Today I was finally able to squeeze in a full night's sleep, a jog, and some pool-time. I actually find I get more done when I'm relaxed poolside, sipping a double gin-tonic under a bao tree than when I'm frazzled, hunched over my computer in grey cubicle. I'm sure most people feel that way, which leads me to wonder why more offices aren't under bao trees, but I digress. Probably lack of bao trees. Anyway, I was able to finish off one report and get a good start on another and still have an hour to swim before fun time.
Susan, my Sri Lankan colleague, had agreed to take me around Colombo for some shopping and sightseeing. We started out at a craft shop, then a gem store, then to a shopping center where I scored some seriously cheap clothes. Like many developing nations, Sri Lanka is heavily into the textile industry, sewing some of the top brands for the US markets. So, I was able to score a GAP skirt and a few Ann Taylor Loft blouses for less than fifteen USD - total.
After that, Susan surprised me by taking me to the Gangaramaya Buddhist Temple. There are several spread out parts of this compound, including the Seema Malaka (shrine) situated in nearby Beira Lake. The best part about the shrine were the signs up all over saying "Do Not Make Love Here" in Singalese. Apparently, it's a happening night spot!
Incidentally, we did go at night, when everything was lit up by torches and tea lights (we didn't see any amorous couples, though). According to my out-dated guidebook, the temple itself is a "strange hotch-potch of Buddhist arts and architecture from Sri Lanka, Thailand, China...with an unusually strong dash of Hindu influence thrown in." I'm not a religious scholar, but I can recognize my favorite Hindu god, Ganesh, when I see him (he's the one with the elephant head); and I saw him in the entryway. Beautiful, but strangely out of place, I thought.
Asking Susan about this, she succinctly stated, "Buddhism is open to all thoughts. It is a philosophy; not a religion."
The entryway opened up into a cavernous room with an enormous (thirty feet tall) orange Buddha. The walls were covered in elaborate paintings, carvings and mini-Buddha's. It was breathtaking. People were lighting incense, chanting and listening the loudspeakers, which were piping in a live "sermon" from another area of the temple.
From there, we walked into a courtyard dominating by a huge white dagoba, which basically looks like a white bell (click link for picture). Off to one side, stood a large boa tree tied low with strips of colored cloths. Susan mentioned that people believed that if they circled the tree, watering it, their prayers would be answered. I've had a few prayers of my own lately, so I grabbed a silver chalice and watered my heart out. Answers or not, I certainly felt better afterwards.
Lastly, in the back, behind the museum, the most breathtaking sight of the evening was the slope of rows upon rows of smiling buddhas, casting peaceful shadows far into the night. It was calming just to be there.
After sneaking a few more pictures in, Susan and I hopped back in the car where Raja (the driver) had purchased egg hoppers for all of us. Basically a crispy pancake with fried egg in the middle, it was super-delish (see previous post about me and fried food) and an excellent end to an excellent afternoon.
Tomorrow - the spa!
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Friday, June 26, 2009
A Week's Worth
I haven't felt very verbose lately, so here's a quick week's worth of updates:
- eleven interviews = one very long day
- hot showers are only as available as your ability (and lucidity) to know which way the knob should turn;
- two eight hour car rides in as many days
- one of those hours locating an office space that ends up being a bombed out farmhouse
- repeat performance with another bombed out farmhouse, this one with squatters
- the "good" road is the one under construction
- hot is feeling the backs of your knees sweat
- cows are a) pedestrians b) decoration c) family members d) all of the above
- whoops? should I be taking malarial pills?
- deep fried and carbs = me likey (fried manioc is delish!)
- observed pujah at a hindu shrine on a mountain top
- watched a monkey throw up in his mouth
- visited Lover's Leap, but stood firm
- swam in the Indian Ocean at dusk;
- tried to read emails at the beach, ended up picking sand from my laptop;
- watched my underwear being fondled at a military checkpoint;
- denied access to "marble beach"
- got photo with cute military guy instead
- promised I wasn't going to post it on a website
-...but can still talk about it!
- eleven interviews = one very long day
- hot showers are only as available as your ability (and lucidity) to know which way the knob should turn;
- two eight hour car rides in as many days
- one of those hours locating an office space that ends up being a bombed out farmhouse
- repeat performance with another bombed out farmhouse, this one with squatters
- the "good" road is the one under construction
- hot is feeling the backs of your knees sweat
- cows are a) pedestrians b) decoration c) family members d) all of the above
- whoops? should I be taking malarial pills?
- deep fried and carbs = me likey (fried manioc is delish!)
- observed pujah at a hindu shrine on a mountain top
- watched a monkey throw up in his mouth
- visited Lover's Leap, but stood firm
- swam in the Indian Ocean at dusk;
- tried to read emails at the beach, ended up picking sand from my laptop;
- watched my underwear being fondled at a military checkpoint;
- denied access to "marble beach"
- got photo with cute military guy instead
- promised I wasn't going to post it on a website
-...but can still talk about it!
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Oh Caffeine, I'll Never Forsake You Again
It's taken me three days, but I've finally arrived in Sri Lanka. While I still maintain that East Timor is as close to the end of the earth as you can get (and pretty hard to get to), Sri Lanka gives it a run for its money. One 13 hour flight to Tokyo (2 hours sitting at the gate, trying to get the cargo door to close); then, upon arrival 15 minutes to run to the bathroom and board my 6 hour flight to Bangkok.
My Bangkok hotel was nice, but my internal clock was so screwed up by that point, when I finally got there at 2am, I couldn't wind down to sleep and had to resort to tylenol pm, which leaves me sluggish and sleepy. Effectively, I didn't have enough energy to go explore the city during my 12 hour layover and subsequently was forced just to hit the spa, gym and pool (in that order). One more three hour flight that evening, landed me in Colombo around 10:30 pm.
In an effort to be "healthy", I had shunned caffeine during this time, so my internal clock could reset on its own (barring the tylenol pm, which I maintain was an emergency). I thought this was a smart idea, except by Sunday evening, an achy feeling had crept into the back of my skull. What began as a dull pain, soon turned into a shooting, blinding, hammering, by the time I had made it through customs in Colombo.
The swine flu is a big deal in Asia, especially since Sri Lanka just got its first case last week. They're screening everyone from "swine flu" countries, including the US, so I had to pass a health inspection wherein they make you fill out a little form regarding how you're feeling. How would you feel after 2 days of travelling? Luckily "like shit" wasn't one of the options, otherwise, I might have ended up in Sri Lankan quarantine. Also, thankfully, "hammering migraine" wasn't one of the symptoms listed either.
After an excruciating hour long car ride, I arrived at the hotel, made myself the strongest "breakfast tea" (ie with caffeine!) and promptly fell asleep.
I've learned my lesson. Next global pandemic, I might not be so lucky. "Screaming headache" might actually be on the list.
Caffeine, I'll never try to break up with you again. It's dangerous!
My Bangkok hotel was nice, but my internal clock was so screwed up by that point, when I finally got there at 2am, I couldn't wind down to sleep and had to resort to tylenol pm, which leaves me sluggish and sleepy. Effectively, I didn't have enough energy to go explore the city during my 12 hour layover and subsequently was forced just to hit the spa, gym and pool (in that order). One more three hour flight that evening, landed me in Colombo around 10:30 pm.
In an effort to be "healthy", I had shunned caffeine during this time, so my internal clock could reset on its own (barring the tylenol pm, which I maintain was an emergency). I thought this was a smart idea, except by Sunday evening, an achy feeling had crept into the back of my skull. What began as a dull pain, soon turned into a shooting, blinding, hammering, by the time I had made it through customs in Colombo.
The swine flu is a big deal in Asia, especially since Sri Lanka just got its first case last week. They're screening everyone from "swine flu" countries, including the US, so I had to pass a health inspection wherein they make you fill out a little form regarding how you're feeling. How would you feel after 2 days of travelling? Luckily "like shit" wasn't one of the options, otherwise, I might have ended up in Sri Lankan quarantine. Also, thankfully, "hammering migraine" wasn't one of the symptoms listed either.
After an excruciating hour long car ride, I arrived at the hotel, made myself the strongest "breakfast tea" (ie with caffeine!) and promptly fell asleep.
I've learned my lesson. Next global pandemic, I might not be so lucky. "Screaming headache" might actually be on the list.
Caffeine, I'll never try to break up with you again. It's dangerous!
Tuesday, June 09, 2009
Burmused.
I've not covered this much here, but I've been following the news of Burma's Aung San Suu Kyi recent detention due to the ridiculous actions of American tourist John William Yettaw. Aung San Suu Kyi, a Nobel peace price winner and democracy advocate, has been under house arrest for the past several years for opposing the military junta. Op-Ed's in Washington Post and this article by Voice of America do a good job of summarizing the democracy activist, and her current trial for "violating house arrest" when Mr. Yettaw decided it would be a good idea to swim the moat for a visit (Suu Kyi does not know him). But she faces an additional 5 years of jail time because he felt he urgently needed to talk with her.
I have alot of opinions about the thoughtlessness of this man, but that's not the point of this post.
I am in DC this week, attending a seminar for work on aid, development and conflict. I had lunch with a Burmese gentleman today, and I asked him about the trial. He was not optimistic. He explained that the miltary junta keeps such tight controls over everything that if one wants to have a meeting of over five people, they must get government approval (verified by google). Can you imagine that? This extends to work, play, school, religious gatherings, as well as political rally's (if they have such a thing). This would even extend to such professional seminars similar to what we are both currently attending.
Wow.
Because this was his first trip to the US, I asked him what his first impression was. His response was "Everything is very green here. In Burma, there are few trees. People cut them down to sell."
DC is a beautifully green place, with many public spaces, so I couldn't deny him that. But it wasn't what I expected. I expected something along the lines of free press, being able to say whatever he wanted, read what he wanted, gather a group of over five friends together and party til dawn without permission. Didn't he feel "free-er"?
Nope, he felt cleaner. The air smelled good.
I guess it's the small things - that which we so often take for granted - which makes the biggest difference.
I have alot of opinions about the thoughtlessness of this man, but that's not the point of this post.
I am in DC this week, attending a seminar for work on aid, development and conflict. I had lunch with a Burmese gentleman today, and I asked him about the trial. He was not optimistic. He explained that the miltary junta keeps such tight controls over everything that if one wants to have a meeting of over five people, they must get government approval (verified by google). Can you imagine that? This extends to work, play, school, religious gatherings, as well as political rally's (if they have such a thing). This would even extend to such professional seminars similar to what we are both currently attending.
Wow.
Because this was his first trip to the US, I asked him what his first impression was. His response was "Everything is very green here. In Burma, there are few trees. People cut them down to sell."
DC is a beautifully green place, with many public spaces, so I couldn't deny him that. But it wasn't what I expected. I expected something along the lines of free press, being able to say whatever he wanted, read what he wanted, gather a group of over five friends together and party til dawn without permission. Didn't he feel "free-er"?
Nope, he felt cleaner. The air smelled good.
I guess it's the small things - that which we so often take for granted - which makes the biggest difference.
Saturday, June 06, 2009
Not to Pick on Zambia again but...
I went to the travel doctor this week for my upcoming trip to Sri Lanka. I hate travel doctors. They always tell me to wear sunscreen, drink plenty of water and wear bug spray. (Just once I'd like someone to teach me something useful, like CPR, or maybe some hand-to-hand combat moves.) I also hear alot about the scary diseases that I may or may not attract.
For those of you who know me, this does not go over well with my hypochondriac self.
This doctor was no different. While very nice, she was also big on pointing out which diseases I don't want to get (malaria) and which ones I DEFINITELY don't want (japanese encephalitis). In fact, I may go back and get the vaccine for that one.
Aaaaaanyway, what I thought was going to be a quick 30 minute appointment for malaria drugs turned into a two-hour ordeal, with me leaving certain that I was going to die of Chagas, or at the very least, had a case of worms.
I went back to the office and vented about my experience.
My coworker, a pleasantly plump conservative mid-thirties single gal guffawed. "That's nothing," she said, "when I went for my trip to Zambia, the nurse asked me if I was going to be having sexual relations."
(Note: business trips do not lend themselves to romance).
"When I told her no, she eyed me up and down again and said, "Are you sure?"
(Note: pretty sure. And by that I mean, ABSOLUTELY CONFIDENT.)
"When I again assured her I would not be having sexual relations, she still advised me to bring condoms."
(Note: In case any unplanned orgies breakout).
"And when I told her that I would not waste my time bringing condoms, she said, 'Well, they have AIDs in Zambia.'"
(Note: part of our project in Zambia deals with people affected with AIDs.)
I get they have a duty to warn us of what we're walking into, but they must deal with some awfully stupid or dishonest people. Also, the world is a scary enough place without my having to worry if walking barefoot on beach will give me shingles. I realize that ignorance may not be the way to go here, but it is indeed, bliss.
