Discovery

The Plan In Its Current Form...

2009-06-11T00:09:00.000-07:00

My plans for the next few months are actually pretty firm at this point, so I wanted to share a brief sketch with you all.
Now –June 26: final weeks of regular classes.
June 26 - July 1: final trip to Tokyo.
July 2 - July 17: final weeks of irregular classes, graduations, and good-bye parties.
July 18 - July 26: return to Chiiori in Shikoku and return to Kumano Kodo in Wakayama to “do it right”
July 27 – August 1: Return home to finish cleaning and emptying my house, meet my replacement, and help him settle in.
August 2 – 9: final travel in Japan, including hiking up Mt. Fuji, and possibly the Japanese Alps and Sea of Japan.
August 10/11. Leave Japan from Osaka, take train to Shimonoseki, ferry to Pusan in S. Korea, then train to Seoul.
August 11-13?: chill in Korea somewhere, maybe meet David Q.
August 14: Fly from Seoul to Hanoi, Vietnam.
The rest of August: Hopefully met up with Deborah H. Chill in Vietnam and make our way south.
Late August: Enter Cambodia and go to Phnom Penh, where Deborah has an internship.
September: travel around Cambodia with possible trips to Laos, Thailand, Malaysia, etc.
Early October: Fly to New Delhi, India.
October: Travel around India looking for volunteer opportunity.
November-March: hopefully be involved in some meaningful contribution to the betterment of humanity, or something like that, with one major pause to check out Nepal.
April: Fly to Kenya... and from that point things are too vague to keep putting them in concrete words!

That’s how things look at this point, and it’s all just around the corner! I like how this buffer of friends has sprouted up between Japan and India. Going straight to India might have been a traumatic shock to my system. If anyone has any tips, insights, or questions, let me know! And as always I’ll do my best to keep you all informed!

Tokyo

2009-04-23T00:44:00.000-07:00

The Next Adventure

2009-04-19T18:50:00.000-07:00

I'm getting very excited about the upcoming vacation, and not only because I'll be anywhere but in work! Through some strategic vacation requests, I've connected several state holidays to get myself 12 days free starting next week. The weather has turned friendly, and I've been itching to make another walking trip, perhaps not so extreme as the previous such trip in CZ (and hopefully without the limping and pressure and what not). I was going to walk from Nara to Ise, which is about 100 km through slightly mountainous country. Ise is the most important Shinto shrine in Japan, and I see it referenced in all kinds of novels and histories, and it seems like something I should see. Making a "pilgrimage" from Nara, the ancient capital and spiritual heart of the country seemed especially appropriate. However, I was reminded by a friend that tourists can't actually see the shrines at Ise. Even today only the Imperial family is allowed access to the actual shrines, while everyone else has to be content with replicas outside. That seemed a little anti-climatic for a 4 day pilgrimage.
So I did a little research, and stumbled upon information about an ancient (over 1000 years old) pilgrimage route through the mountains of Wakayama prefecture (the prefecture to the south of my home). The path is still maintained, and it weaves through the mountains connecting 33 shrines and temples. There are campgrounds along the way, and many hikers even just find campsites for themselves wherever they want to stop. It sounds absolutely perfect and idyllic, especially now that I've found maps and won't be wandering through the rather inhospitable Japanese mountains. For more information and pictures check out this site: http://www.tb-kumano.jp/en/kumano-kodo/index.html, or check back here in about three weeks!

Ladies and Gentlemen, the XSi Has Arrived!

2009-03-30T23:43:00.001-07:00

3 days, 5 prefectures, 10 million cherry blossoms, 1 new camera, 3 lenses, 1200 pictures... Let's see what this baby can do!!
(note, this blog seems to oversaturate pictures slightly, and I had to cut the size down to about 10% to post them)

What I've Been Up To..

2009-03-23T23:43:00.000-07:00

I Like Sumo!! Who knew?!
Enkai! (lots of seafood and alcohol is not a great idea)

Azuma-san!! A retired sailor who has adopted me. :-)

Andrew took me to taiko practice!

Showing great form...

A ceramic artist who lives near my village..

I guess this is as good a time as any to introduce the future Mrs. House!

Boiled boar meat with vegetables (Nakashi-san shot the pig himself!)

You never know what you're going to find on the streets of Osaka!

Chillin' in Nara after the fire festival..

Being an ALT in Japan

2009-03-19T00:50:00.000-07:00

I’ve realized that many of my friends and family members find it difficult to understand the details of my work in Japan; not so much the concrete details of the situation, which are easy enough to explain if taken at face value, but rather the forces behind my situation. That of course makes perfect sense, since Japan’s inscrutability lies not in the ripples and eddies on the surface, but it stops the explorer in his tracks when the source of those surface stirrings are sought.
My job title is “Assistant Language Teacher,” or ALT. The first word is the most important thing to understand when asking “how’s teaching in Japan?” In the sense that I taught English in Prague for several years, in my own classroom with my own students where my prerogative was never once obstructed, I don’t actually “teach” here. My job is to “assist” the Japanese English teachers. That role, of course, is wide open for interpretation.
ALTs never know what to expect until the first week of classes, it all depends on how the Japanese English Teacher (JTE) wants to use them. Some are unceremoniously thrown into class and basically charged with planning and teaching everything, which the JTE sits in the back of the class and watches. Other ALTs are never asked to do anything, and basically become a “walking tape-player,” asked to read a vocabulary list for pronunciation practice at the beginning of each class, then left to stand in a corner of the front of class while the JTE teaches in Japanese. These are the extremes, and the particulars can fall anywhere in the middle. Many ALTs work at more than one school over the course of the week, so work at each school can be radically different depending on the JTE they’re working with at the moment.
I work primarily (four days a week) at one rural Jr. High school, with about 100 students and 13 teachers. On the ALT-responsibility scale my role leans heavily towards the “walking tape-player” side. I read vocabulary lists and sentences which the students repeat, ask them questions, and sometimes administer a (usually predetermined) game like hangman or pictionary. In the Jr. High I have no lesson planning, no responsibility, and never deliver new material unless I accidentally stumble upon a word the students don’t know (which the JTE promptly translates and the students promptly forget).
I should note here that my weekly visits to Elementary schools are the complete opposite, where I have almost complete control over the lesson subject and delivery, and communicating with the students is basically on my shoulders since the teachers often understand no more than the students (many pictures and hand-motions come into play). For many ALTs, Elementary schools are what keep us from turning into office vegetables. But most of the work week is spent standing in a corner of class or sitting in the office, left largely to our own devices (as is the case as I write this).
This is pretty straightforward, but the headache begins when you try to understand why this situation exists. The JET program, which is the government-sponsored primary supplier of ALTs to public schools, has existed for over 20 years, and was founded to increase the population’s English-speaking ability and comfort-level with foreigners. From rather humble beginnings the program in 2007 administered 5,119 foreign ALTs from 41 countries scattered from one tip of Japan to the other. The salaries alone costs the (local) government well over an annual $150,000,000 a year, not including the paid-for round-trip flight, hotel stays, conferences, and administrative salaries and expenses, which doubtlessly add tens of millions. It all looks very grand, which might actually be the most important thing.
On the ground-level, however, the picture is very different, and often consists of a foreigner sitting in an office chair with nothing to do for hours on end. I have an average of 2.5 hours of class time (much of which is spent standing quietly by) in a 9 hour work day, and in the current 3-week period (graduation time) I am paid (as it works out to be) $17.60 an hour, for 90 hours in the school, with a grand total of 6.75 hours in class. Clearly, there must be something going on here.
And this is where the fun begins. As always, the first thing to do is to follow the money. The most important thing to understand is that the schools where the ALT works do not hire the ALT. The choice to hire an ALT comes from the local Board of Education (BOE), which is the local office that coordinates all the schools in the area. So the decision to bring in the ALT is not made by the people who will be working and making use of him or her, but by a third party. So the hiring is not based on need, but on (ideally) perceived need, or (more probably) on the notion that it would be cool to have a foreigner in the school. Thus the (implied) conversation, in my mind, often goes something like this:
BOE: “Look, we got you a foreigner! Isn’t that cool?”
Teachers: “Great! What do we do with him?”
BOE: “He’ll assist you however you want! Have fun!”
Teachers, quietly (very quietly) to themselves: “Now what?”
The fact is that the schools don’t need the ALTs, not in the strictest sense. And in most cases the Japanese teachers have no idea how to use them, while the ALTs have no idea how they ought to be used. These teachers have been teaching the same curriculum and the same lessons for years, and to fully incorporate a “team-teacher” as an equal member of class (if they are even interested in such a notion) would entail a complete restructuring of the material with the ALT from square one. And this restructuring would have to be repeated with each new ALT, which can change every 1-3 years. A few teachers actually do it, but most (understandably) just don’t have the time, interest, or energy.
What are some other reasons that a capable English teach gets turned into a highly paid tape-player?
To be fair I should note that my situation might be conductive to more friction than usual, because I’ve already worked as a teacher, and I know how to plan lessons, explain grammar, target specific vocabulary with fun activities, etc. Many ALTs come straight from college with very little understanding of English when looking at it as a foreign language. The JTEs know this, or realize it pretty quickly, and learn to give the ALT no more than he can handle.
I’m also very aware that my JTEs are uncomfortable with asking me to do any work, as ridiculous as that sounds. I’ll avoid going deeply into Japanese mentality, but the general rule is that you don’t cause inconvenience for anyone unless they are clearly lower on the totem-pole. The hierarchy is absolute, and everyone knows where they stand. But throw in a foreign, male, young, experienced teacher such as myself, and the Japanese are totally at sea. So even though I’ve often verbally expressed my eagerness to do anything that will help them, have made no secret (non-verbally) of being pretty darn bored, and have cheerfully accepted every request no matter how last-minute or mundane, they still have no idea how to approach me without the hierarchy to guide them. The smallest request of preparing a game of hangman or reading an article comes with more nervous smiles and apologies then I can shake a stick at.
And really, there’s not a lot more they could ask of me without going far out of their way, so in some ways my forcing them to let me help them more would be rather selfish, truthfully more to appease my boredom than to make work easier for them. The Japanese system of English teaching hasn’t changed with the presence of thousands of foreigners, and the textbook must still be taught page by page, the exams must be prepared for question by question, and the students must be shielded from the discomfort of what they don’t understand (until the textbook says they’re ready). Any deviation from this course risks students not making it farther in the system, to the right High School and right University. For a foreigner who can’t speak Japanese, there’s not really a legitimate place in this system, and the Japanese teachers probably (subconsciously at least) know this as well as anyone, and certainly better than the “higher-ups” who have spent billions of dollars over the years to import these foreigners. The Japanese bureaucracy seems especially susceptible to this universally governmental way of thinking, which I liken to noticing a loose screw in the table across the room and therefore throwing screw-drivers at it until something sticks. With regards to the JET program, nothing has stuck. Without going deeply into it (this could be the topic of an article in itself), both statistically and anecdotally there has been no large-scale change in English fluency or comfort with foreigners.
However, as I sit at my desk trying to fill the time, feeling like a parasite on the system and quietly frustrated that I was invited to the other side of the world and then given nothing to do, the most frightening realizations come when I look at myself from the perspective of the busy teachers around me. I’ve heard that when Japanese employees are introduced to a new office job, they are often given no training or specific duties, and they are not told what to do (a product, from the perspective of his colleagues, of the “do what you should, inconvenience no one” motto). A new employee might spend the first month sitting at his desk, just observing and trying to figure out what he should do, then slowly finding a use for himself and adapting to the new job. This is alarming because while I sit here frustrated about not being given any work, those around me might be frustrated that after 7 months here I haven’t found any work.
For a few weeks I tried to operate under this assumption, but speaking almost no Japanese means that I rarely know what’s going on around me, and also usually couldn’t help with it anyway (as far as the preparation, teaching, and paper-work goes). And again, the school is well-staffed before the ALT arrives; there are no obvious niches left unfilled. So I began to make a point of asking my JTEs if there was anything I could do to help them. It became very clear that since I had asked (perhaps suggesting too clearly that I was bored), they felt obligated to find something for me to do. After a few weeks of making cross-word puzzles that never got used and other blatant busy-work, I stopped asking.
One reason the teachers might be so hesitant to give responsibility over to an ALT (besides the obvious reasons) is the feeling that they are shirking their duties if they allow a foreigner to take too much of their work. The work-ethic here is very much about keeping up appearances, and allowing a newcomer to do too much of your work might be seen as laziness. This is why I’m so surprised to hear about ALTs who have the opposite problem, getting no support from their JTE and basically being given all the JTE’s work. This might be the result of a different problem, that many Japanese English teachers can’t actually speak English. They can teach the textbook because they’ve basically memorized it, and perhaps even teach it well, but – as is the case with one of my JTEs – when it comes to practical competence with English it’s a real struggle to have even the simplest conversation. By way of example, I once asked my JTE “is this the last week of school?” “Yes yes,” he nodded agreeably. An hour later he came to me and said “Sorry, I not understand. This not last week.” This is not uncommon, and these teachers are painfully aware of the absurdity of their situation. Being a face-conscious society, I’m assuming that many teachers would rather take the risk of criticism by having the ALT teach their classes completely than risk the ridicule they fear by exposing their English in front of a native English speaker. In any case, changing, breaking into, fitting into, or even communicating with the system looked like a brick wall.
I then turned to the students, since they are why I’m here anyway, in principle. I tried to mix with them and communicate with them in their short breaks between classes. This has not been a complete failure, though it still consists primarily of the wilder boys grouping around me and shouting “Hey! Hey! Hey!” and the girls giggling and shying away. Because of the firm adherence to text-book teaching, even students who can read basic English can’t say or make out the simplest sentences (and if it’s a sentence that deviates remotely from the form in which it appears in the text book, then forget it). And really, they are young teenagers in a very remote village of a few thousand people in the middle of an island. English is associated with the wide world far outside the reach of their experience, a world that hasn’t quite become real to them and certainly has manifested no real connection with their lives. To them, as to Japan generally, I am a source of interest and uncertainty, balancing each other to create a boundary above and beyond the language barrier.
The one success I have managed was to stop waiting for interest, and began giving written messages to students that I thought might be interested in communication, asking them questions about their life and interests. A few wrote back, and one especially has enthusiastically entered into a weekly correspondence of sorts, inspiring him to buy an English-Japanese dictionary and do English research online. Well, one student out of a hundred isn’t exactly heartening, but it’s a success nonetheless.
As far as classes go nothing has changed, and I’ve basically accepted the state of walking into class with no idea of what the lesson will be about or what the teacher will ask me to do. I used to hunt down the teachers days or hours before and ask them what would happen in each class and what they would like me to do, but often enough that all suddenly changed once class started and I still had to impromptu, or let my prepared activities fall by the wayside. This was actually more frustrating, so eventually I stopped asking.
The final irony of the situation is the contradictory mentality towards foreigners in Japanese culture. In a word, foreigners are “exotic,” with all the privileged and demeaning elements that entails. We are important enough that 5,000 of us are injected into the main-stream of the public school system yearly, and seen to be gifted enough that our mere presence should turn the country’s problems with internationalism around. However, we are unpredictable, in a land where “different” and “wrong” is the same word. The JET rules for the whole country dictate that an ALT should never ever be left unsupervised with students, that he is subordinate not only to the program, the BOE, and the school leadership, but also to each of the (real) teachers, and (most tellingly) that the ALT should not be allowed to connect his own computer to the school network (and so be able to access the deep secrets and national security information that I’m sure my rural Jr. High school is privy to. Seriously, though, the reason for not allowing us to connect is that we might misuse the information that every other (Japanese) employee of the school has access to). Now from a safety standpoint I can see the rationale, but coming straight from “Wild West” of ESL teaching in Czech Republic, where a US passport means that you are more automatically more qualified to teach English then Czech teachers who have spent years studying pedagogy, where I was thrown unsupervised into a class of elementary school students on my first day, and in 4 years of teaching was never once observed or told what to teach, well, comparatively it seems that Japan could muster up the courage to believe that the most rigorous application process I’ve ever experienced has produced employees that they can trust.
And so I’ve finally had to learn to be content with feeling like a parasite, and having lots of time to do my own writing, reading, emailing, staring out the window, and getting paid for it. But believe me, it’s not all it’s cracked out to be. I always try to remind myself that it could be worse. My school is neutrally friendly, and JTEs are easy to work with. I’ve heard stories of JTEs that were blatantly hostile to their ALTs, even actively trying to get them removed. One of my friends here broke-off his contract half way through and returned home because the students in his school were so out of control and violent that he feared for his safety. But that’s another story. In any case, I have it pretty easy, maybe too easy to handle for more than a year.
And that is my understanding, thus far, of why I have to talk about my “work” in quotations, and why I’d feel guilty adding this year to my “teaching” resume. It has, however, been a very Japanese experience!

Trembling Into a Brave New World, Again

2009-01-31T06:04:00.000-08:00

I’ve been thinking a lot about my goals lately, which is never a bad idea. I left Prague to expand my horizons, but not only in a physical and abstract sense (since in the case of some travel these two can go hand-in-hand), but in a tangible comprehension of the most intangible of questions: “What is man?” “How does the world work” “What does it all mean?” I’d watched myself often slide into comfortable armchair explanations of the Problem of Pain, the Meaning of Life, and the Insanity of Humanity, but I knew I had no grounds to speak for and of people on whose ground I had never stood. The only solution (discounting the option of not talking about things I knew nothing about), was to go and see and find out.
The “going and seeing” part is no great burden in this day and age. While every new place seems to be teetering on the distant edge of the world in the eyes of those who have never been there, once you arrive the welcome party consists of a thousand people who have made the same journey, done the same things, and are already setting out for another not-quite-distant edge of the map.
The “finding out” is the true rub. The mantra of the foreign community in Japan says that after a week in Japan, you’re prepared to write a book on the subject, after a month you can get through a few paragraphs of hard facts, and after a year you find that there aren’t two words you can say that hold together. It’s that kind of place.
All in all, in setting out in a grand pursuit to understand the depth and breadth and true power of culture in the world today, I’ve landed in the Goliath of cultural understanding. Every world traveler I’ve spoken to or read in recent months has unhesitatingly named Japan as the most alien, most other-worldly place one can find. Every new experience and piece of information neatly punctures the ballooning theory thus far inflated, and no sooner is the new element incorporated and the theory puffed up again then the next missile-like encounter appears. The Japanese are very private. The Japanese are very friendly. The Japanese are very tolerant. The Japanese are very nationalistic. The country is very advanced. The country is very backwards. They want to be like America. They don’t want to be like anyone but themselves. They are very cultured. They are completely out of touch with their culture. They are extremely homogenous, but then how to explain such a diversity of contradictions? They are completely different from westerners. In what way? In no way. After 6 months here the only hard, undeniable foundation of fact I’ve been able to lay down is that the Japanese like rice, and they follow the rules. Anything else feels like nailing jell-o to a tree.
And so I put aside my goals of brotherly, multicultural, interracial, bridge-building, human-to-human understanding for a few months and focused on keeping my head above the rising sea of my own assumptions. Now, being half way through my time in Japan, I’ve started to realize the urgency of my situation. In no ways do I want to drift through, check off another country, snap some pictures, add some stories to my repertoire and move on. I want answers. I want to know the distance between “everywhere you go, people are people” and “I felt like I was on a different planet!” What does make us all one species? What makes us stare at each other in shock? On a planet of 6 billion separate worlds that are all shifting, mixing, absorbing, and clashing at a rate never seen in all history, how then ought we to live?
Some thoughts are beginning to surface, less absolutes than a categorization of what is not absolute, but perhaps those are the lines that must be drawn in before the painting can begin. Meanwhile, I’m finally trying to map out the big picture again. After July I hope to spend two months going through Vietnam and Cambodia, possibly Thailand, Malaysia and Burma, on the way to India. I still want to spend six months in India, though the details are still elusive.
Just before I came to Japan I chose a phrase to guide my search for answers, that being: “How do we live, how do we want to live, and how ought we to live?” Getting at the answers has been touch-and-go, but at least it grants some sensitivity to my internal “significant statement” alarm. My new brainchild, as yet uninitiated, is to ask two questions of everyone possible, especially as I travel through some of the most affluent and deprived countries in the world: “What one thing would you most like changed in your life?” and “What do you think could make that happen?” I hope to record these answers and start piecing together some understanding of humanity’s values, hopes, dreams, and perceptions of the world.
To backtrack for one final point; as headache-inducing as Japan has been philosophically, I expect India to be the fuse in this two-year attempt to make my head explode. From the very beginning, India frightened me, and the more I learn, the more I adjust to Japan, the more I learn about my own flaws and sensitivities, the more I wish I could find an excuse to avoid India altogether. But I know that my growing trepidation is the very proof that India is exactly where I have to go. Still, it is never easy to face something that you know, with absolute certainty, will change you forever in a completely unpredictable way. I learned long ago that “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” is completely ridiculous. There are so many other results of not dying.
The greatest instigator in my increasing concern is an increasing understanding of the difference between Japan and India. One thing is certain, while a year ago I might have been even more wet behind the ears than I am now, I sure knew how to pick countries! If the goal is to dive into the great worlds of culture, each as different from each other as they are from the west, I don’t know how I could have done it better. The shock, the pure, invasive, staggering shock, is going to be phenomenal. I can only hope that a few months in neighboring countries might dampen the blow, but I still fully expect to be crushed. But then that, after all, is the point. It’s a broken world, how can I touch it without being broken by it?
I’ve recently become enamored with a new author, Pico Iyer, a travel writer of great perception, energy, and an unmatched way of capturing the spirit of a place with words. To understand what I have ahead of me, I’m going to let Pico paint a picture of the two places he knows well. The first passage might be difficult to really grasp for anyone not familiar with Japan, but in all its mysterious references, quiet strength, and longing for something just beyond the shadows, this passage IS Japan for me:

The people all around me on this shiny autumn morning, refulgent and cloudless – though the trees are beginning to turn, and today, for the very first time, we put on thicker sweaters – are the very old, the very young; the others are off tending the fires of official Japan. I walk across the path in midmorning, and see old ladies walking with canes, out to get exercise as the leaves come down, or, as often, with tiny creatures by their sides, pointing out to them the cosmos flowers, that dog in winter coat. The very old and the very young live on the edge of things – though they’re central in Japan – and are closer to the woods; they don’t have to go and check in on the daylight world. They can talk, or make up stories, about creatures still known as kamisama here, or nature’s gods.
The grandparents weren’t such good parents themselves, perhaps, when they were young; but nature is affording them a second chance. They have time now – in the short term – and freedom, while it lasts, to pass on whatever their grandparents passed on to them. To tell the toddlers at their side that the fox who waits at the edge of the trees isn’t really a fox at all; to say that that stranger who sits in the frame on the shrine isn’t a stranger at all, but their grandmother’s grandmother. The children, lost in their own games, don’t bother to say that there isn’t a picture of any old woman on the shrine at home, and they know the foxes they see on TV aren’t real. That’s what makes them special.
They listen, because that’s what they’re supposed to do; perhaps they nod. And, being natural lawbreakers, they tell their grandparents a thing or two, about what that animal is saying to its owner, and what the secret name of that tree is. Their fathers are seldom visible, and their mothers are chafing against the uncertainties of a world of 7-Elevens and feudal rites; but the deer, the badgers stay the same.
(Sun After Dark, Vintage Departures, New York, 2004, pg 146-7).

That, at least in essence and atmosphere, is the world I’ve inhabited for the last half year, and will become more comfortable in the next half year. Now, compare that to the spirit of my next destination, the next place I will try to get my head around and somehow understand how it inhabits the same world as Japan, as California, as Prague, to somehow capture the “human element” in it all that can make strangers friends and foreigners brothers.

Movies were everywhere in India. But then everything was superabundant in India: signs, shrines, spices, smells, men, gods, beggars, cows, sobs, titters, marvels, horrors and more marvels. India itself seemed all perpetual motion and emotion, an overfull, overbright, overdone triptych by Hieronymus Bosch. Here was life, not on the grand, but on the epic scale, the Human Comedy, the Human Tragedy, played out on streets filled with too many people, too many feelings, too many schemes. India itself was simply too much.
The country’s recent history alone was something of a tumultuous spectacle, piled higher with incident and thicker with Tragedy, Comedy, Melodrama – proliferate plotting and non-stop action – than any movie on earth. In the few months before I arrived in India, its longtime, risen-and-fallen-and-rerisen Prime Minister had sent her army to storm a sacred golden shrine, and then had been killed by her own bodyguards. Her son, who had never before held office, became Prime Minister. Riots swept through the capital; men were burned alive, whole settlements were put to the torch, trains rolled through the countryside piled high with bloody bodies. Five weeks later, a cloud of poison gas had escaped from a chemical plant, killing thousands as they slept, in the worst industrial accident in history. Three weeks after that, the world’s largest democracy had held a national election. A typhoon in neighboring Bangladesh had killed as many as 20,000 people and swept whole islands into the sea. An Air-India plane had suddenly, inexplicably, fallen from the heavens, and 329 people had been killed, in one of the worst airline disasters ever recorded. A peace agreement between the Hindus and Sikhs had been reached at last, following which the moderate leader of the Sikhs was promptly assassinated by his followers. Meanwhile, civil war continued in Sri Lanka, there was more unrest in Assam and each day brought news of another politician gunned down by turban terrorists.
Yet this constant explosion of eventfulness was, if anything, even more unrelenting on the small scale. For the sights of India are, to a large extent, the streets themselves, and the streets are chaotic open-air stages presenting life in the raw and humanity in the round. Through the avenues of Bombay stream sadhus and shamans, bullocks carts and cows, rickshaws, rusty Ambassadors, turbaned men and veiled women, three-legged dogs, two-toed beggars, buses and bicycles and rites and sights and more people, more soldiers, more cows. Bleeding into this pandemonium is the confusion of the temples – not, as a rule, havens of meditation and quiet, but the Indian compendium all over again, a bombardment of sights and sounds and smells, monkeys, flames, chants, offerings, holy men, pilgrims, wonder-workers, musicians, more rites, more sights, more people. The streets of India are swollen with an embarrassment of riches, a richness of embarrassments. And it is on the streets that millions live, make love, defecate, and die.
(Video Night in Kathmandu, Vintage Departures, New York, 1988, pg 258-9)

As someone who has said, with full acknowledgement of all its implications, that “to ignore the ugly truths of reality is a slippery slope to perpetuating them”, how can I slip by a place such as this, crossing over to the other side of the street and tip-toeing by? At the whiff of real challenge and real failure, how can my chest not swell and my back tingle? How can I not be terrified? And while the world is certainly not getting any easier, or friendlier, or more loving, neither, it seems, am I. Though my mission to change the world has somehow morphed into a desperation to change myself, the two might not be so very different after all.
Another well worn phrase comes to mind: “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet!”

