I am sick to death of airlines and their arbitrary rules.
For the most part, I’m able to fly under the radar. I pack light (avoiding baggage restrictions/fees/checked luggage), grasp the concept of the 3 oz. rule, and can get in and out of security in less than one minute – shoes and laptop included - if there’s no line.
However, not only is each country different, but each airline also has different rules. Getting on the aircraft is only half the battle.
Once on, you’re in “their” territory and they way they treat you depends strictly, on classism, (and, I believe, more and more on the fickle attitudes of flight attendants).
First, if you can afford, literally, a higher class ticket, then you’ll have a better seat. You’ll get a bit more room, free alcohol (US domestic flights), actual silverware, and a private bathroom near the (gasp!) cockpit (apparently, first class passengers couldn’t possibly be terrorists, or terrorists haven’t yet scraped together enough clams for these exorbitantly priced seats).
Secondly, the flight attendants, who have got to have the worst jobs I the world, have obviously caught on. They are, for the most part, very grumpy individuals (except for those beautiful Singpore airline stewardesses, but I’m convinced that they’re fembots). It’s their job to enforce baseless, fickle rules, such as keeping your electronic devices shut off until you reach cruising altitude, lest they interfere with the plane’s operation.
Speaking as a person who has both a) accidentally left her phone on for an entire flight and b) once called her sister, who’s phone rang (and she answered!) while in flight, and I call complete and total shenanigans on this one.
Ipods pose a particularly interesting problem, as they have no on/off switch. There’s a “freeze” button, but you can certainly “freeze” it in the on position as well as off. Furthermore, overseas, they’ve mostly dropped this rule – it’s only in the hyper sensitive US that we still believe this baloney.
(Save the South African airways attendant who insisted that I take my earbuds out my ears, even though my DVD player was no only off, the battery was completely dead. I was keeping the buds in to drown out the noise of the engines. I tried explaining this to her several times but she stood fast. I was tempted to tell her I had a hearing condition, but being that my desire to get home superceded my desire to make a point, I took them out. )
But that’s just it, no matter what you do, the airlines have the trump card: they can throw you off. Not only that, they can throw you in JAIL. So you have to take out your earbuds, sit up straight, stow your tray tables, do jumping jacks – whatever they require! Somehow, I missed the forfeiture of my rights in the fine print.
In the US, if you’re leaving the country, you can take as much water/liquids with you as you want. Woe be the person returning, however, with so much as a bottle of water for a sixteen hour flight. I find this downright inhumane. The human body NEEDS water. How can the US government deny us this need? What’s next, air?
Aren’t we more secure?, you may be asking, What about the Greater Good? I agree, to some extent, an airplane ride may be tantamount to a social contract. We are all, literally, headed towards the same goal. It makes sense that we have a basic modicum of expectations and rules. When I get on a flight, I don’t expect to be able to act like I do at home; I am, in fact, in public.
However, airlines are taking this too far, all in the name of profit margin. While the US government has upped security requirements, they’ve lowered services, and the only one that gets pinched are THE PASSENGERS. They’re pinching their steady revenue source, and ultimately, shooting themselves in the foot. They’ll soon fine that this “steady” revenue source is more price sensitive than they thought. The more they push us cattle-class to the margins, families and other casual traveler’s will switch to other, more affordable, less Machiavellian forms of transport - like walking across hot stones.
With the advent of global telecommunications, more and more businesses will choose to stay at home, and hop on their WebEx instead.
I want to sympathize with the global airline industry, I really do.
But I also want to keep my earbuds in.
Monday, February 22, 2010
My Dilemma
Pursuant to my previous posting, I’ve recently re-opened the situation with Michael Pollan, and his dilemma. I was home sick a few weeks ago and caught him on Oprah, where he didn’t immediately strike me as a pompous nutjob. I remembered that I still had his book.
In fact, during my trip to Italy in November, my friend had asked my opinion about it. A fan of the Slow Food revolution (which started there), she was eager to see what I thought. I sheepishly mentioned something vaguely about not being able to “get into it” and noted that she, mercifully, is not a big follower of my blog.
This, plus upcoming long flight to South Africa, lead me to slip it into my back before I left. Plus, I reasoned, it’s soft cover. My general travel M.O is to bring softcovers and leave them behind when I’m finished, thus lightening my load. (This does not apply to hardcovers, library books or anything I haven’t finished). So, if I finished, or got bored with Mr. Pollan, I could leave him behind.
Somewhere between Livingstone and Lusaka, while waiting for my internet connection to work, I pulled it out. (I find that distracting myself while things “load” lessens my desire to chuck the entire computer out the window). At any rate, I kind of got into it. He outlines the food chain for three types of meals: corn fed (industrial agriculture), grass fed (for lack of a better word, alternative (?) agriculture) and hunting/foraging.
Yes, he gets a little over philosophical - and down right weepy - in parts, especially about hunting. The chapters on industrial agriculture, where he uncovers the insidiousness of corn and how it has transformed our food chain was actually really interesting. I’d always wondered how corn was refined into High Fructose Corn Syrup, for example. Similarly, his outlining of the rise and dissonance between “Big” and “Little” Organic farming was quite revealing, and refreshing. Overall, the book was informative, if slanted under a liberal gaze. (Being a liberal myself, I didn’t so much mind this, but it was quite obvious in places, which I found annoying. I skimmed.)
My favorite passage was near the end, when he muses that it wouldn’t be possible to eat all meals like the first one (McDonald) or all meals like the last (foraged all by hand), but that there had to be some ground in the middle.
I still have criticism though – my book states it was a history of four meals: Corn-fed, grass-fed and foraged. That’s only three. Was this a printing typo, or was I supposed to make a meal of the book, too? I left it in the seat pocket of my flight from Lusaka to Johannesburg for the next person to figure that out.
In fact, during my trip to Italy in November, my friend had asked my opinion about it. A fan of the Slow Food revolution (which started there), she was eager to see what I thought. I sheepishly mentioned something vaguely about not being able to “get into it” and noted that she, mercifully, is not a big follower of my blog.
This, plus upcoming long flight to South Africa, lead me to slip it into my back before I left. Plus, I reasoned, it’s soft cover. My general travel M.O is to bring softcovers and leave them behind when I’m finished, thus lightening my load. (This does not apply to hardcovers, library books or anything I haven’t finished). So, if I finished, or got bored with Mr. Pollan, I could leave him behind.
Somewhere between Livingstone and Lusaka, while waiting for my internet connection to work, I pulled it out. (I find that distracting myself while things “load” lessens my desire to chuck the entire computer out the window). At any rate, I kind of got into it. He outlines the food chain for three types of meals: corn fed (industrial agriculture), grass fed (for lack of a better word, alternative (?) agriculture) and hunting/foraging.
Yes, he gets a little over philosophical - and down right weepy - in parts, especially about hunting. The chapters on industrial agriculture, where he uncovers the insidiousness of corn and how it has transformed our food chain was actually really interesting. I’d always wondered how corn was refined into High Fructose Corn Syrup, for example. Similarly, his outlining of the rise and dissonance between “Big” and “Little” Organic farming was quite revealing, and refreshing. Overall, the book was informative, if slanted under a liberal gaze. (Being a liberal myself, I didn’t so much mind this, but it was quite obvious in places, which I found annoying. I skimmed.)
My favorite passage was near the end, when he muses that it wouldn’t be possible to eat all meals like the first one (McDonald) or all meals like the last (foraged all by hand), but that there had to be some ground in the middle.
I still have criticism though – my book states it was a history of four meals: Corn-fed, grass-fed and foraged. That’s only three. Was this a printing typo, or was I supposed to make a meal of the book, too? I left it in the seat pocket of my flight from Lusaka to Johannesburg for the next person to figure that out.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Zamtastic
Ok, yes. I am in Zambia.
Admittedly, I have let this trip slip.