I miss my DC travel doctor, who stuck me with needles, gave me my drugs, slapped a lollipop in my hand and let me run back to work.
M is for malaria.
M.
For those of you who know me, this does not go over well with my hypochondriac self.
This doctor was no different. While very nice, she was also big on pointing out which diseases I don't want to get (malaria) and which ones I DEFINITELY don't want (japanese encephalitis). In fact, I may go back and get the vaccine for that one.
Aaaaaanyway, what I thought was going to be a quick 30 minute appointment for malaria drugs turned into a two-hour ordeal, with me leaving certain that I was going to die of Chagas, or at the very least, had a case of worms.
I went back to the office and vented about my experience.
My coworker, a pleasantly plump conservative mid-thirties single gal guffawed. "That's nothing," she said, "when I went for my trip to Zambia, the nurse asked me if I was going to be having sexual relations."
(Note: business trips do not lend themselves to romance).
"When I told her no, she eyed me up and down again and said, "Are you sure?"
(Note: pretty sure. And by that I mean, ABSOLUTELY CONFIDENT.)
"When I again assured her I would not be having sexual relations, she still advised me to bring condoms."
(Note: In case any unplanned orgies breakout).
"And when I told her that I would not waste my time bringing condoms, she said, 'Well, they have AIDs in Zambia.'"
(Note: part of our project in Zambia deals with people affected with AIDs.)
I get they have a duty to warn us of what we're walking into, but they must deal with some awfully stupid or dishonest people. Also, the world is a scary enough place without my having to worry if walking barefoot on beach will give me shingles. I realize that ignorance may not be the way to go here, but it is indeed, bliss.
I miss my DC travel doctor, who stuck me with needles, gave me my drugs, slapped a lollipop in my hand and let me run back to work.
M is for malaria.
M.
Random Country : Sri Lanka
A new project is starting there, so I'll be leaving in about two weeks - and gone for about a month.From our good friends at Wiki:
Sri Lanka is an island country in South Asia, located about 31 kilometres (19.3 mi) off the southern coast of India. It is home to around twenty million people.
Because of its location in the path of major sea routes, Sri Lanka is a strategic naval link between West Asia and South East Asia, and has been a center of Buddhist religion and culture from ancient times. Today, the country is a multi-religious and multi-ethnic nation: more than a quarter of the population follows faiths other than Buddhism, notably Hinduism, Christianity and Islam.
The Sinhalese community forms the majority of the population; Tamils, who are concentrated in the north and east of the island, form the largest ethnic minority. Other communities include Moors, Burghers, Kaffirs and the Malays.
Famous for the production and export of tea, coffee, coconuts and rubber, Sri Lanka boasts a progressive and modern industrial economy and the highest per capita income in South Asia. The natural beauty of Sri Lanka's tropical forests, beaches and landscape, as well as its rich cultural heritage, make it a world famous tourist destination.
After over two thousand years of rule by local kingdoms, parts of Sri Lanka were colonized by Portugal and the Netherlands beginning in the 16th century, before control of the entire country was ceded to the British Empire in 1815. During World War II, Sri Lanka served as an important base for Allied forces in the fight against the Japanese Empire.[10] A nationalist political movement arose in the country in the early 20th century with the aim of obtaining political independence, which was eventually granted by the British after peaceful negotiations in 1948. In Sri Lanka about 15 % of the population live on less than US$ 1.25 per day. [11]
Excitingly enough, the 27 civil war between the LTTE (Tamil Tigers) and the Government ended in May, so that's a bit of good news. Of course, tensions don't just magically disappear overnight, so it's going to be interesting. I'm not sure if I'm going to post much about the conflict itself, for security reasons (both for myself and the project), but here's what wikipedia has to say:
From 1983 to 2009, there was an on-and-off civil war against the government by the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE), a separatist militant organization who fought to create an independent state named Tamil Eelam in the North and East of the island. This has in turn resulted in ethnic cleansing of Muslim and Shinhalese from the area which Tigers claim to be Tamil Eelam. Both the Sri Lankan government and LTTE has been accused for various human right violations. However, number of notorious atrocities committed by LTTE, including suicide bombing, forced conscription of child soldier and ethnic cleansing of non-Tamils cause many countries to classify LTTE as a terrorist organisation.[citation needed]
On May 19, 2009 the President of Sri Lanka officially claimed end of the insurgency and the defeat of the LTTE following the death of its leader and much of its senior leadership.[26]
Friday, June 05, 2009
Humph. All I get is an Advil.
By nature of my strange job, sometimes I come across some unusual practices from other countries. This includes Zambian labor law, which we reviewed in a meeting on Wednesday, and includes the following:
Chapter 268: Part VII: 54.2:
In addition to the leave prescribed in subsection (1), every female employee shall be entitled to one day’s absence from work each month without having to produce a valid medical certificate.
Gee, (scratches head) once per month? I wonder what THAT’s for?
///Hello, Zambia? I wish I was working for you today.
Chapter 268: Part VII: 54.2:
In addition to the leave prescribed in subsection (1), every female employee shall be entitled to one day’s absence from work each month without having to produce a valid medical certificate.
Gee, (scratches head) once per month? I wonder what THAT’s for?
///Hello, Zambia? I wish I was working for you today.
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
Note to File
In my early twenties, my brother warned me that someday, sooner or later, I'd find wanderlust addicting. At that point, I thought he was crazy. I'd only been out my parent's house two years, and already I'd moved four times. I craved home; I craved a place to call my own; nice things ; a job; and a community where I belonged. I was pretty sure that once I found all those awesome things, I'd find a way to hang on to them.
I wasn't wrong, exactly, but it dawned on me yesterday that finally I'd finally come full circle.
Yes, life is change; messy, inescapeable. My twenties have been a study of this. It's been exciting, heartbreaking, overwhelming and wonderful. Throughout them, I'd used change voluntarily or involuntarily as a chance to escape boredom, bad roommates, a low-paying job, see new countries, make new friends, whatever. Wait six months, I thought, and things will be different.
What I failed to grasp was that in and of itself, change is just a thing. It doesn't actually solve any problems. For example, I used to think that if I didn't like my job, there were other ones to have (still true). However, what I see now is that the things you change to escape from will more than likely follow you anyway. I could move, get married, have kids, live in Timbuctu, and still - still - there will be challenges. Stupid bosses. Ailing relatives. Crabby kids.
I'm not addicted anymore; I just am.
And for that, suddently I feel extremely tired.
///And old.
I wasn't wrong, exactly, but it dawned on me yesterday that finally I'd finally come full circle.
Yes, life is change; messy, inescapeable. My twenties have been a study of this. It's been exciting, heartbreaking, overwhelming and wonderful. Throughout them, I'd used change voluntarily or involuntarily as a chance to escape boredom, bad roommates, a low-paying job, see new countries, make new friends, whatever. Wait six months, I thought, and things will be different.
What I failed to grasp was that in and of itself, change is just a thing. It doesn't actually solve any problems. For example, I used to think that if I didn't like my job, there were other ones to have (still true). However, what I see now is that the things you change to escape from will more than likely follow you anyway. I could move, get married, have kids, live in Timbuctu, and still - still - there will be challenges. Stupid bosses. Ailing relatives. Crabby kids.
I'm not addicted anymore; I just am.
And for that, suddently I feel extremely tired.
///And old.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
I'll Take One, Too!
I don't know if I know anything about anything, but the latest proposed government assistance to General Motors irks me. From what I understand, after the dust settles on this, the US government stands to have about a 70% stake in this ailing motor company. This means my tax dollars may soon be going to a place that makes overpriced cars with low gas mileage that I'd never buy. (Psst - Why couldn't we bail out something I like?)
So, I heard this on the Marketplace (Kai Ryssdal = dreeeeamy) coming home from work today, and I found myself nodding my head in agreement. Author Barry Ritholtz was being interviewed by Kai (sigh) on the current state of government bailouts:
"You don't want to reward incompetent management, and that's pretty much what we've been doing. Oh, you guys drove this company into the ground, and you've lost $180 billion, here's a check. Come back if you need some more. It's insane."
I know this guy was on Marketplace to sell his book, but I couldn't help but agree. I hate incompetent management. I hate the fact that old white men (and I AM making a vast assumption here, but it's my blog and this is the direction I'm going...) sit in their leather armchairs, taking risks, assuming THEY'RE TOO BIG TO FAIL and then lining up to suck at the teat of government handouts.
The thing that really kills me is that half these guys are probably Libertarians, too (!)
But, on the other hand, I understand that GM employes almost a quarter of a million people. I don't mean to sound hard hearted to the very real reality that these folks will be facing in the coming weeks and months. Some of these folks are my friends. Why should they lose their jobs because management didn't know what they were doing?
The thing I struggle with (aside from my latent hatred for the Global Patriarchy) is: what stops us from bailing out EVERYONE? We've all got (or most of us have) jobs. Why not my company? I realize I may be late in chiming in here, but WHAT THE HELL? WHO'S NEXT?
As Barry Ritholtz outlines,
"Once you reward people for their worst behavior, for speculative, irresponsible investing and punish the prudent and the people who are careful with that money. Everybody seems to think it's a free for all. Hey, you've got yours. How do I get mine?"
So yeah, where IS mine?
///Crap.
////.......It's with GM.
So, I heard this on the Marketplace (Kai Ryssdal = dreeeeamy) coming home from work today, and I found myself nodding my head in agreement. Author Barry Ritholtz was being interviewed by Kai (sigh) on the current state of government bailouts:
"You don't want to reward incompetent management, and that's pretty much what we've been doing. Oh, you guys drove this company into the ground, and you've lost $180 billion, here's a check. Come back if you need some more. It's insane."
I know this guy was on Marketplace to sell his book, but I couldn't help but agree. I hate incompetent management. I hate the fact that old white men (and I AM making a vast assumption here, but it's my blog and this is the direction I'm going...) sit in their leather armchairs, taking risks, assuming THEY'RE TOO BIG TO FAIL and then lining up to suck at the teat of government handouts.
The thing that really kills me is that half these guys are probably Libertarians, too (!)
But, on the other hand, I understand that GM employes almost a quarter of a million people. I don't mean to sound hard hearted to the very real reality that these folks will be facing in the coming weeks and months. Some of these folks are my friends. Why should they lose their jobs because management didn't know what they were doing?
The thing I struggle with (aside from my latent hatred for the Global Patriarchy) is: what stops us from bailing out EVERYONE? We've all got (or most of us have) jobs. Why not my company? I realize I may be late in chiming in here, but WHAT THE HELL? WHO'S NEXT?
As Barry Ritholtz outlines,
"Once you reward people for their worst behavior, for speculative, irresponsible investing and punish the prudent and the people who are careful with that money. Everybody seems to think it's a free for all. Hey, you've got yours. How do I get mine?"
So yeah, where IS mine?
///Crap.
////.......It's with GM.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Old School Flashback
Last night I laughed and smiled so hard my face hurt.
My co-worker George had invited me and twenty of his closest friends out to celebrate his birthday. First, we hit Granite City Brewery in Saint Louis Park, where I was tricked into taking a shot of Patron (and literally paying for it!). I didn't know many of George's friends, but everyone warms up after a shot of tequila, so it turned out alright.
The dinner was fairly uneventful, but what came after was AWESOME. George (and the two other May birthday's he and his group of friends were celebrating, organized a roller skating party.
Remember these? With the advent of roller-blading, I thought that old-school, four-wheel roller skating had gone extinct. In fact, in retrospect, I guess I thought that since the roller rink had closed in Grand Forks, ND that they'd pretty much died across the US.
Oohhhhhhhh no. Oh no. They are alive and well, my friend. Turns out, there's atleast three roller rinks in the Twin Cities (not counting when they open up the Dome for roller-blading). Last night, we went to the Roller Garden, also in Saint Louis Park. It's not far from my friend Kate's house, but somehow I'd never noticed it on the side of the road, in a big, but unassuming building.
Walking in was like that part of the Wizard of Oz when Dorothy opens the door and discovers a world full of color and tiny, sparkly people. It was Technicolor - live.
First off, there were a TON of people there, in all shapes, sizes and colors....and man could they skate. Not just skate, but skate-DANCE. Skating backwards, one legged, jumping, bumping and yes, grinding. I had totally forgotten that skating could sometimes be 'porn on wheels'.
It was 25 and older night (random, right?) and also R&B evening. Lights flashed and whirled, twinkled and twisted, while skaters whizzed around the rink. The carpet was nasty, grey, worn and covered everything. There were tons of kiddy games on the side of the rink, but thankfully, no kiddys. The overall effect was completely disorienting; like eating waaaay too much cotton candy.