We Are The Zulu Warriors of Japan

2009-01-31T06:01:00.000-08:00

I don’t think we were actually lost. We knew more or less where we were, it just wasn’t clear where we would be next. Our walk from rural Japan to even more rural Japan had taken longer than we expected, and now the approaching evening brought autumn’s first nip to the air. All we wanted was to find the quickest way home.
However, according to the half hour consultation with the inevitably overly-helpful lady at the village office, my fellow JET Keith (who fortunately CAN speak Japanese, unlike his hiking partner) gleaned that our only option was the long process of taking a bus to the nearest city, walking across town to the train station, and from there catching the train home.
When the bus arrived it was completely empty of passengers, which was a blessing for me since this was my first time on a Japanese bus and I made at least three protocol mistakes before even getting into a seat. We sat immediately opposite the doors, and basked in the countryside that rolled by outside, keeping our eyes peeled for sudden flashes of “the Real Japan”; a hidden shrine here, an old woman in a colorful kimono there, and everywhere covert double-takes from people who noticed the two pale faces peering into their world from behind the bus window.
After a few stops without any addition to the short passenger list, we came to a stop that, from our perspective, appeared to be empty as well. But when the double doors to our left slammed open, we were instantly caught in the beam of 20 saucer-sized eyes gaping up at us. Ten knee-high, uniformed, speechless elementary school students stood outside, frozen in... in what? Not exactly terror, or interest, or confusion. Maybe it was a combination of all these, or simply a shock strong enough to shut down their brains for a second, like the deer in the headlights that pauses for a moment to contemplate whether it’s about to be raptured into deer heaven, be abducted by aliens, or hit by a truck. It’s a look that every foreign resident of Japan must learn to accept, and ideal even enjoy.
After a long moment the children managed to push one of their number up onto the bus stairs to test the waters, like penguins testing for seals. Keith and I had no intention of passing up this chance to fulfill our duty to “nurture grassroots internationalization,” and as each pair of saucer-eyes scurried by we let out a cheery chorus of “Hello!”, which caused each saucer-sized pair of eyes to upgrade to frying-pan-sized and sent them all diving for the very back of the bus.
As the bus moved on our attention was entirely shifted to the inside of the bus. And no wonder; we could practically feel the undivided attention focused on the backs of our necks. Keith and I started a conversation about the reaction we so effortlessly elicited, and tried to put ourselves in the tiny shoes behind us.
“Wow, they were really shocked! It’s just so easy!”
“Yeah, I wonder what’s really going through their heads....What do you think would cause us to have the same reaction to something?”
“Well, it’d have to be on our own turf, so say you’re nonchalantly getting on a bus back in America, and on the bus is sitting... what?”
“An alien?”
“Not really, it should be something that you knew existed, but you never expected to see, at least not there.”
“Someone from some very obscure part of the world, who looks very strange...”
“Like a Zulu warrior or something! Yeah, imagine you’re getting on the same bus you’ve taken every day for years, only this time the doors open and there’s a Zulu warrior in full regalia sitting there looking at you! That’d give me a few seconds pause!”
As we contemplated our presence in rural Japan as comparable to a Zulu warrior walking around New York city, the thought became both more humorous and more depressing. To a certain extent I think all of us enjoy the attention we get here, the celebrity of standing out in (and above) any crowd, feeling just a little bit famous. Last week I was swarmed by a group of my elementary school students who wanted my autograph, and one little boy who couldn’t find a piece of paper tore off his shoe and held it up to me with a pen. “Sign, please!” I’ve never felt closer to being a rock star in my life.
At the same time, the image of the lonely warrior wandering around New York underlines the fact that we are indeed far from home. We will never blend in, never be Japanese, and never stop getting pointed at and watched. There will never come a day when we are no long treated a little like aliens, for “alien” (at least in terms of nationality) is what we are, and Keith and I had the undivided attention of 10 huddled children to prove it.
Several stops down the road, we heard the children gathering their things and preparing to leave. Screwing their courage to the sticking post, one by one they marched by us. And low and behold, as easy student passed by, an exuberant “good-bye!” was bestowed upon us. When we responded in kind they laughed, and dashed happily off the bus, waving to us from the sidewalk.
There is certainly a lot to be said about the closed communities of Japanese society, the often dire lack of English ability, and the absence of awareness or sensitivity regarding anyone from “the outside,” and we who are from “the outside” often get fed up with it. After all, we are trying to be multi-cultural and multi-lingual, we are giving years of our lives to open up communication with these people who point and stare at us. And of course America especially is much more a melting-pot than Japan will ever be, full of multi-ethnic people who don’t consider it impossible for outsiders to become one of them. Try asking a Japanese person about how to understand Japan, and you’re likely to hear some variation of “impossible.”
Say what you want about this island nation, still one fact remains. Of course New York is a more comfortable and open-minded environment for a foreigner than rural Japan, but these elementary school students made me realize something about my own subtle feelings of superior multiculturalism. If I were to step onto my bus in New York and found a Zulu warrior staring at me, I’m sure I would exhibit the same bewilderment, staring, and rushing to the back of the bus as those 10 year olds. But when the time came to disembark, I really doubt that I’d have the courage to engage him with a wave and a friendly “good-bye!” For one thing, I certainly wouldn’t be able to say it in nearly perfect Zulu.

Where The Streets Have No Name

2008-09-24T05:25:00.000-07:00

In trying to sum up the last few weeks, I’m reminded of something Ian, my Prefectural Advisor, recently said in a discussion on culture shock. Some JETs were discussing what stage of culture shock they were in (1st stage: honeymoon stage, when everything is new and wonderful, which should last about 2-6 weeks. Or 2nd stage: culture fatigue, when everything is strange and frustrating, which should last 1-5 months. Or 3rd stage, acclimation, when the place starts to feel like home, which should last a while). Ian responded to the new JETs “I never did understand those different stages and timeframes of culture shock. For me I feel like I’m in a different stage every minute!”
That’s what it’s been like recently. Life itself is up and down by nature, but living abroad somehow intensifies everything. I’m going to try to express that feeling while sharing some recent experiences, all the while experimentally attempting an experiential interpretation of the lyrics of “Where the Streets Have No Name,” by U2, which has been going through my head for weeks. (song lyrics in bold)
P.S. I tried to make this letter concise, and I think it is worth reading, but it’s gotten quite long from all the different experiences recently, so I suggest that you read this in installments, not all at once. :-)

Where the Streets Have No Name
by U2

It’s crazy how conflicted one human being can be sometimes. On one side I must admit I’ve been lonelier than I’ve been for years. Until the last few days I haven’t met anyone in my village who speaks more than a few words of English, which has reminded me just how much of a social creature I really am. Many JETs tell stories about being suddenly flooded with invitations, gifts, and greeting from friendly neighbors, but that hasn’t been the case for me. After nearly a month of down time (which I never handle well after the first few days), I was ready to DO something, without having much to actually do.
This was enhanced by the most serious injury I’ve experienced in 6 years, a pretty dramatic spraining of my ankle. (Just a note for you, if you’re ever taking a jog at night on a dimly lit street in the Japanese countryside, remember that curbs drop away on BOTH sides, not just the street side). The short story is that I was basically immobile (except for going to work and sitting at a desk) for about 3 weeks. Those of you who have survived months in a hospital bed, you have my utmost admiration. I almost dropped into depression just because of the desire to get out and RUN after a single week. The mountains were calling me, JAPAN was calling me, and I was sitting in my house feeling isolated and lifeless.
The other side is that I found myself almost unwilling to accept escape from my isolation when opportunities arose. There is a special kind of humiliation reserved for people who should be able to communicate in the native language, but cannot. Especially when your appearance prevents being inconspicuous, it’s like walking around in your underwear. A kind stranger says something to you that his three-year-old child understands, and all you can do is smile sheepishly. You WANT to understand, and probably should, but it’s just not in you. After years of these experiences I’m able to confidently “walk around in my underwear” (proverbially speaking! PLEASE people!), but it takes a great amount of energy, and frankly, it is much easier to just avoid it.
So when I finally started getting invitations, or saw that someone was about to talk to me, or I had another opportunity to break my painful isolation, I became conscious of a strong voice inside me that screamed “HIDE! Maybe you’re unhappy and alone in your house, but it’s easier than risking your dignity, sanity, and everything out here! HIDE.” And often I’ve really wanted to. Sometimes I have.
The desire to leap into life and the desire to hide and be safe are complete opposites, and their battle continues inside me.
At least on the physical side, I tried running today and kept going for 4.5 km, so my ankle is healed.
(P.S. Added a few days later: my ankle has been sore again ever since that run, so we’re not healed yet).

I wanna run
I want to hide

One battle that I’ve lost to the voice that tells me to hide is the attempt to meet my neighbors. The recommendation is that once you get settled in your neighborhood you should go out and introduce yourself to the neighbors door to door. I had every intention of doing this, and even prepared omiyage for them (small gifts you bring to new coworkers, bosses, neighbors, etc. Japan is a major gift-giving culture. I’m sure I’ll make more mention about this in the future). Every afternoon when I came home from work I told myself “okay, today you’re going to go door to door and introduce yourself! You’ve silently invaded this community for long enough without explaining yourself!” But the fact is, I’m pretty timid about these things. What if I’m bothering them? What if I make a serious etiquette error and they decide I’m rude? What if I embarrass them? And you know, the truth is I wouldn’t be able to communicate with them, wouldn’t remember their names (and maybe not even their faces, which could be embarrassing in the future!), and anyway they’ve probably all guessed who I am and what I’m doing here (my house has accommodated the rotating resident foreigner for 6 years now). The final straw was when I met several people while on walks. They seemed fine with making small talk about their dog, the weather, their house (don’t overestimate my Japanese, I can do little more than spit out a word and point), but as soon as I changed the subject towards introducing myself there was always a sudden change of atmosphere. They always seemed a little put-off, maybe by how direct I was by talking about myself. In any case, I just got the feeling that the locals weren’t that interested, and I didn’t have the language ability to change their minds.
Of course these are all excuses. Going to meet your neighbors with a gift is what one DOES in this culture, and I’ve probably been labeled as rude because of my fear of being labeled rude. But as intimidated days turned into guilty weeks, I decided that I was dragging myself down too much with this task, and decided to let it go.
I’ve always tried to see myself as someone who doesn’t let embarrassment or language-barriers slow him down. After all, we all smile in the same language, right? However, the truth is that there are still a lot of walls that keep me inside myself, that keep me from being free, and I have a lot of work in front of me to tear them down. And I’m starting to accept that we might all smile in the same language, but that’s one of the very few things we do in the same language.

I wanna tear down the walls
That hold me inside

In this environment, a lot of things can make a fool out of you. You start going a little crazy for things you never though you’d rely on so heavily.
First of all I should also mention that I haven’t seen another person my age in my village. Between 15 (Jr. High school student) and 35, there doesn’t seem to be anyone here. This reflects a major social problem in Japan, that all the young people (and I do mean ALL) go to the city. Looking around, I don’t know how agriculture is going to survive another generation in this country.
Second, Japanese people don’t make physical contact very often. They don’t shake hands, they don’t hug. A European greeting of a kiss on the cheek would probably make a Japanese person’s head explode from embarrassment. Going 2-3 weeks without touching a single other person is a surprisingly difficult thing for me. I didn’t realize how difficult until my Japanese supervisor (Takayo, a wonderful and capable woman who can barely communicate in English) took me into the city for some shopping. At the cash register, of course the cashier would be a beautiful 20-something girl with a stunning smile. This is often the case here. I mean, I’m ALREADY going to make a fool of myself in this transaction, do they HAVE to make it that much harder to concentrate? However, most of these girls are professional but indifferent; they take your money in a little tray, put the change on the tray and hand it back to you, all the while respectfully keeping their eyes lowered. But THIS girl looked me right in eyes, HELD eye-contact (just NOT done here!) and then, (get this!) with one hand she put the coins firmly into my hand, and with her other hand supported my hand from underneath, paused a full second while holding my hand between hers, and at that exact moment gave me a sunny smile.
If I hadn’t been so sand-bagged by the existential weight and intensity of my reaction to this split-second exchange, I would have kissed her right there. Or at least asked when she was getting off work, or something... But I couldn’t, I was just too consumed by how moved I was by this simple action, and rather than just smiling back I went into auto-pilot and drifted out to the car.

I wanna reach out
And touch the flame

There are actually many places in Japan where the streets really have no names. Things work on a different system, more of a numbered block system, from what I understand. A city will be divided into numbered districts, those districts into numbered sections, those sections into numbered blocks, and then numbered buildings. Easy enough, except that the numbers usually aren’t in any order. You have to search around until you find the block you’re looking for, then look around some more before the building shows itself.
However, even where there are street names, they’re written in characters that I can’t begin to turn into sounds, interpret, or remember (except in the biggest tourist cities where the names are also written in the Latin alphabet).
Surprisingly, I haven’t gotten lost very often, either walking about my area (though that one time was pretty bad...), or traveling to other cities. I’m not sure why, but the transportation system makes sense to me, and I haven’t had any serious trouble with it (except that the last train which goes to my home leaves before 11:00 pm, and I’ve already missed it once. Fortunately I have JET friends who live in the town where the end station is, so I stayed with them). Considering that I’m in a place where I can’t even pronounce, read, or write where I’m going half the time, it’s been remarkably easy to get around. Oh, but EXPENSIVE! An hour and 20 minute train trip into Kyoto city costs more than $10 one way. It also costs me $6.80 to get to the nearest grocery store by train. One more reason I’m planning to get a car next month. THEN we’ll see how I do with navigation, in this place where the streets have no name!

Where the streets have no name

The first time that I’ve started to feel a part of the community around me was this past weekend, when I was invited to join a children’s club on a kayaking trip. No hesitation from me! There were about 70 elementary and jr. high students, parents, guides, and one towering foreigner. Many people were going on kayaks for the first time, and some kids as young as 6 were in their own boat. As you can imagine, it was barely controlled chaos, and it was a blast. The kids were so interested in this pale giant looming over them, and many of them waved and shouted “hello!” every time we passed on the river, which was often. I got to play with the kids, exchange words in our languages, and make myself useful to the adults by lugging countless kayaks and canoes up the hill to the pick-up point at the end of the trip (which elicited countless “sumimasen”s (sorry to trouble you!) and “arigato gozaimasu!”s (thank you very much!). I even met two adults who are fairly conversational in English! I felt the sun starting to come out on my life in Japan.
Trouble is, maybe I got a little TOO much “sun on my face.” I wasn’t able to get anywhere to buy sunscreen or a hat before the trip, so I fried. It actually hasn’t been very painful, but with my shirt off I look like a tomato with arms wearing a white t-shirt. So “ha...ha...ha” to that!

Ha...ha...ha...
I want to feel
Sunlight on my face

I work with two Japanese English teachers in the Jr. High school. Their names are Marouka-sensei and Ikeda-sensei. Marouka-sensei speaks comfortable English and we’re able to communicate pretty easily, which is a good thing because she’s the one who prepares my schedule and explains everything to me. We got along from the start. Ikeda-sensei I only met in passing for the first couple days, and not only did he seem reluctant to speak to me, but when I did asked him a few questions he was unable to understand me. I began to see myself in one of those JET horror stories, when a foreigner is paired with a Japanese teacher who doesn’t want the foreigner around, and (or because) despite being an English teacher they can’t speak English (yes, it does happen, and more often than I like to think about). I began to accept this situation, though I knew I’d have to corner him and try to work out what my role would be in his classes (though judging from the stories, I guessed my role would be “walking dictionary,” and that’s all). This could be a pretty uncomfortable year.
That was until at the end of the second day, when I went out to the empty balcony of the teacher’s room (where the teachers smoke during breaks), and Ikeda-sensei came out after me. He began to apologize for not talking to me sooner, but it is because his English is not good (indeed, his spoken English is very slow and often grammatically awkward, but is understandable, and probably not quite as bad as he thinks).
Apparently the other teachers tease him quite a bit about being an English teacher who can’t speak English, and he was waiting for a chance to talk with me when the other teachers wouldn’t hear him struggling to communicate. My heart went out to him, as it was immediately clear that he is never at ease at work, and even the students don’t respect him (I don’t think the students realize that his English is weak, but he’s not self-confident enough to command their respect). I did what I could to make him more confident, sympathizing through my long-time difficulty with Czech, and explaining my English-teaching experience to say that I am here to help him however he wants. He was so grateful, for a moment I thought he was going to hug me.
Since then we’ve made a habit of meeting out on the balcony to talk about classes, students, and our lives outside class. Yesterday he spent almost 2 hours with me drilling me in hiragana (one of the Japanese alphabets), and helping me translate my speech for my welcome party into Japanese. I have a feeling that I’ll get to know him much better than anyone else in school. My dread of the coming year working with a teacher that doesn’t want me and can’t communicate with me all vanished in a matter of seconds.

I see the dust cloud disappear
Without a trace

My village has a train that comes through once an hour. It’s a single-car, single-rail train (trains have to wait for oncoming trains to pass each other at the stations), but I am grateful to have even this. Some JETs are in even more remote villages without trains or busses. Though most people have cars, the train is the lifeline of people who do not (myself and the Jr. High students, for example).
Monday started with clear skies, but in the afternoon a storm suddenly blew in out of nowhere, and started DUMPING water on us. The rain flowing off the roof was almost a sheet or water, and it was so heavy that I couldn’t imagine it lasting for more than a few minutes. It lasted an hour and a half. About half way through we were all called to the teacher’s room, where we were informed that the trains had stopped running, and the students would need to travel home soon.
Once a new route was planned for the busses and teachers with large cars, I asked Marouka-sensei if this happens often (it seemed like a pretty major deal to me. I mean, if the trains stop, I’m not going ANYWHERE. There’s not a store, post-office, or hospital within walking distance (and you know MY walking distance)). Marouka-sensei calmly said “oh yes, it happens often.” To my surprised expression the principle looked over and grinned. “Country school” he said.

I want to take shelter from the poison rain
Where the streets have no name
Ho...ha...

The first time I met the students of the Jr. High school, the students I’d share a building with for 8 hours a day for the next year, was at the collective gathering at the opening ceremony. All 103 students and 16 teachers would be together there (country school), and I was to make a speech introducing myself. The conventional JET wisdom was to make it as painless as possible “Hello, my name is Caleb. I’m from America and I’ll be helping you learn English this year. Thank you.” Of course, “painless as possible” not my style.
I wanted to do something to make the students comfortable with me. I realized that I must be rather intimidating to these 5 foot, 13 year old kids who are terrified of making mistakes in English, and I wanted them to know that I’m fun-loving, friendly, and (relatively) safe (in a crazy way).
And so on the morning of my first day, wearing a nice black suit and trying to look confident and unconcerned, I was led into the school gym where 103 students in school uniforms were sitting in nice rows on the floor, facing the stage. After a few monotone speeches from the principle and vice principle, I was called to the front.
I started by introducing myself with a few sentences in Japanese. Then I assumed a very stern face and in English (with translation) told them “There are three things that are very important to know about me. Number one, when I teach English I am a very serious and strict teacher.” Then I let silence fall. At this point it was important that they start feeling uncomfortable. I wanted the tension in the room to be palpable. My next task was to shatter the tension, and it was essential that there be relieved and loud laughter, thus making it clear that my “number one point” was understood as a joke and the opposite was true. So after letting my serious words settle for a second, I reached into the bag at my feet, whipped out a pair of giant bright pink bunny ears, and snapped them onto my head.
Silence.
Real silence. I saw the eyes of a few students widen in disbelief, but absolutely no sound of laughter. Ouch. But there was nothing to do but charge ahead.
“Number two, I like penguins!” And I pulled out my stuffed pink penguin from the bag and held it aloft. Silence.
“Number three, I don’t like the color pink.” At which point I pull out a regular black and white penguin. Silence.
I then took off the bunny ears and told them that I want to help them learn about English and the world, etc... “because English and the world are two things that can be very...” and here I throw the bunny ears back on, which provokes (oh thank God!) scattered but audible giggles, and even my translator lets a snort escape, “..fun! Really!” I then escaped as fast as I could, and spent the rest of the ceremony standing on the sideline (literally!), wondering how much damage I’d done.
Thankfully several teachers (including the principle) said to me afterwards that it was “good speech” or “you make good joke!” So at least I know I didn’t trample on some Japanese taboos about the solemnity of such ceremonies. And the students have seemed more comfortable with me than I expected, which might be a result.
I begin to realize how much we depend on our experience of how people behave, and without that (relatively) safe ground of assumption we’re somewhat adrift at sea until we manage to find our bearings again. The fact is that my growing understanding of how people will react in a specific situation, how they will perceive themselves and me, and how they see the world, has all been cut loose until I find its relevance. It’s important to remember that these past experiences with other cultures are not useless and irrelevant, it’s just relevant in a way I’ve never experienced and must discover. But until I do discover it, my paths through my budding Japanese relationships really are without signposts.

Where the streets have no name
Where the streets have no name

These days I’m often reminded of something my literature professor and mentor Jaime O’Neill said in class one day. I’m not sure if it was a quote or original, but it stuck with me: “Life is not one damn thing after another. It’s the same damn thing over and over.”
I’ve restarted my life 4 times now, pulling up roots, routine, habits, work, and relationships, and moving to a different country (or BACK to a different country, as the case may be). Every time I look forward to the opportunity to start fresh, to build up a new life on the proper cornerstones, with edifying habits and routines, and stop running after flitting desires or profitless pastimes.
And every time I immediately fall into the same laziness, time-wasting habits, and undisciplined lifestyle. It shouldn’t be surprising anymore, but nevertheless it’s always a shock to realize that “wherever you go, there you are.” I think a lot of people who haven’t lived abroad have the idea that they could leave all the problems and frustrations of their old life and start a new life that would allow them to be at peace and harmony with the world. It’s a shock for most of us to really be confronted by the fact that most of our problems aren’t external; we carry them with us like a snail and his shell.
I’m actually living alone for the first time in a while, since in the past few years I at least had a flat-mate or room-mate. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about the difficulties of living with other people, in terms of friendship, marriage, cities, society, etc, and I’ve put a lot of effort into being “self-sufficient”, whatever that actually means. But I’m learning that the most difficult person to live with is myself.
This reminds me of something else said to me by the advisor Ian. We were in a conference room and I needed to throw away a plastic wrapper. There were several garbage cans in the back of the room, one marked “burnable” (paper and cardboard), one “cans” (aluminum), and one “PET” (plastic bottles). Yes, everything you’ve heard about the Japanese obsession with sorting their trash into numberless categories is true. But there was no “non-burnable” trash can (plastics). So being the culturally sensitive person that I am I asked Ian what I should do with my wrapper since there was only a “burnable” bin. Without hesitation he looked at me and said “You know, it all burns.”
Truer words have never been spoken.

We're still building
Then burning down love
Burning down love

“It all burns.” As satisfied as I am with my life (in the big picture, at least), and as excited as I am by the experiences I plan to have in the wonderful wide world, I still can’t avoid a growing understanding that all this doesn’t last, and on so many levels. I spent the better part of 5 years clawing and scratching my way through the brick wall of the Czech language, after two months away I can already feel it slipping steadily away. After 15 years of trying to make myself more patient and tolerant, I find myself more prone than ever before to finding someone’s company undesirable for no good reason. After 26 years of being human, I feel farther from the kind of human I want to be than ever before. My relentless (attempted) accumulation of stuff and money gets me nowhere, and as for knowledge and character, I feel hunted by Socrates’ words, “the more I know, the more I see that I know nothing.” Maybe this is all just as well, because as someone else said “you can’t take it with you.”
People sometimes think that my zest for life comes from some joy or enthusiasm in THIS life, but the truth is far more ironic. It’s my hope of heaven and anticipation of that place which gives me joy, and these days I find myself looking forward to heaven more and more, just as this world gets more and more interesting. Heaven is a place that needs no street names, no maps, no explanations. It’s just home, in a way no temporary earthly dwelling can be. As for this world, there is an astonishing number of things to see and do, to laugh and cry over, to gain and to give, and I’m in no hurry to end my exploration. But in the end, it all burns, and the only final and untainted thing I have the power to do is to go “where the streets have no name.”

And when I go thereI go there with you
It's all I can do

One of the best experiences I’ve had in Japan so far was going with a few JET friends to Nara, the ancient capital of Japan. For details about the gorgeous temples, the quiet and spiritual atmosphere, the dancing festival, and getting attacked by the herds of deer that freely roam the place, you can check out my pictures and videos on facebook and youtube.
The most memorable part of the trip for me started when we walked around a corner and saw a long line of young girls dressed in beautiful white Japanese costumes. We all whipped out our cameras and (since Japanese people can smell a camera from across a football field!) the girls looked at us. At first we tried to photograph them covertly, but when they realized what we were doing several of them turned and smiled while giving the “V” sign (which is equivelant of a wave/thumbs up/peace sign/hang-loose sign for an American being photographed, so you see it a LOT!). So we took the invitation and, throwing broad grins back, took a bunch of pictures of them.
Later in the day we discovered a massive dance festival in the park, of which these girls were one of the performing teams. Between their practices we again exchanged waves, “V” signs, smiles, and more pictures. From this point on they became known as “our girls” for the rest of the day, because we kept running into them and every time they and we would break into grins.
Finally we went to see their dance, which was absolutely incredible. I still get chills thinking about it, and it was clear that they were far and away the best performance we saw that day. We were very proud of them, and afterwards told them how awesome their dance was. We kept bumping into small groups of them throughout the day, and every time I’d see one of them out of the corner of my eye (usually as she was standing somewhere trying to catch our eyes and then would wave frantically and happily and then run off) was a small thrill for me, maybe because it was so cool to actually be able to build a “friendship” with absolutely no common language, maybe because I was proud to be known by the best dancers in Nara, or maybe because I was just struggling with the difficulty of getting Japanese people to interact with a “foreigner” and was so pleased to find a group of people who were as excited to smile and wave at a completely stranger as I was happy to smile and wave back.
One of the lines that is spit out ad naseum in JET conferences is “grassroots internationalization.” We laugh at this catch-phrase, but this was my first experience with what that can actually mean. Near the end of the day it started to rain, then to pour, then to dump down water with a heavy wind. The dancing went on, but we couldn’t take it anymore, and had to leave. I realized I would never see any of those girls again. But I know I’ll remember them for a good long while, and maybe, just maybe, some of them will be even less shy with the next foreigners they meet, and will find further and better chances to learn about the world outside Japan, to know the people outside their community, and will one day be able to count themselves as members of the human race above and beyond all national, racial, and linguistic boarders. I hate to sound like a poster, but I really believe this: Just existing in Japan as a foreigner made it possible to breaking down cultural barriers, and nothing more than a smile sparked that potential.