BUT - it's technically not my fault. Technically, I've had difficulties with the internet - I've barely been able to check in with work. There's something about African wireless services that makes my slooowwwww ass computer melt down into a tiny little lump.
andfine,theremaybeateenytinyamountofusererrorinthere,too.
So, ahem, Zambia. I have known ye before.
You may remember this post about a weekend trip I took to Lusaka with some friends while I was living in Malawi for the summer. A great three days, with more than a little driving in the back of an ambulance.
It's a trip to be back here. It's been so long that my friends friends no longer live here, and there's nothing much more to see that wasn't already explored the first time around. I did, however, find myself back at the very same shopping mall.
Sigh. Sometimes I think my working life is just a series of conference halls, hotel rooms and shopping malls. (This is not a complaint; just an......observance).
At any rate, there have been some new things. The conference I was attending was in Livingstone, 8 hours south, on the border with Zimbabwe....and home to the famous Victoria Falls. I've been to Niagara, and this is no Niagara. It's simply - breathtaking (and wet). Known as Mosi-ou-Tunya, or "the smoke that thunders", it's quite deafening; so much so that you can barely hear those next to you when crossing over a few small bridges to see the Zimbabwean side.
Some other highlights of this trip have been: finding a shard of glass in my rice, eating a side-of-the-road restaurant named "Tooters" and getting reacquainted with nsima, the starchy, bland side-dish served all over Southern Africa.
I've now got a bead on a more secure internet line, so if anything more interesting happens in the next two days, I'll be sure to make note.
Monday, January 18, 2010
What are you doing at 36?
Rajiv Shah for USAID administrator - Laura Rozen
Good lord, I've got some catching up to do.
///and some teeth to grow.
Good lord, I've got some catching up to do.
///and some teeth to grow.
Slacktivism
I've been meaning to write about this for awhile, but the holidays got in the way. I was shopping with my sister one afternoon early in December, and we hit a number of stores. At nearly every checkout counter, we were asked if we'd like to donate a dollar for one cause or another. Toys for Tots. Childrens Miracle Network. Habitat for Humanity. After the fifth clerk failed to ask us to donate a dollar, I turned to my sister and remarked that this must either be a heartless store, or incredibly understanding of donor fatigue.
Now, I'm not critcizing these establishments. In fact, this was a tactic that I, in my fundraising years, found terribly effective. I get it, but it smacks of "slacktivism". Let's pull out wikipedia:
Slacktivism (sometimes slactivism) is a portmanteau formed out of the words slacker and activism. The word is considered a pejorative term that describes "feel-good" measures, in support of an issue or social cause, that have little or no practical effect other than to make the person doing it feel satisfaction. The acts also tend to require little personal effort from the slacktivist. Examples of activities labeled as "slacktivist" include signing internet petitions, the wearing of wristbands ("awareness bracelets") with political messages, putting a ribbon magnet on a vehicle or joining a Facebook group.
I understand that donating does make an actual difference. But so does volunteering your time. Again, after the fifth store, I was kind of apathetic to those hungry/homeless/handicapped kids. A dollar here, a dollar there, bada-bing, bada-boom! Problem solved.
It just felt a little too...easy.
Shouldn't one take time to know and understand the issues at play? Why is childhood homeless a problem? Why isn't there enough food? What is happening in these neighborhood's that kids aren't safe to live? Who took all their toys?? Perhaps I'm just a purist. Perhaps I think about things too much (this charge has been levvyed against me before). But throwing money at a problem, signing an online petition, or becoming a "Fan" on facebook, seems - well, sad.
I realize that this may be untenable for most. For those, go ahead; give your dollar - I'm sure it will go towards good. But don't you want to get engaged in the world? Then get some skin in the game. Get active. Be curious. Find a cause and throw your weight into it.
Speaking from experience, personal investment has a higher rate of return than anything else.
Now, I'm not critcizing these establishments. In fact, this was a tactic that I, in my fundraising years, found terribly effective. I get it, but it smacks of "slacktivism". Let's pull out wikipedia:
Slacktivism (sometimes slactivism) is a portmanteau formed out of the words slacker and activism. The word is considered a pejorative term that describes "feel-good" measures, in support of an issue or social cause, that have little or no practical effect other than to make the person doing it feel satisfaction. The acts also tend to require little personal effort from the slacktivist. Examples of activities labeled as "slacktivist" include signing internet petitions, the wearing of wristbands ("awareness bracelets") with political messages, putting a ribbon magnet on a vehicle or joining a Facebook group.
I understand that donating does make an actual difference. But so does volunteering your time. Again, after the fifth store, I was kind of apathetic to those hungry/homeless/handicapped kids. A dollar here, a dollar there, bada-bing, bada-boom! Problem solved.
It just felt a little too...easy.
Shouldn't one take time to know and understand the issues at play? Why is childhood homeless a problem? Why isn't there enough food? What is happening in these neighborhood's that kids aren't safe to live? Who took all their toys?? Perhaps I'm just a purist. Perhaps I think about things too much (this charge has been levvyed against me before). But throwing money at a problem, signing an online petition, or becoming a "Fan" on facebook, seems - well, sad.
I realize that this may be untenable for most. For those, go ahead; give your dollar - I'm sure it will go towards good. But don't you want to get engaged in the world? Then get some skin in the game. Get active. Be curious. Find a cause and throw your weight into it.
Speaking from experience, personal investment has a higher rate of return than anything else.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
The Last Day
Friday, my last day, I got up early (to make up for oversleeping on Thursday) and, with Monica's help, took the bus to Ravenna.
Ravenna was once the capital of the Western Roman Empire, and home to some gorgeous mosaics from the Byzantine era. I visited four of the most famous: Battistero Neoniano, Basicial di S. Apollinare Nuovo, Basilica di S. Vitale and the Mausoleo di Galla Placidia. They were truly breathtaking!
After that, I walked around the city for awhile (ahem, ZARA) and grabbed a potato and mozarella piadina, a flatbread sandwich famous in the region. I caught the early bus back to Faenza, packed and then road Monica's bike out to the farm (6k through beautiful vineyards, in the DARK, which wasn't very smart). The days are cloudy, but even in the dank darkness of November, it's still picturesque.
As an endcap to a fabulous week and wonderful vacation, Monica and Michele, their friends and I, went out to her cousin's seafood restaurant, Titon.
Let me just say, if you can get a cousin/uncle/grandfather to own an restaurant in Italy - DO IT.
We had five different antipasti's (including fish carpaccio, a tomato/squid soup, and prawn and thistle (yes, thistle) stew). Then we had three different kinds of grilled fish, and a seafood "toss" - lightly fried squid, prawns, fish, zuchinni, etc. Plus, all the wine you could drink. (and a 'tween course palate refreshener with lemon and vodka- VODKA!)
Then, oh THEN, came the dessert, including ganache, pistacchio mousse, cannoli, something like a cointreau liquer flan and creme cartanaga (I'm not sure this is the right name but oh. my. god. gargagaahghghghg Homer Simpson noise) I literally rolled out of that restaurant at midnight.
....and was up again at 4 am to catch my flight.
But you know what? Pffft...I'll sleep when I'm dead. This has been the best vacation and worth every penny (paid in Euro and in sleep!) I am now sitting in the airport (back in Amsterdam) with a huge grin on my face, refreshed, renewed - and sober.
Yes, these are what vacations are FOR.
Ravenna was once the capital of the Western Roman Empire, and home to some gorgeous mosaics from the Byzantine era. I visited four of the most famous: Battistero Neoniano, Basicial di S. Apollinare Nuovo, Basilica di S. Vitale and the Mausoleo di Galla Placidia. They were truly breathtaking!