All of a sudden, I was a little kid again, and I couldn't wait to get on the "dance" floor. I couldn't stop grinning as I laced up my ancient rental skates (which weighed about 14 pounds, by the way). George's friends were all pretty good, so there was no judgement when my feet slipped from under me and I landed smack on my ass in front of them :)
Aside from the initial flailing, I got the hang of it again pretty quick. I was a bit unsteady, but managed to hold my own. I'd forgotten how physical it is! A few songs and I was literally, sweatin' to the Oldies. I managed not to knock anyone down (coup!) and to really, have one of the best nights of my year so far.
Who wants to go next week?
M.
My co-worker George had invited me and twenty of his closest friends out to celebrate his birthday. First, we hit Granite City Brewery in Saint Louis Park, where I was tricked into taking a shot of Patron (and literally paying for it!). I didn't know many of George's friends, but everyone warms up after a shot of tequila, so it turned out alright.
The dinner was fairly uneventful, but what came after was AWESOME. George (and the two other May birthday's he and his group of friends were celebrating, organized a roller skating party.
Remember these? With the advent of roller-blading, I thought that old-school, four-wheel roller skating had gone extinct. In fact, in retrospect, I guess I thought that since the roller rink had closed in Grand Forks, ND that they'd pretty much died across the US.
Oohhhhhhhh no. Oh no. They are alive and well, my friend. Turns out, there's atleast three roller rinks in the Twin Cities (not counting when they open up the Dome for roller-blading). Last night, we went to the Roller Garden, also in Saint Louis Park. It's not far from my friend Kate's house, but somehow I'd never noticed it on the side of the road, in a big, but unassuming building.
Walking in was like that part of the Wizard of Oz when Dorothy opens the door and discovers a world full of color and tiny, sparkly people. It was Technicolor - live.
First off, there were a TON of people there, in all shapes, sizes and colors....and man could they skate. Not just skate, but skate-DANCE. Skating backwards, one legged, jumping, bumping and yes, grinding. I had totally forgotten that skating could sometimes be 'porn on wheels'.
It was 25 and older night (random, right?) and also R&B evening. Lights flashed and whirled, twinkled and twisted, while skaters whizzed around the rink. The carpet was nasty, grey, worn and covered everything. There were tons of kiddy games on the side of the rink, but thankfully, no kiddys. The overall effect was completely disorienting; like eating waaaay too much cotton candy.
All of a sudden, I was a little kid again, and I couldn't wait to get on the "dance" floor. I couldn't stop grinning as I laced up my ancient rental skates (which weighed about 14 pounds, by the way). George's friends were all pretty good, so there was no judgement when my feet slipped from under me and I landed smack on my ass in front of them :)
Aside from the initial flailing, I got the hang of it again pretty quick. I was a bit unsteady, but managed to hold my own. I'd forgotten how physical it is! A few songs and I was literally, sweatin' to the Oldies. I managed not to knock anyone down (coup!) and to really, have one of the best nights of my year so far.
Who wants to go next week?
M.
Saturday, May 09, 2009
Sunday, April 26, 2009
There's No Such Thing As A Free Lunch...
But apparently, breakfast and dinner are not out of the question.
I met a friend for breakfast this morning at the diner near my house. As we were sitting down, in a table for two, the next door table for four suddenly had two more people (and a newborn) show up. They asked us to move down one so that they could add our table for two onto their four, thereby making space for their entire party.
We obliged, and I quipped playfully, "You're paying for breakfast then, right?" Tee hee, hardy-har, on with breakfast.
Which, it ends up, he did indeed, pay for it. I was floored. We asked the waitress if there was anyone at her tables with a comparable bill, so that we, too, could pay it forward, but there were none. (In her words: "Those women next to you might find it creepy"). So, we left her a big tip and mentally noted our debt to karma.
Spring forward to this evening. Pals Kim, Alexei and I were out at Arcadia Cafe, enjoying some neat blue-grass. The only table we could get was right behind the sound board. One of the organizer's approached us early in the evening with a large pitcher that said "Musician Tips".
"If you take this around the bar during each set," he said, "I'll buy you a round of drinks each time."
I'm on a Let's Meet New People kick, so this was perfect. I met some curmudgeony students in the back, who squeezed some turnips and handed over a few nickels (I facetiously suggested to one sour-faced girl that I'd take her hat in lieu of payment and she whined, "But I like my hat!"). I met a cute boy and girl from Indiana who lived in small town Wisconsin and had come to the "big city" for some music (she even had her fiddle!) I chatted up the banjo player of the next band (no dice) and bartered for a free demo CD with the manager of the first band. I debated Somali pirates with some Chilean dude who needed a shower, and refused an apple from a guy who got it from some Christians handing out free food up the street (he said that food from Christians "skeeved him out" and it wasn't organic anyway... (insert massive eyeroll here).
Anyway, for minimal effort and maximal fun, my friends and I managed to get two free rounds of drinks, two free shots and a basket of the best onion rings I've ever tasted. (...and an "inorganic" apple. )
I know I've been accused behind closed doors of having a Pollyanna-esque attitude toward the world, but even after all the poverty I've seen, I still firmly believe it's a fundamentally good place. People are good. Life, overall, is filled with tiny gifts. You only have to receive them.
I met a friend for breakfast this morning at the diner near my house. As we were sitting down, in a table for two, the next door table for four suddenly had two more people (and a newborn) show up. They asked us to move down one so that they could add our table for two onto their four, thereby making space for their entire party.
We obliged, and I quipped playfully, "You're paying for breakfast then, right?" Tee hee, hardy-har, on with breakfast.
Which, it ends up, he did indeed, pay for it. I was floored. We asked the waitress if there was anyone at her tables with a comparable bill, so that we, too, could pay it forward, but there were none. (In her words: "Those women next to you might find it creepy"). So, we left her a big tip and mentally noted our debt to karma.
Spring forward to this evening. Pals Kim, Alexei and I were out at Arcadia Cafe, enjoying some neat blue-grass. The only table we could get was right behind the sound board. One of the organizer's approached us early in the evening with a large pitcher that said "Musician Tips".
"If you take this around the bar during each set," he said, "I'll buy you a round of drinks each time."
I'm on a Let's Meet New People kick, so this was perfect. I met some curmudgeony students in the back, who squeezed some turnips and handed over a few nickels (I facetiously suggested to one sour-faced girl that I'd take her hat in lieu of payment and she whined, "But I like my hat!"). I met a cute boy and girl from Indiana who lived in small town Wisconsin and had come to the "big city" for some music (she even had her fiddle!) I chatted up the banjo player of the next band (no dice) and bartered for a free demo CD with the manager of the first band. I debated Somali pirates with some Chilean dude who needed a shower, and refused an apple from a guy who got it from some Christians handing out free food up the street (he said that food from Christians "skeeved him out" and it wasn't organic anyway... (insert massive eyeroll here).
Anyway, for minimal effort and maximal fun, my friends and I managed to get two free rounds of drinks, two free shots and a basket of the best onion rings I've ever tasted. (...and an "inorganic" apple. )
I know I've been accused behind closed doors of having a Pollyanna-esque attitude toward the world, but even after all the poverty I've seen, I still firmly believe it's a fundamentally good place. People are good. Life, overall, is filled with tiny gifts. You only have to receive them.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Friday, April 10, 2009
Ellen Johnson Sirleaf Education
Today, a colleague and I went to hear Ellen Johnson Sirleaf, current President of Liberia, speak at the University of Minnesota. Ms. Johnson Sirleaf has the distinction of being not only the first democratically elected leader of Liberia, but the first woman president in Africa.
Liberia is unique in that is was colonized by re-patriated free slaves from the US in the middle of the 19th century. They even named the capital "Monrovia" after US President James Monroe. Unfortunately, from the little that I've read, this didn't go so well. They basically treated the indigenous Africans as they had been treated in the United States, creating a bifurcated state of elitists and peasants (sound familiar?) Ironically, they named the place "Liberia" (Land of the Free) while simulatenously enslaving the local population. In a story known well throughout Africa, in 1980, the government was overthrown by a military coup, which later lead to two civil wars - one in 1989 and one most recently in 2003 (as perpetrated by Charles Taylor - who was recently captured- and is awaiting trial for war crimes in The Hague.)
President Johnson Sirleaf has had an interesting life, twice emprisoned in the 1980's for speaking out against the dictatorship. She's a smooth speaker and polished politician, giving kudos to the many Liberians in the audience who came to show their support. She outlined many of the strides her country has made since she took office - raising revenue almost threefold, reducing external debt, and investing in education. To hear it in its entirety, click here. Overall, it was as I expected - smooth, but without much revelation.
When she mentioned great strides in education, pointing to a new initiative to provide scholarships for 5000 rural girls to attend, I got to thinking. Why not provide FREE education, for all? Why mess around with scholarship money, which may or may not be used for school?
Then I remembered, Malawi has recently declared free elementary education for all. Malawi is about on par with Liberia in terms of desperation (Malawi not having been through a civil war, however, and Liberia not having as large an AIDs rate as Malawi). Both receive large amounts of development aid.
In theory, free elementary education sounds great. In practice, however, from what I understand, it hasn't turned out too well. Malawians have flocked to schools, only to find underprepared teachers (or NO teachers, as the government didn't think to incrementally fund teacher training along with its free education initiative), no supplies and no place to sit. Now, how effective is that "free" education?
Which also got me wondering, how come the US has free education? How come it works here? Certainly it's not really "free" - we do pay taxes for it - but how is it that poor students whose parents pay less in say, property taxes, get just as much chance for a good education as those who live in richer neighborhoods? (or, perhaps even this is up for debate?).
I am not a educational scholar. I am not well versed in the history and evolution of the US education system. What I do know is that the rural US was once dotted with one room schoolhouses, providing education for any that could walk there. My dad went to one, through eighth grade. He's got a B.S. in Ag Science and has been farming successfully for over 40 years.
So, in my mind, it always boils down to the same question: Why did it work here, in America, when it hasn't worked for much of Africa (or SE Asia?)
What seperates us from them?
At the end of the day, if we are honest with ourselves, I believe it is shockingly - SHOCKINGLY - little.
It's that thought that leads my life's work, and my increasingly gratefulness to have been born in America.
Liberia is unique in that is was colonized by re-patriated free slaves from the US in the middle of the 19th century. They even named the capital "Monrovia" after US President James Monroe. Unfortunately, from the little that I've read, this didn't go so well. They basically treated the indigenous Africans as they had been treated in the United States, creating a bifurcated state of elitists and peasants (sound familiar?) Ironically, they named the place "Liberia" (Land of the Free) while simulatenously enslaving the local population. In a story known well throughout Africa, in 1980, the government was overthrown by a military coup, which later lead to two civil wars - one in 1989 and one most recently in 2003 (as perpetrated by Charles Taylor - who was recently captured- and is awaiting trial for war crimes in The Hague.)
President Johnson Sirleaf has had an interesting life, twice emprisoned in the 1980's for speaking out against the dictatorship. She's a smooth speaker and polished politician, giving kudos to the many Liberians in the audience who came to show their support. She outlined many of the strides her country has made since she took office - raising revenue almost threefold, reducing external debt, and investing in education. To hear it in its entirety, click here. Overall, it was as I expected - smooth, but without much revelation.
When she mentioned great strides in education, pointing to a new initiative to provide scholarships for 5000 rural girls to attend, I got to thinking. Why not provide FREE education, for all? Why mess around with scholarship money, which may or may not be used for school?
Then I remembered, Malawi has recently declared free elementary education for all. Malawi is about on par with Liberia in terms of desperation (Malawi not having been through a civil war, however, and Liberia not having as large an AIDs rate as Malawi). Both receive large amounts of development aid.
In theory, free elementary education sounds great. In practice, however, from what I understand, it hasn't turned out too well. Malawians have flocked to schools, only to find underprepared teachers (or NO teachers, as the government didn't think to incrementally fund teacher training along with its free education initiative), no supplies and no place to sit. Now, how effective is that "free" education?
Which also got me wondering, how come the US has free education? How come it works here? Certainly it's not really "free" - we do pay taxes for it - but how is it that poor students whose parents pay less in say, property taxes, get just as much chance for a good education as those who live in richer neighborhoods? (or, perhaps even this is up for debate?).
I am not a educational scholar. I am not well versed in the history and evolution of the US education system. What I do know is that the rural US was once dotted with one room schoolhouses, providing education for any that could walk there. My dad went to one, through eighth grade. He's got a B.S. in Ag Science and has been farming successfully for over 40 years.
So, in my mind, it always boils down to the same question: Why did it work here, in America, when it hasn't worked for much of Africa (or SE Asia?)
What seperates us from them?
At the end of the day, if we are honest with ourselves, I believe it is shockingly - SHOCKINGLY - little.
It's that thought that leads my life's work, and my increasingly gratefulness to have been born in America.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Puerto Rican Vacation : Quoted
"You are an emotional, hot mess."- Emira to Meredith, crying in the airport.
"Spoon like it's your job." - Emira to Meredith after she asks how to fix it.
The Rules:
"Rule No. 1: Don't be weird." - advice from dating show, Tough Love, which is imminently funnier at 1 in the morning....