The city's aflood
And our love turns to rust

I’m so out of my league here sometimes. By comparison, imagine meeting a foreigner in your own country who can’t say more than “hello” and “my name is”, who can’t throw a baseball (or kick a soccer ball) better than a grasshopper, who never really knows what he’s ordering at a restaurant, even when you translate it into his own language, and who even struggles to use a fork! That’s me to the Japanese people.
I spend several afternoons a week getting clobbered, and I mean absolutely humiliated, by 13 year olds playing table tennis. I’m hesitant to go to a restaurant alone, because I can’t read the menu, don’t really know what the food is even when there’s an English menu, and even when I recognize the English words I often have no idea what it’s going to taste like until I put it in my mouth. Could be sweet, could be salty, or maybe fiery spicy, we’ll see! Before coming to Japan I’d had that experience only a handful of times, now it happens at every meal out!
But of course the most humbling is the language. I’ve had a pitifully low level of motivation to study, which I allowed for the first couple weeks but now it’s getting out of hand.
Last week I needed to go to the post office to send a letter and get stamps. I carefully went over and over the phrase “I’d like to send a letter”: “tegami o okuritai no desu ga.” Which isn’t that hard, is it? So feeling confident I rode to the post office, walked in, looked across the desk at the post office official, and froze. No particular reason, the words just suddenly evaporated from my mind like international investment banks from the US market. At that moment I don’t think I even could have reverted to English or Czech, even if it’d been an option. And it wasn’t. She didn’t know the English word for “letter.” I don’t then she knew the English word for “English”!
So there I was, a looming, glowing, monosyllabic foreigner in a small rural post office with the increasingly nervous employee watched me as I tried to find sounds that meant anything, in any language. I started going through a series of grunts and umms, which probably didn’t help matters. By the way, the Japanese word for “um” is “ano,” so hearing someone say “umm” repeatedly is akin to American hearing someone say “grblmf” over and over. It also doesn’t help in other situations when I try to quickly say “yes” in a foreign language and “ano” comes out (which means “yes” in Czech), and they think I’m saying “umm”. After going through all the umms I could manage I gave up and just dropped the letter on the table, figuring she’d get the idea. She did, and slowly and cautiously processed my letter. Then I had to ask for stamps so I wouldn’t have to go through this every time I had a letter. I’ll spare you details.
By the time I got out (successfully, somehow, though I haven’t heard that the letter arrived....), I was sweating like a pig, and ready to either break into Joker-like laughter or Two-Face-like sobbing. Instead I peddled home. It’s all I could do.
I see myself living in non-English speaking countries for a long time, and I love the challenge and the constant state of learning (albeit slowly, very slowly). That is when I look at the situation in the big picture. On the other hand, I hate moments like this, the way foreign language constantly makes me feel like an idiot. I’m certainly no supporter of a single-language world, but if the possibility was somehow offered to me, it would be very tempting, very tempting indeed.

We're beaten and blown by the wind
Trampled in dust

An extraordinary pattern I’ve noticed in the Japanese is something I need to address carefully. There are many things I love about the Japanese, who are a friendly, considerate, hard-working, and fun-loving people. What they are not is well informed about the outside world. There are times here that make the average American look like an international specialist.
I was speaking with an unnamed Japanese mother of two, who is in her mid 30s. This is someone who works off and on with foreigners. I asked her what Japanese people think about the war in Iraq. “Well, they are... (here she looked up a word)... indifferent. They think it is America’s war.” She then leaned across the table, and whispered (though there was no one else around), “where is Iraq?” I first had to find a country she could place on a map, and had to settle with England, and then trace the line of countries from England to Iraq. When I finished she said “oh.... is it near Australia?”
She went on to explain that western issues don’t really interest Japanese, who are more concerned with Asian issues. That’s fair, I thought, since the average westerner doesn’t take much interest in Asian issues, so it’s basically the same principle. I decided to test that angle and asked her opinion about the May/June riots in the South Korean capital, in which 10,000s of Korean citizens and 1,000 of riot police battled nightly for weeks over the lifting of a ban on US imported beef (which had been prohibited in 2003 due to fears of Mad Cow disease). The entire political cabinet under the president had resigned over the public outrage and protest a few months ago. South Korea is a couple hundred miles from Japan. My friend had never heard about the riots.
Really, this is an island. Much as in America (and as NOT in Czech Republic), people don’t really need to concern themselves with the outside world. Japan even has a thriving film and music industry, so it doesn’t have to import from American culture nearly as much as many European countries. This dynamic, as I also feel in America, is sad.
This makes me more motivated to do my job, which, I’m slowly discovering, is not actually about teaching English. First of all, my job description is “Assistant Language Teacher.” My contract say that I am never to be in the classroom alone with the students, that I am not qualified to be a “teacher” by Japanese standards, I am to assist the Japanese teachers. What that actually means varies infinitely from JET to JET. Because my predecessors in my school had no teaching experience and were apparently nervous about having responsibility in front of the class, my Japanese English teachers basically set up a 10 minute warmer for me at the beginning of each class, and then I sit down and occasionally read a sentence on the board for pronunciation or find the right English word when the teacher gets stuck. As far as language teaching goes, I’m basically a walking dictionary and a human tape recorder.
But I’ve realized that my real reason for being here is to provide exposure to the outside world, of course in language but in so many other things too. I’ve answered more questions about Czech Republic this month then I ever did in America. I’ve had more exchanges here that give evidence that foreigners are nothing to be afraid of then I ever did in Czech Republic. What’s more, people see my passion for the world as a whole, and I know that is what any lasting influence of mine is going to be, more than teaching vocabulary or grammar. So I’m excited to build relationships with these students and adults and open their eyes places they never dreamed existed. You never know what that kind of investment can yield.

I'll show you a place
High on a desert plain
Where the streets have no name

I just got up from writing this at my desk at work (I never have more than four 45 minute classes a day, but I have to be in school from 8:20 – 5:00, so there’s a lot of down time), and I went to wash my hands at the kitchen sink in a corner of the office. Several things struck me. 1. I couldn’t be sure that I’m supposed to wash my hands here. 2. I can’t tell if that bottle at the sink is hand soap, dish soap, lotion, or perhaps a refreshing drink in a squeeze bottle. 3. Those towels hanging nearby might be for drying one’s hands, or strictly for drying dishes. 4. There seems to be two faucets, one with cold water and one boiling water, neither of which are pleasant, and I’m not sure how to work with them. As all these things passed through my mind, I realized the most disturbing thing: if I’m doing it wrong, no one will tell me. Japanese culture is absolutely anti-confrontation, to the point where (for example) Japanese business men will say yes even when they have no intention of accepting the terms, and Japanese baseball pitchers will walk a strong batter, even with the bases loaded, rather than risk the humiliation of a homerun. I know that if I do something wrong, no one will tell me directly. At best they’ll hint at it: “oh, what book are you reading?” which very likely means “you shouldn’t read at work.” The only hope I have is the Golden Rule of life abroad: observe! As much as possible, do what others do, and don’t do what they don’t do. With this, and trial and error, you have a chance of not being the subject of whispered conversations in the corner of the office.
A few minutes after I washed my hands I noticed another teacher also washing his hands at the same sink, and using the soap bottle, and then he took a small towel out of his back pocket and used it to dry his hands. Well, two out of three isn’t bad.

Where the streets have no name
Where the streets have no name

It’s ironic that the thing which most encourages my life is the same thing I most neglect. My faith has suffered here, especially in comparison with how I wanted to make regular devotions one of the cornerstones of my “fresh life” here. I suppose it’s a combination of taking my beliefs for granted, of not wanting to face the fact that the distance between God and myself is slowly increasing, and of the human propensity to focus on what is actually possible to accomplish rather than the more important abstract pursuits.
Another JET who lives nearby, who is here for his second year, asked me if I’d experienced more struggle in my faith living abroad. I answered that as living abroad makes the natural ups and downs of life lower and higher, it is even stronger in the spiritual category This is especially true coming from America, which is a very comfortable and accommodating place to be a Christian. Once you live in a non-Christian country, it can be quite a shock to find yourself to be an outsider because of your beliefs, to not have many people around you that understand and agree with your view of the world.
I write this mainly for any Christian reading this who might one day find themselves living in a foreign country. The struggle to maintain devotions, commitment, and closeness with our Lord becomes much more difficult. The irony is that it is during these times that we most need a moral compass and an anchor for our behavior. Martin Luther said that he would rise before the dawn and pray for at least two hours before starting the day. But when he knew that he would have an especially exhausting and hectic day, he would rise two hours earlier and pray for four hours. It is in times of struggle that we need communion with our God of hope, and it is in times of struggle that it is most difficult to maintain that relationship.
I’ve found myself often reading a chapter of the Bible without really hearing a word, and being bombarded by things that need prayer, to the point of praying for nothing at all. As a result I’ve seen a noticeable decrease in my sense of purpose, my self-discipline, my focus on the joy of life’s big picture, and my patience against the difficulties of the small picture. All vital things in this environment.
Last night I started a new attempt to rekindle my commitment to God, to someone higher than myself, and I pray it works. Until this turns around at least I still know that God is an eyelid’s distance away, and will never run out of patience waiting for me to open my eyes again. I know he has a hand on my presence here in Japan, though in a different way than in Czech Republic, and I know that I want his plan more than my own. And I know that one day all these distractions and excuses will burn away, and I’ll be free to be who he wants me to be, in a place that I’m homesick for already. That, at least, is something.

We're still building
Then burning down love
Burning down love
And when I go there
I go there with you
It's all I can do

Prague is filled with Americans and American culture, meaning movies, music, food, and language. I always avoided these like the plague, feeling very opposed to the many Americans who seem to live in America in Prague. I enjoyed the occasions when I was the only foreigner in the group, and enjoyed going places that no tourist would go.
However, there was a part of me that realized this reaction against familiarity was a result of over-exposure. I somewhat desired to live in a place where I would be excited to see another American, be thrilled to hear English, and crave food I was familiar with, because these reactions would indicate true over-my-head immersion.
After the first two weeks in my village, without seeing another white person or being able to speak English comfortably, I went for a weekend trip to Kyoto. On the train I saw two white guys with big backpacks at the other end of the train. My first impulse was to walk directly up to them and say “Hi, would you speak English with me?” I didn’t, but this reaction was so opposite my reactions in Prague that I knew I’d arrived.
The next confirmation was at Kyoto. During the lunch break in the conference Ian mentioned that there were Japanese restaurants upstairs and many more various restaurants, “such as Subway,” downstairs. Something about the mention of Subway (a popular American sandwich fast food restaurant) grabbed me, and I started craving it. I realized that I’d eaten nothing except Japanese food for the last three weeks, and home and in restaurants! Rice, noodles, sushi, fish, and many other things I’d never seen in my life and still can’t pronounce, but I hadn’t eaten anything with a fork for a very long time. I wanted American fast food, and I actually felt justified! I infected several other JETs with my craving and we spend 20 minutes hunting the restaurant down, all the while talking about how nice it would be to get familiar “normal” food. Yes, I said normal! I don’t really mean it, but you know what I mean! Once we arrived, over half the sandwiches were some form of seafood. But still we made do.

Our love turns to rust
We're beaten and blown by the wind

I was making the three minute walk home from school the other day, when I realized that I was hurrying. I wanted to get home and be able to lock the door and not have to worry about anyone seeing me or interacting with me. My work is easy and I like the students (most of them, that is. Even the no-nonsense Japanese educational style produces its share of class clowns and rebels without causes). But at some point it’s just annoying to be constantly under observation, to be swarmed by a group of teenage guys who all shout out rapid-fire the 10 English words they know (in no particular order), to be followed around by the guy who likes to ask me “how many time do you experience the sex?”, to be giggled at nervously by the girls, and to be in the middle of frequent apparently-hilarious jokes in the teachers room that I can’t follow a word of. I don’t really mind any of these things, but honestly I do look forward to going home each day.
At the same time I knew that within 5 minutes of being shut in at home that I would be bored and lonely. Why was I hurrying? After escaping from the environment of over-socialization, within a few minutes I would certainly be under-socialized. “Good grief, Caleb, what DO you want?” I went through the options, and came to the conclusion that all I really wanted at that moment was for an unknown and beautiful young woman to walk up to me and say, in perfect but slightly accented English, “please hold me forever.”
It’s nice to know what your emotions actually want. It’s also good to know that this has nothing to do with what you actually need. You’re free to disagree with me, of course, and I’m sure some of you will, but even if my desire for comfort has increased I still don’t believe it means my need of comfort has changed.
Life is up and down (yes I know this is the third time I’ve said that, I’m going for a thematic thread here!), and I have no intention or hope of changing that. In fact I came here to be kept on my toes, to be pushed and stretched and changed. These difficulties, these ups and downs, these struggles, are proof that I’ve gotten what I was looking for. “Be careful what you wish for...” as they say.
It’s also nice to know that the worse case scenario is that I’ll survive this year. I’m not about to get up and leave without a word (as some have done), and I’m not going to break down (as others have done. Yes, the JET program has experiences people suddenly leaving without telling anyone, suicides, and other extreme reactions to the stress). I will get through this, and I will be stronger for it. And if I learn to apply myself, if I can use this time to get my foundations into place again, if I can develop relationships that make a difference in the lives around me and in myself, if I can come closer to a better understanding of humanity, then I’ll know that I’ve done so much more than survive, I will be able to count it as a victory. I intend to make it a victory, and a fun victory at that!

Blown by the wind
Oh, and I see our love
See our love turn to rust
Oh, we're beaten and blown by the wind
Blown by the wind

So, until the time when we no longer need to fight to be whole, to be who we ought to be, I continue to fight through the challenges of everyday life here in Japan, though it seems most of those challenges come from within me rather than from Japan. I hope all of you will do the same, and find joy in the battle! Take care, everyone, I miss you all, and would love to hear how live is treating you. Mata ne! c:

Oh, when I go there
I go there with you
It's all I can do

P.S. You read it all! Wow, your dedication, interest, and caring really impresses me, and I’m very grateful! Thank you!

Welcome... Home?

2008-08-12T03:24:00.000-07:00

Hello all! You know, it feels like a very long time since I wrote last, though I know it was only a few days ago from Tokyo! So much has happened, and every minute of the last few days has been full of moments and stories I’d like to share with you, try to explain, and document and analyze, but I’m afraid there’s impossible.
I arrived in my village on Monday, called Minamiyamashiro, which means Southern Mountain Castle (there’s no castle here now, though). So, initial reactions: gorgeously beautiful and very very Very RURAL. The village and town together are about 5000 people stretched along spaghetti-style along about 10 kilometers. So far I’ve found no one who speaks English, except for my supervisor, a very kind woman named Takayo, and she speaks English on the most basic level. In a week I will meet the Japanese English teachers who I’ll be working with, and I’m really hoping that they’ll be fluent and friendly. Either way, communication will be very minimal for several months while I learn Japanese (which is already going quickly by necessity, I would have been completely lost several times if I wasn’t able to ask directions and for help in Japanese!)
I think I’ll share a few moments from the last few days, just as random and in various levels of detail:
One of the first people I met was a young woman named Yuri who often wears t-shirts with large English text on them. The first day her t-shirt read “This is dog days,” the second day “It is a few yards from here in the dream... (and on the back) This is where the dream is blocked.”
I keep hitting my head on the door-frames in my house. No joke. I’m getting better, though.
While trying to navigate the large city of Osaka this weekend, I constantly consulted the convenient maps of the area posted almost on every intersection. Problem is that it took me several intersections to realize that the “North” arrow was pointing a different direction on every map, turning more clockwise with every street. Finally when I saw a map indicating that “north” was due south, I decided to just wing it.
I hope I always remember how awe-inspiring the mountains are, like nothing I’ve ever seen, and they scream adventure.
I remember seeing the shower/bath for the first time, and wondering how it was going to work. The first time I tried to take a bath I sat with my knees pressed against my chest and my hands above my head. Yes, it’s that small. I’m still not sure what trick I’m missing, so I’ve just stood and held the shower facet over myself manually.
I couldn’t believe the situation when I was lost on a mountain path in the growing dusk and I stopped in desperation to ask directions at a little forest cabin. I know I was within a kilometer of my village, I just didn’t know in what direction. I asked the kind old gentleman where the Jr. High school of Minamiyamashiro was (a large building near my house, in the town that I’m sure he had lived in for decades). He understood the question perfectly, but was at a loss as to how to direct me. Final after much hemming and hawing, he told me to go down the mountain and ask someone else. So I took the downward path, in 5 minutes was in the village, and in 15 minutes at the Jr. High school. Apparently the gentleman didn’t have any idea that his village has a Jr. High school...
Today I went to a church in Osaka, which took 2 hours by train (each way) and cost $25. The church was Japanese, but the singing was bilingual. I remember singing “Shout to the Lord,” and thinking about all the places I’ve been where God has used that song in my life, in Colorado Springs at Summit Ministries, in the mountains of Czech Republic at English camps, in Worship Generation in Chico California, in a bible study group at Cambridge, English, and now here in Japan. I was hit hard by the fact that God is not limited by any geographic boundaries, his presence is universal. I teared up considerably.
The first time I turned on my TV (Japanese only), I got hypnotized by the bizzarity of a program that was either a viewer-interaction game show, a WWII documentary, a children’s bedtime program, or a Twilight Zone spin off, or maybe all of them. The next program was either a news program about over-eating, a game-show, a sitcom, or a reality show about fat ugly people watching thin beautiful people eat delicious things. Again, it might have been all of the above.
I will remember walking up the Torii gate mountain (the place with the rows and rows of red gates you see in all the pictures. Check out my facebook page in a few days) with Will Taetzsch, who is a friend of mine from Elementary school, High school, Jr. College, etc. He’s been in Japan for three years and is leaving tomorrow. After a long half-day of walking about in the stifling heat (practically tropical humidity), we decided to get to the top of the mountain. After an hour and a half climb, we finally reached the top, downed our celebratory cups of saké, and then heard the rolling thunder of the swiftly-approaching storm. We stumbled down for about 10 minutes before the down pour hit, forcing us to take shelter in a tiny shine to the fox spirits. Being slightly buzzed, waiting out a thunderstorm in a shrine full of sharp-eyed foxes, on the top of a deserted holy mountain in the gathering dark is an experience I can only describe as “eerie.” When we finally got down we had missed our ideal train connections, and it took us four hours to get to my house (yes, I told you my area is rural). And then when we opened the windows to diminish the sauna effect in my house, we inadvertently allowed a geko to scurry into the room and scamper around the ceiling (did I mention this is RURAL we’re talking about?). We were both so exhausted and giddy that the gecko out-witted us for about 20 minutes before we managed to trap it, contain it, get it near the window, and convince it to leap out into the night. I don’t know if it realized we were on the second floor..
I remember seeing my first Japanese castle, looking glorious and graceful in the blinding sunlight, only to learn later that it had been built in the 1960s as a reconstruction.
I remember going to the supermarket for the first time, and being struck harder than ever by the fact that I am absolutely illiterate here. Add to this the fact that things are packaged differently here, and I couldn’t tell the difference between ketchup and dry noodles. It’s like learning absolutely everything from the beginning, and you realize that you think you are a walking talking adult, but here you’re a helpless baby again. There was more than one moment that day when I had to block out everything and just focus on breathing deeply, until the urge to collapse on the floor or throw-up (or both), faded away.
I remember looking at the evening sky over the mountains and thinking “My God, the sky is actually bluer here!”
I kept all my money in an envelope, and yesterday went to take some money out for weekend travels. While I though I had about 33,000 yen, I was shocked to realized I’d somehow spent more than I thought, or had lost several large bills, and now had only 6,000. I decided to deal with tearing my house to pieces searching later, and put 3,000 yen in my wallet. While paying for dinner I realized that those three 1,000 bills were actually 10,000 bills, the money I thought I’d lost. I swear, there are too many zeros on the money here, with no commas! (BTW, one yen is almost exactly 1 cent US now, so the conversion is easy for Americans, just remove two zeros from the end and call it dollars).
I remember taking a walking path up a mountain, and after I’d walked face-first into my fifth spider web (feels like breaking through sticky fishing line), I realized that Japanese apparently don’t do much mountain hiking.
I remember a moment (just a moment) when I stopped noticing that I was eating with chop-sticks.
I remember going to my small welcome party at the end of the first day, meeting the people I’d be working with, and knowing exactly what to expect from all the people who’d experienced a Japanese welcome party. At first everyone is shy and quiet, and very reluctant to speak English. Then after a few glasses of saké (Japanese rice wine) suddenly the conversation and English start flowing, and after a few more cups the shy office workers are standing on the table singing 1960s English ballads. Expecting this, and preparing my strategy for how to pace myself while loosening up the others at the same time, I ordered a beer. After the others ordered my supervisor informed me that no one in the group drinks alcohol. We had a good time anyway.

I think that’s it for now! If that won’t enough, of course keep checking my facebook page for pictures and www.youtube.com/extravpenguin for videos (new clips from Tokyo and the countryside around my home. Coming soon: a tour of my very Japanese house!). Consider subscribing to my youtube site, since I’ve found videos to be a good way of communicating the experience, and I’ll be using that more often. I’ll try to improve my movie-making skills as well. All suggestions welcome :-)
BTW, my mailing address is as follows (no joke):
Caleb House,
Kyoto-fu, Soraku-gun, Minamiyamashiro-mura, Oaza Kitaokawara Koaza Uwano 6-1,
Japan

Thanks for your interest and comments on my emails, pictures, and videos. I’m grateful for whatever feedback you have time to give. :-) Sayonnara for now! C:

Tokyo Baby!

2008-08-03T03:23:00.000-07:00

I am safe in Japan, which is about as safe as you can be in the world today! :-) Wow, so many things to tell, so many ideas and experiences already! We had a 15 -/+ flight from New York, with about 120 JET (Japanese Exchange of Teachers) teachers on it (there are about 1800 coming to Japan this year from all over the world). So it was so much fun to meet so many people who are interested in Japan, ask where they’ll be living, what kind of school they will at teach, etc. Everyone’s just so excited and exhausted and nervous, etc. After about 20 hours of travel (most people didn’t sleep more than a couple hours the night before either), we finally arrived in Narita (Tokyo airport), and found about 100 JET veterans and Japanese employees in a LONG line guiding us through the airport, out to the busses, sorting out luggage into what goes to Tokyo and what goes straight to our schools, getting on the busses, and then another line of people leading us through the hotel, through check-in and getting LOTS of books and information, and then into our rooms. I’ve never been so taken care of (or baby-sat) since I was 5! :-) But it’s kind of nice, since there’s enough to be nervous about, and we didn’t have to worry about anything.
Coming in on the bus (about 1 hour) I was so excited to see Tokyo, and was actually disappointed by what I saw. Lots of green fields that reminded me of Ireland, then tall buildings in the haze that remind me of Los Angeles, nothing really strikingly Japanese. I realized that there was no different quality to the world, it is the same reality, the same planet. The light shines the same way, the dust moves in the wind and lands on leaves the same way, the cars pollute in the same way and make the air feel the same, etc. Of course everyone was Japanese, but I kind of expected that.
Then I got settled in my hotel (4 star, right in the center!), and called Megumi (close Japanese friend from California). She took me about 10 minutes walk away, mostly underground (I was lost in 3 minutes, maybe less). When we came above we were in the middle of a huge shopping and entertainment district. Lights EVERYWHERE, I was the only foreign person in sight among 100s of people (and the tallest), and I had the first moment of palpable culture SHOCK in my life. The only thing I could think and say was “oh! Oh! OH! I’m in Tokyo, aren’t I?” Crazy. Check out the pictures on facebook and video on www.youtube.com/extravpenguin.
Meg and I went to a nice sobaiya (soba means buckwheat noodles. If you don’t know what that is really, then look it up because neither do I! A sobaiya is a restaurant for soba noodles) (again, pictures!). We sat at a large table with other people (I saw no other foreign people in that area at all), and they secretly watched as I tried to use chopsticks (no other option), which wasn’t too bad (I’ve been practicing, and good thing!).
Then I went to the hotel and slept. I think this is the only group of 1000 foreigners in their first day in Tokyo where everyone was completely ready to go to bed by 10:00. :-) I was actually able to sleep 8 hours, went to breakfast (I had breakfast with two Indians, two Brits, and one Aussie), and then to the very big, crowded, formal welcome meeting. Lots of speeches about out time in Japan, culture shock, our work, life, etc. Some funny and entertaining, some boring and sleepy. Now I’m taking a break and talking on and on and on in this email. :-) I think I’m a little tired and a little excited, so I know this is too much information. Don’t worry, it won’t often be like this.
I’ve got to go to a workshop now, and later I’m planning to get lost in Tokyo for a while! The weather here is HOT and HUMID! Very! But it’s survivable, since all the shops are like igloos!
Day after tomorrow I’ll take the bullet-train about 2.5 hours south, to Kyoto, and there meet my school supervisor who will take me another hour south-east to Kasagi and Minamiyamashiro. I’m a little nervous about that, because from there I will be on my own, dealing with Japan and Japanese with no one holding my hand. But, what’s what I wanted anyway. Everyone who hears that I’m going to the Kyoto area is so jealous. Apparently everyone requests that area, but no one gets it. I made no requests, and from talking to MANY people I think I have the best placement in Japan. Well see how I feel about that in a few days! :-0
:-) Take care everyone! Matane! c:

Transition to Japan

2008-07-30T03:21:00.000-07:00

Hello everyone, I’m sorry I haven’t written lately. The weeks leading up to my departure from Prague were hectic, to say the least! The last week of June my brother and sister-in-law arrived, then there was a week of frantic preparation for English Camp, then about 10 days of camp and follow-up trips, then four relaxing but unproductive days in Cesky Krumlov (a gorgeous city in the south of Czech Republic), and then back to Prague just in time for my going-away party on Monday, Ben and Liz leaving on Tuesday, and then 2 ½ days of non-stop boxing, organizing, scanning, meeting, giving-away, selling, throwing-away, sending, and finally two hours before leaving for my flight, packing my bags! I will do my best to post pictures of all these things on Facebook soon.
Leaving Prague was not easy at all, especially since I don’t know when I’ll be back, and I know there are many people I’ll miss. I’ve realized two news things about leaving a country: 1. Moving to another place involves SO much more than packing your things into a suitcase. 2. The only thing that gets me through these departures is having something exciting and new in front of me. I’m very sad to leave Prague, and so excited to jump into the Japanese experience.
To make a long story short, I have now left Prague, had two days in Ireland (check out my travel videos (short, I promise! Only 2-4 minutes!) on www.youtube.com/extravpenguin. And pictures on Facebook.
Now I’m in Boston, which is my favorite American city. I love this place! I’ll also be posting videos and pictures from Boston soon, so stay tuned! While here I’m staying pretty busy taking care of lots of errands and loose-ends, but also trying to relax a bit, enjoy the city, and enjoy the company of several friends who are “coincidentally” in the city at the same time, the Quivey family and Esther Koh.
I can’t think of anything else right now, so I’ll keep this one short. Check out Youtube and Facebook for more details and visuals, and let me know what you’ve all been up to! Take care, and expect another letter soon from Japan! c:

No Advice For the Impossible!