After that, I walked around the city for awhile (ahem, ZARA) and grabbed a potato and mozarella piadina, a flatbread sandwich famous in the region. I caught the early bus back to Faenza, packed and then road Monica's bike out to the farm (6k through beautiful vineyards, in the DARK, which wasn't very smart). The days are cloudy, but even in the dank darkness of November, it's still picturesque.
As an endcap to a fabulous week and wonderful vacation, Monica and Michele, their friends and I, went out to her cousin's seafood restaurant, Titon.
Let me just say, if you can get a cousin/uncle/grandfather to own an restaurant in Italy - DO IT.
We had five different antipasti's (including fish carpaccio, a tomato/squid soup, and prawn and thistle (yes, thistle) stew). Then we had three different kinds of grilled fish, and a seafood "toss" - lightly fried squid, prawns, fish, zuchinni, etc. Plus, all the wine you could drink. (and a 'tween course palate refreshener with lemon and vodka- VODKA!)
Then, oh THEN, came the dessert, including ganache, pistacchio mousse, cannoli, something like a cointreau liquer flan and creme cartanaga (I'm not sure this is the right name but oh. my. god. gargagaahghghghg Homer Simpson noise) I literally rolled out of that restaurant at midnight.
....and was up again at 4 am to catch my flight.
But you know what? Pffft...I'll sleep when I'm dead. This has been the best vacation and worth every penny (paid in Euro and in sleep!) I am now sitting in the airport (back in Amsterdam) with a huge grin on my face, refreshed, renewed - and sober.
Yes, these are what vacations are FOR.
Thanksgiving Italian Style
Thursday Monica had to work, so she left me to my own devices to explore Faenza. I ended up oversleeping, missing the town market AND the ceramic museum but the extra sleep was totally worth it. I did some laundry, had a late lunch and bummed around town.Later that evening, I joined Monica out at the farm where she works. Several of her friends and co-workers were gathered there, cooking a 4 kilo stuffed turkey and the Thanksgiving works. In between last minute things, Monica made three squash "pumpkin" pies. We roasted sweet potatoes, someone brought homemade stuffing and Michele mashed potatoes. For my part, I snapped beans and drank wine :)
By the time the turkey was done, fifteen people had arrived. We watched Jonathan (the head chef) carve the boneless turkey and place the thick steamy slabs on a plastic platter Monica pulled from somewhere. The best part was a homemade green bean-mushroom-and-fried onion concotion Jonathan pulled from the Food Network website. No Campbells soup here! It was hands-down terrific.
As we organized ourselves buffet style, a few of the un-initiated Italians were unsure of all the food. Monica immediately gave a rundown of the basics, instructing everyone to pile their plates high. Apparently, mixing the savory items with the sweet squash and the roast sweet potatos caused the most consternation. "Plating" is a concept not yet inculcated in American households, so it was interesting to watch the Italians arrange small portions on several plates and make trips back and forth to the buffet. I'm happy to say I piled my plate high and only left the turkey skin as a remnant of my gnoshing.
During the normal course of these international holiday celebrations, talk inevitably floats towards traditions. Thinking it over, I've celebrated Thanksgiving in Switzerland, Singapore, Washington DC and now, Italy. Each time, I bring up my family tradition of going around the table saying what we're thankful for according to letters of the alphabet. In DC, since I hosted, I made everyone at the table do it. I was going to keep quiet about it, but Monica has had thanksgiving with me before and insisted that we do it.
It's a good exercise in that it reminds us what we have in our lives (my Love, was one of them; Parents were another) and also elicits laughs for the more difficult letters (Questra turque (THIS turkey, for "q"). Although hokey, it's nice to see some traditions carry over. I think my mom would be proud.
I snuck away after dinner to skype my family, but someone kindly delivered a delicious piece of squash pumpking pie (plus homemade whip cream!). More wine. Caffe's all around. Jokes. Things devolved into only Italian later on the evening, but for the most part I was able to follow the conversation. Here was a place for people to gather, laugh, care for one another and eat mightily.
Now that's home, isn't it?
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Viva Italia!
On Monday, we drove to the romanticized and much loved region of Tuscany, three hours from Monica's place in Faenza. It's November in Italy, and while there's no snow, overall it's cloudy, grey and foggy. However, after crossing over the Appenines, the weather immediately became sunnier and warmer. While romantics might encourage thinking this comes from the beauty of Tuscany, Monica assured me it was strictly geographical - there is simply no Po river valley in Tuscany!We stopped first in Cortona and later, after dark, hit Montepulciano. (Side note: turns out that several scenes from the New Moon (Twilight) movie were filmed in Montepulciano. Who knew there were vampires in Italy?) We stopped at a copper smith, who made me a small bookmark while he chatted with Monica (he stamped 8 flowers on it, "One for each children" he winked) and then on to a small winery for some delicious Vino Nobile.
That night, we stayed with their friend, Pietro, who owns a small farmh
ouse in Gallina and had prepared wild boar stew for our visit. Being big cyclists (Monica owns a bike touring company), the next day we biked 26k through the Val d'Orcia to Montalcino. Best. ride. ever (even if I swore my undying hatred to Monica's fiance during the last 6k - an excruciatingly long 7 degree climb to the top of the hilltown. He took it in stride though - at one point, he biked and pushed me with one hand). I was rewarded at the top with a delicious meal of rabbit, polenta and Brunello wine.That evening, the four of us headed to a small public hot spring. Having experienced the onsens of Japan, I was excited, and expecting a small hut, or place to change and wash before entering. Nope. It really was just two pools of hot water at the base of mountain, under a lamppost, next to a road, with some benches around it. It was rustic, and beautiful. A half moon and twinkling stars dangled above the valley, a few naked men lounged along the edge. I couldn't have imagined a better end to the perfect day.
After a late night of drinking Cuban rum and playing board games, we finally rolled out of bed and said goodbye to Pietro, his chickens and his lovely Tuscsan farmhouse. We found our way to Pienza and Siena, the latter being a truly gorgeous city. We crawled home, exhausted, ordered pizza from the shop round the corner. I slept for 12 hours.
I am hard pressed to remember a vacation as satisfying and relaxing as this one. When I backpacked through Rome and Florence in college, I distincly remember not liking it very much. Too many people, too much male attention, too dirty, too touristy. I keep teasing my friends that they've singlehandedly changed my perception of an entire country.
When I arrived on Sunday, Monica took me to a truffle and oil festival. As we chatted with one of the vendors (and smelled his white truffles - wow!), he found out that I'd only be here a week. "That's just enough time to make you stay longer," he said.
He's not wrong.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Kindred Spirits
I returned home from my last trip, little worse for wear (save a wicked cold). Jumped straight into work (again), and then turned around and got on a plane two weeks later to Mombasa, Kenya. There's not much to post about that trip, as I spent it mostly inside a conference room.
Now, I am in Italy - resting - and, following on the advice of Elizabeth Gilbert - eating.
I'm also visiting my good friend and her fiance, whom I love to bits. They recently got engaged and I've never been more excited to look at churches, explore reception areas and discuss life plans. Anne Shirley would call them Kindred Spirits.
Having recently hit a milestone in my life, which I feel really good about, I'm realizing that life is made up of Kindred Spirits. You need these people - the ones that understand you, sniffle with you and call internationally when need be. I would've crawled from Africa to get here.
Anyway, that's my only thought these days. Make friends, keep family close, but keep your kindred spirits closer.
Now, I am in Italy - resting - and, following on the advice of Elizabeth Gilbert - eating.
I'm also visiting my good friend and her fiance, whom I love to bits. They recently got engaged and I've never been more excited to look at churches, explore reception areas and discuss life plans. Anne Shirley would call them Kindred Spirits.
Having recently hit a milestone in my life, which I feel really good about, I'm realizing that life is made up of Kindred Spirits. You need these people - the ones that understand you, sniffle with you and call internationally when need be. I would've crawled from Africa to get here.