Beach Time:
"Mmm..there's a hot banana in here. Yum!" - Meredith, opening the backpack to find a snack.
"My ass. Is. On. Fire!" - Emira, after another marathon day at the beach.
"Oh, my dear. Do NOT TOUCH the body." - Emira to Meredith, who couldn't help poking her burned flesh.
The Rainforest:
"Bosque? That's a Bosnian Mosque, right?" Meredith, utilizing her spanish translation skillz. Bosque actually means forest.
On driving:
"Velocidad. Maxima. Viente!?!"
The End:
"I hate your face! [Your face here]" - t-shirt to be made up, post-vacation, each with the other's face on it.
"No Me Gusta Mi Corazon" - theme of the entire vacation.
"Spoon like it's your job." - Emira to Meredith after she asks how to fix it.
The Rules:
"Rule No. 1: Don't be weird." - advice from dating show, Tough Love, which is imminently funnier at 1 in the morning....
Beach Time:
"Mmm..there's a hot banana in here. Yum!" - Meredith, opening the backpack to find a snack.
"My ass. Is. On. Fire!" - Emira, after another marathon day at the beach.
"Oh, my dear. Do NOT TOUCH the body." - Emira to Meredith, who couldn't help poking her burned flesh.
The Rainforest:
"Bosque? That's a Bosnian Mosque, right?" Meredith, utilizing her spanish translation skillz. Bosque actually means forest.
On driving:
"Velocidad. Maxima. Viente!?!"
The End:
"I hate your face! [Your face here]" - t-shirt to be made up, post-vacation, each with the other's face on it.
"No Me Gusta Mi Corazon" - theme of the entire vacation.
Thursday, March 05, 2009
Oh! ....oh.
Is there anything more disappointing than seeing you've got a voicemail and listen to it, hoping it's from someone you love very much and miss to your very core, and it turns out to be from
.......your gynocologist?
*facepalm*
.......your gynocologist?
*facepalm*
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Flat Stanley
My coworker's friend asked that while he was in Pakistan, he bring along a tool to teach his classroom about the world: Flat Stanley. Basically, it's a cartoon cut out of a little man. He asks that "owners" of Flat Stanley take pictures of him throughout the country, as a way to expose his students to new and different things.
My co-worker and I of course, took this task very seriously. Below are my photos of Flat Stanley.
Flat Stanley at the Badshahi Mosque.
Flat Stanley in front of the Hazuri Bagh Baradari in Lahore.
Flat Stanley enjoys the Shish Mahal (Hall of Mirrors) in the Lahore Fort.
Flat Stanely surrepticiously enjoys roasted corn by the roadside in Islamabad.
My co-worker and I of course, took this task very seriously. Below are my photos of Flat Stanley.
At the port of Karachi. Flat Stanley forgot his swim trunks at home.
Flat Stanley at the Badshahi Mosque.
Flat Stanley in front of the Hazuri Bagh Baradari in Lahore.
Flat Stanley enjoys the Shish Mahal (Hall of Mirrors) in the Lahore Fort.
Flat Stanely surrepticiously enjoys roasted corn by the roadside in Islamabad.
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
How Not to Get Over Jet Lag
1) Arrive home, clean up kitty litter/dried puke, unpack, refuse to shower.
2) Stay awake as long as possible, say, until 8pm.
3) Plan to go to work the very next day.
4) Own a cat that is hungry every morning at 4am, regardless of the state of her food bowl.
5) Attempt to placate cat with more food; end up overfeeding cat and searching for origin of vomit smell at 5am.
6) Try to go back to sleep.
7) Fail.
8) Go to work at 6am.
9) Leave work at 2pm.
10) Party with book club until 12 am.
11) 4:00 am, face wrath of hungry cat.
12) 5am = cat puke duty.
13) 10 am. Catch plane to New Mexico on 4 hours of sleep. Feel nautious.
14 ) Sleep on plane.
15) Arrive in New Mexico. Shop with friend.
16) Take 2 hour nap b/n 7-9pm
17) Party until 4am, at which point, you are wide awake and everyone else is drop dead tired.
18) Sleep until noon.
19) Go see movie, fall asleep at midnight.
20) Give up. Your body is so messed up at this point, you might as well go back to Pakistan.
2) Stay awake as long as possible, say, until 8pm.
3) Plan to go to work the very next day.
4) Own a cat that is hungry every morning at 4am, regardless of the state of her food bowl.
5) Attempt to placate cat with more food; end up overfeeding cat and searching for origin of vomit smell at 5am.
6) Try to go back to sleep.
7) Fail.
8) Go to work at 6am.
9) Leave work at 2pm.
10) Party with book club until 12 am.
11) 4:00 am, face wrath of hungry cat.
12) 5am = cat puke duty.
13) 10 am. Catch plane to New Mexico on 4 hours of sleep. Feel nautious.
14 ) Sleep on plane.
15) Arrive in New Mexico. Shop with friend.
16) Take 2 hour nap b/n 7-9pm
17) Party until 4am, at which point, you are wide awake and everyone else is drop dead tired.
18) Sleep until noon.
19) Go see movie, fall asleep at midnight.
20) Give up. Your body is so messed up at this point, you might as well go back to Pakistan.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Photos from Ghotki District
My company's supports a school nutrtion program in over 2,000 schools in this region. Daily, we provide biscuits and milk to about 160,000 kids. Given my breakneck schedule, I only had ONE day to go out to the field office. Part of that day was spent visiting two of these schools, handing out milk, meeting and chatting with the children. 
This little boy was singing a song from the Qur'an to welcome me, chest puffed out and arms wrapped tightly around. He was very proud! 
Bata, the European shoe company, donated a load of canvas shoes and sports equipment to one of our all girl's schools. I helped hand out shoes to the littlest receipients.
Part of the shoe and sports equipment ceremony in a very small courtyard.
This little boy was singing a song from the Qur'an to welcome me, chest puffed out and arms wrapped tightly around. He was very proud! 
Girls drinking milk!
Bata, the European shoe company, donated a load of canvas shoes and sports equipment to one of our all girl's schools. I helped hand out shoes to the littlest receipients.
Part of the shoe and sports equipment ceremony in a very small courtyard.Tuesday, January 27, 2009
PIA
After the exciting Monday morning visiting Old Town, I went back to the office, did a little work and then took off with my chaperone to Sukkur, population 2 million, in Sindh province. It’s here we have our school feeding project and I have ONE day to see three schools, our distributor’s and everything in between.
The airplane ride was uneventful, but there were a few things that I wanted to note. Our flight was delayed by two hours – but that was pretty much expected.
No one asked for my id at the airport. Perhaps my foreign name matches my foreign looks, and I don’t look threatening, so they let it slide. Fine.
However, there were a lot of security checks. There weren’t separate lines for women – we were still asked to go through the metal detector, but then all women were pulled, one by one, into a dark, curtained room and frisked by a female. And by frisked, I mean felt up. First time, I didn’t notice so much, but the second time, there was definitely too much touching in the chestal area.
Also, personal biases aside, I notice that the communication style isn’t so straightforward here. I’ve encountered this in other places, sure, but it’s taken to new and dazzling heights here. I get detailed explanations on what I should and shouldn’t wear, but then zilch on others.
For example, my chaperone handed me some paper luggage tags when we checked in. It just so happens that I have a large orange embroidered leather luggage tag my mom gave me on my carry on, so I politely declined. He put them in my hands and walked away. I stuffed them in my bag.
We get to security and I get stopped. Where are my luggage tags? I point to my LARGE ORANGE luggage tag. That’s not good enough, says the big scary soldier, so, thinking quickly, I pull out the previously stuffed paper tags and slip them on.
It’s only then that I understand what’s going on. The scary dude hole punches my tags and let’s me go get fondled. I emerge, slightly ruffled, and collect my things. I get stopped again, trying to leave the area. A woman not only must twice stamp my boarding pass, but ALSO my luggage tags.
By this time, my chaperone is so far ahead of me, I have no idea where he’s at. And I’m a little miffed he didn’t take TWO SECONDs to explain to me why I needed these tags in the first place, instead of just handing them to me and walking away. I mean, no harm, no foul, but this is just one example of many. If it was the first time, I wouldn’t think anything of it. But after awhile, you start to seriously doubt whether they do this on purpose or not.
The only other thing of note is that, before taking off, the captain got on the speaker and sang to us. I could tell it was some kind of prayer, and this was confirmed by my chaperone as something one sings before traveling.
Huh. I wonder what would happen if airplane pilots in the US started doing this? There would probably be a lot more suspicions of drunk pilots, but other than that, it’s kind of a nice tradition.
I arrived in Sukkur, two hours late, but no worse for wear. I was greeted so warmly by our project staff, who explained that even the towels were purchsed new (and washed!) for me, already I’m regretting that I have so short a time here. I leave again tonight, on another PIA flight that has already been cancelled and delayed by 3 hours.
I am ready to arrive in Karachi for the last day of my trip. I leave Pakistan tomorrow evening. (In sha'allah!)
The airplane ride was uneventful, but there were a few things that I wanted to note. Our flight was delayed by two hours – but that was pretty much expected.
No one asked for my id at the airport. Perhaps my foreign name matches my foreign looks, and I don’t look threatening, so they let it slide. Fine.
However, there were a lot of security checks. There weren’t separate lines for women – we were still asked to go through the metal detector, but then all women were pulled, one by one, into a dark, curtained room and frisked by a female. And by frisked, I mean felt up. First time, I didn’t notice so much, but the second time, there was definitely too much touching in the chestal area.
Also, personal biases aside, I notice that the communication style isn’t so straightforward here. I’ve encountered this in other places, sure, but it’s taken to new and dazzling heights here. I get detailed explanations on what I should and shouldn’t wear, but then zilch on others.
For example, my chaperone handed me some paper luggage tags when we checked in. It just so happens that I have a large orange embroidered leather luggage tag my mom gave me on my carry on, so I politely declined. He put them in my hands and walked away. I stuffed them in my bag.
We get to security and I get stopped. Where are my luggage tags? I point to my LARGE ORANGE luggage tag. That’s not good enough, says the big scary soldier, so, thinking quickly, I pull out the previously stuffed paper tags and slip them on.
It’s only then that I understand what’s going on. The scary dude hole punches my tags and let’s me go get fondled. I emerge, slightly ruffled, and collect my things. I get stopped again, trying to leave the area. A woman not only must twice stamp my boarding pass, but ALSO my luggage tags.
By this time, my chaperone is so far ahead of me, I have no idea where he’s at. And I’m a little miffed he didn’t take TWO SECONDs to explain to me why I needed these tags in the first place, instead of just handing them to me and walking away. I mean, no harm, no foul, but this is just one example of many. If it was the first time, I wouldn’t think anything of it. But after awhile, you start to seriously doubt whether they do this on purpose or not.
The only other thing of note is that, before taking off, the captain got on the speaker and sang to us. I could tell it was some kind of prayer, and this was confirmed by my chaperone as something one sings before traveling.
Huh. I wonder what would happen if airplane pilots in the US started doing this? There would probably be a lot more suspicions of drunk pilots, but other than that, it’s kind of a nice tradition.
I arrived in Sukkur, two hours late, but no worse for wear. I was greeted so warmly by our project staff, who explained that even the towels were purchsed new (and washed!) for me, already I’m regretting that I have so short a time here. I leave again tonight, on another PIA flight that has already been cancelled and delayed by 3 hours.
I am ready to arrive in Karachi for the last day of my trip. I leave Pakistan tomorrow evening. (In sha'allah!)
Old Town Lahore
After my morning meeting Monday, I conned my driver and my male escort (I’ve come to think of him that way, if only to feel less like I’m being “chaperoned” and more that he must do my bidding) into taking me to see Old Town Lahore.
Of course, this being Pakistan, we couldn’t just “slip away”. I had to get the approval of our team leader, who is a reasonable Pakistani man, but it still makes me feel helpless. To his credit, he gave me only two stipulations: 1) that I wear a headscarf at all times and 2) that I wear my trenchcoat. Keep in mind, I’ve been wearing long, loose clothing the whole time I’ve been here. So, when I asked him about the reasoning for the trenchcoat issue, his embarrassed response (immediately making me feel bad) was “To protect you from prying eyes.”
Not only did this make me feel like kind of like a dirty prostitute, but I also wanted to tell him that it was completely useless. I could be wearing a paper sack and people still stare. I might as well be naked. And yet….I’m in no position to argue. (Also, in three days I’ll be back to “normal people clothes”).
So no matter, I had my freedom, if only for an hour. I must ask for permission, but at least he’s a benevolent despot.
So after the meeting, I was whisked away to the Lahore Fort, Hazuri Bagh and Badshahi Mosque. Until I get a chance to download my photos, the ones on Wiki certainly give you and idea of the scope and size. Both are enormous!
