloved kayak.

I've been scrambling to disconnect my life from all the things that keep us here, cable TV, satellite radio, health insurance, cell phone, changes of address...every night I remember something else. Today I have a work crew mulching and cleaning up the yard for the open house Sunday. Getting the car detailed tomorrow so it looks good.

Next Saturday is the auction. All my worldly goods. At the end of the day I should know to a dollar figure exactly what I'm worth.

It's a very freeing experience. In a sense it's like I'm dying. In a way I am. In 18 days my old life will end. What follows will be a whole new existence. That's why I'm inviting as many friends as possible to the auction.

It'll be like hosting my own funeral. Only I'll actually be there to say good-bye.

Ya'll come!

My Last Middle East Trip Update

2008-03-25T05:38:00.000-04:00

Due to the dearth of free internet I haven't been posting while on this trip. It was a pretty normal tour this time. Had a couple nice side trips.

On my first full day Wes Roy (fellow recruiting tribe member) and I took a quick jaunt over the Israeli border into the West Bank. The crossing was crazy. No signs or instructions. Just follow the crowds of Palestinians and hope you don't get lost. I asked the customs guard NOT to stamp my passport with the Israeli visa. If you have Israel stamped in your passport you may will be denied entry into Kuwait, Saudi and some of the other Gulf countries. They stamp a slip of paper and you carry that until you leave.

Anyway, as it turned out we didn't have much time. The Israeli's decided to close the border at 1:30PM that day and we only got in around 10AM. But we hired a Palestinian driver (blue-eyed! Crusader influence I reckon.) and drove to Masada. In 66CE a band of Jewish rebels fighting against Roman rule captured Masada, formerly Herod's winter palace. Sitting high above the Dead Sea Masada is a near impregnable fortress. The Romans built eight encampments on the desert floor surrounding the heights. You can still see them. Their main assault was toward the western gate. The Romans built a siege ramp and in due course were about to breach the wall.

The rebel leader made an impassioned speech to the 960+ rebels trapped inside the walls of Masada. Rather than live as humiliated Roman slaves they agreed to commit suicide. Since suicide is considered a serious sin what the did was basically count off from one to ten. The tenth man then killed the other nine. Then they recounted and again the tenth man killed the other ten. And so on until in the end only one guy actually killed himself. There were some women and children who escaped the slaughter and hid in the fort. When the Romans took possession they were alive to tell what had happened.

Masada is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Jason tells me I can claim both Israel AND Palestine since they both have their own governments. It may be weak, but I'm taking it. It's no worse than Greek and Turkish Cyprus.

We made it back to the Jordanian border with 13 minutes to spare. A good day.

Here Comes the Peace Corps

2008-03-25T05:19:00.000-04:00

Man, it's closing fast. I came home from my last Middle East trip Sunday night. Opened the garage door and couldn't pull in. The auctioneers have the whole thing PACKED with my stuff, ready to sell.

The house is almost empty. I couldn't even find a dish, knife or spoon to eat with. Had to rummage around the barn to find the stuff and retrieve enough utensils for the remaining couple weeks. Got a couple coming to look at the joint this afternoon. This will be their third look.

I think they are waiting until the auction in hopes of getting the place at a lower price than what I have it listed for. There might be a couple other interested parties.

The economic question of the day (and night) is: At what price does "a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush" kick in? With this market and the possibility of putting any profit to work while I'm gone, plus eliminating the need to do upkeep, pay taxes, keep it rented, etc. etc. etc. I'm strongly inclined to sell.

My flight to Philadelphia for the Peace Corps pre-departure training is booked. Pleasant surprise: I get to claim frequent flier miles, even for the jump from JFK to J-Burg. Oughta be worth a couple bucks. Plus we bus from South Africa into Botswana. So I'll claim two more countries before we even get started. That'll make 47. With luck I'll hit 100 before I kick.

The things I think about...

More About Botswana

2008-03-03T22:54:00.000-05:00

This link really lays it all out with regards to HIV/AIDS there.

I Still Laugh Every Time I See This Commercial

2008-02-26T10:01:00.000-05:00

This is the GEICO ad featuring the cave man and the therapist. Anyone acquainted with my wife Jan, who was a psychologist, knows she would have loved this commercial.

I always wish she could be here to see it.

Along with about a jillion other things...