Anyway, that's my only thought these days. Make friends, keep family close, but keep your kindred spirits closer.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Four More Days...
I can’t say that I hate Bangladesh, but it’s not winning many bonus points this week. Dhaka is loud, polluted and stinks. The pollution is so bad the air smells acrid, and my throat itches all the time. By the end of the day, my eyes are dry and scratchy. There’s so much dirt and dust kicked up that my sinuses swell and my lymph nodes kick into overdrive, causing my ears to pound and my jaw to hurt. Garbage is ubiquitous, and even if I can’t see it, I can smell the sickly sweet overripe juiciness of it floating in unexpected places. Sometimes its so overpowering, I have to cover my mouth and my nose.
My hotel, although in a “nice” area of town, seems also to be in the direct flight path of every aircraft in the subcontinent, which roars past morning, noon and evening (luckily, I don’t hear them so much at night). I’ve never slept on a harder mattress for more than one night, my feet are always dirty and, as far as I can tell, I am the only person staying here. The all male staff are also, a little too attentive. Plus, I am stuck eating room-service every night (it’s either that or sit by myself in the empty restaurant below, with all the waitstaff watching me).
Sigh. I am trying to keep things in perspective. I just came from a five-star hotel in Colombo, where I’d already spent five weeks of my life. I had a certain level of autonomy – I already had the grocery store scoped out, made a few friends, access to a spa and been able to maintain my healthy with Mr. Gin and Mr. Tonic. Plus, I wasn’t the only foreigner. I was just one of a zillion hotel guests able to come and go as I pleased, with relative anonymity. It was easy to arrive there, do what I needed to do, and have a little fun.
Here, I’m at ground zero all over again. There’s no grocery store. Project staff tell me that there are no restaurants near by (and as far as I can tell, they’re right). I don’t know anyone. There’s a “spa” next door, but it’s quite scary. The first night here, I ventured out by myself, but was hassled so much I just couldn’t take it. What little sights I did see (the National Parliament, the War Memorial) took a long time to get to through awful traffic and weren’t all that exciting to see.
So, for the past five days, I’ve basically been doing the same thing: walking to work, working, eating, walking home from work, talking a walk around the park, working, watching TV, ordering room service, working and sleeping.
So yes, Bangladesh is sucking a little bit. Luckily, I’m not here forever - and tomorrow, I’m heading up-country. Months of travelling in cushy places have sheltered me, but I know I’ll get back in the swing of things. This is culture shock. The project staff are wonderful and I know there is some charm to be had around here….somewhere.
…….hopefully.
My hotel, although in a “nice” area of town, seems also to be in the direct flight path of every aircraft in the subcontinent, which roars past morning, noon and evening (luckily, I don’t hear them so much at night). I’ve never slept on a harder mattress for more than one night, my feet are always dirty and, as far as I can tell, I am the only person staying here. The all male staff are also, a little too attentive. Plus, I am stuck eating room-service every night (it’s either that or sit by myself in the empty restaurant below, with all the waitstaff watching me).
Sigh. I am trying to keep things in perspective. I just came from a five-star hotel in Colombo, where I’d already spent five weeks of my life. I had a certain level of autonomy – I already had the grocery store scoped out, made a few friends, access to a spa and been able to maintain my healthy with Mr. Gin and Mr. Tonic. Plus, I wasn’t the only foreigner. I was just one of a zillion hotel guests able to come and go as I pleased, with relative anonymity. It was easy to arrive there, do what I needed to do, and have a little fun.
Here, I’m at ground zero all over again. There’s no grocery store. Project staff tell me that there are no restaurants near by (and as far as I can tell, they’re right). I don’t know anyone. There’s a “spa” next door, but it’s quite scary. The first night here, I ventured out by myself, but was hassled so much I just couldn’t take it. What little sights I did see (the National Parliament, the War Memorial) took a long time to get to through awful traffic and weren’t all that exciting to see.
So, for the past five days, I’ve basically been doing the same thing: walking to work, working, eating, walking home from work, talking a walk around the park, working, watching TV, ordering room service, working and sleeping.
So yes, Bangladesh is sucking a little bit. Luckily, I’m not here forever - and tomorrow, I’m heading up-country. Months of travelling in cushy places have sheltered me, but I know I’ll get back in the swing of things. This is culture shock. The project staff are wonderful and I know there is some charm to be had around here….somewhere.
…….hopefully.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
In Today's Bangladesh "Daily Star"
...I just don't know what to say to this. Well, ok I have lots to say, but just read it for yourself.
36% women say 'wife beating justified'
Alpha Arzu
A large number of women who are the worst victims of spousal violence believe that husbands have the right to beat up their wives if they neglect their children, argue with husbands or disobey the elders, specially mothers-in-law and fathers-in-law, revealed a government survey recently.
A total of 36 percent women believe that a husband is justified in bashing his wife for any of the aforesaid reasons, but the most widely accepted reason for wife beating among women in the country is disobeying elders like mothers/fathers-in-law, according to the 5th and latest Bangladesh Demographic and Health Survey (BDHS) 2007.
Again, 24 percent women believe that if a husband beats up his wife for disobeying elders is justified, followed by 22 percent who believe that arguing with husbands is justified, 18 percent for going out without telling their husbands while 16 percent for neglecting children is justified. Only nine percent of women feel that denying sex is an acceptable reason for a man to beat up his wife.
On the other hand, 36 percent men aged between 15 and 49 years agree that at least one of the reasons given is sufficient justification for wife beating. Men are most likely to justify beating their wives if they argue with their husbands (25 percent), followed by showing disrespect to elders (23 percent).
Like women, men are least likely to say that refusal to have sex (4 percent) is a ground for wife beating. About 16 percent of men feel that neglecting the children or going out without telling them are justifiable reasons for wife beating.
Forty nine percent married women have ever experienced some forms of physical violence by their husbands, 53 percent have experienced some forms of physical or sexual violence while 13 percent have experienced both types of violence.
Eighteen percent women are physically forced to have sex by their husbands when they do not want to.
The study showed that the most common act of physical violence is slapping. Forty six percent married women are being slapped by their husbands. The next common act of physical violence is being pushed, shaken or having something thrown at them (30 percent).
Almost 17 percent of married women reported that their husbands punch them with their fists or with something that can hurt them. Fifteen percent of women are victims of kicking, dragging and beating. An equal percentage reported that their husbands twist their arms or pulled their hair.
The survey also stated that physical violence is directly related to the duration of the marriage. Thirty percent of women who got married less than five years ago reported having their experience of physical violence, compared with 47 percent of women married off between five and nine years and 54 percent more than 10 years' after their marriage.
Women residing in Chittagong and Sylhet experience less physical violence compared with women in other divisions.
The survey also showed that age at marriage is higher in Chittagong and Sylhet compared with other divisions. Sexual violence is lowest in Sylhet and Khulna while highest in Barisal. Twenty one percent of married women in Barisal reported sexual violence, followed by 20 percent of women in Dhaka.
Bangladesh Mahila Parishad President Ayesha Khanam told The Daily Star, “Vigorous campaign about the rights of women are the best way to stop such violence. This is really unfortunate that male partners or husbands here think that without torturing their female partners, their power is not being exercised.”
On the other hand, there is no alternative to empowering and making women aware of their rights in family. The law enforcement agencies should come forward to stopping such heinous spousal violence, said leader of the women's human rights-based organisation
36% women say 'wife beating justified'
Alpha Arzu
A large number of women who are the worst victims of spousal violence believe that husbands have the right to beat up their wives if they neglect their children, argue with husbands or disobey the elders, specially mothers-in-law and fathers-in-law, revealed a government survey recently.
A total of 36 percent women believe that a husband is justified in bashing his wife for any of the aforesaid reasons, but the most widely accepted reason for wife beating among women in the country is disobeying elders like mothers/fathers-in-law, according to the 5th and latest Bangladesh Demographic and Health Survey (BDHS) 2007.