As we entered through the unassuming gate, I wasn’t sure what to expect. We don’t get a lot of details here, and asking doesn’t always help. Part of traveling, I think, is trusting those you’re with and just going with the flow. So, I was totally amazed to walk into the park. In typical Mughal fashion, everything is symmetrical. As such, the garden gives off an orderly and stately peace. It took my breath away.
On either side of the garden are these enormous gates. On the east side, there is the enormous and foreboding white gate. Across the immense lawn, to the west, was the red sandstone entrance to the Badshahi Mosque, of which you could only see the three Alladin (you know what I’m talking about) domes peaking out majestically behind.
A tour guide quickly found me, and my chaperone approved of him, so he took us around both sites. Although we only had an hour, we saw the Hall of Mirrors, the Roshani Gate and played with the acoustics within the enormous mosque. (It was once the largest in the world, before the Faisal Mosque in Islamabad was built). All too soon, the hour was up and I felt like I’d only seen a fraction of what was there.
For me, the absolute best part was visiting a gurudwara, a Sikh temple, next door. This particular temple, next door to the Mosque, is the tomb of Maharaja Ranjit Singh, one of the rulers of Pakistan before it was. Sikh’s are near and dear to my heart for a number of reasons, so I was honored to view the Guru Granith Sahib and be allowed to see inside their hallowed walls. Again, it took my breath away.
Our car arrived back at the office breathless, but safe and sound (the traffic here is like none I’ve ever seen; smoggy, dirty, filled with people AND donkeys AND horses AND motorbikes AND the kitchen sink…).
Yes, we’ve been working easily 12 hour days (we were stuck at a Pakistan Sam’s Club (called METRO) over an hour on Sunday night, when all we wanted to do was go to bed), but it’s opportunities like these that truly make it worth while. It’s hard, and been uncomfortable in a lot of ways, but I am so lucky to get to do this. I am truly grateful.
Of course, this being Pakistan, we couldn’t just “slip away”. I had to get the approval of our team leader, who is a reasonable Pakistani man, but it still makes me feel helpless. To his credit, he gave me only two stipulations: 1) that I wear a headscarf at all times and 2) that I wear my trenchcoat. Keep in mind, I’ve been wearing long, loose clothing the whole time I’ve been here. So, when I asked him about the reasoning for the trenchcoat issue, his embarrassed response (immediately making me feel bad) was “To protect you from prying eyes.”
Not only did this make me feel like kind of like a dirty prostitute, but I also wanted to tell him that it was completely useless. I could be wearing a paper sack and people still stare. I might as well be naked. And yet….I’m in no position to argue. (Also, in three days I’ll be back to “normal people clothes”).
So no matter, I had my freedom, if only for an hour. I must ask for permission, but at least he’s a benevolent despot.
So after the meeting, I was whisked away to the Lahore Fort, Hazuri Bagh and Badshahi Mosque. Until I get a chance to download my photos, the ones on Wiki certainly give you and idea of the scope and size. Both are enormous!
As we entered through the unassuming gate, I wasn’t sure what to expect. We don’t get a lot of details here, and asking doesn’t always help. Part of traveling, I think, is trusting those you’re with and just going with the flow. So, I was totally amazed to walk into the park. In typical Mughal fashion, everything is symmetrical. As such, the garden gives off an orderly and stately peace. It took my breath away.
On either side of the garden are these enormous gates. On the east side, there is the enormous and foreboding white gate. Across the immense lawn, to the west, was the red sandstone entrance to the Badshahi Mosque, of which you could only see the three Alladin (you know what I’m talking about) domes peaking out majestically behind.
A tour guide quickly found me, and my chaperone approved of him, so he took us around both sites. Although we only had an hour, we saw the Hall of Mirrors, the Roshani Gate and played with the acoustics within the enormous mosque. (It was once the largest in the world, before the Faisal Mosque in Islamabad was built). All too soon, the hour was up and I felt like I’d only seen a fraction of what was there.
For me, the absolute best part was visiting a gurudwara, a Sikh temple, next door. This particular temple, next door to the Mosque, is the tomb of Maharaja Ranjit Singh, one of the rulers of Pakistan before it was. Sikh’s are near and dear to my heart for a number of reasons, so I was honored to view the Guru Granith Sahib and be allowed to see inside their hallowed walls. Again, it took my breath away.
Our car arrived back at the office breathless, but safe and sound (the traffic here is like none I’ve ever seen; smoggy, dirty, filled with people AND donkeys AND horses AND motorbikes AND the kitchen sink…).
Yes, we’ve been working easily 12 hour days (we were stuck at a Pakistan Sam’s Club (called METRO) over an hour on Sunday night, when all we wanted to do was go to bed), but it’s opportunities like these that truly make it worth while. It’s hard, and been uncomfortable in a lot of ways, but I am so lucky to get to do this. I am truly grateful.
Pakistan Zindabad!
While our schedule is tight, me and the team were able to convince our Pakistani counterparts to take a little time off yesterday to drive the 30 km to Wagah, better known as the border crossing between Pakistan and India. Dean and I had read about it in the Lonely Planet, and it sounded like it shouldn’t be missed.
According to the guide, every day, approx 30 minutes from sundown, guards at each crossing gather to try to out “pomp” the other side. For Rp 10 (about…well, less than 1/7th of a dollar), people are allowed into the stadium surrounding the official gates between the borders to watch the guards march up and down, and growl at each other from across country lines. The crowd claps and cheer, and chants “Pakistan Zindabad! (Long Live Pakistan!)” or “Al-LAH! Al-LAH! Al-LAH!”
It. Is. Spectacular. I got chills watching the crowd being whipped into a frenzy.
On the Pakistani side, men are separated from women, but there is a special seating arrangement for tourists, down front, where both sexes mix. After a long and dusty ride, I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I’m certain it wasn’t throngs of Pakistan men chanting, throwing their hands in the air and yelling “Allah wa Akhbar!” (God is great!) In comparison, the women sitting like colorful peacocks in their sparkly salwar kameez’s could barely muster a clap. For our part, the tourists were kind of stuck in between.
We arrived to much confusion, and pushing, finally finding a spot for our group down front. A tiny old man and a middle aged fellow dressed head to foot in Pakistan green waved enormous flags down the center of the stadium, and lead the preliminary chanting. Across the floor, about 200 meters from me to my left, the double gates were closed and behind them, you could vaguely make out the roar of the Indians. To my right were the gates we’d walked in on and, well, the rest of Pakistan.
Suddenly, 15 Pakistani solders wearing dark blue garb and turbans with giant starched folded paper fans (but out of cloth) tucked in the top, rapidly marched out in square formation to the middle. Their steps were quick; and every moment or so, one would jump up, kick his toes to his head and stomp ceremoniously on the ground. It looked like bulls going out to a fight, stomping and blowing hot air. I swear one guy was like, 8 feet tall.
The crowd roared.
Much more stomping and crowd frenzy ensued. Two men marched down to the gate, kicked up their heels some more and, in perfect synchronization with the Indian side, opened the gate. One soldier from either side stomp-danced forward, they shook hands, and then the real fun began. A few more soldiers from the back came forward (again, perfectly mirroring another set of soldiers on the other side). They stompled and growled and even put their hands menacingly up in the air like tiger claws. The Indian side did something similar (but in brown costume).
Finally, after much more of this, the soldiers moved to take down the flags on either side. Atop the stadium to my right, where we entered, was an enormous portrait of Ali Jinnah, the father of Pakistan. Below him, three soldiers stood with their arms, and called out several times in a long, deep drone. I’m not sure what he was saying, but after several more minutes of this, the flags were lowered, there was more cheering and then it was over.
Our team streamed back to the car, kind of awestruck. One of our consultant’s remarked – ‘Wouldn’t it be nice if all international conflict could be solved this way?’
Judging by the recent bombings in Mumbai and the subsequent blame on Pakistan, plus the historical tenseness (they were once one country; it’s a long story!), I can’t say that this has worked in either countries favor.
However, I can enjoy the tradition.
According to the guide, every day, approx 30 minutes from sundown, guards at each crossing gather to try to out “pomp” the other side. For Rp 10 (about…well, less than 1/7th of a dollar), people are allowed into the stadium surrounding the official gates between the borders to watch the guards march up and down, and growl at each other from across country lines. The crowd claps and cheer, and chants “Pakistan Zindabad! (Long Live Pakistan!)” or “Al-LAH! Al-LAH! Al-LAH!”
It. Is. Spectacular. I got chills watching the crowd being whipped into a frenzy.
On the Pakistani side, men are separated from women, but there is a special seating arrangement for tourists, down front, where both sexes mix. After a long and dusty ride, I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I’m certain it wasn’t throngs of Pakistan men chanting, throwing their hands in the air and yelling “Allah wa Akhbar!” (God is great!) In comparison, the women sitting like colorful peacocks in their sparkly salwar kameez’s could barely muster a clap. For our part, the tourists were kind of stuck in between.
We arrived to much confusion, and pushing, finally finding a spot for our group down front. A tiny old man and a middle aged fellow dressed head to foot in Pakistan green waved enormous flags down the center of the stadium, and lead the preliminary chanting. Across the floor, about 200 meters from me to my left, the double gates were closed and behind them, you could vaguely make out the roar of the Indians. To my right were the gates we’d walked in on and, well, the rest of Pakistan.
Suddenly, 15 Pakistani solders wearing dark blue garb and turbans with giant starched folded paper fans (but out of cloth) tucked in the top, rapidly marched out in square formation to the middle. Their steps were quick; and every moment or so, one would jump up, kick his toes to his head and stomp ceremoniously on the ground. It looked like bulls going out to a fight, stomping and blowing hot air. I swear one guy was like, 8 feet tall.
The crowd roared.
Much more stomping and crowd frenzy ensued. Two men marched down to the gate, kicked up their heels some more and, in perfect synchronization with the Indian side, opened the gate. One soldier from either side stomp-danced forward, they shook hands, and then the real fun began. A few more soldiers from the back came forward (again, perfectly mirroring another set of soldiers on the other side). They stompled and growled and even put their hands menacingly up in the air like tiger claws. The Indian side did something similar (but in brown costume).
Finally, after much more of this, the soldiers moved to take down the flags on either side. Atop the stadium to my right, where we entered, was an enormous portrait of Ali Jinnah, the father of Pakistan. Below him, three soldiers stood with their arms, and called out several times in a long, deep drone. I’m not sure what he was saying, but after several more minutes of this, the flags were lowered, there was more cheering and then it was over.
Our team streamed back to the car, kind of awestruck. One of our consultant’s remarked – ‘Wouldn’t it be nice if all international conflict could be solved this way?’
Judging by the recent bombings in Mumbai and the subsequent blame on Pakistan, plus the historical tenseness (they were once one country; it’s a long story!), I can’t say that this has worked in either countries favor.
However, I can enjoy the tradition.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!
This this this this this this this, is the best thing to hit international development in my short career. The first time I heard about this ban, I was flabbergasted. It's long be known in the public health sectors as the "ABC" method - Abstinence, Be Faithful and Condoms. You had to discuss all three, in that order, equally.
While I don't necessarily disagree that discussing ALL options (including abstinence) is a good idea, how do you tell a gang-rape victim in Southern Soudan that she should "Be Faithful" to her husband?
No, my main beef is that it's kept women-centric organizations, like Planned Parenthood, unble to access funding so that they can provide SIMPLE assistance to those who need it (we're talking something as basic as access to condoms and pre-natal care, not world wide abortions).
This is an important distinction. It's not that the US government is now giving organizations money to perform abortions overseas. NO. It's that ANY organization that even breathed the possibility of perhaps offering an abortion or abortion counseling or any mention of the "A" word (that wasn't Abstinence) either internationally or domestically was immediately rejected out of hand from receiving government funding to do any assistance overseas.
So, thank you Mr. Obama for having the heart to understand the need for comprehensive reproductive healthcare for women the world over. This dogmatic legislation has left underprivileged without access to so many of the freedoms we take for granted in the United States.
Thank you, thank you, thank you, Mr. Obama, for not mixing "standing up for your ideals" with blind entrapment in ideology.
As a uterine-fitted citizen, I am proud to call you my President.
(As a side note - last night I was shopping in the Liberty Market of downtown Lahore, and chatting with a shopkeeper about some of his clothing. When he found out I was an American, he gave me a discount for being a part of "Obama Nation"! (I wonder if before I was being charged a Bush tax?))
While I don't necessarily disagree that discussing ALL options (including abstinence) is a good idea, how do you tell a gang-rape victim in Southern Soudan that she should "Be Faithful" to her husband?
No, my main beef is that it's kept women-centric organizations, like Planned Parenthood, unble to access funding so that they can provide SIMPLE assistance to those who need it (we're talking something as basic as access to condoms and pre-natal care, not world wide abortions).