2008-05-13T03:18:00.000-07:00

Hello everyone! First of all, thank you SO MUCH to everyone who wrote me with advice and suggestions in this time of unmarked crossroads and inconclusive transitions. I was so blessed by everyone’s interest, and so amazed at how much thought, wisdom, and experience you all put into your advice. I was most interested to discover that as I read each letter, I would be more and more convinced by the clear logic and wisdom of the suggestions, and then on the next letter I would just as convinced by the logic, except the advice was opposite! :-) But it was wonderful for me to get such wide-ranging ideas and thoughts. I’d like to share some of the highlights of these letters with you all:

-It's much easier for God to guide a body in motion than to overcome the inertia of a parked ass.
- I think the Visa situation is probably God/universe’s way of pushing you elsewhere.
- You say that Czech Republic is where your heart is, so explore your options there.
-Korea: maybe going into such a thing with low expectations and little idealization will leave you with more open eyes and a clearer view of things.
-If your heart is really set on Japan, then I wouldn’t give up on it too easily. Maybe God has closed the front door but has opened the back one.
- If you need money so you can finance your future plans, there’s nothing wrong with working for a few months [in Korea] primarily for financial reasons.
-perhaps there might be some short-term solutions you're overlooking in your eagerness to start something big?
- go have an adventure somewhere, even if it’s only a few months and you have to scrape financially. Otherwise probably soon like most people you will get caught up in some reason why you can’t leave where you are, and will never have the experience. The money will come later.
-By asking and praying for an outcome that we want we are not fully trusting God with his plan, even if we continue to say that we will follow whatever God is calling us too we still want something in particular (the ideal you speak of).
-I can see your quandary, but in one sense it's merely an embarrassment of riches. Think of all the people your age who are utterly without options, let alone such interesting ones.
-if...you go to a plan b, apply for JET next year.
-Korea would have a great Christian community that you could jump into. That would help social connections immensely!
-My philosophy has become, "just keep going until you absolutely can't". It's a hard way of life, but at the same time I feel so privileged. There are not many in this life who truly live by faith.

It’s empowering to know that I have such wise people interested in me, and such a support to know I will never have a lack of council! You can be sure that in the years to come I will present puzzles of my life to you again!
The real irony is that the end result, the answer to this crossroads, is something that no one, not even myself, suggested or imagined. Well, there was really no way to count on this happening! I waited until the end of April, and then decided that I would put the JET program behind me, and move on with other plans. Further information about my visa convinced me that I would need to move on, and I started researching Korean culture to see if I could be comfortable there, Chinese missions opportunities, other Japanese teaching jobs, meeting several Indians and Japanese I know in Prague to get more leads, and even going through the multi-step process of applying of jobs in Japan and Korea. In short, I was totally overwhelmed. Then, on Thursday night, I got an email from JET, that they had room for me on their list of selected teachers and would take me off the waiting list, if I was still interested. My world revolved again.
So, back to plan A!!! I’m going to Japan, and with JET!!! I can’t tell you how excited and relived I am. The last month has been so stressful going over all this again, and to be able to return to the choice that I’d originally selected is very freeing.
So now I’m scrambling to get my bearings and to create new “To Do” lists! Most of my frenzy comes from a renewed drive to study Japanese (this time with PRESSURE!!!), and to read as many books as possible before giving them away (I can’t take 100s books with me, now can I?! Sadly.).
So that’s my news, and I’ll keep you all informed. Once again thank you, I’ve felt very supported during this difficult time thanks to you all.
One last thing: some of you might remember the Extreme Travel documentary that I started in November. Well, it’s become a classic example of projects I’ve started and then gotten bogged down, taking forever to complete them. But, the documentary is finished! Completely! Wahooo! It’s long, too detail oriented and dragging, but it’s my first video project, so let’s call it a learning experience. For those of you who were watching before, you probably got through Day 2, so the place to start again would be the morning of Day 3, which is Part 24. So just go to www.YouTube.com and search for “Extravpenguin part 24.” Then you’re off again! Take it a few videos at a time, or you’ll get tired of my voice!! If you’re just interested in the photography of the trip, check out “Extravpenguin part 23/part 33/part 48/part 55.” Enjoy, and send me your comments, or write them on YouTube! I’m especially interested in critical comments on how to make documentation of my trips better in the future (besides making them shorter and more succinct. I know that already. :-)
Take care everyone! c:

Discover Something New #22 Request for Advice!

2008-04-07T06:21:00.000-07:00

Hello everyone, and welcome to a special edition of “Discover Something New”! I’m your host, Caleb House, and as all you regular viewers will quickly recognize, tonight we’re going to do something very unusual for our program. Rather than me sitting here trying to find all kinds of fascinating and intriguing tidbits of information about the world around us, I’m going to simply share an interesting situation with you, and ask for your advice. That’s right, every one of you, from many different countries and backgrounds, to you I turn in this moment of puzzling events in my life.
Okay, so much for the intro! I’ll try to be brief. Please do not feel a need to read any farther than you are interested to read! A certain degree of this will be just talking out what is going on in my head, so those of you who are pressed for time shouldn’t feel bad about skimming/skipping this one. Here is what to expect:
1. Reporting the news about my application to JET, the teaching program in Japan.
2. Explaining the significance of this news
3. Explaining my reaction to this news
4. Reporting my short-term plan
5. Exploring the long(er)-term options
6. Analyzing the options
7. Asking your advice

1. For the JET program (As most of you will remember, this is the program for which I spend dozens of hours on the paper application and then flew to Boston just for the 15 minute interview, simply because it is far and away the best program in Japan. Yes, if anyone doesn’t know already, I want to go and teach English for one year in Japan), after many weeks of waiting, I have finally heard the results of the interview. It’s important to know beforehand that I was fully prepared to accept rejection or acceptance. I’d been praying over it, and since I felt that I was a pretty good candidate (I’ve since had reasons to question that, considering the qualifications of several friends who are now in the same boat as me), and I was praying that if God didn’t want me to go to Japan that he should interfere in the process and have me rejected. I would then have thought seriously about perhaps staying in CZ, or... something else. And if I was accepted, I would take it as an open door to Japan, and most likely accept (since I have to believe from my experience that God never leaves his path without signposts). I was prepared. The results? I’ve been put on the waiting list.

2. From my temporally and humanly limited perspective, this is worse than being rejected, because that would be clear at least. The exact wording on the email from JET was “I am pleased to inform you that you have been selected an ALT (Assistant Language Teacher) Alternate candidate. Notification of available positions for alternates can occur anytime between April and October. If you are not contacted by the JET Program Office by the end of October it means that we cannot offer you a position.” Please note that the program starts August 1st. Let me also say that JET is the thing that first drew me to Japan, and in terms of job security, reputation, support, salary, work-load, cultural immersion, language study, etc.... well, it’s the best I’ve found in Japan in all these categories. If there’s any chance to go with JET, I don’t want to miss it. Think about my position for a moment. It’s basically like being back at square one (meaning that I could go abroad ANYWHERE), except now it’s just as uncertain WITH the added anchor of JET around my neck stopping me from jumping on other opportunities.

3. My main struggle with this is trying to interpret this as a sign from God. Maybe it’s not, but it feels like one (any time I get in a situation where I can’t go forward and can’t stay where I am, I start to feel God winding-up a curveball. More on this in a moment). I’m just not sure where it’s pointing. I admit to a little frustration, since I feel willing to go, willing to stay, willing to go almost anywhere else, so why more waiting? But I’ve been through this before, and I feel confident that it will be clear in the proper time (but maybe JUST in time, and no amount of confidence can take away the stress in the situation. Maybe it’s not supposed to...). For now, though, I’m left wondering and wandering again. (Please, there’s no need for emails encouraging me that “God has something in his plan, don’t worry!” I appreciate it the reminder, but I have no doubt of this idea at all; the problem lies in finding and living according to that plan!)

4. My short-term thought is this: I wasn’t expecting to hear result from JET until the end of this month anyway, and there is the fact that JET sends thousands of teachers every year, so as they notify the chosen teachers right now, a certain percentage of them must refuse, thus opening up a large number of places. How many places, or what my chances are, or what place I am on the waiting list, I have no idea. But I’ve decided to at least wait until the end of April, and if I hear nothing by that time then it’s time to start looking forward. I can’t just wait around until October. Why? Well, that’s it: my Czech visa expires in May. This used to be a simple matter, but CZ has recently changed regulations drastically and there’s very little wiggle-room now. Basically, after May I’d be able to stay in the country legally for three months, and then I’d have to be out of CZ for three months at least. If I was caught coming into the country after August without a renewed visa, I could be deported. And the visa application process takes months, can be expensive, takes a great deal of effort, and I can imagine myself finishing the process and then the next day getting a notification of placement from JET. :-/ Anyway, even if I started the process now I might not finish in time! As you see, it’s one of those situations where you can’t go forward and can’t stay where you are. I’m familiar with these, that’s what makes me think God is in it, and is planning something unexpected, but thinking, processing, and trying on different plans has always helped me find the direction God eventually reveals...

5. As far as I’ve processed this all, I’d say that ALL my options fall into five categories: 1. Go to Japan with JET: This is of course ideal, but there’s no use thinking about it now. It’s just about waiting until I can wait no longer.
2. Go to Japan with another program: Possible, but more difficult and less ideal. The English teaching market in Japan has been really over-saturated recently (mainly by the sudden bankruptcy of the biggest language school in the country, which left 1000s of qualified teachers looking for work), salaries are down, work loads bring the phrase “English-factory” to mind, and the risks of dishonesty by the private for-profit schools seems to be rising (JET is a government program, non-profit, for public schools mostly). I’m starting to love Japan (having spent the last six months studying the language, culture, geography, and history), but none of the other work opportunities appeal to me much...
3. Teach in another Asian country: China was actually my first choice, since it will be more and more important to understand that nation. But honestly the main thing that changed my mind to Japan (besides meeting several wonderful Japanese people in the last two years, and the higher difficulty of the Chinese language) was that salaries in China would probably let me comfortably survive, while all participants of JET I’ve spoken to agree that it’s possible to save around $1000 a month. This would make my future travels (more about that in a moment) much more possible. Returning to the idea of China, which offers almost no saving potential, is hard to swallow. The language and culture don’t appeal to me as much as Japan, but I would not be opposed to this option at all.
Then there’s South Korea. I’m honestly not interested in the culture, country, or language (beyond a little traveling and sightseeing someday). But the salaries might be the best in the world (besides the Middle East), usually with paid accommodations and $2500-$3000 a month. You all should know that I do not have a high opinion of money, but this is still a draw, mainly because it would make it much more possible to volunteer later (see next point).
4. Go to a different country entirely: I had the intention of saving money in Japan, and then spending six months volunteering in each India and Kenya. I’ve considered skipping the Asian stop for the time-being and heading straight to the core of the “eye-opening, character-stretching, life-changing experience” I’m looking for in the next two years. Of course, going without much savings, and without the coming year to prepare myself for the shock, could be a bit much...
5. Stay in Czech Republic: This is where my heart really is, and I see myself returning here after getting some of the wander-lust out of my system. But life here is getting comfortable, and I’m not at all ready to settle down and be comfortable. What would I do here? Teaching English is fine to get by, but it’s no career. If I ever want to start a family, have a fulfilling career, and/or feel like I’ve made my mark on the world, then I need to move on. If not geographically, then in some other way. Although it’s an option, I’m not comfortable at this point in my life with the idea of being a financed missionary, for a number of reasons (mainly that I feel that if I can support myself in my mission work, why take funds away from those who can’t?). I’ll be honest, I had the idea to do this two years of living in widely-ranging places around the globe, and then return to Prague and write a book on the experiences/ideas/conclusions about the universality of man (or lack thereof, who knows!), and see if that led anywhere. What I think it all comes down to is that I’ve spent over 2 years increasingly focused on this “adventure” (though I’m hesitant to use such a light, fun-sounding word. The idea would be to get pushed, stretched, challenged and grown through difficulty every day), and it’s very difficult to imagine just dropping all that and staying where I’ve lived (off and on) for five years now. But (as I could say for all these options!), this may be where God wants me now, and if that’s the case then I know it will be better than I can imagine.
I think that covers #5 and #6!

7. Now I turn it over to you. Each of you reading this has knowledge, wisdom, insight, prayer-lives, and/or experience that I respect, and if you’ve read this far in the letter then I know you also have an interest in my life (Thank You!). I’d really like to know what you think about this situation, and how you would advise me. I’m as interested in hearing you various takes on the situation as I am interested in your practical advice! Be honest, whether you agree with my beliefs or not, whether you think I should go back to Carl Jr.’s Hamburgers in Chico or jump off a dock! In all my thoughts about this, am I missing something here? Is there an option I’m not considering? Is God trying to teach me something I’m not getting (so far I’ve got “He’s testing and strengthening my faith in Him,” and “The final path is too scary for God to reveal it to me now.”)? Any other thoughts at all?
Of course I could hear from JET tomorrow that they now have a position for me, which would change everything, but this situation is too interesting for me to not bring you all in on it. What do you think?!?!? Consider this as something like a “Caleb Reality Show”: “Write Now And Tell Us What You Think Caleb Should Do Next!!” :-D
Also, my parents are arriving in Prague in a few hours, and I’ll have company for the rest of the month, so sorry if I don’t respond to everyone individually! I thank you VERY MUCH in advance for your thoughts, ideas, advice, and especially prayers in this, yet another time of (possible) transition. :-) Take care and God bless! c:

P.S. If any of you remember the Xtrav documentary I was posting in parts on YouTube, I’ve ALMOST finished it! I hope to post it all, in entirety, soon, and I’ll let you all know when I do. Thank you to those who have expressed interest, and I apologize for the months of waiting!

P.P.S If any of you have a "seznam" email address, please write to me at c_house@juno.com. This address, for some reason, won't accept messages from seznam anymore. Sorry if I've missed you messages!

Discover Something New #20 Happy Indians fly to Boston to collect non-existent Japanese Politicians!

2008-02-20T12:59:00.000-08:00

Well, I was finally motivated to throw together the first DISCOVER SOMETHING NEW letter since arriving in CZ. I hope you enjoy it (though the quality standard has definitely lost some steam). The last entry is a “quick and detailed” account of the most recent big steps in my life, and where I might be headed in a few days, and in a few months... Enjoy!

Wow!: The Japanese language has almost no plurals at all! 1 cow, 2 cow, 3 cow, 5,000 cow, etc! “I’d like 5,346 tomato, please.” This might not make such a big difference for an English speaker (“so you don’t add ‘s’ on the end, big deal..”), but for anyone who has studied a language like Czech where plurals nearly double the grammatical tribulations of speaking correctly, the lack of plurals is like a boon from heaven! 1 saké, 2 saké, 3 saké, floor!

What?!: From my limited reading on the subject, it has become clear that India is probably the most efficient nation on earth, simply because the poor allow NOTHING to be wasted. Our trash alone would be considered to be an affluence beyond imagination and survival for countless street-dwellers. ANY opportunity is turned into a niche for survival. There’s even an occupation for “hair-collector”, which is a man who travels around to barber shops and buys the discarded hair, which he sells at a meager profit to others who export the hair to international wig-makers. Have any of us ever thought twice before throwing away hair?!

World Problems: I don’t know how much coverage this is getting in most of the West, but I was shocked recently to hear about the riots in Kenya over the last two months. Kenya has been one of the most peaceful and successful nations of Africa for the last 25 years, and has been a leading example for other more troubled countries on the continent. But recent conflicts look disturbingly familiar, and in one way or another concern the very similar trouble that plunged Rwanda, Congo, Uganda, Sudan, and other countries into chaos.
Since Presidential elections in late December, which the opposition leader Raila Odinga said were rigged in favor of incumbent president Mwai Kibaki, over 1,000 people have been killed and 300,000 people displaced from their homes (according to the New York Times, http://www.nytimes.com/2008/02/06/world/africa/06kenya.html?hp). The conflict is not only drawn along political lines but, like so many similar conflicts, along racial lines. Perhaps it’s more accurate to say that in this part of the world ethnic and political lines are blurred beyond separation. President Kibaki is from the ethnic group Kikuyu, which has long dominated central Kenya and national politics. Odinga is Luo, perhaps the second most powerful ethnic group in Kenya that has a long history of squabbles with the Kikuyu. The political tension have sparked the long-festering racial tensions that still run strong through much of central Africa, but which Kenya has been able to mitigate, until now.
As negotiations continue between the two parties, political riots and chaos continue to give opportunity for settling old scores and venting racial animosity. Even if the two political leaders can make an agreement between themselves, there’s no longer any assurance that they can convince their followers to peacefully accept any compromise. Additionally, the tourism that has allowed for the country’s moderate financial success has plummeted, as already perhaps several billion dollars have been lost, and several billion more will likely be lost before tourists feel safe to return (NY Times). In a country that had a GDP of $17.43 billion 2005, that’s no small loss. Whether or not Kenya can again rise above this disaster has almost become a moot point, as the former role-model of central African nations has been badly tarnished.
One final fact that is completely unrelated but that might be interesting: In the late 1950s a Luo man (the same ethnicity as Raila Odinga, the opposition leader) born in south-west Kenya traveled to the USA as a foreign student, and there married a woman from Kansas. In 1961 they had a son, whom he named Barack Obama Jr.

Actually...: There is a strange tendency among the great international Czech heroes throughout history: they often are not completely Czech. Now remember that I’m speaking about the Czech figures that are well known in other countries, and often represent the Czech people in the eyes of outsiders. For example, the greatest leader of the Czech nation, Charles the Fourth (of Charles Bridge and Charles University fame), who was King of Bohemia as well as Holy Roman Emperor and led the Czech nation during its undeniable Golden Age of the 14th century, was actually only half Czech, on his mother’s side, and descended from the Kings of Luxemburg on his father’s side. The internationally best-known “Czech” author, Franz Kafka, was a Czech-born German, and all his literary work was in German. Arguably the internationally best-known living Czech author, Milan Kundera (“The Unbearable Lightness of Being” “The Joke”) really is Czech, but has lived most of his life in Paris, now writes in French, and has publicly declared that he will never write in Czech again. Josef Dobrovský, a major figure in the Czech national revival movement of the 19th century, was ethnically Czech but was born in Hungary, learned Czech as a second language, and wrote entirely in Latin and German. Not surprising for the time, but still! The most striking example of this idea came in 2005 when CZ broadcasted it’s audience-participation show called “the greatest Czech,” to determine the most popular figure from all Czech history and culture. The overwhelming winner of the nation-wide voting was Jára Cimrman, popularly known as a great playwright, poet, composer, teacher, traveler, philosopher, inventor, detective and sportsman from the 19th and early 20th century. The trouble is that, as everyone knows, Cimrman never existed, being only a fictional character in a series of popular Czech theater performances. So the “Greatest Czech” is fictional!
Really, the true “big-name” international Czechs are a small group, perhaps limited to Jan Hus in the 14th century (John Hus, the religious reformist who spoke against the Catholic church in the tradition of Luther, 100 years before Luther!), and Vaclav Havel of today (the political reformer who protested the socialist rule in Czechoslovakia who became CZ’s first president). It’s interesting to note that of those two, one was burned at the stake and the other spent years in prison under torture. Maybe that has something to do with why there aren’t more in their company!

The Big Picture: A fascinating study was completed a few months ago, an attempt to create the first ever “World Map of Happiness.” Taking in data from all over the place (UNESCO, CIA, the New Economic Foundation, UNHDR, etc.) and synthesizing more than 100 studies of 80,000 people world-wide, a complete world map has been constructed. Of course it’s not perfect, but aims to quantify people’s subjective appraisal of their contentment, leaning on the adage that “if you think you’re happy, then you are, right?”
There are many really stunning results from this list, and I wish I could comment on every entry, but I’ll keep my remarks short and let you look at the list yourself. First of all, where do you think your country falls on the list? Guess before looking below. A number between 1 and 178, where 1 is happiest and 178 is the very fire of hell on earth, what number does your country have (see complete list at the very end of this letter)?
Well first of all, we’re all wondering which country is the MOST happy, right? And the winner is... Denmark! That’s right, cold winters, small size, and suicidal Shakespearean princes not withstanding, Danish citizens scored higher than any other nation.
Also, think about the popular notion of a happy country being a warm tropical island somewhere in the ocean... and now think about the weather in the top 10 countries... okay, Bahamas and Brunei are there, but isn’t it surprising that half of the countries have a latitude of southern Canada or higher?
This list also supports my steadily growing respect for Scandinavia. These countries of Northern Europe dominate the list (Norway is #19, still higher than most of Europe). If anyone’s interested (let me know!) I’ll do some research to find out why I think this is. Hey, you Northern Europeans reading this, why so happy?
Then we come to the other side of the scale. Out of 178 countries, Russia is number 167. Only 10 countries in the world are more unhappy than Russia, and all of those are very much the “developing world.”
But the most surprising score for me was Ukraine. I know several people from Ukraine, and they have always seemed to be a friendly, happy, and open people. Their score, 174. Perhaps the fact that all the Ukrainians I’ve met were living OUTSIDE Ukraine is a key factor...
Anyway, peruse the list and be sure to send me your thoughts and reactions. If you have some internationally-minded friends try playing the “guess the country’s happiness level” game. :-)
1. Denmark 2. Switzerland 3. Austria 4. Iceland 5. The Bahamas 6. Finland 7. Sweden 8. Bhutan 9. Brunei 10. Canada
Other notable results include:
23. USA 35. Germany 41. UK
46. Spain62. France
77. Czech Republic 82. China 90. Japan 125. India 167. Russia
174. Ukraine
The three least happy countries were:
176. Democratic Republic of the Congo 177. Zimbabwe 178. Burundi

Sources:
http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2006/11/061113093726.htm
http://www.le.ac.uk/users/aw57/world/sample.html

Question: How would you respond to this statement: “Culture is only skin deep.” (email me your responses!)

On A Personal Note: “Night has already fallen. If you walk without a light it doesn’t necessarily mean that you will become lost, but you will not know if you are lost or not, and the trauma of the moment will come out the same...
To elaborate...
The most significant new event in my life is that in three days I’ll be taking my first trip outside CZ since arriving in September. So of course I’m excited about it, but I must admit that this trip isn’t exactly a pleasure trip, nor would the be destination my first choice if the decision were completely up to me. While I didn’t expect to be returning to the soil of the USA for several years, I’ll be in Boston next Sunday and Monday. The reason?: Attending the most inconveniently timed and placed interview in my life, hopefully ever.
The interview is for the JET program (The Japanese Exchange and Teaching program: http://www.jetprogramme.org/). For those of you who don’t know that I’ve been seriously looking into teaching in Asia, I’m sorry I haven’t kept you more in the loop. This interview is the first concrete step in an already long process of trying to determine what the next chapter of my life is meant to be. I’ve been looking at spending a year teaching in Asia after this year in CZ, and slowly went through the possibilities in China, Korea, and finally several different sources brought the JET program in Japan to my attention. It seemed to fit. The main reasons are as follows: that for a variety of reasons Japan has become more interesting to me than other Asian countries; the salary for JET is about 5 times what I make in CZ, and having a little savings would be a nice change; JET is the only government-sponsored teaching program in Japan, so it’s more stable and reliable than most of the private language companies (English conveyor-belts, I call ‘em); JET places most of its participants in rural areas, which I feel would give me a more horizon-broadening experience than being in one of the massive cities (where most language schools are).
Those are the “pluses” in a nutshell, and I’ve already gone through an unbelievably rigorous paper application process in November (which ended by me sending more than 1 ½ pounds of paperwork to the Japanese embassy in Washington DC).
After sending in the application I had to wait 2 months to know if I’d been accepted for an interview, and I spent the time struggling over what my decision would be. I’d discovered shortly before sending off my application that all interviews were required to be in person, and in the country of residence, and there was no way for me to wiggle out of it. That meant flying back to the States just for a single interview, for a job I might or might not get, and then in August flying back again to catch the paid-for group flight to Japan. That would be a considerable price to pay when it would be possible to find other, less ideal programs in Japan or another country that could result in a similar experience.
So when I received an email a couple of weeks ago offering me an interview in Boston, I had to make up my mind quickly. The number of factors going through my head are too many to go into detail here, but of course the most difficult element was determining if this was God’s will. I’m struck again by the irony of how comforting it can be at time to commit your life in the hands of someone higher and wiser, and then how frustrating it can be at other times to stay consistent with that commitment. I’m honestly not sure that God wants me to go to Japan, wasn’t sure he’d want me to take the interview, etc. And while trying to finalize decisions before deadlines, I’ve struggled with the desire to stay focused on the plan of a God for whom “all time is soon.” I’ve been through this before, but somehow it never gets easier, except perhaps for the slowing growing trust that everything WILL work out, as long as I stay open.
Staying open is hard when you have to commit yourself to a course of action, and that was my difficulty. I didn’t feel peace about risking so much money and time on a single interview, but mainly didn’t feel peace about “my plan” in general. Two things happened to give me confidence to make a firm step forward. First of all I sent out a request for prayer to a few friends and family members, explaining the situation. The response was completely unexpected, when several of my family members (independent of each other) wrote me that they thought this was too important of an opportunity to pass up, and that they wanted to contribute to the cost of the trip to Boston and back. Their offers added up to a little more than the cost of the entire trip, including lodging and food! This was a strong sign to me, that if God DIDN’T want me to go to the interview, he really needed to work on his communication. :-/ I’m so grateful to those people, whose unexpected and selfless offers of financial help were probably more valuable to me as signs of direction than even the financial help itself (which itself was nothing to snort at)!
Still I couldn’t move forward until another step was made. I had to honestly let go of being “set on” going to Japan, being set on leaving CZ at all, and let God make the call. Once I was truly prepared to give that up, prepared to follow God’s plan in a different direction, and once I gave Him the unconditional opportunity to reject the interview, only then did I feel comfortable to go. It’s hard to explain, as these things always are, but once I was in a place where I felt honestly prepared to hear and accept whatever alternate plan God had, and when no alternate plan was forthcoming, I felt content with going to the interview. It doesn’t mean I’ll get the job, or even that God plans for me to go to Japan, only that he is okay with me going to Boston. The next step will be the next step.
So that’s where things are at for the moment. I’m looking forward to the trip just to get on the road again and see some new places. I’ll be stopping in Dublin for a day on each side of the trip (it’s about $800 cheaper that way!), and I’ve never been in Dublin or Boston, so that should be interesting. But it doesn’t change the fact that this is pretty insane, even for me. I’ll be sleeping in a different bed each night, be on a different plane every day, spending about $800 dollars, all for one meeting... and the real kicker is that once I’d bought my tickets and confirmed my attendance, I received a reply from JET saying “Thank you for you confirmation. Your interview will be on Monday, Feb 25th, at 11:40. Each interview will last about 15 minutes...” Yes, insane indeed. I won’t know the results of the interview until mid April, so around that time I’m sure there’ll be another round of soul-searching and guidance-seeking. I’ll just have to burn that bridge when I come to it!
That’s the news for now. Take care everyone! I appreciate your prayers and support, and I’ll try to keep you informed. c:

Nations

1. DENMARK
2. SWITZERLAND
3. AUSTRIA
4. ICELAND
5. BAHAMAS
6. FINLAND
7. SWEDEN
8. BHUTAN
9. BRUNEI DARUSSALAM
10. CANADA
11. IRELAND
12. LUXEMBOURG
13. COSTA RICA
14. MALTA
15. NETHERLANDS
16. ANTIGUA AND BARBUDA
17. MALAYSIA
18. NEW ZEALAND
19. NORWAY
20. SEYCHELLES
21. ST KITTS AND NEVIS
22. UAE
23. USA
24. VANUATU
25. VENEZUELA
26. AUSTRALIA
27. BARBADOS
28. BELGIUM
29. DOMINICA
30. OMAN
31. SAUDI ARABIA
32. SURINAME
33. BAHRAIN
34. COLUMBIA
35. GERMANY
36. GUYANA
37. HONDURAS
38. KUWAIT
39. PANAMA
40 ST VINCENT AND THE
41. UNITED KINGDOM
42. DOMINICAN REPUBLIC
43. GUATEMALA
44. JAMAICA
45. QATAR
46. SPAIN
47. ST LUCIA
48. BELIZE
49. CYPRUS
50. ITALY
51. MEXICO
52. SAMOA WESTERN
53. SINGAPORE
54. SOLOMON ISLANDS
55. TRINIDAD AND TOBAGO
56. ARGENTINA
57. FIJI
58. ISRAEL
59. MONGOLIA
60. SAO TOME AND PERINI
61. EL SALVADOR
62. FRANCE
63. HONG KONG
64. INDONESIA
65. KYRGYZSTAN
66. MALDIVES
67. SLOVENIA
68. TAIWAN
69. TIMOR-LESTE
70. TONGA
71. CHILE
72. GRENADA
73. MAURITIUS
74. NAMIBIA
75. PARAGUAY
76. THAILAND
77. CZECH REPUBLIC
78. PHILIPPINES
79. TUNISIA
80. UZBEKISTAN
81. BRAZIL
82. CHINA
83. CUBA
84. GREECE
85. NICARAGUA
86. PAPUA NEW GUINEA
87. URUGUAY
88. GABON
89. GHANA
90. JAPAN
91. YEMEN
92. PORTUGAL
93. SRI LANKA
94. TAJIKISTAN
95. VIETNAM
96. IRAN
97. COMOROS
98. CROATIA
99. POLAND
100. CAPE VERDI
101. KAZAKHSTAN
102. MADAGASCAR
103. SOUTH KOREA
104. BANGLADESH
105. CONGO REPUBLIC
106. GAMBIA
107. HUNGARY
108. LIBYA
109. SOUTH AFRICA
110. CAMBODIA
111. ECUADOR
112. KENYA
113. LEBANON
114. MOROCCO
115. PERU
116. SENEGAL
117. BOLIVIA
118. HAITI
119. NEPAL
120. NIGERIA
121. TANZANIA
122. BENIN
123. BOTSWANA
124. GUINEA-BISSAU
125. INDIA
126. LAOS
127. MOZAMBIQUE
128. PALESTINE
129. SLOVAKIA
130. BURMA
131. MALI
132. MAURITANIA
133. TURKEY
134. ALGERIA
135. EQUATORIAL GUINEA
136. ROMANIA
137. BOSNIA & HERZE
138. CAMEROON
139. ESTONIA
140. GUINEA
141. JORDAN
142. SYRIA
143. SIERRA LEONE
144. AZERBAIJAN
145. CENTRAL AFRICAN RE
146. MACEDONIA
147. TOGO
148. ZAMBIA
149. ANGOLA
150. DJIBOUTI
151. EGYPT
152. BURKINA FASO
153. ETHIOPIA
154. LATVIA
155. LITHUANIA
156. UGANDA
157. ALBANIA
158. MALAWI
159. CHAD
160. IVORY COAST
161. NIGER
162. ERITREA
163. RWANDA
164. BULGARIA
165. LESOTHO
166. PAKISTAN
167. RUSSIA
168. SWAZILAND
169. GEORGIA
170. BELARUS
171. TURKMENISTAN
172. ARMENIA
173. SUDAN
174. UKRAINE
175. MOLDOVA
176. CONGO DEMOCRATIC
177. ZIMBABWE
178. BURUNDI

Discover Something New #19

2007-12-24T07:07:00.000-08:00

Table of Contents:
-My schedule the last few months
-Announcement of posting of essays
-Announcement of school completetion
-Review of recent readings
-Announcement of posting "Day Two of Xtrav"
-"Discover Something New: Czech Christmas"
-Season's Greetings

Hello my friends! It’s been a while since you’ve heard from me! The last couple of months built up to a pretty crazy climax, which I’ll summarize: Last time you heard about my balanced and gradual slide into insanity, by adding interesting classes until I had twice as many as most students, by rejoining Christian groups I used to be involved with, and by trying to start building a base of teaching hours. The main problem is that this was my last semester, so as soon as January hits I need to be teaching full time to support myself. This is difficult because teaching jobs are hard to find in the middle of the academic year in anything but piece-meal, so when I had opportunities to take on students in October or November I felt obliged to start with them immediately. This meant that just as I was adding more teaching hours my classes were gradually getting more difficult as final exams approached, causing a spiraling process of dog-paddling and tread-mill running and leading to a climatic final two weeks of very little sleep or coherent thought. Now THERE’s a sentence for you! Can you tell I’ve been churning out essays like a tornado tearing through Harvard? :-)
[That brings me to my first purpose of this letter, to say that I’ve posted some of my recent essays on my blog for those of you who are WAY too bored over the holidays. www.discoverthepenguinsworld.blogspot.com. Click on “Lexical Creations” on the right. I’m posting three essays, one on All Quiet on the Western Front (entitled At Any Price), another on the psychological effects of oppressive occupation as observed in examples of “insanity” in Czech literature (The Days of the Madman), and the last (and most recommended), a mostly biographical piece on my WWII veteran professor (A Long Road Home). They are rushed and unrefined, as I had to write about 25 pages my last week, but some of you might find some of them interesting.]
So despite my traditional madness I survived, even getting more sleep than in many other crazy periods of my life (only one all-nighter!), and now I have completed all the requirements for my B.A. I don’t FEEL like a graduate, but that’s probably because I’m pretty sure that I’ll return to school some day.
So now I just have teaching, and most lessons are on holiday for two weeks, so I have a real chance to kick back and catch up a bit. I’m very glad of some time to read again, and I’ve felt very diverse and intellectual in my readings lately. After a few months of Czech literature (everything from Kafka’s Metamorphosis (again!) to Kundera’s Unbearable Lightness of Being) and novels of 20th century turbulence (All Quiet on the Western Front (WWI, Germany) and Darkness at Noon (Soviet Russia)), I’ve also almost finished The Chrysanthemum and the Sword (Ruth Benedict’s classic profile of Japanese culture and psychology), and am now tearing through A Fine Balance, Rohinton Mistry’s portrayal of the streets of India (thanks Lin!). I’ve also been getting a lot from the Psalms in my Bible reading (O God, you are my God, earnestly I seek you; my soul thirsts for you, my body longs for you, in a dry and weary land where there is no water. Ps 63). For my next book I’m looking into Haruki Murakami, a Japanese novelist who’s very popular right now (any recommendations on a specific book of his, you Japanese reading this?). The problem is that I’m trying to actually decrease my personal library, because of the possibility of leaving CZ at the end of the summer, and not wanting to drag 100s of books with me or worry about burdening someone here with them. So I guess I’ll be limited to the English selections at the Prague libraries.
Anyway, besides reading I’ve also had time to return to some of my other projects. That brings me to my third point of this letter (the second being that I’m done with school), which is that the 2nd day of Xtrav (Extreme Travel) has been completed and posted on www.youtube.com/extravpenguin. Day Two starts with episode 15. If you got bored of it before, give it one more chance. This is the day that the trip truly began to live up to the X part of the title for me, and I hope that comes across. I had to use the voice recorder much more than the first day, so I apologize that the medium is not quite as engaging as the first day, but I hope that the material is.
My fourth point is that it’s high time you all got a chance to Discover Something New!
Seeing as Christmas is in 2 days (1 for some of us. Wait, I’ll get to that!), I thought it would be appropriate to discuss Christmas traditions, and since I’m in Czech Republic I though I’d share a little of Czech traditions with you. For you Czechs, or for those of you who have heard from me on this topic before this won’t be anything new, but there are many people on this list who know nothing about the fascinating array of Czech traditions...

Without a doubt the one Czech cultural element that is the most distinct from America is the way they celebrate holidays. Easter, Halloween, and even Witch Burning Day all have their distinct peculiarities for an American observer, but Christmas draws the line between our two cultures clearer than anything else. Maybe it’s because we assume that such an international holiday will be celebrated the same way internationally, but cultural has its ways of making itself felt, globalization or no globalization.
The first striking difference for an American in CZ for Christmas is that here Christmas is essentially celebrated on the 24th of December. This is a little confusing, because there seems to be a notion for some Czechs that Christmas Day is still the 25th, and that Czech celebrations take place on Christmas Eve. But because all significant “Christmassy” activities take place on the 24th, in practice everyone refers to the 24th as “Christmas.” I warned you it was confusing. This custom is followed by much of Central Europe, as well as Scandinavian countries, Jordan, Japan, and Columbia (those of you from these countries, correct me if I’m wrong, please!). I imagine that in Czech Republic we’re in a cultural transition, and that in another 100 years all lingering notion of celebrating on Christmas Eve will fade and the 24th will simply be Christmas.
The 24th is a day filled with traditions and celebration. There’s not necessarily an early start, though, because presents are opened at the very end of the day, not first thing in the morning (they may seem to be more patient, but let’s not forget they still open presents a day earlier than Americans!
There is a tradition to not eat the entire day until dinner. This is made more difficult by the customary day-long activity in the kitchen, preparing dinner and the essential “Christmas sweets,” as everyone calls them when speaking English. More accurate would be “Christmas cookies,” which are of various shapes and sorts, many of which are not dissimilar to our sugar cookies in shapes of stars and crescent moons. These “sweets” are absolutely essential at any Czech Christmas, and much fuss is made of them; for good reason, they’re delicious! So those who desire to honor the tradition of fasting all day face no easy task, but they have motivation. Tradition says that those who make it to dinner without eating will see a golden pig. That’s right, a gold pig. I’ve never gotten a straight explanation of this, so don’t ask me!
When dinner arrives another key difference becomes quickly obvious: those who love their traditional American Christmas dinner will be shocked, as not a single item is the same. No eggnog, not turkey or ham, no pies. The main course is fried carp, and on the side will be potato salad and rolls. The other elements are various, but carp and potato salad are a must. However it seems that there’s a constant debate among Czechs about this custom, as a significant number of them can’t stand carp for one reason or another. I quite enjoy the meal, but this is often heard with surprise from those who are against the tradition. Some complain about the smell, others about the bones (you do need to shift through very carefully), others about the cruelty of preparation; and that brings us to another interesting point.
The carp is not picked up at the nearest super market the day before the meal, not by any means! This leads to a recounting of my strongest moment of culture shock ever experienced in the Czech Republic. It was my first Christmas season here in 2003, and I was walking home a few days before Christmas when I noticed a large booth set up where no booth had been before. On further investigation I discovered a vat about the size of a small Jacuzzi, filled to the brim with large carp, and the cracks filled in with water. Curious, I decided to stand back and observe the proceedings. In a few minutes a mother and young daughter came by, and the girl (probably 7-8 years old), gazed excitedly into the teeming vat. Finally she pointed to one of the fish, and the man at the booth grabbed a net and deftly scooped the fish out, giving the others a little more fin-room. Holding the foot long+ carp, the man asked the mother something, and the mother answered. I later learned that the question was essentially “dead or alive?” The man slapped the fish on the table, picked up a wooden mallet, and, with the little girl watching happily, he delivered a powerful and solid whack to the fish’s forehead. He held the carp firmly as it thrashed like a boa constrictor when its tail gets run over, and then wrapped the fish in paper and handed it over. The mother and happy child walked away, leaving me on the sidelines with my jaw resting on my chest. The main shock for me was that the young girl had chosen the victim and watched the execution without losing her contended smile for a moment, just going to show that Czechs are much more willing to accept that their meat comes from dead animals than Americans are.
The strange thing is that as difficult as this is for me to watch even now (I tried to watch a few days ago, and had to leave after the bludgeoning), whenever I see the carp-vats on the street I know it’s Christmas, and it’s actually difficult for me to feel at all “Christmassy” in CZ without these stands, which pop up everywhere. This year I didn’t see one until Friday, to which I credit my serious lack of Christmas spirit this year.
But remember that the man asked “dead or alive?”? Yes, sometimes people take the carp home alive. What do they do with it, several days before Christmas? Why, they keep it in their bathtub, of course! Really, I’m not joking. No seriously, they keep the fish in their bath tubs until it’s time for the “man of the house” (you can always tell who wears the pants in the family by who kills the carp) to kill it and clean it. How do they take baths? I never got the courage to ask this directly, but at least one former student of mind says she remembers taking a bath with the carp when she was young. Often children also name the din-... err, carp. But what if they get attached to it? Well, there’s even a tradition to address that. Some families (not many) keep the carp several days until the 24th, and then let the children release it into the river. Christmas charity. However, since the fish are raised in captivity it’s common knowledge that they never survive more than a few days.
The dinner of fried carp and potato salad complete, the Czech family turns to the tree, which thus far has very few presents under it. The children are taken out of the room, so that Ježíšek can come with their presents. That’s right, Ježíšek (pronounced "Yezheeshek"), which means little or baby Jesus, brings the presents, not Santa. Santa Clause is nothing more than a commercial import from the West here, so no stockings hung out to dry, no cookies and milk, no reindeer. Instead, baby Jesus brings the presents and a host of different traditions. This custom is followed also in Slovakia and Hungary.
The most interesting thing about Ježíšek for me is that he does not have a clear image. I made a habit of asking my students every year about how Ježíšek looks, and everyone has a different idea. Some really imagine a baby in a diaper dragging a sack of presents behind him, others see an old man with a long white beard, wearing clothes very reminiscent of Santa. Still others picture a ball of bright light hovering in the air, or a man wearing a thick green coat. The most creative answer I received came from the same student who bathed with carps, who said “well, I always imagined that Ježíšek was a big yellow hedgehog.” I was completely baffled until I found out months later that the Czech for hedgehog is ježik, and she had gotten these words mixed up as a child. Why yellow I’ll never know.
I’ve always been a little uncertain about Ježíšek, as I’ve never quite been able to get a firm grasp of how much mental connection there is to Ježíš, or Jesus. More and more, though, it seems to me that most Czechs make very little connection between the two, if for no other reason than that CZ is largely atheistic and Christmas has very little to do with Christ. This doesn’t really make me feel better, though.
After presents many people attend a midnight Christmas catholic mass. This is the only hour of the year when the churches are full. As far as what happens there, I really don’t know, because I haven’t managed to attend one yet. But I will this year, and hopefully in St. Vitus cathedral itself, in Prague castle. I’ll let you know if I find anything interesting.
With that I’ll let you all go back to enjoying your own Christmas. If you think of a particularly unique Christmas custom of your country or family I’d love to hear about it, so give it some thought. In any case, whatever country you find yourself in, I hope that you are surrounded by happiness and the joy of this season. We celebrate the day that God came to earth to live homeless, penniless, and infinitely loving. Whatever you believe, you have to admit that the very idea is worth celebrating; with gifts and decorations and gatherings of course, but especially with our hearts and minds. God bless and Merry Christmas. -Caleb

At Any Price

2007-12-22T19:16:00.001-08:00

Human life is shaped and formed by countless factors. These factors can be physical, logical, emotional, or even supernatural, but perhaps the strongest motivators are instinctual. And no instinct holds more sway than the instinct to survive. Given free reign, the survival instinct will go to any lengths to achieve its purpose. It gives nearly irresistible commands in moments of danger, and when danger is present for longer periods of time then it can create seemingly absurd behaviors and structures as a means of defense. The more extreme the danger and the longer it lasts, then the more unusual and desperate will the structures become.
The most extreme example of this phenomenon is human war. Those who must find a way to exist in this most threatening and torturous of environments inevitably create otherwise impossible structures of friendship, manipulations of human nature, irreversible transformations of their thought processes, all to “on living at any price” (100). As is demonstrated in Erich Maria Remarque's book “All Quiet On The Western Front,” this radical process is the only hope for survival.
Here “survival” does not mean physical survival, since all the soldiers quickly come to realize that “it is simply a matter of chance whether I am hit or whether I go on living” (72). The long-term practical effects of the survival instinct in war exist primarily in the social realm. Nowhere else is it so evident that humans are social creatures with a life-and-death need for community.
The first factor to understand is that these young soldiers have been utterly removed from every aspect of their previous social existence. All that they had been taught both directly and indirectly by their previous life was found to be wanting on the battlefield. This means that every foundation and trust of their young minds was shattered to its core. The main character Paul Baumer says of their teachers, parents, and role-models that “we believed in them. In our minds the idea of authority – which is what they represented – implied deeper insights and a more humane wisdom. But the first dead man we saw shattered this conviction” (9). The teacher who pressed them all into the war to begin with, whom they all formerly respected and who had the best of intentions in pushing them to war, is now perceived as being completely morally bankrupt.
The rawness of war, and the essential changes it works on the nature of young men completely severed their connection with any environment that was not war. When visiting home it is painfully obvious to Paul that “I'm sure that I was just like them myself, before: but now I can't find any real point of contact... These people are different” (121). In fact the people are not different at all, it is Paul and his comrades who have completely changed. The way that their survival instincts have completely remade them causes Paul to feel that even if they physically survive the war, still “I don't think we'll ever get home” (62).
Of course other young people experience this feeling without any involvement in a war. But they have other ways to build a new “home” and other social shelters to run to; namely to romance. But on the battlefront there are no women at all, and thus the soldiers are deprived of another “natural” survival mechanism. The absence of the “fairer sex” has as profound an effect on the soldiers as the disconnection from their homes, though it might be subtler. In the book it is most clearly seen when there appears a poster with a beautiful woman on it, and the reaction of two of the young men is a sudden desire to wash themselves, find clean clothes to wear, and make themselves “presentable,” even though they've given no thought to presentability for nearly two years. From this it can be seen how influential women have been on the development of a cultured and civil society. Without this influence it quickly becomes clear that “a man is basically a beast, and it's only later that a bit of decency gets smeared on top” (31).
Man cannot survive without a social community. In the absence of family, role-models, and romantic interests, the survival instinct finds more unusual ways to fill the void. One way is to make seemingly unfeeling jokes and fun of their deadly situation, even though “it isn't because we are naturally cheerful that we make jokes, it's just that we keep cheerful because if we didn't, we'd be done for” (101). They throw off many of the morals and taboos which aid the construction of “civilization,” but here are only baggage to weigh them down. Those who would never think of stealing do so here without even missing the non-existent guilt, and the embarrassment of public toilets is a an idea from a past life. “Earlier values don't count any longer. And nobody really knows how things used to be” (191). These are all far-reaching creations of the survival instinct, far removed from the form of man in less threatening environments, but vital here.
But the strongest structure created for the sake of survival is “the best thing that the war produced – comradeship in arms” (19). The bond between the soldiers, in the absence of anyone else to bond with, is as intense as any social bond in non-war conditions. It isn't talked about, just understood, that their fellows are all they have to hold on to, all that gets them through another day without losing all will to live. The feeling that someone is dependent on you just as you depend on him is so vital to the human psyche, especially under such circumstances, that the survival instinct creates it through virtually anyone who is available. The result is that “we have a greater and more gentle consideration for each other than I should think even lovers do. We are two human beings, two tiny sparks of life: outside there is just the night, and all around us, death... Before the war we wouldn't have has a single thought in common – and now here we are... aware of our existence and so close to each other that we can't even talk about it” (68).
While this fraternal bond is the only thing that keeps them alive and feeling like human beings, at the same time it is this bond that blocks their road back to human civilization. It is the common experience, the intense daily stress survived side-by-side that forms the fabric of their lives, and that very experience is something that no one in the “real world” will ever be able to relate to. No one will ever be able to understand these young soldiers, and their awareness of this only pulls them closer together in increasing rejection of the outside world.
Besides the growing disconnection with their former homes, another rejection occurs in the realm of political thought. Previously they had either ignored the political world as irrelevant to their lives, or else taken everything at face value when presented with authority. But suddenly politics has a very real effect on them all, and they begin to question the powers-that-be. They are shocked by the realization that “on some table, a document is signed by some people that none of us knows, and for years our main aim in life is the one thing that usually draws the condemnation of the whole world and incurs its severest punishment in law” (137). From here they are able to begin questioning the leaders of their country, even the Kaiser himself. They start to accept the idea that he is human, that he can be questioned, that he might make mistakes or be motivated by selfishness. The knowledge that “the war has ruined us for everything”(63) further embitters them and further isolates them from their own command. No longer are they content to leave the affairs of the world in the hands of the “bigwigs,” they want to have their own say. Beyond this, however, is a feeling that they've been betrayed by a system they trusted, by an existence they trusted. More powerful than any plan for change or hope of deliverance is the the lasting impression is that “everything must have been fraudulent and pointless if thousands of years of civilization weren't even able to prevent this river of blood” (186). Their “political awakening,” so to speak, did not motivate them to greater political involvement, but rather further convinced them its futility.
Along with the self-granted permission to question authority came the ability to question the very tenants of their war-time existence. Their sole function as soldiers is to kill the opposing soldiers, despite the dawning realization that they really have no personal motive for doing so beyond the fact that “if we don't destroy them they will destroy us” (83). Their expanded political understanding leads them to the conclusion that war is caused by a few men in high positions, and that “...out here...the wrong people are fighting each other” (29).
They develop almost a sympathy for those on the other side of no-man's land, seeing that in many ways they have all been thrown together into the same mess for no good reason. “It's funny when you think about it... We're out here defending out homeland. And yet the French are there defending their homeland as well. Which of us is right?” (144). Of course these thoughts cut them off even more from their leadership, from their patriotic parents and teachers, and from their former innocent and trusting selves, and pulls them closer together an unusual substitute family.
The ultimate end for the main character Paul is not his physical death, which is little more than a footnote at the end of the book, but rather the loss of his “family,” his fellows. They represent the only community he has left, the last scrap of safety net his survival instinct has been able to hold together, and when that community vanishes then there is nothing left to live for. He feels that if they all could have returned home a year ago, together and strengthened by their common experience, then they could have changed to world with their righteous indignation. But “if we go back now we shall be weary, broken-down, burnt-out, rootless and devoid of hope. We shall no longer be able to cope” (206). It is the loss of comradeship that takes all the life out of Paul, and the shrapnel that later kills him is little more than the physical manifestation of that lifelessness.
Through all this it can be seen how far humans will go to create a close community, and that when absolutely no material for community can be found then the result is dire. For Paul and his fellows, cut off from every other social interaction, they bond with each other to an extent that is inexplicable for anyone who has not experienced war. The thing that makes this account of the war more terrifying than anything else is the loss of that bond, and the destruction of everyone left behind. As Remarque says in his introduction, the purpose of the story is no more or less than to “give an account of a generation that was destroyed by war – even those of it who survived the shelling.” For anyone who is temped to count the cost of war accounting to the statistics of deaths and survivals, it is vital to remember that true war does not allow any survivors at all.