Again, 24 percent women believe that if a husband beats up his wife for disobeying elders is justified, followed by 22 percent who believe that arguing with husbands is justified, 18 percent for going out without telling their husbands while 16 percent for neglecting children is justified. Only nine percent of women feel that denying sex is an acceptable reason for a man to beat up his wife.
On the other hand, 36 percent men aged between 15 and 49 years agree that at least one of the reasons given is sufficient justification for wife beating. Men are most likely to justify beating their wives if they argue with their husbands (25 percent), followed by showing disrespect to elders (23 percent).
Like women, men are least likely to say that refusal to have sex (4 percent) is a ground for wife beating. About 16 percent of men feel that neglecting the children or going out without telling them are justifiable reasons for wife beating.
Forty nine percent married women have ever experienced some forms of physical violence by their husbands, 53 percent have experienced some forms of physical or sexual violence while 13 percent have experienced both types of violence.
Eighteen percent women are physically forced to have sex by their husbands when they do not want to.
The study showed that the most common act of physical violence is slapping. Forty six percent married women are being slapped by their husbands. The next common act of physical violence is being pushed, shaken or having something thrown at them (30 percent).
Almost 17 percent of married women reported that their husbands punch them with their fists or with something that can hurt them. Fifteen percent of women are victims of kicking, dragging and beating. An equal percentage reported that their husbands twist their arms or pulled their hair.
The survey also stated that physical violence is directly related to the duration of the marriage. Thirty percent of women who got married less than five years ago reported having their experience of physical violence, compared with 47 percent of women married off between five and nine years and 54 percent more than 10 years' after their marriage.
Women residing in Chittagong and Sylhet experience less physical violence compared with women in other divisions.
The survey also showed that age at marriage is higher in Chittagong and Sylhet compared with other divisions. Sexual violence is lowest in Sylhet and Khulna while highest in Barisal. Twenty one percent of married women in Barisal reported sexual violence, followed by 20 percent of women in Dhaka.
Bangladesh Mahila Parishad President Ayesha Khanam told The Daily Star, “Vigorous campaign about the rights of women are the best way to stop such violence. This is really unfortunate that male partners or husbands here think that without torturing their female partners, their power is not being exercised.”
On the other hand, there is no alternative to empowering and making women aware of their rights in family. The law enforcement agencies should come forward to stopping such heinous spousal violence, said leader of the women's human rights-based organisation
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
One of the upshots of travelling alone is that there's no one around with which to share your witty thoughts, pet peeves or general observations. Oftentimes, they're too short for blogging, and too long for Facebook (I'm not on Twitter - if I was, I'd never leave my computer).
As it is, I subsequently end up walking around composing pithy Facebook updates in my head (Mtanga...finds it hard to believe a whole planefull of people could not know about deoderant). However, not wanting to appear as socially isolated (and let's face it, lame) as I really am, most of these posts flicker through my head and then flicker on out.
But, after 24 hours of travel, I've got a buildup. I'm not going to paste them all on Facebook, but the backlog in my head is making it hard to sleep.
Mtanga....
...forgot that cell phone etiquette is a lost art in Sri Lanka. Apparently, Nokia doesn't have a "silent" option for its asian market. If her co-worker answers his phone one more time in the middle of the meeting, she might just shove it down his throat.
...finds the jewlery commercial that starts with "They arranged everything, even our marriage" creepy.
...loves having friends in all corners of the world. Hopes to see them again, soon!
...finds insecure women annoying.
...it's hard to Lose Sarah Marshall when that's the only movie on TV 24/7.
...has to stop leaving her cell phone in the backseat of taxicabs. This is just getting ridiculous.
...hates being watched.
...working at 12 am in Dubai. Either bored, extremely responsible or just lame. Voting lame.
...bought the exact same phone she lost in Sri Lanka, for four bucks cheaper. Let's hear it for global commerce!
...doesn't understand people who unbuckle their seatbelt and bumrush the front of the plane before we're even done taxing. You're not making it any easier for the rest of us!
...would like to give you a lesson in personal space.
...is not afraid to use her elbows.
...battled the world's worst baggage claim, and won.
...the smell of rotting garbage in the hot tropical sun. Yum! Haven't seen any dog-heads yet though, so that's something.
...the delivery of your fruitbasket does not supercede my need to sleep.
As it is, I subsequently end up walking around composing pithy Facebook updates in my head (Mtanga...finds it hard to believe a whole planefull of people could not know about deoderant). However, not wanting to appear as socially isolated (and let's face it, lame) as I really am, most of these posts flicker through my head and then flicker on out.
But, after 24 hours of travel, I've got a buildup. I'm not going to paste them all on Facebook, but the backlog in my head is making it hard to sleep.
Mtanga....
...forgot that cell phone etiquette is a lost art in Sri Lanka. Apparently, Nokia doesn't have a "silent" option for its asian market. If her co-worker answers his phone one more time in the middle of the meeting, she might just shove it down his throat.
...finds the jewlery commercial that starts with "They arranged everything, even our marriage" creepy.
...loves having friends in all corners of the world. Hopes to see them again, soon!
...finds insecure women annoying.
...it's hard to Lose Sarah Marshall when that's the only movie on TV 24/7.
...has to stop leaving her cell phone in the backseat of taxicabs. This is just getting ridiculous.
...hates being watched.
...working at 12 am in Dubai. Either bored, extremely responsible or just lame. Voting lame.
...bought the exact same phone she lost in Sri Lanka, for four bucks cheaper. Let's hear it for global commerce!
...doesn't understand people who unbuckle their seatbelt and bumrush the front of the plane before we're even done taxing. You're not making it any easier for the rest of us!
...would like to give you a lesson in personal space.
...is not afraid to use her elbows.
...battled the world's worst baggage claim, and won.
...the smell of rotting garbage in the hot tropical sun. Yum! Haven't seen any dog-heads yet though, so that's something.
...the delivery of your fruitbasket does not supercede my need to sleep.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Numerology
One of the many conversations I had on the drive between Colombo and Batticaloa involved numerology. Thus far in my life, I'd only encountered numerology in the back pages of Cosmopolitan as yet another quiz to take to tell me things I already knew about myself (Your personality is: Normal! Your skin type is: Combination! You like: Men!)
I was chatting with our accountant whose wife just gave birth to their second child a few weeks ago. He mentioned they hadn't yet chosen a name, but that is had to start with the letter "K", according to the childs numerology. I've heard of different naming conventions across the world, but this was the first time I'd come across numerology.
So what's my number? I asked. Adding the date of the day of my birth (1+7) means my number is 8. According to our Chief of Party (also a believer) this means I am a strong leader, with the potential to go far in life.
Easy for him to say, I thought, so I sought information from the interwebs. According to Spiritual Numerology.com Number 8 is the most powerful of all numbers.
I was chatting with our accountant whose wife just gave birth to their second child a few weeks ago. He mentioned they hadn't yet chosen a name, but that is had to start with the letter "K", according to the childs numerology. I've heard of different naming conventions across the world, but this was the first time I'd come across numerology.
So what's my number? I asked. Adding the date of the day of my birth (1+7) means my number is 8. According to our Chief of Party (also a believer) this means I am a strong leader, with the potential to go far in life.
Easy for him to say, I thought, so I sought information from the interwebs. According to Spiritual Numerology.com Number 8 is the most powerful of all numbers.
You most likely have some of the following strengths and talents at your disposal if the number 8 appears in your numerology chart: You are inspiring, result-oriented, powerful, ambitious, visionary, generous, perseverant, forgiving, broad-minded, money-conscious and self-disciplined. You have the potential for enormous success and the possibility to accumulate great wealth. You are also a good judge of character a natural leader and a survivor.