This is an important distinction. It's not that the US government is now giving organizations money to perform abortions overseas. NO. It's that ANY organization that even breathed the possibility of perhaps offering an abortion or abortion counseling or any mention of the "A" word (that wasn't Abstinence) either internationally or domestically was immediately rejected out of hand from receiving government funding to do any assistance overseas.
So, thank you Mr. Obama for having the heart to understand the need for comprehensive reproductive healthcare for women the world over. This dogmatic legislation has left underprivileged without access to so many of the freedoms we take for granted in the United States.
Thank you, thank you, thank you, Mr. Obama, for not mixing "standing up for your ideals" with blind entrapment in ideology.
As a uterine-fitted citizen, I am proud to call you my President.
(As a side note - last night I was shopping in the Liberty Market of downtown Lahore, and chatting with a shopkeeper about some of his clothing. When he found out I was an American, he gave me a discount for being a part of "Obama Nation"! (I wonder if before I was being charged a Bush tax?))
Friday, January 23, 2009
Keep Your Arms, Feet and Clothing Inside the Vehicle
Driving to Lahore today, we stopped at a roadside pitstop for refreshments and to stretch our legs.
I've been wearing long scarves wrapped loosely around my neck, but I'm unaccoustomed to having them draped about me and not tied tight against the wind, so they're constantly falling down and getting caught on things. Conversely, I like having it on hand for a) it's warmth and b) to cover my head when needed.
Little did I know it would garner more attention that necessary today.
As we pulled back onto the roadway, the Pakistani motor police happened to pass us by. They cut in front of our car and motioned that we should follow.
Heart beating, we all wondered what on earth they could want from us.
Sitting in the back, I immediately reached over to pull on my seatbelt (yes yes I know). At that point, I realized that I'd inadvertantly slammed a majority portion of my dupatta (about 4 feet long) in the car door!
As I hastily pulled it in, the policeman, who had gotten out of his card, shouted something in Urdu (something that sounded like : Hey! Your crazy American infidel is waving her clothing around for the entire countryside to see! We are all inappropriately aroused!) and started laughing.
Relieved, we dissolved into fits of cackling laughter.
Needless to say, I retired the dupatta for the rest of the trip......
I've been wearing long scarves wrapped loosely around my neck, but I'm unaccoustomed to having them draped about me and not tied tight against the wind, so they're constantly falling down and getting caught on things. Conversely, I like having it on hand for a) it's warmth and b) to cover my head when needed.
Little did I know it would garner more attention that necessary today.
As we pulled back onto the roadway, the Pakistani motor police happened to pass us by. They cut in front of our car and motioned that we should follow.
Heart beating, we all wondered what on earth they could want from us.
Sitting in the back, I immediately reached over to pull on my seatbelt (yes yes I know). At that point, I realized that I'd inadvertantly slammed a majority portion of my dupatta (about 4 feet long) in the car door!
As I hastily pulled it in, the policeman, who had gotten out of his card, shouted something in Urdu (something that sounded like : Hey! Your crazy American infidel is waving her clothing around for the entire countryside to see! We are all inappropriately aroused!) and started laughing.
Relieved, we dissolved into fits of cackling laughter.
Needless to say, I retired the dupatta for the rest of the trip......
Yes, that's less conspicuous
Every once and a while, I'll see an older person with spots of red on his beard, or near his temple. The other day, in the bakery, I saw an elderly man with his entire head dyed fire engine red.
In Africa, red tinged hair is a marker of advanced malnutrition. I asked one of my Pakistani work colleagues what that was all about. He laughed and said, "Oh that's just men trying to hide their grey hair with henna."
Fire engine red?
Yes, he said, they think it's more sophisticated.
It's alot of things, but sophisticated is not one that springs to mind.
*Sigh*
While I've warmed up considerably to Pakistan - especially during the long beautiful drive between Islamabad and Lahore today - there have been challenges this week.
One of the dimensions I'm struggling with over here is both an age and cultural gap between myself and one of our staff members. He's 30 years older than I, and was once in the Pakistani army. As such, although extremely accomodating and solicitious, every once and while he says something that has me stewing.
We're eating alot of greasy food, with limited healty options, and we're all starting to feel the bloat. One evening, he gave me hard time about becoming so fat that when I returned no one in the office would recognize me.
Last night, I was a "good little girl" for having a salad at Subway (yes - he made us go to Subway in the land of biryani, kabab and chicken jalfrazi). He thought I might not get so fat now.
Then, he went on to disparage post-partum women, declaring that "so many of them let themselves go and become fat"(I wanted to ask him if he'd ever tried carrying around a 7lb baby without gaining any weight, but I judiciously held my tongue).
This morning I was "too young" to represent our company in a meeting with a large bank. Well, more accurately, he made a wide generalization about how young our group is to be going to this Bank (one is 40, one is 35 and I am 29. Spring chickens we're not) and then, so that we all got it, pointed at me and said "I'm talking about you."
Honestly, at this point, I've been frustrated so many times that I can't do anything now than just hold my tongue and laugh at the next crazy thing he says. Tonight he grilled me on how I was going to wear my dupatta (head scarf). Tomorrow it will probably be about how fat I am again.
On the other hand, he has done some wonderful things (negotiating with a trade for me on a beautiful piece of Afghani jewlery) and is genuinely concerned that I enjoy my time here.
Thing is, I can't enjoy myself if I'm constantly being grilled.
*sigh*
One of the dimensions I'm struggling with over here is both an age and cultural gap between myself and one of our staff members. He's 30 years older than I, and was once in the Pakistani army. As such, although extremely accomodating and solicitious, every once and while he says something that has me stewing.
We're eating alot of greasy food, with limited healty options, and we're all starting to feel the bloat. One evening, he gave me hard time about becoming so fat that when I returned no one in the office would recognize me.
Last night, I was a "good little girl" for having a salad at Subway (yes - he made us go to Subway in the land of biryani, kabab and chicken jalfrazi). He thought I might not get so fat now.
Then, he went on to disparage post-partum women, declaring that "so many of them let themselves go and become fat"(I wanted to ask him if he'd ever tried carrying around a 7lb baby without gaining any weight, but I judiciously held my tongue).
This morning I was "too young" to represent our company in a meeting with a large bank. Well, more accurately, he made a wide generalization about how young our group is to be going to this Bank (one is 40, one is 35 and I am 29. Spring chickens we're not) and then, so that we all got it, pointed at me and said "I'm talking about you."
Honestly, at this point, I've been frustrated so many times that I can't do anything now than just hold my tongue and laugh at the next crazy thing he says. Tonight he grilled me on how I was going to wear my dupatta (head scarf). Tomorrow it will probably be about how fat I am again.
On the other hand, he has done some wonderful things (negotiating with a trade for me on a beautiful piece of Afghani jewlery) and is genuinely concerned that I enjoy my time here.
Thing is, I can't enjoy myself if I'm constantly being grilled.
*sigh*
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Notes on.....Everything
People keep telling me that Islamabad is like the "Disney Land" of Pakistan - ie not real. There is a long wide boulevard and the streets are pretty clean. It's January, so everything is stubbly and brown, but judging by the amount of pruned rose bushes I see, it's probably a beautiful city in the summer time. The first day we were here, it was dark and cold, but subsequent days have been sunny and downright cheerful.
There are people around, but not throngs. There is traffic, but not gridlock. I was telling a friend over skype tonight that thus far, Islamabad to me has been a series of conference rooms, guesthouses, one extremely nice hotel (the Serena), and several concrete strip malls. Needless to say, I don't see that I've gotten a very good "feel" for the country.
Tomorrow, we leave for Lahore, the capital of Punjab and the second largest city. Punjab is considered the breadbasket of Pakistan, but mostly what it makes me thing of is the guy from Little Orphan Annie.
(Yes, I am culturally sensitive, thankyouverymuch)
And for all the hype about how dangerous it is here, I don't feel like a Threatened Woman. I haven't had much more than the random photograph taken, or stared at. I'm not cowering in my bed at night, waiting to be taken by mullahs. I haven't been groped, or even leered at.
I know that most women have it tough here. I don't want to down play acid throwing, honor killings (known as karo kari) and the treatment of women as commodities. There are real and undeniable inequalities, even among so called "upper class". I'm currently reading "My Feudal Lord" by Tehemina Durrani, who describes her destructive marriage to Mustafa Khar, influential Punjabi politician in the late 70's and early 80's. For lack of a longer description, he basically beats the tar out of her for 10 years - and she takes it because she feels she has no other choice.
I'm of two minds reading this book - at once fascinated at stupidity of her thinking (through my western lense, I find her reasons for staying just....heartbreaking) and revulsed by the cruelness of Paksitani men and patriarchal underpinnings of their society.
Isn't this the image that we're all used to seeing? The scary, dominant, Middle Eastern, tyrant man? It was sitting in a row of similar titles like "Behind the Veil" or "Honeymoon in Purdah" or "My Kurdish Tyrant" or "A Summer's Eve in Kabul" or.....you get the point. There's not so much good press about Middle Eastern/Subcontinent men.
So I have to wonder, are there any good men in Pakistan? Judging by the press, I'd say not. But, I can't believe this is true.
I don't know where I'm going with this except - don't believe everything you read, about Pakistan or otherwise. Go there, experience it and draw conclusions for yourself.
Tomorrow - Lahore!
There are people around, but not throngs. There is traffic, but not gridlock. I was telling a friend over skype tonight that thus far, Islamabad to me has been a series of conference rooms, guesthouses, one extremely nice hotel (the Serena), and several concrete strip malls. Needless to say, I don't see that I've gotten a very good "feel" for the country.
Tomorrow, we leave for Lahore, the capital of Punjab and the second largest city. Punjab is considered the breadbasket of Pakistan, but mostly what it makes me thing of is the guy from Little Orphan Annie.
(Yes, I am culturally sensitive, thankyouverymuch)
And for all the hype about how dangerous it is here, I don't feel like a Threatened Woman. I haven't had much more than the random photograph taken, or stared at. I'm not cowering in my bed at night, waiting to be taken by mullahs. I haven't been groped, or even leered at.
I know that most women have it tough here. I don't want to down play acid throwing, honor killings (known as karo kari) and the treatment of women as commodities. There are real and undeniable inequalities, even among so called "upper class". I'm currently reading "My Feudal Lord" by Tehemina Durrani, who describes her destructive marriage to Mustafa Khar, influential Punjabi politician in the late 70's and early 80's. For lack of a longer description, he basically beats the tar out of her for 10 years - and she takes it because she feels she has no other choice.
I'm of two minds reading this book - at once fascinated at stupidity of her thinking (through my western lense, I find her reasons for staying just....heartbreaking) and revulsed by the cruelness of Paksitani men and patriarchal underpinnings of their society.
Isn't this the image that we're all used to seeing? The scary, dominant, Middle Eastern, tyrant man? It was sitting in a row of similar titles like "Behind the Veil" or "Honeymoon in Purdah" or "My Kurdish Tyrant" or "A Summer's Eve in Kabul" or.....you get the point. There's not so much good press about Middle Eastern/Subcontinent men.
So I have to wonder, are there any good men in Pakistan? Judging by the press, I'd say not. But, I can't believe this is true.
I don't know where I'm going with this except - don't believe everything you read, about Pakistan or otherwise. Go there, experience it and draw conclusions for yourself.
Tomorrow - Lahore!
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Houssain? I am!
It was interesting watching Obama's inauguration from my Islamabad hotel tonight. It's no suprise that Obama is popular the world over - especially in the in the Muslim world. In fact, the media claims that Obama has ties to Pakistan (if you count having Pakistani friends as "ties". .....Whatever that means.)
Anyway, although this trip is more than a little awkward, it's made less so by the fact that now the world doesn't hate our President.
Woo hoo!
Anyway, although this trip is more than a little awkward, it's made less so by the fact that now the world doesn't hate our President.
Woo hoo!
Monday, January 19, 2009
Pakistan, Day Two: Sophmoric and Uneventful.
Today was completely uneventful.
I got up at 5:15, and had breakfast in the hotel cafe. Then, I sat in a conference room until 2pm. Went back to the cafe and had lunch. Then, sat in the conference room.
Somewhere around 5:00, I went upstairs and had a twenty-minute nap.
Then, it was back to the conference room.
We finished around 7:30.
Luckily, I was able to talk Rashid into taking us out for dinner at a BBQ place. We passed one called "Butt BBQ" and I couldn't stop giggling. Perhaps they only serve rump roast...?
That is, until Rashid explained that Butt is a common Kashmiri name.
And that was pretty much the highlight of my day.
The end.
I got up at 5:15, and had breakfast in the hotel cafe. Then, I sat in a conference room until 2pm. Went back to the cafe and had lunch. Then, sat in the conference room.
Somewhere around 5:00, I went upstairs and had a twenty-minute nap.
Then, it was back to the conference room.
We finished around 7:30.
Luckily, I was able to talk Rashid into taking us out for dinner at a BBQ place. We passed one called "Butt BBQ" and I couldn't stop giggling. Perhaps they only serve rump roast...?