The Days of the Madman

2007-12-22T19:12:00.000-08:00

“I think you cope quite sensible with the difficulty of living. We build useless war machines, towers, walls, curtains of silk, and we could marvel at all this a great deal if we had the time. We tremble in the balance, we don’t fall, we flutter…” (Kafka 45).
Franz Kafka wrote these lines in 1909, from under an atmosphere of intense occupation. This may seem a strange statement to make, since although modern Czech history offers a number of severe political and military occupations, Kafka did not experience them. When he was born in Prague, the Czech lands were part of the Austrio-Hungarian Empire, which may be called a kind of occupation, except that after 200 years this arrangement was status-quo, and as a German speaker himself Kafka would be expected to have more sympathy with Austria than with the “Czech” nation. So how can it be said that his writing is influenced by an occupation?
In the context of the Czech experience, the word “occupation” wears many masks. It can be applied to the military presence of Nazi Germany during World War II, or to the political influence of Soviet Russia from 1948-1989 (including their own military period, starting in 1968). It could even apply to the cultural oppression of the Austrio-Hungarian Empire in the 17th and 18th centuries. All definitions of the word, however, have two common factors: the existence of an unwelcome outside presence, and the restrictions enforced by that outside presence upon the subject. Under these terms, this essay is aimed at exploring a very different manifestation of the word: the occupation of the psyche.
To begin shedding light on this concept we will leave Kafka for the moment and turn to one of his contemporaries: Gustav Meyrink. In The Golum, Meyrink writes about an individual living in the Jewish Quarter, which in the early 20th century was a ghetto that embodied an atmosphere of extreme claustrophobia, despair, and isolation. The residents were held there by force, meaning that legal, religious, or financial factors strictly prevented them from leaving. Thus stagnation, in every conceivable sense of the word, permeated the ghetto. “The dark, sullen life which clings to this house refuses to leave me in peace, and old images keep looming up inside me” says Athanasius Pernath, the main character of The Golum (Meyrink 13).
When applying the word “occupation” to the Jewish ghetto, it is important to understand that a “psychic occupation” need not be planned or intended by any person or entity. It is necessary only that a foreign (and probably unwanted) presence impose restrictions on the natural course of life. With this in mind it is easier to imagine the ghetto as being under occupation, not by military or political force but by the heavy psychological burden which all inhabitants lived under every day. Their lives and minds were not their own, being held captive by the environment in which they lived. No individual exhibits this better than Mr. Pernath.
Pernath finds himself caught up in a convoluted psychic haunting of the ghetto by an ancient intangible entity, the Golum. The embodied emergence of the Golum is explained as being the result of the long term psychic trauma of the ghetto: “As the electric tension builds past endurance on humid days and at last gives birth to lightning, might not the constant accumulation of the never-changing thoughts which poison the air here in the ghetto inevitably lead to a sudden, fitful discharge? – a psychic explosion which whips our dream-consciousness out into the daylight…” (46).
This “psychic explosion” that is the Golum chooses Pernath as its host, and a second level of occupation occurs in the story as he is gradually possessed by the Golum. As a result of this Pernath’s behavior changes radically, quickly isolating those around him and throwing him into a spiral of thoughts and actions that would certainly invoke the diagnosis of “insanity” from any outside observer. He begins to attribute consciousness to inanimate objects: “Often I dreamed I eavesdropped on these houses’ sinister doings and learned to my horror that they were the true secret masters of the street” (25), he has dreams and visions that are increasingly difficult to separate from reality (even for the reader), and the encounters with the Golum begin to seem more like encounters with himself.
The question is whether it is wholly justifiable to call Pernath’s reaction to this psychological occupation “insanity.” To that end we will turn to another character and another period in Czech literature. In Fuks’ Mr. Theodore Mundstock, there is no need to make a case for the existence of a hostile occupation, as the main character is a Jew during the Nazi reign in Prague. But our interest here is not the physical occupation, but rather the prying into peoples’ psyches, which in this case is very deliberate and intentional.
Mr. Mundstock exhibits seemingly “insane” behavior in two ways, which correspond to the two halves of the book. Indeed, insanity seems to be the driving point of the story, and the first introspective piece of information the main character gives the reader is that “my nerves have gone all to pieces” (Fuks 2). He comes home every day expecting to find a summons for the daily Jewish transport to concentration camps, and he spends every waking moment at home waiting for the decisive knock on his door. He explains his stress about all this to his companion, Mon, and also often receives ridicule from him. Mon, as far as can be determined, is Mr. Mundstock’s shadow personified. The conversations between these two sometimes become so animated as to alert the neighbors, and while Mr. Mundstock puts great effort into ignoring Mon, he isn’t quite strong enough to be left alone.
If Mon were to vanish, Mr. Mundstock would truly be alone (besides the ambiguous bird he keeps as a pet, a relationship which could be an argument for insanity in itself!). His reportedly active social life before the invasion has shriveled into little more than furtive glances and secret, whispered meetings. This applies to all members of the Jewish community, who live in fear of drawing attention to themselves or of implicating a friend by their presence. There is no law specifically which states that Jews must remain hidden behind locked doors and dart quietly from shadow to shadow, but the constant fear and dread enforces this behavior as firmly as any chains could. They realize that “we have been flung into a terrible hell” (95), but the whispers of news from the concentration camps constantly reminds them that a single knock on the door could trigger much worst.
It is in this environment that Mr. Mundstock has endowed his shadow with a personality which he is no longer able to control. He can talk to Mon, ignore him, but he cannot uncreate him. Clearly this is not sane behavior, but can we blame him? Stripped of all traditional and healthy social interaction, he has adapted an imaginative solution to his need. And in this we hit upon a crucial point.
Often we hear that mankind is the most adaptable creature of the animal kingdom, being able to adapt to life in nearly any environment this planet can throw at us, and for this reason we dominate the globe. In a physical sense this might be true, but in our progression we have also developed a vulnerability to a metaphysical environment of which the animals need know nothing. Our needs within this metaphysical realm are many, and while they may vary slightly from person to person it is vital that they not be underestimated. For example, while there are animals that lead a social existence, there is no other creature that relies so fundamentally on communication that the lack of interaction becomes a question of life or death. Other needs (those which will be addressed here) besides social interaction include a sense of place in time, and hope (in one form or another), among many others. These metaphysical needs are so absolute that man is utterly unable to adapt to life without them, just as our lungs cannot adapt to life on the moon. Rather, the reaction is to drastically adapt our perception of the very fabric of reality until it becomes bearable. If we cannot successfully fool ourselves into believing that those needs are being met, then we whither and die.
In this light it becomes more difficult to label Mr. Mundstock as being insane. The military occupation has deprived him of all meaningful interaction, and in so doing has forced its way into his psyche. He must have human contact, or perish (and the number of suicides amongst his friends confirms the reality of this threat). The restrictions placed on him press from all sides except one. Every traditional and accepted path to social interaction has been systematically blocked, but there is no way (or need) to block the full extent of human creativity. Mr. Mundstock takes the only road left to him, the road that fulfills his needs through a detachment from reality. After all, “there was probably nothing on earth that you couldn’t explain away if you found the right reason” (35), and he has found the right reasons to explain away the fact that it is impossible to have a real conversation with one’s shadow. That reason is a life-or-death need for companionship. In truth he is not insane, but merely following his logical survival instincts in an insane environment. However, he goes on to provide further grounds for suspicion!
When Mr. Mundstock becomes more certain that his summons to the concentration camp is coming soon, he begins to panic, and another need quietly rises to the forefront: “The worse thing of all is to lose hope” (8). Hope, too, has been systematically and deliberately barricaded in every conceivable way. But suddenly he is struck with the thought that “method and a practical approach could save him” (111). He begins to put himself through a rigorous training routine, practicing not sleeping, not eating, doing hard labor, etc. This is clearly madness, since being prepared for a bullet will not save anyone from it. And as he vividly imagines watching his closest friends being dragged to the camps and beaten, coolly taking notes in a very “practical” manner, then the reader is left with no question as to his slipping hold on sanity. But this would be taking Mr. Mundstock at face value, for while he thinks that the purpose of these actions is to survive the camps, the subconscious and true goal is to acquire a reason to hope.
Mr. Mundstock’s callousness is appalling, and the extent to which he drowns himself in his hallucinations is disturbing. But as he himself says: “Where can you turn for strength? I don’t blame people for escaping into dreams, I don’t. You’ve got to find a refuge somewhere. How can we just go on holding out?” (153). This is the mark of the occupied psyche; he is so confined that he is unable to go on in any socially acceptable way. It forces him to a choice: a despairing death, or a disengagement from reality that equates to madness. More often then not the end result is both. There’s no question that “there are thoughts that crush” (17). In the end, after the enormous struggle for survival, Mr. Mundstock is prepared, and while crossing the street to join a transport to the concentration camps he is hit by a truck and killed instantly. The Nazis did they work thoroughly, systematically pursuing and claiming his companionship, hope, time, sanity, and finally his life.
Now we can step back to Pernath and the Golum, whom we left awaiting our verdict on his sanity. His psyche has also been invaded, pried open, and occupied by the deep communal distress of the ghetto. Before any serious entanglement with the Golum, this atmosphere had restricted his options and actions, even blocking the road to certain essential metaphysical needs. These needs rise to the surface of his consciousness, and he becomes nearly obsessed with what another Czech author of a different period of occupation called “the unbearable lightness of being” (Kundera). Seeing the wind catch up a piece of paper and wave it around in the air, Pernath wonders: “What if, in the end, we living creatures too are something like those scraps of paper? – Might an invisible, ungraspable wind chase us back and forth as well, determining our actions, while we in our innocence think ourselves governed by our own free will?” (Meyrink 41).
This notion becomes even more frightening for him as he begins to realize that he has no knowledge of his past, that almost all memories had been blocked to protect him from some tremendous trauma. That lack of memory was “making me homeless amidst the life surrounding me” (52). A man with no knowledge of the past, no hope for the future, and no link to the present desires one thing, connection. He longs to be a part of the time and space he inhabits, to know that he exists by the impact his life has on the people around him, and to affect something, anything, in the formation of the future.
This is the need, and all the restrictions of his environment are aimed against him achieving it. The solution (whether of his own psychological creation or simply a rare opportunity that appeared just in time to save him from devastation) is the insane behavior involving the Golum. The Golum embodies the tortured consciousness of the entire Jewish community, and through their surreal interaction Pernath obtains a connection to his time and place. He sees a vision of many faces “on through the centuries, until the features grew more and more familiar to me and converged in one last face: the face of the Golum, ending the procession of my forebears” (144). As abstract, untraditional, and “insane” as this connection might be, that is precisely the point. Psychological occupation leaves room for nothing else.
In prison Pernath meets another man who has shared some of his experiences with the Golum. This individual has been taken to the extreme of committing murder while under the influence of the Golum, but he coolly accepts this in a way that seems like madness even to Pernath. His response is instructive: “But I am not mad. I am something quite different – something which closely resembles madness, but is its exact opposite” (238). Although it is taking his statement slightly out of context, these words eloquently communicate one point of this essay: the bitter irony of psychological occupation is that the insanity it produces springs from an entirely logical reaction to the circumstances. The most irrational deeds can be understood as absolutely imperative when taken in the context of the significance of mankind’s metaphysical needs.
At last we are prepared to return to Kafka. The quote at the beginning of this essay comes from the short story “A Description of a Struggle,” and a quick perusal of the story should reveal its similarities with the other pieces of literature already examined. In regards to the presence of insane behavior, the story jumps from one restless hallucination to the next and switches suddenly between narrators without warning. Concerning the analysis of this story, it would be difficult to even separate the characters from one another and determine what their behavior actually is, much less what needs provoke it. In fact one must wonder if the author himself is not under some sever psychological occupation, and this is where it fits.
Kafka lived in the ghetto at the same time that Meyrink was writing about it. In fact if Pernath had been a writer, we could imagine him producing something similar to Kafka’s works. Kafka was also a German speaking Jew in the Czech lands, a condition that much increased his feelings of isolation and oppression. His writing was a compulsion, his own creative way of addressing a need within him. And anyone who can write about a man waking up to discover that he has become a giant beetle is no stranger to the accusation of insanity. Therefore it is an easy jump to hypothesize that he was driven to this form of expression by a psychological occupation, the same plague which weighed on Fuks, Meyrink, Kundera, and many other principles of Czech literature.
Without going into unnecessary details, the very elements that can be identified as “insane” in Kafka’s works point to the driving force behind them; that is, a feeling of isolation and lack of intimacy, and a need to communicate those feelings. Seen in this light, Kafka becomes not nearly so Kafkaesque. After all, as he himself says, in an insane environment that restricts the natural course of the pursuit of needs, insane behavior is the only way to “cope quite sensible with the difficulty of living” (Kafka 45).
Mankind has shown itself capable of momentous things, of mobilizing mighty armies and sweeping across continents, of digging deep into the human consciousness and turning a man into a puppet, of building cities for vast masses and altering the very structure of the earth. Even though these things might be worthy of wonder, Kafka calls them “useless.” They fall on the well paved path that we have used for centuries to fulfill our needs of social intimacy, of hope, of meaning, and the road has been transformed into a battlefield full of mines and barbed wire. The human response to the dehumanizing effects of the modern age, thus far, has not been to strengthen ourselves for the fight, to charge into battle, or even to adapt to a new way of life in this distorted landscape. Even if this would end in disaster, it would be an act of courage and determination to fight and fall heavily. But no, “we don’t fall” (45); our response has been to wander bewildered across the land, tip-toeing from shadow to shadow, losing our minds to save our lives. Thus “we tremble in the balance…we flutter” (45).
It is safe to say that the human race is not as strong as we would like to think, not as prepared to adapt and overcome any obstacle. The rising frequency and strength of psychological occupations in last hundred years of turbulent history is frightening, especially when one gains an understanding of how effortless it can be for this condition to be put into effect. The effects are such that even our defenses are self-destructive, and defeat is fatal either physically or metaphysically.
Also instructive is the realization of how frail and dependent our psyches really are. The emotional and philosophical needs of our species are not luxury items that we can learn to live without. They are of mortal significance, so that our instincts will drive us to the very edge of sanity and beyond in search of these that we rarely notice until we lack them. As the world shrinks, as pressure on our instinctive way of life increases, our environment will become more and more reminiscent of the Jewish ghetto, and our desperation will likely lead us to new levels of “madness.” Kafka’s premonition of the future, of the increased restrictions imposed by the psychological occupation of this modern age, is even more chilling: “One day everyone wanting to live will look like me – cut out of tissue paper, like silhouettes… – and when they walk they will be heard to rustle” (38). In the words of Fuks, “this [is] nowadays, the days of the madman” (Fuks 118).

A Long Road Home

2007-12-22T19:08:00.000-08:00

Exactly one month ago, On November 10th, 2007, a demonstration of a Neo-Nazi political group took place in the center of Prague. While the reported intention was to protest the war in Iraq, the date is telling: it is the anniversary of Kristallnacht (Crystal Night), when in 1938 Jewish homes and shops were ransacked across Germany and Austria by Nazis, who killed more than 100 Jews. The Neo-Nazis last month were met by thousands of protestors who blocked the planned march through Old Town Square and shouted down their speakers. One leader of the Neo-Nazis shouted at the crowd of protestors that “there never was a Holocaust, but there will be one!”
The reaction to this demonstration shows that people have not forgotten the lessons of history, but the fact that the event took place at all shows that we will never completely escape the risk of history repeating itself. This is an especially potent truth for one of the protestors who blocked the Neo-Nazis on Old Town Square, 87 year old Jan Weiner. Jan was a young Jewish man when the Nazis first occupied Czechoslovakia, and he lived to experienced first-hand many of the trials and sorrows of the Czech people throughout the 20th century. He now teaches 20th century European history to foreign students in Prague, which is where I met him and have had the privilege of studying under him for the past four months.
Jan was born and spent his childhood in German, where his father worked. In face of the rise of Nazi anti-Semitic sentiment in the early 30s the family moved back to their native land, hoping that there they would be safe from the growing storm. Jan quickly connected with the Czech people, attended a Czech school, became very involved with the Sokol movement (as did most of the young people at this time), and “learned to love the country and the people who had given us – and many other refugees – asylum and a new home” (Weiner 1). Jan’s mother worked closely with immigrants such as Remarque, who fled Germany to Prague, where they were granted asylum and Czechoslovak citizenship. It might be this very work which proved disastrous for Mrs. Weiner a few years later.
With the annexation of Austria in 1938, and observing the covetous rhetoric of Hitler directed at the Sudetenland boarder regions of Czechoslovakia, the Czech people began bracing themselves for a struggle. The Sokol movement, a national fitness society designed to encourage physical and mental strength as well as nationalistic and community sentiment, was a significant conductor of determination to resist German encroachment. As tensions rose, Czechoslovakia mobilized in 1938. Jan, and most of his young friends, volunteered for the army and were sent to the Krkonoše mountains bordering Germany, where they expected to engage the Germans at any moment. But the Czech fire for resistance was extinguished on September 29th, 1938, when France and England acknowledged German’s right to occupy Sudetenland. When the support of their former western allies suddenly evaporated, there was no hope in armed resistance, so Jan and the rest of the young soldiers were called back to Prague and the Germans took ownership of a massive swath of Czechoslovak land.
As the optimism swiftly deteriorated the atmosphere turned gloomy. In less than 6 months the Nazis violated the Munich Agreement and militarily occupied Prague and the rest of Czechoslovakia. Although crowds of Czechs came out to watch the German tanks rolling by “no one shouted. Through the steadily-falling snowflakes one could only hear the engines...” (4). And before armed combat was sparked anywhere, the war began in Czechoslovakia. All legal rights of Jews were abolished, and in light of the Kristallnacht their future looked grim. Thanks to the help of his mother’s connections, Jan was able to acquire a fake passport and escape to join his father in Yugoslavia. His mother remained.
In the film “The Fighter,” a documentary of Jan’s life, the camera follow Jan as he returns to a house in Yugoslavia, 60 years after he and his father lived there. While they waited to see what would happen, the disaster struck. Poland fell to the Nazis, then France, and in April 1941 the Nazis quickly surrounded Yugoslavia and occupied it. Jan and his father were trapped. That night in despair his father told him that he intended to kill himself. “The Fighter” shows a scene in which Jan stands over the bed where decades ago he watched his father breathe his last, remembering the panic rising in his chest. Afterwards 20 year old Jan snuck out the window, and made it to Lublyana, where he found a place to hide out for a week. He then caught a train and traveled underneath the cabin for dozens of hours across the northern length of Italy. In Genoa he was caught and threatened with being sent back to Prague. “If you do that,” he shouted, “it would be kinder and cheaper to shoot me right here! I will certainly be shot in Prague!” (55). In the end the Italians put him in one of their own prisoner camps in Southern Italy, which made him feel “delighted.” He would spend 2 years in an Italian prison.
During these two years back in Prague conditions grew steadily worse, and Jan was definitely right to feel delighted at being imprisoned in Italy. Jews were deported daily from Prague, mainly to the concentration camp in the north, Theresienstadt, before they were sent to Auschwitz or Mauthausen for extermination. All Jews expected their deportation papers at any moment, and the slightest miss-step could instantly cause fatal attention to fall upon them. Social interaction largely ceased, and most Czechs, especially Jews, were pushed into a survival-mode of life, unable to be concerned about anything else except getting through another day alive.
There was, however, a small but very professional resistance movement, built most significantly around the double-agent “A-54,” and reporting directly to president-in-exile Beneš in London. A-54 was Paul Thummel, a high ranking German undercover spy in Prague, who for some reason decided to turn double-agent and report his knowledge of highly classified information to the Czech resistance. He reported detailed information predicting the invasion of France, the German betrayal of Russia, and the invasion of Britain. When Beneš (and Churchill) realized what a powerful advantage they had in A-54, there was much more motivation to support and build up the Czech resistance from London. Czech soldiers were specially trained in espionage, explosives, and assassination, and were parachuted at great risk into Czechoslovakia to bolster the Prague underground movement.
At the same time the Nazi leadership began to realize that they had a serious leak of information in Prague, and none other that Reinhard Heydrich decided to take care of the situation himself. He arrived in Prague in September 1941, and lost very little time breaking down the resistance. In his first week “163 people were sentenced to death and 718 to concentration camps,” and after two weeks he wrote Hitler that “approximately 5,000 people have been arrested...” (44). This reign of terror was brought to the attention of Beneš, who for a long time had considered the benefits of arranging for the assassination of a high-ranking Nazi by the Czech underground. Now he knew who the target should be.
Two specially trained soldiers of the Czech army in London, Gabchik and Kubish, were parachuted in and made contact with the Czech resistance leaders. After many delays and complications, and after A-54 had already been captured and sent to Theresienstadt, in May 1942 they were ready. They knew the exact place and hour when Heydrich’s car would come around a hair-pin turn, and so they lay in wait. But as the car came around the corner and Gabchik aimed his gun, the trigger jammed. Kubish leaped into action and threw a tank grenade into the car, which exploded but only wounded Heydrich, who drew his pistol along with his driver and began firing on the would-be assassins. Kubish and Gabchik had to flee.
While the attack was a disaster from the perspective of the paratroopers, in the end it was successful. Several days later Heydrich suddenly died in the hospital, possibly from blood-poisoning. But whether the entire plan was a “success” is another question. The reprisal was terrible.
In the former location of the village Lidice there today stands a statue depicting the 98 children who lived there in 1942. They look frightened and bewildered, as they must have looked on the night of June 9th. Acting on specific instructions from Hitler himself, German troops surrounded this tiny village and raided it without warning. Every person was dragged out into the night, the buildings set on fire, and 173 men shot. The women and children were almost all sent to Theresienstadt. The village was erased from all maps. The point was impossible to misunderstand: Hitler had the power to cause whole villages to cease to exist, and for every assassinated leader he would kill thousands.
In Prague martial law was enforced, and Hitler himself ordered that 10,000 Czech suspects should be arrested and all political prisoners be shot (98). The “shock and awe” effect of the persecution was more brutal and effective than anything Heydrich had ever initiated. The Czech resistance was completely decimated, and thousands of civilians were shot outright or sent to concentration camps.
For a while the two assassins and five other paratroopers were able to hide in the crypt of the Karel Boromaeus Greek Orthodox Church. This church stands on Pštrossova street, a few houses away from where I now live. The paratroopers kept constant guard, slept in the tombs, and tried not to despair over the torture that they felt they had unleashed on the Czech people. They were protected by four priests, and for a while they were safe. Then another British-trained paratrooper, Karel Curda, who had been hiding in the countryside, suddenly turned himself over to the Gestapo and agreed to give them all the information he had on the assassins. Maybe he truly believed the Nazi promise that the civilian executions would stop if the assassins were found, or maybe he was motivated by the one million German mark reward. Whatever the case, his cooperation led directly to the discovery of the secret crypt. A fierce battle of several hours took place between the 7 paratroopers and hundreds of German soldiers. One the side of the stone church the damage from machine-gun fire has been left as a tribute to that struggle. Each of the paratroopers fought fiercely until one by one they had only one bullet, which they used to kill themselves. These final seven shots signaled the total death of the Prague resistance movement. On the church today there is a plaque which reads “in memory of the members of the CS abroad army, who here lay down their lives for our freedom...”
In the fallout of Heydrich’s assassination, one of the casualties was Jan’s mother. While he has no specific information about her death, she was most likely transported to Theresienstadt. There Jan leads several class trips every year, pointing out the women’s quarters (where he refuses to go after the first visit with his daughter), the hundreds of graves of unknown victims (one of which may be his mother’s), and the train tracks that lead to Auschwitz (where she might have been sent). Seeing the camp through his eyes, there are weary and silent ghosts around every corner. At the end of every tour he has the ritual of sitting by the gate and ordering a shot of vodka. He salutes in the direction of the women’s quarters, and drinks to his mother’s memory.
In the past Jan used to invite one of the survivors of Lidice to his classes, until she died several years ago. When asked if the assassination of Heydrich should have taken place, she said “No, a thousand times no!” “But,” says Jan to us today, “but I think it was right.” Many people feel that without this display of Czech resistance, it is unlikely that the western powers would have recognized the Czechs as a nation unto itself. This was Beneš’s thought from the beginning, and whether the good outweighed the bad is a question no will ever be able to answer.
In September 1943 Jan escaped the Italian prison and was rescued by the Allied forces coming up from the south. He managed to join the Czech army in London and became a navigator for the R.A.F. He flew twenty-four bombing missions over France, Germany, and Holland, each of which was a life-and-death adventure in itself. In September 1945 he was finally able to return to Prague, though not to his life. Nothing and no one was left for him there, and at the age of 23 he had to build a new life from scratch. Before he could really make progress, however, his time spent in the West came to haunt him, as he was accused by the Communist government of “anti-state and anti-peoples’ attitudes,” and was sent to a labor camp in Kladno. But that’s another story.
Jan Weiner’s experience during the years of WWII is certainly not the typical holocaust survivor story. However, he experienced suicide, murder, prison, sickness, isolation, despair, and an environment of constant tension, and each one of these is an intrinsic elements in the Jewish experience of this time period. Even though he escaped Czechoslovakia and survived, no one can say that he got off easy.
So while for many it’s simply a statistic to hear that the holocaust killed 277,000 Czechoslovak Jews and 5,821,000 Jews total (Encyclopedia Judaica), for Jan it’s as personal as it can get. His father and mother are listed in that number, and he himself nearly lost his life many times.
In another 10 years there will be almost no WWII veterans left alive, and that is why it is so important to listen to them, to make a practice of telling their stories, so that their witness will remain among us in spirit. Only then will we be able to recognize the threat of history repeating itself and be prepared to block the way. “Could the holocaust happen again?” Jan answers a student’s question. “Yes, I believe it can happen again, but first we must forget.” Let us hope that we never forget.

Sources:
Books:
Jan G. Weiner, The Assassination of Heydrich, Grossman Publishing, New York, 1969.
Encyclopedia Judaica (http://www.rossel.net/Holocaust00.htm)
Film:
“The Fighter” directed by Amir Bar-Lev, 2000
Primary information:
Discussions with and lectures of Jan Weiner
Visits to:
Terezin
The Karel Boromaeus Greek Orthodox Church
Lidice

Discover Something New #15

2007-08-06T17:16:00.000-07:00

Well things are coming down to the wire here in Long Beach, and it looks like it's going to be an interesting finish. All us leaders are rather fearful about how this program is going to end. Why fearful? It's difficult to explain the context for everything, but I want to share the excitement with all of you.
It all got more interesting at the end of the first International program. This group had been pretty quiet and behaved, compared to stories I'd heard about previous years. There were about 80 Spanish students that continually put up resistance to the rules and bedtime and such, but we managed to keep it contained. Until the last night of the program. I wasn't involved personally, because I'd already been moved to the second program, but apparently it all started when the Spanish students found out that they wouldn't get their $60 room deposit back because they had trashed their rooms. All hell broke loose. The Spanish started running around the building, yelling (mind you, this was the early morning hours), broke mirrors and equipment in the bathrooms, wrote choice phrases on the walls, and to top it all off, threw a rock through the office window at our site director. Fortunately the window was open and the rock missed the director, but still. It was at that point that the police arrived, and it took 6 officers (including the Long Beach Sergent) to get the group together and under control in time for their flight.
Now travel about a week forward and a mile away, to Second International camp. One of the major sources of conflict here from the very beginning is that the city curfew for anyone under 18 years old is 10:00. We don't make them go to their rooms until 11:00 or 12:00, but legally they must be on campus after 10:00. And on this campus (Brooks College) there's absolutely nothing to do except get into trouble. There's nothing here except concrete buildings and a parking lot. So the most interesting and stressful part of the day is always the last couple of hours.
There were only a few minor incidents until this last week. The night we got back from Vegas the real fun began. That night everyone was milling around as usual, about 30 minutes before bedtime, when suddenly, as if on signal, students from all over the campus started running to the back of the property. When everyone gathered there they started marching to the front, at least 100 of them. My first thought was that they were marching on the office (it had happened before on a smaller scale at the first program), but then they all stopped and just stood there, obviously waiting for something to happen. All us leaders were just walking in and out of the crowd, trying to figure out what was happening. Then one of the students from my hall camp and told me that the Spanish and Russian students had planned a fight between the two countries. Apparently they had been on the same bus to Vegas and had had a lot of conflicts, so two of them decided to have a fight that evening. In the mean time those two ring-leaders had gone to their friends to ask for help in the fight, until soon it became a planned fight of the entire Spanish and Russian groups.
There were a few moments of considerable stress for the leaders (including myself). I mean, as soon as one person tried to swing a punch, the whole group would explode, and there would be very little that the 10-12 leaders could do about it except call the police. Although apparently the Brooks College staff, one of our leaders, and two neighbors had already called the police, who arrived in a few minutes and started driving around the premises in a state of severe agitation. I like to think that the quick reactions of the leaders and police prevented anything from starting, but in fact it was probably the surprisingly large crowd that stopped the punching from starting. Several of the ring-leaders were overheard saying "there are too many people around, let's do it at 12:00." Fortunately we knew which students were organizing it and basically locked them in their rooms for the night, so nothing else happened. Seeing as this was about 7 nights until the end, we were very concerned about what was coming.
The next night seemed quiet, until Anne (another leader) and I walked around a corner and saw a large amount of sparks and smoke coming from one of the chain-link fences. At first it looked like the fuses on several fire-crackers had been lit. Upon closer inspection it seemed that strips of plastic had been threaded through the fence in the shape of letters and set on fire. When it was clear that nothing was about to explode we got closer, and read in flaming letters "Nancy (our director) is a bitch." At this point it might be useful to explain that Nancy is a very strong woman who takes no disrespect from anyone and runs this program pretty strictly, but she is certainly not a bitch. Anyway, as Anne and I got close enough to blow the plastic out, I looked down at our feet and noticed that on the other side of the fence there was a bottle of lighter fluid with the cap on fire. That caused some excitement, and after a few moments of jumping back in alarm I bent over and blew it out.
It soon came out that one of the college students had seen three of our kids lighting the fire, and one was an easily recognizable 14 year old Russian who lives on my hall. After a few minutes of all the leaders running all over campus to find him, we got him into the office, had the college student identify him, and then started pumping him for information. It didn't take long at all for him to say that he'd just been following two other Russians, both of whom had been caught with alcohol on campus the day before and were being sent home (and they were also living on my hall). They were extremely angry about it, and somehow managed to slip away from the 24-hour supervision they were supposed to be under. Then it seems they decided to express their frustration by setting fire to a fence. And again the Brooks College security, the police, and all the EF leaders were stirred up. Needless to say, the two arsons were quickly taken to a hotel off campus until their flight. The little guy, surprisingly, was not sent home, much to the chagrin of the Brooks College staff.
Around this time we started hearing rumors that the Russian students thought that the leaders hated all the Russians. This might have emerged from the preceding events and what happened in Vegas (which I won't go into), and wasn't exactly true... at least, no more true than their actions warrented. And if punishing students for breaking US laws constitutes national prejudice, then I guess it would be true. We didn't make much of it, but tried to be more careful about complaining about our "trouble-makers." Things were quiet for a while after that, but a different kind of excitement was coming. As background, you should know that in the first week of the program we caught several students (specifically one psychotic Russian girl) with empty alcohol containers in their rooms. The police were called to Breathalyzer them, but they didn't find any alcohol in them. They were pressed pretty hard to admit that they'd been drinking, but all of them stuck to their stories that friends had left the bottles. They still might have been sent home for breaking the drinking law, but the parents of the Russian girl had their lawyer call EF to say that they would sue, and there was no evidence that the students had been drinking. In the end they weren't sent home. It's also important to remember that the parents of these students can afford to send their kids abroad for a month at the cost of $4,000-$5,000, and many of them are quite rich and powerful.
So this all passed by, until in this last week we suddenly got a call while at a dance at Universal Studios, saying that Radio Moscow was broadcasting all over Russia that Russian students were being abused and mistreated by EF Long Beach. Imagine our shock at suddenly finding ourselves to be infamous, in Russia! The story was that one of their students was found with beer bottles in their room, and was taken to the police department and kept there all day without food or water (or beer!) and was interrogated like a criminal. In Russia I can imagine that it would be unbelievable for such a big deal to be made of under-age drinking. Of course it's an absolutely ridiculous story in any case. The spoiled teenagers aren't used to following rules, so they call their parents and exaggerated the story, and the parents then start using their connections to make a big stink over it. But still the fact remains that everyone in Russia who listens to radio thinks that their children are being horribly mistreated here in our program. It strikes me that this might be the closest I ever get to being famous. :-)
Two nights ago I apparently slept through a large rebellion at 4 am. A number of students (ranging from 30-60 depending on who you ask) started running and screaming up and down the halls, throwing water-balloons, hiding all over the outside of campus, gathering large groups in different rooms, etc. It took some of our leaders several hours to get everything under control, while the Brooks security was panicking and threatening to call the police if we couldn't control our students.
The last few nights have been okay, but that's because most of the students are in San Francisco. Tonight they come back, and it will also be their last night on campus. So whatever they've been planning or wanting to do will go down in a few hours, especially considering that our power to send them home will be somewhat less effective when they're going home in several hours anyway. I'm actually curious what will happen, but some of us are actually frightened. I'll let you know!