Some of the following weaknesses, which are associated with the number 8, could slow down or even prevent your progress. Most probably, only one or a few of them will belong to you: You might be stubborn, intolerant, impatient, stressed, materialistic, impatient with people, arrogant and reckless. You have the power to accumulate great wealth, but you also susceptible to loosing everything. You are a gambler, you have a strong desire for luxuries and you can fall for corruption.
Woo-Hoo!
M.
Monday, October 12, 2009
When Fish Sing
I've been spending the better part of my stay in Sri Lanka in Batticaloa. Batticaloa (or Batti) is situated in the Eastern Province of Sri Lanka, about a seven hour car ride from Colombo, on a tiny island. It doesn't really feel like an island - there are bridges connecting the city center with the mainland.
Although I wasn't really impressed during my first visit back in July, it does have a certain charm. It helps that I love Sri Lanka overall, but it also seems to me to be a very laid-back city, surrounded by water and a low key attitude. I may be smelling hope, too. After years of civil war, the roads are finally being repaired and development funds are coming to the city, and the tourism industry is reigniting.
All the guidebooks tout Batticaloa as "the city with the singing fish". I asked our country manager about this, who is not from Batti, and he didn't believe me - until I pointed out the sign under the town archway announcing those very words. I'm always interested in local lore, and truth be told, more than mildly amused by the thought of singing fish.
I've begun asking around about this myth. Surprisingly, the interwebs are relatively quiet on the subject. Here's the obligatory wiki positing; as well as a posting on Batticaloa online which says pretty much the same thing. There's a facebook page, but that doesn't say much.
I've also asked around to my work colleagues and (because I'm generally obnoxious when it comes to this kind of thing) anyone (busboys, drivers, kids on the street...).
The story is more or less the same: If you stand at Lady Manning bridge on Kallady between the hours of 1-3am on a moonlight night, and stick your ear close to an oar in the water, you can hear the fish sing. Some people told me that since the civil war started in the 80's, the fish stopped singing. Others have said that a Father Miller (who recently just left to go back to America) had a recording. Strangely enough, the wiki post also claims that another father had another recording, way back in the 60's.
Coincidentally, my hotel sits on the shoreline of Kallady, right next to Lady Manning bridge. I realized that the reason one must go to the bridge between the hours of 1-3 am is that that is the only time there isn't any noisy traffic. The fish could be singing the entire day, but we'd never know it! I awoke at 11pm last night, and laid awake until 2am, wondering - daring- myself to head out the bridge. However, my desire to not get run over by a truck outweighed by intrinsic interest in all things paranormal. Plus, it wasn't a full moon anyway.
So the mystery remains. I'm going to keep digging. Such a fantastic story requires some looking into.
Although I wasn't really impressed during my first visit back in July, it does have a certain charm. It helps that I love Sri Lanka overall, but it also seems to me to be a very laid-back city, surrounded by water and a low key attitude. I may be smelling hope, too. After years of civil war, the roads are finally being repaired and development funds are coming to the city, and the tourism industry is reigniting.
All the guidebooks tout Batticaloa as "the city with the singing fish". I asked our country manager about this, who is not from Batti, and he didn't believe me - until I pointed out the sign under the town archway announcing those very words. I'm always interested in local lore, and truth be told, more than mildly amused by the thought of singing fish.
I've begun asking around about this myth. Surprisingly, the interwebs are relatively quiet on the subject. Here's the obligatory wiki positing; as well as a posting on Batticaloa online which says pretty much the same thing. There's a facebook page, but that doesn't say much.
I've also asked around to my work colleagues and (because I'm generally obnoxious when it comes to this kind of thing) anyone (busboys, drivers, kids on the street...).
The story is more or less the same: If you stand at Lady Manning bridge on Kallady between the hours of 1-3am on a moonlight night, and stick your ear close to an oar in the water, you can hear the fish sing. Some people told me that since the civil war started in the 80's, the fish stopped singing. Others have said that a Father Miller (who recently just left to go back to America) had a recording. Strangely enough, the wiki post also claims that another father had another recording, way back in the 60's.
Coincidentally, my hotel sits on the shoreline of Kallady, right next to Lady Manning bridge. I realized that the reason one must go to the bridge between the hours of 1-3 am is that that is the only time there isn't any noisy traffic. The fish could be singing the entire day, but we'd never know it! I awoke at 11pm last night, and laid awake until 2am, wondering - daring- myself to head out the bridge. However, my desire to not get run over by a truck outweighed by intrinsic interest in all things paranormal. Plus, it wasn't a full moon anyway.
So the mystery remains. I'm going to keep digging. Such a fantastic story requires some looking into.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Back in 'Bo, Then On to Bat, Ending with a Bang(ladesh)
Arrived in Colombo this evening - after two uneventful and long (13 hrs and 9 hours, respectively) legs. I just kissed three days of my life away and will spend tomorrow in a car driving to Batticaloa on the eastern part of the Island. Four days of non-stop travel is hard on the body, mind and soul.
All told though, it's fun to be back. I've arrived in much better shape than last time and I'm looking forward to connecting with some friends I made here back in July. While I'm normally a proponent of doing new things, it's nice to be in a place that's familiar. Even the much maligned (previously) Cinnamon Grand kind of feels like home.
I'm not sure if that means its time to stop travelling, or that I've finally hit my stride as a business traveller, but no matter. I'm here now and although it's 10:30 pm, I'm wide awake. Time to crack open the Advil PM.
All told though, it's fun to be back. I've arrived in much better shape than last time and I'm looking forward to connecting with some friends I made here back in July. While I'm normally a proponent of doing new things, it's nice to be in a place that's familiar. Even the much maligned (previously) Cinnamon Grand kind of feels like home.
I'm not sure if that means its time to stop travelling, or that I've finally hit my stride as a business traveller, but no matter. I'm here now and although it's 10:30 pm, I'm wide awake. Time to crack open the Advil PM.
Wednesday, October 07, 2009
Random Country Number I'm Not Sure.
I leave tomorrow - heading back to Sri Lanka first - and then on to Bangladesh. Thanks to Dean for schooling me in all things Joan Baez... - M.
SONG OF BANGLADESH (Words and Music by Joan Baez)
Bangladesh, Bangladesh
Bangladesh, Bangladesh
When the sun sinks in the west
Die a million people of the Bangladesh
The story of Bangladesh
Is an ancient one again made fresh
By blind men who carry out commmands
Which flow out of the laws upon which nation stands
Which is to sacrifice a people for a land
Bangladesh, Bangladesh
Bangladesh, Bangladesh
When the sun sinks in the west
Die a million people of the Bangladesh
Once again we stand aside
And watch the families crucified
See a teenage mother's vacant eyes
As she watches her feeble baby try
To fight the monsoon rains and the cholera flies
And the students at the university
Asleep at night quite peacefully
The soldiers came and shot them in their beds
And terror took the dorm awakening shrieks of dread
And silent frozen forms and pillows drenched in red
Bangladesh, Bangladesh
Bangladesh, Bangladesh
When the sun sinks in the west
Die a million people of the Bangladesh
Did you read about the army officer's plea
For donor's blood? It was given willingly
By boys who took the needles in their veins
And from their bodies every drop of blood was drained
No time to comprehend and there was little pain
And so the story of Bangladesh
Is an ancient one again made fresh
By all who carry out commands
Which flow out of the laws upon which nations stand
Which say to sacrifice a people for a land
Bangladesh, Bangladesh
Bangladesh, Bangladesh
When the sun sinks in the west
Die a million people of the Bangladesh
© 1972 Chandos Music (ASCAP)
© 1972 Chandos Music (ASCAP)
Saturday, October 03, 2009
This is Why I Can't Have Nice Things
Two weeks ago, I got a flyer in the mail telling me I was eligible for a phone upgrade. This surprised me, but I was just thinking how crappy my phone is, so I actually read through it. Seemed like a good idea, so I went to the Verizon Wireless store the next day and bought myself the new LG enV Touch.