That is, until Rashid explained that Butt is a common Kashmiri name.
And that was pretty much the highlight of my day.
The end.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
I'm In.
This morning at 3am, Dean, Brad and I arrived in Islamabad. Although it’s considerably warmer than Minnesota right now (about 50 degrees), it’s also damp, rainy and chilly. Glad I packed my long johns! Am looking forward to moving southward, to Lahore and Karachi later on next week.
Having slept until noon, I woke up to find Dean and our Pakistan Country Manager, Rashid, on their way out the door for a walk. We were scheduled to drive to Murree today, about 1 ½ hours away, to see the British hill stations. It was a chance to see some of Pakistan before starting work tomorrow. I got them to wait five minutes, and soon Brad and the other consultant, Greg, joined us as well. Unfortunately, the late start, pouring down rain/hail and general inclemency had us abandoning that trip before even the first stop.
Instead, Rashid and the drivers took us to two scenic overlooks of the city, which, by the time we got there, had cleared up enough for a nice view. We had chai at a beautiful restaurant set high in the hills above the city, along with the rest of Islamabad’s population. After that, we wound our way back down the slick and winding roads to a local market, where Dean bought a Kashmir coverlet for his bed and Brad bought a sweater.
At every stop, I am stared at. Not impolitely, but casually and with interest. I’ve been covering my head, more to keep my head dry and warm, than to keep the stares away. (They stare anyway). A little girl came up to me, not more than 12 at one of the overlooks and wanted a photo with me. We chatted for a little bit – she is studying in Islamabad, but from Lahore. She wanted to know my name, and its meaning. I wanted to ask her why me, but I didn’t.
Dean is conducting a project for one of his friends, who is an elementary school teacher. They have this cartoon character, Flat Stanley, which is basically a cardboard cutout of a little man about a foot high. We’re supposed to take photos of him in all these exciting places. Dean asked the girl to hold him and took one (of many) photos today.
Last stop was the National Monument of Pakistan, which looks like a big ½ of a lotus flower. Four enormous petals rise off a platform, with etchings of former leaders (Iqbal, Jinnah) and other famous Pakistani monuments (Faisal Mosque). Rashid’s driver, Nawaz, broke out some more chai for us from the boot of his car, which we drank in the rain. We also had some cold samosas and gulab jamun (my favorite!).
Currently, I am waiting for my internet to start working and the electricity to come back on in my hotel room (in that order). There have been intermittent power outages all day, I assume because of the weather and in part rolling blackouts that are hitting the country (although I hear this is mostly in Lahore).
One day down and nine more to go. So far, so good.
Having slept until noon, I woke up to find Dean and our Pakistan Country Manager, Rashid, on their way out the door for a walk. We were scheduled to drive to Murree today, about 1 ½ hours away, to see the British hill stations. It was a chance to see some of Pakistan before starting work tomorrow. I got them to wait five minutes, and soon Brad and the other consultant, Greg, joined us as well. Unfortunately, the late start, pouring down rain/hail and general inclemency had us abandoning that trip before even the first stop.
Instead, Rashid and the drivers took us to two scenic overlooks of the city, which, by the time we got there, had cleared up enough for a nice view. We had chai at a beautiful restaurant set high in the hills above the city, along with the rest of Islamabad’s population. After that, we wound our way back down the slick and winding roads to a local market, where Dean bought a Kashmir coverlet for his bed and Brad bought a sweater.
At every stop, I am stared at. Not impolitely, but casually and with interest. I’ve been covering my head, more to keep my head dry and warm, than to keep the stares away. (They stare anyway). A little girl came up to me, not more than 12 at one of the overlooks and wanted a photo with me. We chatted for a little bit – she is studying in Islamabad, but from Lahore. She wanted to know my name, and its meaning. I wanted to ask her why me, but I didn’t.
Dean is conducting a project for one of his friends, who is an elementary school teacher. They have this cartoon character, Flat Stanley, which is basically a cardboard cutout of a little man about a foot high. We’re supposed to take photos of him in all these exciting places. Dean asked the girl to hold him and took one (of many) photos today.
Last stop was the National Monument of Pakistan, which looks like a big ½ of a lotus flower. Four enormous petals rise off a platform, with etchings of former leaders (Iqbal, Jinnah) and other famous Pakistani monuments (Faisal Mosque). Rashid’s driver, Nawaz, broke out some more chai for us from the boot of his car, which we drank in the rain. We also had some cold samosas and gulab jamun (my favorite!).
Currently, I am waiting for my internet to start working and the electricity to come back on in my hotel room (in that order). There have been intermittent power outages all day, I assume because of the weather and in part rolling blackouts that are hitting the country (although I hear this is mostly in Lahore).
One day down and nine more to go. So far, so good.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Now THAT's a cold shoulder...
I am not immune to the risks of traveling to Pakistan. I've been involved in no less than five security briefings this week. While I understand the risks, my commitment to living a life free of fear and embracing adventure far outweighs any trepidation I may have. I mean, what white-bred chick off the farm gets the opportunity to get to Pakistan in their lifetimes?
Also, I remembered my friend Jean-Marc was in Pakistan this September, when the government had pretty much shut down the entire country (it's true; even British Airways wouldn't fly there) I was in East Timor at the time, skyping him. He was very much ok; and enjoyed his time there.
So, while I don't mean to be harsh or flip about the very real security risks, I do really wish people would stop acting like I'm going to die.
No less than five people came into my cube this afternoon to wish me well, remind me to be safe and, the more morbid ones, to say a final goodbye. While this is nice, being reminded over and over again that I might die is not.
I was trying to finish a ton of things, so by the time G. came by, I was at my wit's end with this lunacy.
G, marches into my cube, into my personal space without a warning: "Ok, give me a hug."
Me, eyeball deep in year end performance review crap that needed to be done for me to get my raise: "Mmmmmmmmm, huh?"
G, "Give me a hug. You're leaving."
Me, thinking quickly about how to get out of this: "Yeeeeeeeeah, how about I give you a hi-five? I don't really hug co-workers."
G, seeming hurt, "But, what if you don't come back? This could be our last hug."
(PS. G likes to hug. I don't).
Me, turning back to my spreadsheet, mumbling: "Well then, you'll just have to hug my corpse."
///////Morbid, yes. But I am still kind of laughing about it.
Also, I remembered my friend Jean-Marc was in Pakistan this September, when the government had pretty much shut down the entire country (it's true; even British Airways wouldn't fly there) I was in East Timor at the time, skyping him. He was very much ok; and enjoyed his time there.
So, while I don't mean to be harsh or flip about the very real security risks, I do really wish people would stop acting like I'm going to die.
No less than five people came into my cube this afternoon to wish me well, remind me to be safe and, the more morbid ones, to say a final goodbye. While this is nice, being reminded over and over again that I might die is not.
I was trying to finish a ton of things, so by the time G. came by, I was at my wit's end with this lunacy.
G, marches into my cube, into my personal space without a warning: "Ok, give me a hug."
Me, eyeball deep in year end performance review crap that needed to be done for me to get my raise: "Mmmmmmmmm, huh?"
G, "Give me a hug. You're leaving."
Me, thinking quickly about how to get out of this: "Yeeeeeeeeah, how about I give you a hi-five? I don't really hug co-workers."
G, seeming hurt, "But, what if you don't come back? This could be our last hug."
(PS. G likes to hug. I don't).
Me, turning back to my spreadsheet, mumbling: "Well then, you'll just have to hug my corpse."
///////Morbid, yes. But I am still kind of laughing about it.
What Do I WEAR?
This may sound trite, but I found myself honestly struggling with this question while preparing for my trip to Pakistan this week.
Not that I received mixed messages. Everyone I talked to cautioned me to dress modestly, and bring many scarves.
As my colleague Michael eloquently put it: "This is a good opportunity to use those silk scarves you have collected over your travels and/or off sales racks at Daytons."
Rashid, our Country Manager, requested that I bring no less than "Four formal dresses" (??? My only guess on this one was that he doesn't understand that "formal" translates into "prom" here in the US. Regardless of his suggestion, I am NOT bringing my green orgazana ballgown to Pakistan..)
Smartly, my friend Farida recommended the salwar kameez, a tunic and pants outfit worn commonly throughout southeast Asia. I agreed with her, but where to find any? This isn't something TJ Maxx normally carries...
Honestly, I've never been so frantic over wardrobe before. Usually, one gets the "western" card when traveling overseas (as in "Oh well, she's a westerner, she doesn't know better). But I already expect to stick out quite a bit, so if it's in my control to dress like the locals, why wouldn't I want to do that?
Hence, since Saturday, me running around the Twin Cities trying to find an India/subcontinent dress shop. I'd even stooped so low as to heading to Holy Land grocery in NE Mpls and accosting customers for ideas on where to shop. (Am not proud of this).
So, imagine my relief when last night when I was cruising down Central Ave in NE and I came across a small, but glittery, sari shop. I was so excited, I pulled over my car and RAN the three blocks in sub-zero temperatures, rather than turn around and find a closer spot. I was so afraid that it would close! The second I was in the door, I knew I was in the right place. Several kameez's (tunics) hung in the front entry way and, although too big, the shop keep was helpful in pointing out one's that would fit, and offering to tailor ones that didn't.
I spent the better part of an hour weeping with joy in the back room, finally picking out two outfits. One is a very somber, and warm, rough knit orange with a deep blue linen salwar (for lack of a better description - genie pants). It doesn't show too much cleave (I think!)
Secondly, I found a beautiful blue silk kameez with jewel embroidered flowers scattered across the front, paired with jewel toned purple pants/scarf. It was way too expensive (and I knew I'd be finding nice ones in Pakistan, too), but my vanity couldn't pass it up.
These, coupled with one my co-worked loaned to me, and the tunics I bought in Banda Aceh, I hope will bring me through.
I've packed Western clothes, too; a somber black suit and sweater set that never lets me down. My suitcase is bulging, but atleast I feel like I've got something for every occasion.
Goodness, I hope.
Not that I received mixed messages. Everyone I talked to cautioned me to dress modestly, and bring many scarves.
As my colleague Michael eloquently put it: "This is a good opportunity to use those silk scarves you have collected over your travels and/or off sales racks at Daytons."
Rashid, our Country Manager, requested that I bring no less than "Four formal dresses" (??? My only guess on this one was that he doesn't understand that "formal" translates into "prom" here in the US. Regardless of his suggestion, I am NOT bringing my green orgazana ballgown to Pakistan..)
Smartly, my friend Farida recommended the salwar kameez, a tunic and pants outfit worn commonly throughout southeast Asia. I agreed with her, but where to find any? This isn't something TJ Maxx normally carries...
Honestly, I've never been so frantic over wardrobe before. Usually, one gets the "western" card when traveling overseas (as in "Oh well, she's a westerner, she doesn't know better). But I already expect to stick out quite a bit, so if it's in my control to dress like the locals, why wouldn't I want to do that?
Hence, since Saturday, me running around the Twin Cities trying to find an India/subcontinent dress shop. I'd even stooped so low as to heading to Holy Land grocery in NE Mpls and accosting customers for ideas on where to shop. (Am not proud of this).
So, imagine my relief when last night when I was cruising down Central Ave in NE and I came across a small, but glittery, sari shop. I was so excited, I pulled over my car and RAN the three blocks in sub-zero temperatures, rather than turn around and find a closer spot. I was so afraid that it would close! The second I was in the door, I knew I was in the right place. Several kameez's (tunics) hung in the front entry way and, although too big, the shop keep was helpful in pointing out one's that would fit, and offering to tailor ones that didn't.
I spent the better part of an hour weeping with joy in the back room, finally picking out two outfits. One is a very somber, and warm, rough knit orange with a deep blue linen salwar (for lack of a better description - genie pants). It doesn't show too much cleave (I think!)
Secondly, I found a beautiful blue silk kameez with jewel embroidered flowers scattered across the front, paired with jewel toned purple pants/scarf. It was way too expensive (and I knew I'd be finding nice ones in Pakistan, too), but my vanity couldn't pass it up.
These, coupled with one my co-worked loaned to me, and the tunics I bought in Banda Aceh, I hope will bring me through.
I've packed Western clothes, too; a somber black suit and sweater set that never lets me down. My suitcase is bulging, but atleast I feel like I've got something for every occasion.
Goodness, I hope.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Ruby Red
Last Saturday, with the help of my friend Kaydi, I went down to the Humane Society and adopted a cat. Ruby had been cooped up for two months, after being given up due to divorce, and was waiting for a good home. I took her to the vet on Tuesday, and besides needing to lose a little weight (you try living in a cage for two months), she is in perfect health.
I'm still not sure if I'm well suited to be a good "cat mother" but so far, so good. I haven't managed to poison, kill or maim her, and she seems to like me. She's terribly affectionate and loves to be petted. After an initial fight with my handbag, she's settled down to be quite a loveable companion.