In other news:
Trip to Chicago: August 9th-16th

Firsts:
-Dressed in drag (= dressed like a woman) for a cross-dressing fashion show with the students from my hall. We won first place!
-Rode in a limo (prize for winning the competition).
-Ate McDonald's hamburgers while riding in a limo down the Hollywood "Walk of Fame" street. I would have felt like the coolest person on earth if the limo wasn't packed with another 13 people from my hall. :-)

That's all for now! Take care everyone! -C

Discover Something New #14

2007-07-30T17:14:00.000-07:00

Hello everyone! I realize that I haven't written for a month, but that's because not much has changed, though a lot has happened. I'm still at the English program in Long Beach, but at the moment I'm writing from Las Vegas. We're here on a weekend trip with the students, and it's been very interesting indeed. I always thought that Vegas would be a rather dirty, artificially over-cheery place, filled with cheap entertainment at expensive prices. But I've actually really enjoyed myself here. The casinos are really beautiful and interesting, there are a lot of friendly people, and I quite enjoyed gambling a little. Being paid to travel here doesn't hurt, either.

Rather than list the usual Discover Something New items, I'm going to list the new experiences I've had in the last month or so, in no particular order.
- Sang karaoke for the first time
- Entered a casino (Circus Circus)
- Gambled at a casino. Won $10 at a 2 cent slot machine on my first try at the Excalibur Casino. Quickly lost it at the Black-Jack table at Circus Circus. Enjoyed it.
- Tried a shot of jager. Haven't decided if I like it.
- Went on my first really big roller coaster at 6 Flags Magic Mountain. Then immediately after went on a second. Then immediately after threw up my breakfast.
- Got yelled at and threatened by a crowd of hulking Russian teenagers, several times.
- After the frustration of being yelled at, I punched a nearby wall a little too hard, and for the first time hurt my hand badly enough that it's a little painful to type this 24 hours later.
- Participated in surprise room searches of about 20 room in search of illicit material. Didn't enjoy it or find anything.
- Learned again that no matter how much experience or understanding someone has of the interaction and motivations of people, there will always always always be something completely unexpected to shock you.
- Bought a new sword, a Chinese straight-sword (need to learn the correct name). Really like it and the price ($30).
- Helped in a "raid" in which three Spanish, four French, and two Swiss students were caught drinking. They have been or will be sent home.
- Learned to drive a 15 passenger van on a LA freeway. I'm not a fan of that.
- Ate sushi as a main course for the first time. Enjoyed it.
- Experienced how stress can seriously shrink one's appetite. Frustrating.
- Bought a plane ticket to Chicago (will be there probably from August 8th-14th) to visit Matt Slabaugh, Jessie Folk, and Steve Cone. Wheeee!

The program is now in its last week, and I have mixed feelings over that, of course. It has been exhausting, and quite emotionally draining. The most traumatic element was being abruptly taken out of the first program where I had put a lot of energy into a number of friendships. About half way through the second program with another 300 students started in another campus, and about half of the leaders were sent there. It was rather disjointing, and I never really recovered. For a variety of reasons it is much more difficult to develop friendships at this second campus, so there haven't really been any rewarding relationships with the students. The leaders have drawn pretty close together, but it means that there's a definite "us vs. them" mentality all around. Keeping 300 teenagers moving on time and getting to bed by bedtime are the major chores, where we become more enforcers than anything. I've learned some valuable lessons through this. I am okay with not being liked for doing what's right, I've learned to be more comfortable with direct authority, and I've learned to keep up defenses. I think a number of the students here are either slightly fearful of me or hostile, maybe both. And because of the fact that we're bordering on chaos, I haven't tried to dispel that misconception at all. It's a real shame, because it seems that a number of these students are really great people, I just haven't had the energy to dig for the diamonds in the rough. For these reasons I've unwillingly slipped into the mode of "holding on until the end."
On the other hand, this time has mirrored many other intensive and socially-enclosed experiences, in that you develop an entire world. Being with the same group of people, doing exactly the same things, working through the same struggles, and living the same highly regimented schedule for weeks creates a very special kind of friendship, and it will be difficult to leave those and the world I've adapted to here. I have a feeling that I'll return home and have to spend the first few nights ordering my family to bed at 11:00 sharp, just out of habit.
Interestingly, I have become remarkably more confident in my ability to be a parent, and remarkably more cognizant of how absolutely exhausting it would be. It's only been six weeks and already I'm so so tired of being strict.
The next month will be crazy. Another week here, about five days in Chicago, two weeks at home preparing for my brother's wedding and an international move, and the day after the wedding I fly to Prague, where classes start the day after I arrive. I'll keep you all posted! -Caleb

Discover Something New #13

2007-06-29T17:08:00.000-07:00

Sunday: On This Day:
It seems that in Spain it is customary to eat one's morning cereal with chocolate milk.

Monday: Actually...
Anyone who drives a lot has heard the theory that you can save gas by following close to a big-rig truck on the highway. I always thought this was a myth, or at least that it made very little difference. But actually it turns out that there is a great deal of truth in it. A team of experts (Myth Busters!) carefully tested the theory, and found out that if you follow 100 ft (30 meters) from a semi going 60 mph (95 kpm), you save 11% of your petrol. At 50 ft (15 meters), 20%, and if you're willing to drive just 10 ft (3 meters) away from a giant semi truck, you could save as much as 39% on your gas usage! At 10 ft, however, the reaction time if something goes wrong is about 0.1 seconds, so it's practically suicidal to try it. The safe following distance at speeds of 60 mph is 150 feet (45 meters). So, don't try this at home, but it does work! :-)

Tuesday: Say What?
The Netherlands are half to two thirds below sea level. Hence its name! So, bring very vulnerable to floods, and being the most densely populated country in Europe, keeping the water out has formed a great part of the cultural and character. In the 13th century the country began using numerous windmills to pump the water out. In the second half of the 20th century, about 8,000 miles (13,000 kilometers) of dikes were built to keep out the ocean. The most recent solution is another entirely new approach: if you can't keep the water out, you have to rise above it! So, floating houses! Yes, houses complete with a garage, front lawn, and garden are being designed to float above rising water. In normal weather they sit on the ground, built around four concrete pillars. When flood come, the whole unit can slide up the pillars and stay above the water. The buoyancy comes from large, water-tight basements that hold enough air to keep the rest of the house afloat. Thus far there are only a few “floating neighborhoods”, but the idea seems to be gaining popularity! Just make sure you've found your sea-legs before coming for afternoon tea!

Wednesday: Wow!
Okay, I apologize to anyone who has a pet Pit Bull dog out there, but this is just too amazing to pass up. The Pit Bull has a stronger bite than any other dog. It is measured at 2000 pounds per square inch (140 Kilograms per square centimeter). Now, maybe that doesn't mean anything to you, so consider this. The Kodiak Bear (the giant Alaskan brown bear) has a bite force of 751. A Jaguar measures about 1000, and a tiger 1525. American Alligators are considered to have the greatest bite force on earth today, and a 12-foot (3.6 meters) American Alligator gave a reading of 2,125. That gives you an idea of the power of a pit bull. On top of that, pit bulls constitute 1% of all dogs in the US, and are responsible for 42% of dog related deaths.

Thursday: Series: Penguins Rock!
While this isn't a scientific classification, it seems to me that penguins can be found in two environments; ice or rocks. Next time I'll talk more about ice penguins (especially for those of you who haven't seen March of the Penguins yet), so this week Penguins Rock! There are four main breeds of “rock penguins,” the Adelie penguin, Chinstrap penguin, Gentoo penguin, and most predictably the Rockhopper penguin. All of these live in rocky areas and make their nests out of pebbles. In some cases the males will collect rocks and try to attract females by having the biggest pile. A shortage of pebbles can lead to vicious fighting, screaming, and stealing. When the female choses a mate, she will climb to the top and make a depression in the middle for the egg. This pile of rocks serves to keep the egg up off the frozen soil or sand.
In 2004 in the zoo, one of the more unexpected stories of the animal kingdom took place. Two male chinstrap penguins were in a pen with no females. Still, they built a nest of pebbles and took turns trying to "hatch" a rock. Later this rock was exchanged with a fertilized egg by a zoo keeper, and the two males hatched and raised the chick.

Friday: What is something you don't know about yourself?
Saturday: On A Personal Note: The Devil has only two real tricks. The first trick is to keep you from realizing what he's doing. If that doesn't work, then his second trick is to keep you from caring what he's doing.

This week (June 14-21) I experienced a relapse on some “personal-development” things I've been working on. I've been in the game long enough to see these things coming, to predict what the progression of events will be, and to know exactly what traps I'm stepping into. But somehow that doesn't seem to make a difference anymore. Every soldier gets tired of fighting, but sometimes you get more sick of fighting than you are sick of what you are fighting, if that makes any sense. I think that's what separates soldiers and heroes.
Anyway, I'm getting ready to leave for LA for my summer job at the English program on Thursday. I haven't had much time to get excited, but I think it'll be really fun. I'm also homing to get lots of interesting information from the international students for these DSN letters! In other news, I learned that I was refused for a study abroad scholarship that I was hoping for, which means that I'll only take one semester of classes in Prague instead of two. It's a shame, but I can still finish my degree requirements in one semester, and this way I'll be able to find a job for the second half of the year.

June 21-28:
It's been one week in Long Beach (not exactly LA, but basically in the same city) at the International English Program of English First (EF). The days have been packed, and of course it's impossible to describe or explain everything. If you know about the English Camps in Czech Republic, it's basically like that, except with 600 high school students from 10+ countries, on a university campus, where the Activity Leaders (that's me!) have no connection with the morning English classes (Hurray!). We were training for about 5 days, which was slow but good, and all the leaders got to know each other. Almost all of us have lived abroad, and I'm probably one of the least traveled people. Several people have lived on every continent, one guy speaks 8 languages, and there is incredible ethnic, political, and character diversity. On that last note, there is every character from “quiet little mouse,” to “does and says whatever he wants, and loudly” and from “makes friends with everyone” to “makes friends with no one.” It's very interesting to watch, and although there are some I avoid, I think I can work very well with the group as a whole. It's highly intensive, because everyone is very experienced, and they all know how to “unmask” people. I've never felt so vulnerable to a group, because they don't let me get away with any kind of character act or trick. Many people will directly challenge each other to bring out the truth of character, good or bad. So now that we all know each other very well (but for such a short time), it's wonderful and terrible to be working together 24 hours a day, with no other adults around, for two months. It's like a reality show! :-) The first chapter is done, and now that the students are here I think the story will change a lot.
The students arrived yesterday and the day before. Suddenly out quiet little campus changed 100%. At the airport it seems that 10% of students have lost their luggage. So far some of it has returned, a lot not. Other flights were caught in a storm at New York JFK airport, and had to stay there 8-12 hours. I've never seen such bad travel luck. Most students on arrival hadn't slept for 24+ hours. Needless to say, they are cranky and nervous and highly emotional, which made the first day a big drama, but it could have been much worse.
I had some trouble with my first roommate during training (he's one of the ones I now avoid), and was worried about controlling a hall of 35-40 teenage boys. But I felt very blessed by God that my new roommate (once the students arrived) is one of the two guys I most get along with, and we're a good team. I was also pleasantly surprised to be put in charge of a hall of girls (due to a shortage of female leaders). I get along with girls better, and thus far it's been very nice. The only problem is that every night after bedtime we must go through each room and do an official headcount (to see if any student is missing). This means knocking on the doors, usually waking up the girls, and if there is a missing student alert from another hall then we must do it again and go inside the room to see if the missing student is hiding to stay with her friends or boyfriend or something. That's kind of uncomfortable, and Sam (roommate) and I have both tip-toed around it thus far. But I think I have a very good rapport with all my girls, so I don't expect any major problems.
The first night there were only a few students here, but scattered around campus. I felt bad that they had to sleep alone on the first night (their official roommates had not arrived), so I pretended not to see when two of my girls when into the same room. I had counted four girls on that floor, so I thought it wouldn't matter as long as I knew where they were. Then we are supposed to stay on watch for 1 hour after to make sure everyone is really asleep. After about 45 minutes one of the other leaders comes up all stressed saying that there was a missing girl in another building and everyone was looking everywhere for her, and the director was about to call the police to look for her. This was news to me. Apparently they found out that the missing girl was friends with one of the girls on my hall, and they went straight to the room where I knew there were two girls. One of them was the missing girl that all the leaders were looking for. Apparently a girl went to bed very early on my hall so I didn't count her, and the room with two girls made five, one extra. The missing girl was supposed to be in an entirely different building. She just wanted to not sleep alone, and didn't realize that 30 people were waking up hundreds of students trying to find her. Well, everyone was understanding (a similar thing happened several times the next night to other people), but boy I took some heavy teasing for it!
Last night was when almost everyone else arrived, and we many students arriving after bedtime, three missing students at different times of the night, and after all that at 2 am, one of my girls started throwing up and needed the help of her escort (every country sends a native leader with their students, called escorts). I got to sleep at 2:30, and woke up at 6:00 to help with the arrival of the Russians (delayed in JFK).
Tonight everything will be easier because all the students will have arrived and the rooms will be full, so it will just be a matter of making sure two students are in each room and not all the extra complication of who should be where (I hope). Although there has been already many instances of switching name tags and even moving beds to other rooms, so anything is possible. Unfortunately other EF programs in other countries (and similar programs) have a reputation for being lax on the rules, so students don't take it seriously at first. Every year some students are sent home before the rest get the picture.
Well, in one more way it's a lot like a big (Czech) English Camp, that it's an enclosed universe. Everything is focused on here and now, and there is always something that needs urgent attention. I mean, we're almost glorified baby-sitters for 600 kids, and trying to organize a good time for them at the same time! There is not a minute to think about anything outside the camp. I'm writing this now because I was scheduled to pick up a late (Danish) group at the airport, but their flight was delayed so I get to rest for a couple hours. The only way I can describe the “enclosed universe” is that I've only been here 7 days, and already I have to concentrate really hard to picture my close friends or family. It's already like a different life. It's strange to say that, but it give you an idea of how intense the atmosphere is here.
On a positive note, I love it! :-) For so many reasons that I can go into now, I think this is exactly what I needed to heal some emotional wounds. I'm so thankful for the challenge and interaction, and I'm so overjoyed to discover that I still love this kind of activity and atmosphere, because I began to fear that I was losing that love. And with all that, I get paid!
I'd better go. I need to prepare the orientation speech for the late group from Denmark. I don't know when I'll get the time and energy to write again, so until we talk again take care and God bless!

Discover Something New #12 Kiwi Spelling School Meets Electric North Korean Penguin!!

2007-06-06T22:17:00.001-07:00

Wednesday: On This Day:
On June 6th, 1999, there was a jail break in São José dos Campos. Actually, jail break isn't exactly the right term, since what really happened was that 345 prisoners suddenly rushed for the main gate and ran out without being stopped, shot at, or challenged in any way. The escapees invaded homes, took hostages, and stole cars to get away. The authorities killed two fugitives and wrongfully imprisoned five innocent citizens. After 4 days 191 fugitives were still at large. It is strongly suspected that the warden and prison guards were bribed to allow the breakout.

Thursday: Say What?:
These days we've all heard something about the “Hermit Kingdom.” North Korea is the most secretive and for me the most frightening country on earth today (as for frightening, N. Korea has the fourth largest army in the world, 1.2 million soldiers, which means that 1 in 20 people is in the army. But anyway, this isn't what I wanted to talk about). The National Defense Commission Chairman Kim Jong-il claims an ideology called Juche (pronounced “joocheh”), which in N. Korea is centered on a principle of self-reliance and not being dependent. This translates into a national rejection of all things foreign and especially western, and a policy of isolation from the corrupting, manipulative, and evil effects of outside influences. Kim Jong-il, however, doesn't seem to practice what he preaches. It is reported that Kim has a private collection of 20,000 DVDs. Since North Korea doesn't have much of a film industry (although he did personally order the kidnapping of a South Korean film director and his actress wife in hopes of starting a North Korean film industry), it can be assumed that most of these are foreign. It's said that his favorite films include “Friday the 13th,” “Rambo,” and James Bond, Godzilla, and Hong Kong action movies. Scary, huh? He also likes any film with Elizabeth Taylor. Go figure.
Kim also spends $700,000 a year on Hennessy cognac, which makes him the biggest customer of the drink. He owns 100 imported limousines, and has a basketball signed by Michal Jordan (a gift from US Secretary of State Madeleine Albright. Kim is evidently a big fan of basketball).
On another note, Kim shares his father's extreme fear of flying. Whenever he has made his rare visits to Russia or China, he has traveled by armored train.

Friday: Wow!:
Electric eels are actually fish, and the work like a long, swimming battery. The head is the positive pole and the tail is the negative pole. The organ that produces the electricity is made of 5,000-6,000 separate parts, and emits 25-50 electrical pulses per second. If you are ever wading in a marshy area of the Amazon Basin and see one, don't worry, it won't see you. Electric eels go blind as they become adults because of exposer to constant electric fields. But unfortunately they can hear every move you make and sense you with their electric “radar,” so you might want to get out of the water. Adults can grow to be 8 feet long (2.5 meters), and can attack with as much as 600 volts, which is enough to potentially kill a horse or send a grown man flying through the air!

Saturday:
Snoopy (the dog in the comic strip “peanuts”) has a brother named Spike. He lives in the desert, and is poor and looking for a way to make money.
(Thank you Kaori of Japan!)

Sunday: Series:
I'm announcing a new category to this newsletter. There are some things that just cannot be covered in a single entry, and I'm confident that you won't quickly grow bored of it, so I'll announce a “Series.” Usually this topic will continue for a month, or until I'm bored of it. And what better topic to start with than Penguins! I'm going to start with an introduction to the species in general, and then maybe do several profiles of specific types of penguins.
The name penguin probably came from Welsh, meaning “white head.” However, there is a lot of evidence that the name comes from the Latin “pinguis” which means “fat.”
While penguins can be found in Africa, South America, Australia, New Zealand, the United Kingdom (Faukland islands), Norway (Peter I Island), a large number of small islands, and of course Antartica, they all live entirely in the southern hemisphere. The northern-most live on the Galapagos islands, just south of the equator. This means that polar bears are not predators of penguins, and that probably no polar bear has ever met a penguin in the wild. Penguins have very few land predators, especially the further south you go, as nothing else wants to be out in the cold. This means that penguins are often very friendly and curious about humans, since they have no reason to be afraid (see picture).
Being approached by a curious penguin could be delightful or rather intimidating, depending on the size. Can't imagine an intimidating penguin? Well consider that emperor penguins can be 6 ft high (1.8 meters), and weigh up to 100 pounds (45 k)! On the other side, the Little Blue Penguin grows to an average of 16 inches (40 cm) and 2.2 pounds (1 kilogram).
Of course we know that all penguins are excellent swimmers, but just how excellent? The Emperor penguin can hold its breath for 22 minutes, and dive up to 1870 feet (565 meters). I have trouble diving 15 feet! The Gentoo penguin can swim 22 mph (36 kph). So basically if you run from a penguin as fast as you can on a sheet of ice, and the penguin is swimming under you, you're a goner. And some (the Emperor, for example), can jump more than 6 feet (1.8 meter) out of the water. Imagine you're a person of normal height, standing on the edge of the ice, minding your own business, and suddenly a 100 pound penguin comes rocketing out of the water and flies over you. Who says penguins can't fly?!
For some final trivia: Almost all penguins lay two eggs (except Emperor and King). Most penguins couples care for the eggs as a team. They drink salt water (they have filters that dispose of the salt through their nose). They have an incredible navigation system, being able to find their way home from 100s of miles away, and science still doesn't understand how they do it. Finally, penguins are scientifically considered to be the coolest animals on earth!
Next week: Penguins and Rocks (or Penguins Rock!)

Monday: Actually...:
I always assumed that African colonialism lasted 300-400 years, but that's actually not true at all! Certainly Europeans were taking slaves out of Africa for many hundreds of years, but the period of actual political occupation didn't begin until the 1880s. Before this time there were only a few permanent European stations on the coasts of the continent. (see pic: Africa 1878) In 1884 the Berlin Conference made “flag-planting” legal in Africa. This meant that whichever country put a flag on an area first could claim it for themselves. In less than 20 years the entire continent was claimed by European powers (see pic: Africa 1914). Even more amazing is that the colonial period collapsed just a suddenly as it was constructed. There was a flurry of independence revolutions in the 50s and 60s, and by 1980, only South Africa and Namibia were still colonies (see pic: Africa 1980). That's a pretty dramatic tide of power!

Tuesday:
The other day I was watching two of my Japanese friends discussing how to translate a phrase from English to Japanese. They were speaking in Japanese so I really couldn't follow much (okay, not a syllable). Then one of them started making lines in the air in a questioning way, and I realized she was asking about spelling! This was a revelation for me, because I'd never thought about spelling problems with Japanese and Chinese characters, but it suddenly dawned on me that all those lines and dashes could be “misspelled” just as easily as English words, and maybe more easily! When I asked if they had to think about spelling one said “well yeah, it's complicated!” Sure, it's common sense, but I'd never thought about it before.
(Thanks Megumi and Kaori!)

Wednesday:
A while ago I talked with a friend of mine who studied in New Zealand, and I got some very interesting information about the New Zealand school system. (and for my Kiwi readers, feel free to correct me! (for anyone who doesn't know, “New Zealanders” are often called “Kiwis,” probably because the unusual and adorable kiwi bird is endemic to New Zealand, and because New Zealander is too long to say regularly)). Kiwi schools are uniform statewide, meaning that material, holidays, and even uniforms are the same at virtually every school. All students wear uniforms, which speaks of the British heritage of the nation, but my friend reported that there is a fascinating blend of the more strict British approach and the very relaxed Pacific Island approach. It's normal for students to come to school in full uniform, but barefoot. Also, apparently almost all the teaching material is based on New Zealand: the history, literature, art, politics, economics, etc. is all about New Zealand with very little about other countries. Well, that's how it is in the US, but it's surprising for a smaller country.
The thing that most surprised me is that high school is seven years, but students can leave whenever they want. That right, when they've had enough of high school they just stop going! Okay, it's not that simply. After high school there are two main options. To go to a university you must go through all seven years of high school. But many students choose a career or trade they want to go into, and leave high school to go to a school that will train them in that specific job (such as mechanics, police, or carpenters). So as the years go by, the classes in high school get smaller and smaller, until by the seventh year there are much fewer students than in the beginning!
(Thank you Rinn of California and New Zealand!)

Thursday: World Problems:
Have you ever thought of mice as a potential “world problem”? When you see this video from Southern Australia, you will! http://www.glumbert.com/media/mice

Friday: Question:
An interesting question was brought to my attention a while ago. Considering that western culture has a long tradition of women wearing head coverings, such as Catholic Nuns, Mennonites, Amish, and early Calvinists, etc.; why do we have such problems with Muslim head-coverings?

Saturday: On a personal note:
Of the many voices in a Man, the soul speaks the softest, but it possesses the greatest effecting power over every element of life. Still the soul speaks only through this mouth of flesh, and the spirit is buried deep beneath all that this body feels and needs.

And on a slightly less abstract personal note: my plans for the summer. Well, some of you know that my brother Ben and his fiancé Liz announced their wedding for August 31st. They chose the week that their best friends and I would all be in the same state, so there weren't too many options. This means that I won't be returning to the Czech Republic until after the wedding (I plan to arrive in Prague on the evening of September 4th). So the goal now is (in order) 1. get a summer job and make money for the ridiculously expensive tuition costs of studying abroad in Prague ($11,000 just for classes!) 2. apply for as many scholarships as possible, 3. relearn the Czech language :-/ 4. work on my photography and opening up photographic jobs. 2½: Answer all the emails sitting in my box!

I thought I'd found the perfect opportunity for all of this, which was to teach English in South Korea for a month at a summer camp. Many of these jobs pay $2000 and airfare for one month of teaching, so it seemed like the perfect thing. After several days of emails with a very nice Korean teaching agency, during which I got pretty excited about the idea, I discovered during our phone conversation about an hour ago that you cannot get a Korean work visa without a completed bachelor's degree. Grrrr, one semester away. Well, maybe in the future...
So now I'll be looking for a regular summer job serving yogurt or cutting down bushes or something. :-) Scholarships are still a priority, I just need a little break from academic activities. I've started reading a Czech book again (with my pocket dictionary falling apart from use). And for photography, please check out http://www.risingdove.deviantart.com/
So my only exciting plan is a determination to visit Matt Slabaugh and Jessie Folk (and maybe Steve Cone) in Chicago, probably in mid-August (of course, this is the first time they've heard of this plan, so we'll see how carefully they read these newsletters! :-). And as for 2½, this is part of the attempt to reconnect with everyone. I'm slowly working through the individual emails that pilled up when school was overwhelming. If there's something urgent that I haven't answered please remind me. Thanks.
Okay, I wrote this a few days ago. The new news is that I got a job! And it's much more exciting than I imagined! It's in Long Beach (Los Angeles), with an English camp for international high school students (I know, is that perfect or what?!) My job will be as an Activity Leader, which means that I'll help organize students in daily sports, games, and trips to theme parks, museums, etc. We'll also take trips to Las Vegas and San Francisco. It's my job to make sure the students stay entertained while not breaking any rules. Basically, it's a bigger (600 students), less stressful (the day starts at 10:00!) English camp where I get paid! ($2000!). It's perfect! And also I now have an adventure and new experience to look forward to, which is really nice. And I'll be back in time for the wedding! The down side is that I thought I had three months to finish my summer goals, and now I basically have two weeks, but I'll have to manage!
Okay, that's all for now. Remember to check out http://www.risingdove.deviantart.com/ and http://www.discoverthepenguinsworld.blogspot.com/

Other Business:

Corrections:
Jitka Stara, who wrote a great note in response to “The Battle is in Surrender,” lives in Bavorov, CZ, not Branov, as I wrote. Sorry Jitka!