FANTASTIC!
So fantastic, I should've known it wouldn't last. A mere 12 hours later, round about 2 am, one bottle of wine and one very strange party bus ride later, I left it in the backseat of a random-hailed-down taxi cab.
(facepalm).
I spent last week calling around to every random taxi cab company I could track down that might have light colored cars and a Somali taxi driver with a beard.
One guy literally laughed me right off the phone.
So. This is why I can't have nice things.
I ruin them. :(
D'oh!
M.
FANTASTIC!
So fantastic, I should've known it wouldn't last. A mere 12 hours later, round about 2 am, one bottle of wine and one very strange party bus ride later, I left it in the backseat of a random-hailed-down taxi cab.
(facepalm).
I spent last week calling around to every random taxi cab company I could track down that might have light colored cars and a Somali taxi driver with a beard.
One guy literally laughed me right off the phone.
So. This is why I can't have nice things.
I ruin them. :(
D'oh!
M.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Beyond Our Differences
Tonight, I found myself at a film screening hosted by the Minnesota International Center called "Beyond Our Differences" - a movie about the connective value of global spirtuality. Last winter, I joined MIC and got these free passes to any event (that allowed them) and I've been sitting on them all year. Being cheap, and not wanting to let a good educational opportunity go to waste, I made plans to go.
Admittedly, global spirtuality isn't really my thing. I'm not interested in prosteletyzing and I don't go to church all that much. I invited my friend Megan, who is a pastor in her grown up life, but she had to bail on me due to pastoral duties. Still, in the interest of self-improvement and stepping out, I went.
I was pleasantly surprised - the movie was uplifting, even beautiful. My favorite part was when it listed the golden rule, as spelled out in each of texts of the major religions:
"Do Unto Others as you would have them do unto you" - Christianity
"Putting oneself in the place of another, one should not kill nor cause another to kill" - Buddism
"Blessed is he who preferreth his brother before himself" - Baha'i
"Never impose on others what you would not choose for yourself." -Confucianism
"Hurt no one so that no one may hurt you." - Islam
"That which is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow." - Judaism
I felt validated that it had its roots across so many other faiths. It underscored my own belief that this indeed is the most important way to live your life and the most important sentiment to take away from organized religion. The director interviewed many religious leaders - and highlighted individuals (both well known and not) who were putting their faith into action, and creating new standards for compassion and understanding.
I actually stayed for the dialogue afterwards, and it was super interesting - mostly due to the self-effacing director, Peter Bisanz, at the podium. As soon as the movie closed, a tiny woman in the back row asked: "Why didn't you focus more on the genocides of the world, perpetrated by hate and religious intolerance?"
His answer (to paraphrase): I'm not in the practice of focusing on fear. Others do that too well. I'm in this line of business to create hope and look for connections, not divisions.
(I had to leave before I fell in love with this guy.)
Anyway, it was a super interesting way to spend an evening. Please, go see the movie. It might still be airing on PBS.
Admittedly, global spirtuality isn't really my thing. I'm not interested in prosteletyzing and I don't go to church all that much. I invited my friend Megan, who is a pastor in her grown up life, but she had to bail on me due to pastoral duties. Still, in the interest of self-improvement and stepping out, I went.
I was pleasantly surprised - the movie was uplifting, even beautiful. My favorite part was when it listed the golden rule, as spelled out in each of texts of the major religions:
"Do Unto Others as you would have them do unto you" - Christianity
"Putting oneself in the place of another, one should not kill nor cause another to kill" - Buddism
"Blessed is he who preferreth his brother before himself" - Baha'i
"Never impose on others what you would not choose for yourself." -Confucianism
"Hurt no one so that no one may hurt you." - Islam
"That which is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow." - Judaism
I felt validated that it had its roots across so many other faiths. It underscored my own belief that this indeed is the most important way to live your life and the most important sentiment to take away from organized religion. The director interviewed many religious leaders - and highlighted individuals (both well known and not) who were putting their faith into action, and creating new standards for compassion and understanding.
I actually stayed for the dialogue afterwards, and it was super interesting - mostly due to the self-effacing director, Peter Bisanz, at the podium. As soon as the movie closed, a tiny woman in the back row asked: "Why didn't you focus more on the genocides of the world, perpetrated by hate and religious intolerance?"
His answer (to paraphrase): I'm not in the practice of focusing on fear. Others do that too well. I'm in this line of business to create hope and look for connections, not divisions.
(I had to leave before I fell in love with this guy.)
Anyway, it was a super interesting way to spend an evening. Please, go see the movie. It might still be airing on PBS.
Thursday, September 03, 2009
Eat Your Greens, Leave the Politics
I've finally picked up Michael Pollan's "The Omivore's Dilemma". I'm barely 100 pages in, and I already feel my interest waning. I might be remiss in writing before actually finishing it, but since that's highly unlikely, I'm going to use my only platform to complain about why I'm probably not going to finish it.
The main reason is, while I find food politics interesting, I also find it hard not to get defensive. I understand that it's important to read things you don't necessarily agree with (or assume you won't agree with, seeing as you can't pick up the book for longer than five minutes). But, I have a major obstacle to overcome.
I and many of my friends in the upper midwest grew up on farms, or near farms, in small (getting smaller) towns. All in all, about 2% of the US population is directly involved in agricultural practice (3% if you include indirectly involved individuals such as farm credit bureaus, implement dealers, crop insurance salespeople, etc). And if you think most of these farms are in the hands of evil land-grabbing consolidated "corporate farms" - check out this interesting factsheet from the EPA. 90% are owned an operated by individuals or families.
So, understandably, I get a little irritated when the public eye is turned to agriculture because roughly 98% of the US population has any idea what US agriculture is like. They don't know what it takes to run a farm, live in a deeply rural area and try to make a living while the rest of them live in glass houses and throw stones. Forgive me if it feels a little....off. (Of course, if we were all limited to commenting only on things we knew about, politics and the blogosphere would die off rather quickly......)
Michael Pollan and Eric Schlosser (Fast Food Nation), the summer documentary "Food, Inc" and even last weeks' Time magazine (cover article: The Real Cost of Cheap Food) have all focused public debate recently on environmental negatives of the current agricultural structure (although, to it's credit, Time magazine gave a small nod to farmer's, saying that they're smart enough not to crap all over the land that gives them livelihood. Um, thanks?)
What Michael Pollan, et al have done for us is to put more emphasis on what we put in our bodies. Everyone has a say in that. Everyone has decisions to make when they go to the grocery or (shudder) the fast food joint. I'm not saying things shouldn't change. Every system can be improved. But I do have a problem with placing blame on those who have turned growing food into a business. This is America, after all, we're all driven by capitalism to make things more efficient, including (horrors!) food. Pretending that that doesn't apply to our food systems is just willful ignorance.
I got into a debate with a fellow at work a few weeks ago, who was pontificating pompously about the fabulosity of local organic food. Now, I don't have a problem with local, organic food. However, I find it very hard to have an academic conversation regarding the positives of organic food when the US population at large seems to have issues with eating just plain ol' vegetables regularly. I mean, let's not put the cart before the horse, here.
All of this was driven home today, when I was blithely munching away on my home-made asian chicken breast spring green salad. The director of finance, sitting across from me, blurts out:
Why are YOU eating so healthily?
I blinked at her, trying to measure my retort.
'Why wouldn't I?" I responded.
I may finish the book, who knows.
The main reason is, while I find food politics interesting, I also find it hard not to get defensive. I understand that it's important to read things you don't necessarily agree with (or assume you won't agree with, seeing as you can't pick up the book for longer than five minutes). But, I have a major obstacle to overcome.