I'm still getting used to being woken up at 5am with a cat in my face, but - love takes some adjusting. 
Gotta run. We've got our first case of cat puke!
Gotta run. We've got our first case of cat puke!Saturday, November 29, 2008
It's Rough, But...
I won!
I've written a 50,800 word hastily hung-together no-plot travelogue/memoir!
Woot! Woot!
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
You Can't Win, Buddy
I went to the liquor store last night to pick up some wine for Thanksgiving. I was feeling punchy. I'd had a tough day.
Liquor store clerk: Can I see some ID?
Me: Don't worry, I'm old.
LSC: You look young enough to me.
Me: Was it the enormous pimple on my face that made you think that?! (It's true; I have an enormous pimple on my face).
LSC: (rightly so) ????WTF??
Poor little dude. He never knew I was just yanking his chain, but I had a good laugh.
Liquor store clerk: Can I see some ID?
Me: Don't worry, I'm old.
LSC: You look young enough to me.
Me: Was it the enormous pimple on my face that made you think that?! (It's true; I have an enormous pimple on my face).
LSC: (rightly so) ????WTF??
Poor little dude. He never knew I was just yanking his chain, but I had a good laugh.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Quick Trip or, Notes on Terrorism
With such a quick trip this week, I found it difficult to find time to do any research. As such, I kind of "showed up" in the Philippines without any context or understanding of the local culture. It wasn't really necessary, given that I spent my week sitting in a windowless conference room, but at times it would've been nice.
For example: After our meeting wrapped up Saturday morning, I took the afternoon and wandered around the many many shopping complexes interconnected via an open air skyway system through the Makati district. After a few margarita's and the world's best massage, I decided to try my chances at heading over to the Glorietta Mall.
I live in the land of the world's biggest shopping mall, so I thought I would be immune to the masses, but I was dead wrong. I have never seen crowds like that in my life, outside the Tokyo subway system at rush hour. I was crushed by tiny dark-haired Philippinos at every turn. Couple that with a very confusing skyway system and I was soon miserably lost.
On top of that, at every new shopping mall or department store, everyone had to queue through security. Sometimes there were several lines open and you walked through, opening your purse for a cursory glance by the sleepy security guard. Others were longer, like those you'd find at an airport (thankfully, I didn't have to take off my shoes) and twice as ugly.
I couldn't understand it. Shopping malls? You've got to be kidding me. Nothing I saw was worth protecting that much from theft.
When I finally joined my co-workers for supper that night, I mentioned the enormous crowds and the perplexing, ubiquitous security check points. Turns out, last year at this time, a bomb exploded, killing eleven and wounding 126. There's been no determination of whether or not it was Islamic militants, the government or just a freak accident, but it looks like no one is taking any chances.
Huh. That, along with the incident at the hotel, might have been nice to know before I arrived.
All of this got me thinking. I had a brief discussion with our VP the other day about the increased security around Manila (I've already blogged about what happend at our hotel last year). He had forwarded to me President-Elect Obama's recently issued brief regarding his administration's goals for the next four years. One of them included reducing the climate of fear in our country. Based on what we'd seen in the Philippines our question was this: does the increase in security guards, guns, night patrols, pat downs, liquid limitations and check points make you feel more, or less, safe? And secondly, how do you combat fear? Do you put more, or less, policeman on the street? Do you put more, or less, guns in private citizen's hands?
Isn't this just as difficult as waging war on "terrorism"? What do you do when the terror comes from within?
I realize that this very debate has been floating around in public discourse since 9/11, but it finally hit home for me. I was pulled over not once, but twice on my trip. The first time was random, but the second time was because I had house keys in my bag. Apparently, being able to get into your own home is ILLEGAL in some places. I mean, where is the line here? Does it make you feel more secure knowing I can't carry something as remotely pokey as my HOUSE KEYS on board? Might I be tempted to stab you in the eye and turn the knob?
More and more I feel I live in a world that Ray Bradbury would immediately recognize as twisted science fiction. As tripe as it sounds, I look with hope to the future that might return the innocence of the past. The kind of past where we looked at somone and thought, "Huh, they're different" instead of "I wonder what they're going to do with those keys..."
For example: After our meeting wrapped up Saturday morning, I took the afternoon and wandered around the many many shopping complexes interconnected via an open air skyway system through the Makati district. After a few margarita's and the world's best massage, I decided to try my chances at heading over to the Glorietta Mall.
I live in the land of the world's biggest shopping mall, so I thought I would be immune to the masses, but I was dead wrong. I have never seen crowds like that in my life, outside the Tokyo subway system at rush hour. I was crushed by tiny dark-haired Philippinos at every turn. Couple that with a very confusing skyway system and I was soon miserably lost.
On top of that, at every new shopping mall or department store, everyone had to queue through security. Sometimes there were several lines open and you walked through, opening your purse for a cursory glance by the sleepy security guard. Others were longer, like those you'd find at an airport (thankfully, I didn't have to take off my shoes) and twice as ugly.
I couldn't understand it. Shopping malls? You've got to be kidding me. Nothing I saw was worth protecting that much from theft.
When I finally joined my co-workers for supper that night, I mentioned the enormous crowds and the perplexing, ubiquitous security check points. Turns out, last year at this time, a bomb exploded, killing eleven and wounding 126. There's been no determination of whether or not it was Islamic militants, the government or just a freak accident, but it looks like no one is taking any chances.
Huh. That, along with the incident at the hotel, might have been nice to know before I arrived.
All of this got me thinking. I had a brief discussion with our VP the other day about the increased security around Manila (I've already blogged about what happend at our hotel last year). He had forwarded to me President-Elect Obama's recently issued brief regarding his administration's goals for the next four years. One of them included reducing the climate of fear in our country. Based on what we'd seen in the Philippines our question was this: does the increase in security guards, guns, night patrols, pat downs, liquid limitations and check points make you feel more, or less, safe? And secondly, how do you combat fear? Do you put more, or less, policeman on the street? Do you put more, or less, guns in private citizen's hands?
Isn't this just as difficult as waging war on "terrorism"? What do you do when the terror comes from within?
I realize that this very debate has been floating around in public discourse since 9/11, but it finally hit home for me. I was pulled over not once, but twice on my trip. The first time was random, but the second time was because I had house keys in my bag. Apparently, being able to get into your own home is ILLEGAL in some places. I mean, where is the line here? Does it make you feel more secure knowing I can't carry something as remotely pokey as my HOUSE KEYS on board? Might I be tempted to stab you in the eye and turn the knob?
More and more I feel I live in a world that Ray Bradbury would immediately recognize as twisted science fiction. As tripe as it sounds, I look with hope to the future that might return the innocence of the past. The kind of past where we looked at somone and thought, "Huh, they're different" instead of "I wonder what they're going to do with those keys..."
Friday, November 14, 2008
Do Your Research
This is what I get for not googling my hotel. I found out from our divisional VP today that exactly one year ago this month, our hotel was the set for a very real coup attempt. Yes, the photo above is a tank in the hotel lobby.
From our pals at Wiki:
The Manila Peninsula rebellion occurred on November 29, 2007 at The Peninsula Manila hotel in Makati City, Philippines. Senator Antonio Trillanes IV, Brigadier General Danilo Lim, and 25 other Magdalo officers walked out of their trial and marched through the streets of Makati City. The mutineers called for the ousting of President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo, and seized the second floor of the Manila Peninsula Hotel along Ayala Avenue. Former Vice-President Teofisto Guingona, Jr. joined the march to the hotel, as well as some of the soldiers from the Armed Forces of the Philippines.
After several hours, Trillanes and Lim surrendered to government forces once a military armored personnel carrier had barged into the lobby of the hotel. Trillanes and the mutineers were arrested while several journalists that covered the event were detained. The journalists were subsequently released.
Dude, what a weird world.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
You Should've Checked with the PR Department on That One
The Philippines are a predominantly Roman Catholic nation. In fact, I've managed to hit both of the only Roman Catholic countries in all of Asia this fall (the other being East Timor).
Unlike East Timor, there is also a sizeable Muslim population. Some of them are part of a successionist movement in the southern region of Mindenao. Not having read much about this conflict I can only comment on the poorly named Moro Islamic Liberation Front, or MILF.
Yeah, you read that right: MILF.
Against my better judgement, I find it terribly difficult to take this group seriously.
Because really, a bunch of MILF's running amok in southern Philippines would be kind of awesome.
Unlike East Timor, there is also a sizeable Muslim population. Some of them are part of a successionist movement in the southern region of Mindenao. Not having read much about this conflict I can only comment on the poorly named Moro Islamic Liberation Front, or MILF.
Yeah, you read that right: MILF.
Against my better judgement, I find it terribly difficult to take this group seriously.
Because really, a bunch of MILF's running amok in southern Philippines would be kind of awesome.
Saturday, November 08, 2008
Another Random Asian Country: Philippines
Quick trip, for a week. Spending most of it in Manila, in a conference center and a hotel.
God Bless Wiki. Without it, I wouldn't know anything about anything....
The Philippines (Filipino: Pilipinas, officially known as the Republic of the Philippines, Filipino: Republika ng Pilipinas), is an island country located in Southeast Asia with Manila as its capital city. The Philippines comprises 7,107 islands in the western Pacific Ocean, sharing maritime borders with Indonesia, Malaysia, Palau, the Republic of China (Taiwan), and Vietnam. The Philippines is the world's 12th most populous country with a population of 90 million people.[4][6] Its national economy is the 46th largest in the world with an estimated 2008 gross domestic product (GDP) of over US$154.073 billion.[6] There are more than 11 million overseas Filipinos worldwide, about 11% of the total population of the Philippines. It is a multi-ethnic country. Ecologically, The Philippines is considered to be among 17 of the most megadiverse countries in the world.[8]
Prior to the arrival of Europeans in 1521,[9] the Philippines was already settled by Austronesian (Malayo Polynesian) peoples. The Philippines became a Spanish colony in the 16th century, and a territory of the United States in the 20th century. In 1896, rebellion led the Philippine Revolution that won independence from Spain. American occupation of the Philippines during the Spanish-American War led to the outbreak of the Philippine-American War. A Commonwealth government was established in 1935, which allowed self-governance. The country gained its independence from the United States on July 4, 1946 after World War II. Martial law was declared in 1972 which led to the insurgencies of the New People's Army and the Moro National Liberation Front. Liberal parties then led People Power Revolution of 1986, which would bring the country back to democracy.[3]
The Philippines is one of only two predominantly Roman Catholic countries in Asia-Pacific, the other being East Timor. Pre-Hispanic indigenous rituals still exist; and there are also followers of Islam.[10] Spanish was an official language of the Philippines until 1973. Since then, the two official languages are Filipino, and English.[3]
The name Philippines was derived from King Philip II of Spain in the 16th century. The Spanish explorer Ruy López de Villalobos used the name Las Islas Filipinas (The Philippine Islands) in honor of the then Crown Prince during his expedition to the Philippines, originally referring to the islands of Leyte and Samar. Despite the presence of other names, the name Filipinas (Philippines) was eventually adopted as the name of the entire archipelago
28 Going on 80
My birthday is coming up next week and as such, I will no longer be able to use my current favorite phrase, "I'm 28 going on 80". This phrase is usually my prefix to some revealing some granny-eqsque habit/ideaology I've acquired that may be unusual for someone of my actual generation.
For example, I have an extreme affinity for my crock pot. I love to floss. I made curtains for my bedroom. I cook - alot, in large quantities - for my household of one. I make bars.
If I had a lawn, I'd probably tell people to get off it.
My friend Joyce and I were talking about this last night and decided that we are definitely going on 80. Our conversation topics centered around the following:
Work
Why Work is Stressful
Why Work is Necessary
The Economy
401(K)s
Taxes
Malpractice lawsuits, driving up insurance
Taxing junk food
Politics
Norm vs. Franken
Knitting
Yelling at people to shut the patio door, we were cold!
The Library
What a Membership at the Historical Society Gets You
Grandkids
And yes, I was home by 10:15, for the weather.
///No granny panties, yet though.
////Ok, maybe one pair.
For example, I have an extreme affinity for my crock pot. I love to floss. I made curtains for my bedroom. I cook - alot, in large quantities - for my household of one. I make bars.
If I had a lawn, I'd probably tell people to get off it.
My friend Joyce and I were talking about this last night and decided that we are definitely going on 80. Our conversation topics centered around the following:
Work
Why Work is Stressful
Why Work is Necessary
The Economy
401(K)s
Taxes
Malpractice lawsuits, driving up insurance
Taxing junk food
Politics
Norm vs. Franken
Knitting
Yelling at people to shut the patio door, we were cold!
The Library
What a Membership at the Historical Society Gets You
Grandkids
And yes, I was home by 10:15, for the weather.
///No granny panties, yet though.
////Ok, maybe one pair.
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