I and many of my friends in the upper midwest grew up on farms, or near farms, in small (getting smaller) towns. All in all, about 2% of the US population is directly involved in agricultural practice (3% if you include indirectly involved individuals such as farm credit bureaus, implement dealers, crop insurance salespeople, etc). And if you think most of these farms are in the hands of evil land-grabbing consolidated "corporate farms" - check out this interesting factsheet from the EPA. 90% are owned an operated by individuals or families.
So, understandably, I get a little irritated when the public eye is turned to agriculture because roughly 98% of the US population has any idea what US agriculture is like. They don't know what it takes to run a farm, live in a deeply rural area and try to make a living while the rest of them live in glass houses and throw stones. Forgive me if it feels a little....off. (Of course, if we were all limited to commenting only on things we knew about, politics and the blogosphere would die off rather quickly......)
Michael Pollan and Eric Schlosser (Fast Food Nation), the summer documentary "Food, Inc" and even last weeks' Time magazine (cover article: The Real Cost of Cheap Food) have all focused public debate recently on environmental negatives of the current agricultural structure (although, to it's credit, Time magazine gave a small nod to farmer's, saying that they're smart enough not to crap all over the land that gives them livelihood. Um, thanks?)
What Michael Pollan, et al have done for us is to put more emphasis on what we put in our bodies. Everyone has a say in that. Everyone has decisions to make when they go to the grocery or (shudder) the fast food joint. I'm not saying things shouldn't change. Every system can be improved. But I do have a problem with placing blame on those who have turned growing food into a business. This is America, after all, we're all driven by capitalism to make things more efficient, including (horrors!) food. Pretending that that doesn't apply to our food systems is just willful ignorance.
I got into a debate with a fellow at work a few weeks ago, who was pontificating pompously about the fabulosity of local organic food. Now, I don't have a problem with local, organic food. However, I find it very hard to have an academic conversation regarding the positives of organic food when the US population at large seems to have issues with eating just plain ol' vegetables regularly. I mean, let's not put the cart before the horse, here.
All of this was driven home today, when I was blithely munching away on my home-made asian chicken breast spring green salad. The director of finance, sitting across from me, blurts out:
Why are YOU eating so healthily?
I blinked at her, trying to measure my retort.
'Why wouldn't I?" I responded.
I may finish the book, who knows.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Negotiating Life
I met up with my friend A., in DC this week. We kept missing each other on my previous trips, as she’s spent the past few months in Kenya. She’s leaving her gig at the World Bank and striking out at Yale this fall on a not-too-definite work future.
“Something happened in Kenya,” she said, “Where I realized that ‘no’ doesn’t always mean ‘No.’” I pointed out that sometimes ‘yes’ doesn’t really mean ‘Yes” either and we chuckled together, knowingly (she has Midwestern roots, like me). But it got me thinking.
I recently read a book called “Women Don’t Ask”, about gender and negotiating. The book was so depressing I could only skim most of it (hence my previous disgusted flame post below), but it raised a good point. Women don’t make demands, even if they are reasonable. And, if you don’t ask, you don’t get.
One of the things that stuck me from the book was that men see themselves negotiating in every day life and women don’t really think about it. Women were hard pressed to come up with a solid example (besides negotiating with kids, which is no small feat) of using these skills often enough to warrant even a memory. Simply put, men see everything as a potential negotiation whereas it doesn’t really occur to us women that we could be negotiating! (Aside: This lead me to ask for a discount in my tires last week, and I got it!)
A.and I talked about the double standard between women being treated like a doormat or being labeled a bitch (or, my personal favorite, “emotional”). Personally, I fight between standing up for myself and being liked at work all the time. It’s a tough line. We both decided that as we get older, we get more confident in ourselves, and much bolder.
“I just finally realized that if something that will mean THIS MUCH (arms out for emphasis) to me, means someone might have to give thismuch (fingers pinched) for me, it was worth asking. Not only in gratitude, but also in the ways I could pay it forward.” A. said.
I couldn’t agree more. I also think that if we don’t ask for the moon either, we won’t get it. I met a women in Sri Lanka who had taken five months of unpaid leave from her job to finish up field research for her master’s degree. When I asked her how she’d finagled that, she said she’d been emboldened by a book on women and negotiation and decided to ask for more. In the end, her company even helped her secure a visa into the country!
Turns out, that we women so undervalue ourselves that we’re happier with less. Even when we ask for something, we don’t go far enough. After reading this book, it occurred to me that I’d fallen into this trap on my last salary negotiation (which is about the time I put down the book…). Also, as a sidebar, I don’t necessarily agree that this is a bad thing - the concept of “enough” seems to be lost on the general America public.
But the fact remains, that we’re getting short-changed and double-standarded all over the place. If we play hardball, women are seen as ‘difficult’. If we try to get along, we do twice the work with less compensation.
There is a fellow at my work who claims that because he has a Master’s degree, he shouldn’t be photocopying thing all the time. His statement made me angry, but it made me even angrier that I have a Master’s degree and this thought didn’t even occur to me (perhaps because I'm not a pompous ass).
Anyway, I congratulated A. I admire her. She’s taking some big risks, hoping that this ‘no’ can eventually be turned into something she wants. When we stretch ourselves beyond what we think is possible, that’s when we find true happiness.
“Something happened in Kenya,” she said, “Where I realized that ‘no’ doesn’t always mean ‘No.’” I pointed out that sometimes ‘yes’ doesn’t really mean ‘Yes” either and we chuckled together, knowingly (she has Midwestern roots, like me). But it got me thinking.
I recently read a book called “Women Don’t Ask”, about gender and negotiating. The book was so depressing I could only skim most of it (hence my previous disgusted flame post below), but it raised a good point. Women don’t make demands, even if they are reasonable. And, if you don’t ask, you don’t get.
One of the things that stuck me from the book was that men see themselves negotiating in every day life and women don’t really think about it. Women were hard pressed to come up with a solid example (besides negotiating with kids, which is no small feat) of using these skills often enough to warrant even a memory. Simply put, men see everything as a potential negotiation whereas it doesn’t really occur to us women that we could be negotiating! (Aside: This lead me to ask for a discount in my tires last week, and I got it!)
A.and I talked about the double standard between women being treated like a doormat or being labeled a bitch (or, my personal favorite, “emotional”). Personally, I fight between standing up for myself and being liked at work all the time. It’s a tough line. We both decided that as we get older, we get more confident in ourselves, and much bolder.
“I just finally realized that if something that will mean THIS MUCH (arms out for emphasis) to me, means someone might have to give thismuch (fingers pinched) for me, it was worth asking. Not only in gratitude, but also in the ways I could pay it forward.” A. said.
I couldn’t agree more. I also think that if we don’t ask for the moon either, we won’t get it. I met a women in Sri Lanka who had taken five months of unpaid leave from her job to finish up field research for her master’s degree. When I asked her how she’d finagled that, she said she’d been emboldened by a book on women and negotiation and decided to ask for more. In the end, her company even helped her secure a visa into the country!
Turns out, that we women so undervalue ourselves that we’re happier with less. Even when we ask for something, we don’t go far enough. After reading this book, it occurred to me that I’d fallen into this trap on my last salary negotiation (which is about the time I put down the book…). Also, as a sidebar, I don’t necessarily agree that this is a bad thing - the concept of “enough” seems to be lost on the general America public.
But the fact remains, that we’re getting short-changed and double-standarded all over the place. If we play hardball, women are seen as ‘difficult’. If we try to get along, we do twice the work with less compensation.
There is a fellow at my work who claims that because he has a Master’s degree, he shouldn’t be photocopying thing all the time. His statement made me angry, but it made me even angrier that I have a Master’s degree and this thought didn’t even occur to me (perhaps because I'm not a pompous ass).
Anyway, I congratulated A. I admire her. She’s taking some big risks, hoping that this ‘no’ can eventually be turned into something she wants. When we stretch ourselves beyond what we think is possible, that’s when we find true happiness.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)