Comments:
In response to the question: “Are grades important?” Daniel Goudy of Chico, CA., had this to say: “Grades are simply a scoring system used to track how well you're doing at the game of school. As such, these points we call "grades" are not important in and of themselves, let alone relative to themselves. The problem is that people like to use them as indicators of status and ability, however inaccurate that may be. In such a context, the assumption of their importance can lead to them assuming importance. Not to put too fine a point on it, the important point to remember about the importance of points is that important people point to points as pointers of importance.”
In response to the question several months ago, “Isn't it true that everyone in the world likes cookies? Have you ever known any human being who did not like eating warm, fresh, home-made cookies?” Summer Root of Chico, CA., mentioned an experience to me. Apparently when their family was living in Western Africa (sorry, I can't remember the country. Senegal?) there were in a rural area. The Root family made cookies for them, but the people had never encountered processed sugar. Most of the children liked them, but the adults decidedly did not. Well, one more potential absolute goes splat! Thanks Summer!

2007-06-06T17:55:00.000-07:00

Discover Something New #11 Energy Cows in Kilts!

2007-05-11T00:40:00.000-07:00

Sunday:
In the US the top cause of power outages for the last five years has not been lightning or malfunction; the top cause has been squirrels. http://www.usatoday.com/news/nation/2007-03-11-suicide-squirrels_N.htm?csp=1

Monday:
The latests studies report that to produce one pound of beef it requires 2,500 gallons of water (.45 kilos = 11012 litres) http://www.vegsource.com/articles/pimentel_water.htm

Tuesday:
90% of the species on Madagascar are found no where else on the planet.

Wednesday:
When you're driving while wearing a kilt, you have to adjust the rear-view mirror because you sit about an inch higher. (Thanks Elizabeth Quivey for that information!)

Thursday:
All ants on the world roughly equal the weight of all humans on earth. http://ww2.coastal.edu/kingw/psyc462/ants.html

Friday:
On a personal note: Energy drinks are like magic!!

Saturday:
Question of the Week: How important are school grades?

Comments on the previous entry:
“On a Personal Note: The Battle is in Surrender.”

“One should realize that the only thing they will be giving and showing to God will be their heart, not life, not skills, not good acts. Only their soul. Why I´m saying no good acts - the acts will be originally written there. Their purpose will be written there! Not that You gave the money for the charity, but there will be written either " I gave the money I´m good in God´s eyes" or "I gave the money the children will smile as they will have new clothes". That´s the big difference, but the act is the same. Your motto "The Battle is in Surrender" is very interesting, I was thinking of it and I couldn´t give it together with practical life, especially about choices. If You understand me in practical life to surrender could mean to be passive, not care about anything, being unable to do any choice. But then I realized to surrender could mean to do things by heart, to do them because your heart feels they are coming from inside of it, from the original essence, from the good spark. That´s the possible explanation. People must know that they are led by their heart, by the original essence. And where does it come from? From God. It ´s the part of God.” -Jitka, Branov, CZ

“Dear Caleb, you are a loon.” Gina, Chico, CA.

“I also like the occasional glimpses into your psyche, as in the walk you take after seeing V for Vendetta, and your expressions of desire to do something useful, and your confession about
delusions of grandeur (which most of us have, probably).” Jaime, Paradise, CA

“Your 'Surrender story' touch me so much, some of your thoughts I know very well, in spite of no 'surrender sign' is around me:o) I love your way of thinking and it is very freshly of you to say us about your feelings; I am glad you feel what you feel, because when I knew you, I had sometimes sense of you are something as..how to say it.."superman":))? So that is nice, that you are one of us, person with needs, love, mistakes and worths:))” -Jana, Prague, Czech Republic

“ahojky, i'm.. SO glad that this has happened!! And i will SO pray for you to be able to really stop fighting, and just let God to lead you.. and i've also remembered about one thing,as you wrote me about your struggling with who you are and how you let people see you, or who you "pretend" to be.
i don't remember what you said about reading Harry Potter, but there is one moment,which i will always remember. it's the time, when harry is thinking if he couldn't be the heir of Slytherin, and actually the bad one. but Doumbledor tells him,that it's true that he has many qualities,that Slytherin would appreciate, but even so the wise hat has sent him to go to Gryffindor,and he let harry to think why. harry seemed to be defeated and said "just because i've told him that i don't want to go to slytherin" and Dumbledor answered "exactly!! and that's the moment, where you are very different from Voldemort. it's about who we really are, and much more then our abilities,and what we can do, testifies what we choose ourselves". can you see what i'm trying to say? when i read this,i suddenly realized, that when i feel like i'm bad inside, but i want everyone to see the good side of me, and started getting frustrated with it. it's not actually that bad.. i choose to be the good person. i choose to go to Gryffindor.” Jahoda, Prague, Czech Republic

Discover Something New #10 Surrender the Dynamite and No One Gets Decapitated!

2007-04-19T21:35:00.000-07:00

Sunday: Impossible!
How long do you think a plant seed can maintain the ability to grow into a plant? In northern China a lotus fruit seed was discovered in a dry lake bed (which once was cultivated but has long been dry). The seed was estimated to be 1,300 years old. Amazingly, the seed was able to germinate into a healthy plant (http://www.amjbot.org/cgi/content/abstract/89/2/236). While this is the oldest germinated seed on record, there are numerous accounts of seeds lying dormant for 100s of years until they experience a cataclysmic event (such a fire) that destroys all other plant life. These seeds then sprout, and without them it would take a much longer time for vegetation to return to the devastated area.

Monday: Say What?!
In the great Amazon River there lives a species of fresh-water dolphins. They hunt fish with a sonar system. Their mating ritual is especially interesting: the males swim to the bottom of the river, pick up large rocks in their jaws, and carry them to the top. It seems that the rock must be completely out of the water for it to “count.” The only real theory about this is that the males are showing how strong they are, hoping to attract a female... not that different from humans, actually.

Tuesday: So That's Why:...
Why is American culture so powerful and universal today? We see pictures of a child in a Mickey Mouse t-shirt in rural Uruguay, Eminem fans in Bosnia, and McDonald's in just about every country but N. Korea! May historians emphasize the very early importance of Hollywood. Of course we know the strength of Hollywood today. But the key is that the US jumped on the opportunity afforded by the silver screen sooner than anyone else. During WWI the rest of the western world was decreasing their cultural budget and pouring money into the war. President Wilson, however, saw the war as a chance to increase US influence in the world, and he dramatically increased the funding for film-making, and made sure that film-makers had enough nitrate (a vital element for film and munitions). By 1925, US films made up a huge proportion of films internationally: In Germany, 60% of the films shown in cinemas were make in the US; in Italy, 65%; France, 70%; and in Britain, Australia, and New Zealand, 95% of films were American! The influence of these early films on the local populations cannot be overestimated when we think about the exportation and popularity of the American lifestyle and “American Dream.”

Wednesday: Interesting Place Review:
The city of Potosi in south-central Bolivia is today a city of about 115,000 people, and is at an altitude of 13015 feet (3967 meters), which makes it the highest city in the world. It sits on the silver mines that provided most of Spain's silver (according to official records, 45,000 tons of pure silver were mined from that area between 1556 and 1783, which at current market prices is about 1.5 billion dollars). So it was also one of the richest cities in the world. Founded as a mining town, it soon become the largest city in the Americas with a population of over 200,000. At one point it reportedly had a higher population than Paris or London. But then the silver ran dry, and the economy plummeted. Today tin and a little silver is still mined under hellish conditions, and life expectancy for the miners is about 40 years (however, most of the mines are controlled by the workers, who share all profits. They choose to be miners only because there are no other jobs available).
So, why would you visit Potosi? One reason might be to see the magnificent buildings erected during the town's heyday, but there's a more interesting attraction for the seeker of the bizarre. Apparently Potosi is something like the Las Vegas of Latin America, which seems to attract “get rich quick” hopefuls, alcoholics, and lowlifes who have little left to live for. Both Vegas and Potosi offer the dream of striking it rich without working, but Potosi “takes the cake” when it comes to “laying it all on the line.” Go to any Potosi market and you'll find sticks of dynamite for sale “over the counter.” Anyone with a a few last dollars can buy a detonator, fuse, and stick of dynamite for less than $2 US. There are mine tours for visitors, and part of the tour is to buy the dynamite kit, go down into the mines, and explode the dynamite. Then you can sift through the rubble and see if you've “hit the jackpot.” Happy Blasting!
Not to be too frivolous, there is a tragic side to this as well. Over the centuries of a few drunk crazies who think they're going to make their fortune, and the many peasants trying to survive, it is estimated that 8 million people have died because of the mines (more from diseased from bad air and mercury contact than from cave-ins). The locals say that they are “eaten” by the mine. The dilemma is similar to that over African diamonds; the western consumers create a market for the silver from Potosi (maybe my silver ring was dug up by a 12 year old who spends 10 hours a day hundreds of feet underground), but at the same time, if we stop buying silver, they won't have any income at all.
http://www.travelblog.org/South-America/Bolivia/Potosi/blog-77769.html
http://www.rhymer.net/New%20Folder/AltiplanoI/gallery.html
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Potos%C3%AD

Thursday:
During the Chinese Shang dynasty (1700-11 B.C.), dead kings were often buried with many other bodies, usually with their bodies laid neatly in a row with their heads stored elsewhere. These bodies could be of men, women, or children, of dogs, horses, or other animals that might serve as food, servants, or guards in the afterlife. One such tomb near Anyang contained 160 decapitated victims besides the king himself.

Friday:
Question: Is there anything in your life that you feel you should control more or less?
Question: If you could combine any two animals, which two would you combine and why?

Sunday: On a Personal Note:
“The Battle is in Surrender.” I must admit that I really wondered how to tell this story. But you are the people who have expressed an interest in my life and thoughts, so it would be incredibly shallow to share the thoughts that are relatively abstract and not those experiences that make me feel more vulnerable. This is complicated, and I'm not even sure if I can explain it, so don't feel like you have to read all this. I'll try to explain this as quickly as possible.
Some of you know that over the last year or two I've been struggling with two serious things.
1. The conflict between who I show people I am, and who I really am. I've realized that I'm good at controlling people's perceptions of me, and the problem is that I want to look as perfect as possible. I've worked harder on my image than on my heart, and it has started causing problems. One problem is when people have gotten the feeling that I'm a selfless person (because that's what I project), when I'm not really selfless by nature. But being very conscious about what people think of me, I've lost the ability to be honest about my negative side, so I just get frustrated. The other problem is that I always try to say the right thing or do the right thing that will hit closest to showing my ideal characteristics (quick-witted, calm, wise, capable, etc). If this makes any sense so far, then you can see the problems. I was essentially trying to show only my “ideal self” without changing my true self. For some of you it might be hard to believe that I work through a filter, “But Caleb, you're so open about everything!” Yes, because openness is a positive characteristic that people admire. I don't have much problem writing this so far because I know that most people will admire me being so open about my “mask.” But if it's something I can't put a positive spin on... Yes, maybe now you're starting to see how it works...
2. The second struggle has been with my faith. Most of you know my commitment to my Christian faith and service to Christ, except perhaps those of you who know me only from the last year. That's because I've been inactive in my faith since I returned to America. There are many reasons for this, known and unknown. One is that I am simply not good at balance, in any area of my life. My faith is something like a marriage, there are good years and bad ones. This time, I haven't questioned my belief or God's hand in my life as I have before, I simply felt distant, and unable to close the distance regardless of anything I tried. I felt that I had little choice but to wait for God to speak. I knew from experience that He was waiting for me to be ready to hear what He had to say, which frightened and baffled me. What was He waiting for?!
On Friday I watched the movie “V for Vendetta,” and then I went for a walk, thinking hard about changing the world. I often suffer from delusions of grandeur. I was also thinking about what a person must be like to change the world. I got an urge to stop several people on the street and really ask them what they were truly looking for, what would make them whole. I didn't, but I did take out a pen and make a list of characteristics. “In my heart, I don't care about being: Successful, Popular, Comfortable. I want to be: Peaceful, Joyful, Loving.” I was thinking about what it would mean to really live according to these priorities. As I started walking into an almond orchard I looked up to say hello to the man and small boy playing near one of the trees. Surprisingly, I recognized the guy. His name is Jeff, a student I knew at Butte College, at least five years ago. Turns out he lives a few blocks from my house. Being in the mood to talk with someone I pursued a conversation.
We talked for about half an hour there on the side of the orchard. After a few questions I found out that he's very involved with a new church in Chico, and I asked a lot of questions about the activities, characteristics, and attitude of his church. He enthusiastically told me some of his experiences in the church about people whose lives were completely changing, and about the spirit of excitement and commitment that covered the small congregation. That got my attention. I told him a little of my background and current struggle, and asked him how they sustain and maintain closeness with God. His answer surprised me. “Well... I think it's a lot about surrender.” That wasn't the word I expected, so I took out my pen and wrote “surrender” on my list of characteristics. Jeff went on explaining his meaning of surrender, that it meant giving control of our lives to God, not fighting His plan, letting go of all the details, really trusting Him to be the master planner. This is all stuff I've heard before, but it sounded different somehow.
We talked about other things, and he invited me to his church and evening Bible study. As I walked away I pulled out my list again, and noticed the word “surrender” written there. Suddenly from nowhere I remembered an experience I had 6 months ago, when I was first back in America and very burned out spiritually. I was in church, sitting in front of the parents of one of my friends. At one point the mother leaned forward and said “God gave me a word for you...” To be very honest I'm usually pretty skeptical these 'messages from God', since I know how many voices I have in my own head. But of course I couldn't say I didn't want to hear. I leaned over, and she whispered in my ear “the word is Surrender.” I looked thoughtful and politely said 'thank you,' but I didn't think much about it afterwards. Until now.
Okay, I'm being told to stop fighting. Fighting what?! Surrender what?! Six months ago I didn't know, but I'd been thinking a lot since then. I started to get a picture for how much I control my image, and how important it is to me what others think about me. I started to realize that my goal of being a hero, a model person, a person respected by everyone, while these are good things with good motives, they were my goals, and I was pursuing them my way, and I tried to control events around me that I had no business controlling. Maybe God has a different way than me. Well, I'd already written that I would rather be peaceful and loving than popular and successful, right? I didn't seem to have anywhere else to run. I felt certain that I was being told directly to surrender my control of my image, and be who He made me, not who I want people to think I am. I really can't explain why this effected me so strongly. Just one of those moment, you know, when all the little strings of your life come together and you can see the purpose. A sense of peace I've been craving for so long softly returned, and I was able to cry for the first time in a year. I understood why I hadn't been able to hear God for so long, I wasn't willing to listen to this. I realized how deeply rooted this bad habit is, and how much help I would need to open my heart to true change.
I walked home very slowly, feeling that a wall had finally fallen. I wanted it to stay down. I wanted to do something to make it clear that I was now willing to give control of my image, of events around me, of my future, to God. An idea jumped to my mind: for a long time, one of my ways of controlling my physical image, of feeling like I look different, cool, independent, has been my long hair. Now I'm not saying it was the best look, but I like it. I like how it feels to have long hair, to seems a little different and more rugged than others. Was I willing to sacrifice that small part of my self-image? I fought it, but only a little. It was the perfect symbolic act.
To make an already too long story a little shorter, I took an electric razor and cut off a few pounds of hair. I now have shorter hair than I did 4 years ago when I left for Prague (see picture). It's been an adjustment, but in keeping with my new mandate. It was something of a shock for my parents when they came home. I also tried to defined what lesson I'd learned from the experience, and settled on “The Battle is in Surrender.” Very unworldly logic, without question. My realization is that the hardest battle is in letting go of control of my individual little war, and surrender to the Great General, so I can march under His banner again. After that, it's His fight.
I took a black marker and wrote this motto “The Battle is in Surrender” on my forearm. I think I'll keep it there, so I don't forget. I'm not about to get a tattoo, because I hope to learn this lesson eventually, but for now I want to have a constant reminder.
I feel like I've done a terrible job of explaining what this lesson means to me, how much it could change in me, and why it's so significant. There's just too many details, and each person reading this will take it slightly different anyway. In any case, this was a powerful experience and lesson for me, and I couldn't avoid telling you all the story, why I cut my hair, and why I have a strange sentence written on my arm in pen. Let me know what you think, whatever that may be. In any case, if you've read this far, I really appreciate your interest, and I know I can trust all of you for support as I try to refocus my life and reexamine the way I've lived for the last 15 years. We'll see if I can actually follow through on this one. Meanwhile, I'd encourage you to examine the phrase “The battle is in surrender” for yourself, and see if it makes any sense in your life, or if I'm the only crazy one. :-)

Last Week's Question and Answers:
Q: What makes the difference between a person who sincerely cares about other people, and a person who doesn't?

"The first thing that came to mind when I saw the your question (no deep thoughts!), was sacrifice. A person who cares for another, places value on them. How much value? The Bible uses "myself" as the standard- if I value another more than myself, I am fulfilling (one of) God's commands. Thus, if I sincerely care about others, I place a higher value on their need (safety, comfort, growth, etc.) than my own. If I truly care for another, I am willing to sacrifice for them. God shows the degree of His care for us by sacrificing what is most precious to Him- His son. Your question is essentially the same as one asked Jesus in Luke chapter 10 vs. 29, which the He answers with the parable of the good Samaritan. Like I said- nothing deep, but it made me think think a little of the wonderful love that God has for me!" -Matt, Chicago, Illinois.

Corrections for DSN #9:
"There are two wee slips in phrases that Czechs usually use. It should be "Na zdraví" (slip in spelling) and "Je to pravda!" (your word order is correct, but this is the phrase we use). That activity we are supposed to do in Czech Republic when someone is talking / thinking about you is (as far as I know) hiccoughing." - Marek, Prague, Czech Republic.

"One thing though, about what you were saying about Singapore. Yes, it may be a very clean city but the reason chewing gum is illegal is because of the chewing gum being used to disrupt the doors of the Mass Rapid Transit system, causing costly repair and delays. In such a large metropolitan area where most people get around using public transport, a delay can cost thousands of dollars due to the productive hours lost." -Sara, Chico, California.

Thanks Matt, Marek, and Sara!

Discover Something New #9 Never Sneeze At An Oily Leaf In Singapore!

2007-04-08T00:12:00.000-07:00

Sunday:
Actually...
It's allergy season here in Chico, and I've been sniffing and sneezing worse than I have in many years. This has started several interesting conversations about sneezing (see, there can be a positive side to anything!). Did you ever think that saying “Bless you” is limited to one or a few cultures? Actually, although it seems like a strange custom, most languages have a phrase that others can say to the sneezer (though not all languages have one, for example Japanese does not). In English we say “Bless you!” or “God bless you!” There are two explanations for this. The more interesting explanation is that during the Middle Ages it was believed that when someone sneezed it meant that a demon was trying to get into their soul through their mouth. So “God bless you” was a protection against demons. Also, during the Bubonic Plague a sneeze could be a sign of fatal illness, and so “God bless you” was a blessing for health.
I looked over a list of about 50 different languages, and only a few didn't fit into these two styles: health or spiritual protection, which actually have obvious connections themselves. But there are also some other interesting customs. In Puerto Rico, the first sneeze is responded to with "Salud" (Health), but it is also common for someone to reply to a 2nd sneeze with "Dinero" (Money) and after a 3rd sneeze "Amor" (Love). In Romanian, sneezing is usually followed by replying "Noroc", ("Good luck"). Several languages have responses that wish the sneezer 100 years, for example Polish ("Sto lat" = “hundred years”), Chinese ("bai sui" = "(may you live)one-hundred years"), and Tamil ("Nooru" = “Blessing to live more than 100 years”). Czechs usually use the phrase “Na zdravy” (to your health), but sometimes say “to je pravda” (it is true!). When a Dutch person sneezes three times in succession it is seen as a sign that the weather tomorrow will be good. And speaking of signs, in ancient Greece sneezing was seen to be a sign of approval from the gods. There is even a historical record of the Greek Xenophon going confidently to war because one of his soldiers sneezed while he was promising that they would win. By contrast, in some parts of South India there is a superstition that it is a bad omen if someone sneezes just before someone is leaving on an errand or journey. Consequently, if someone sneezes people often wait for some time before beginning their intended mission.
Many languages also have nursery rhymes about sneezing, for example this Spanish one:
“One sneeze: “Salud” (To your health)
Two sneezes: “Salud y dinero” (To your health and wealth)
Three sneezes: “Salud, dinero y amor” (To your health, wealth and love)
Four sneezes: “Salud, dinero, amor, y alergias” (To your health, wealth, love, and allergies)”
Anyway, all these above make some time of sense to me, but the one I can't quite figure out is the widespread idea that you sneeze when someone is talking/thinking about you. This is a common idea in China, Japan, and India (and if I remember correctly, in Czech Republic, but that might have been about yawning. Any comments from the Czechs?). My Japanese friend Megumi tell me that one sneeze means someone is speaking positively about you, two sneezes means someone is speaking negatively about you, and three sneezes means that you're cold. The Chinese say “yǒu rén xiǎng nǐ ” (有人想你), which translates into "someone is thinking about you". Okay, everyone from cultures that have this idea, I'm curious about the history of this idea. Any thoughts?
Well, that was enough information to make anyone's nose tingle! Now you're prepared to sneeze almost anywhere! So, blowing on to the next item!

Monday:
On A Personal Note:
While riding my bike home last week, I was hit by a leaf. Seriously, I was just riding along, thinking about nothing much and minding my own business, when out of nowhere something large suddenly struck me in the face. I was so surprised (and a little off balance) that I quickly stopped my bike and took a moment to figure out what had happened. My reaction for a second was anger. When I realized that it was a leaf that had fallen from the tree just in time for my face to intercept it, I started laughing. The fact that I'd been ambushed by a leaf was funny! And that got me thinking... why did my feeling change almost instantly from anger to laugher just because it was a leaf? After all, if a person had suddenly come and hit me, I wouldn't be laughing. Okay, there is a difference in pain levels. So let's say that some kids are on the side of the street, and as I'm riding by they throw a big leaf at me and it hits me on the face (okay, use your imagination a little here). The pain level and effect would be exactly the same, but I would be angry, not laughing. And in another example, what if that leaf fell from the tree, but the surprise made me fall off my bike, and I scrapped the skin off my knees and hands? I think I would still be laughing when I realized what happened. Whining like a baby, yes, but still laughing about getting beaten up by a leaf. Hmm, interesting picture.... Anyway, regardless of pain levels, the reactions to being hit by a leaf or a person are very different. So what's the difference?
For me, this experience is about the power of intention. We don't get angry with inanimate objects like we do with animate ones. Inanimate objects can cause problems, but they can't intend to cause problems. This implies a lot of different things. It means that when we want to blame someone (or something), we must find something that intended to hurt us. If a wall falls on a man and cripples him, he won't blame the wall. He'll blame the wall builder, or the person leaning on the other side of the wall, or even the termites in the wall. If that person really needs someone to blame, and can't find any other possibility, then he will blame God before he blames the wall itself. We need to see intention.
The ramifications and revelations of this experience go on and on, and I can see myself starting to write an essay on this, so I'm going to stop here before things get too scattered. Let me know what you all think about this!

Tuesday:
Singapore is recognized as being the cleanest city in the world. Because of the abhorrence of gum spots, chewing gum is illegal unless it is nicotine gum (after all, the only habit messier than chewing gum is smoking cigarettes). Not flushing a public toilet is a crime. In 1994 a 18 year old boy named Michael Fey was living with his mother in Singapore. With some friends one night he went on a spree of spray-painting cars and egging houses. Once caught he was sentenced to four months in jail, a $1,400 fine, and six lashes on his bare buttocks with a rattan cane. The lashing punishment is extremely severe, as the first lashes usually strip the skin from the victim's back. President Clinton even got involved and tried to convince the Singapore Chief of Justice to remove the lashings from the punishment, unsuccessfully. But the number was changed from 6 to 4. After the punishment Michael Fey was treated for emotional distress but not for the pain. He'll have a scarred back for life. Think about that the next time you think of littering!

Wednesday:
World Problems:
Nigeria, on the central west coast of Africa, is one of the world's most populated countries, with 130 million people. It's also one of the richest and poorest countries in the world, depending on where you look. As a country it is rich with oil. Oil represents 80% of the nation's total revenue. In 2005 this came to $60 billion. The problems are twofold:
First of all, the oil infrastructure covered 159 oilfields, uses 4,500 miles of pipeline, and uses 275 flow stations, where massive gas flares burn day and night. The Nigerian government documents 6,817 spills, practically one oil spill every day for the last 25 years. Outside agencies estimate that this number might actually be 10 times as much. The oil fields are in a delta region once rich with fish and fertile agriculture. While it used to be a very easy to get food for the natives, today it is virtually impossible to survive as a farmer or fisherman, and masses of frozen fish are shipped in the delta area.
The second problem is that virtually none of this money helps the common people. In 2003 the Nigerian anti-corruption agency estimated that 70% of government oil revenues was stolen or wasted by government officials. And if a government agency is saying that, you have to wonder if it's not more than 70%! While billions of dollars are flowing into Nigeria, still almost all of the 30 million people who live on top of the oilfields live on around a dollar a day.
Now evaluating the situation according to income is dangerous. Often we see “poverty” and think “oh, they don't have electricity so they must be miserable,” but in fact they can be much happier without our sense of materialism. However, this is not one of those cases. After a number of famous protesting Nigerian writers were hung by the government, the people became so desperate that they decided that violence is their only option. A young Nigerian university lecturer said “we have to carry weapons unless we want to die. Violence begets violence.” The military has been instructed to “meet force with force” to protect the oil companies, and quickly the Nigerian delta has become one of the most dangerous places on earth. In just one example last year, an Italian construction worker was kidnapped from a bar in a village of about 3,000 people. The army responded by burning the entire village to the ground. The Italian was released five days later for a large ransom.

Thursday:
Wow!
The new American Washington dollar coin will have the phrase “In God We Trust” written on the edge of the coin instead of the face, like almost all other US coins. The last coin to have printing on the edge was the 1933 gold “double eagle” $20 coin, which is among the rarest coins in the world. In 2002, a gold double eagle coin sold for $7.59 million – the highest price ever paid for a single coin.

Friday:
Say What?!
In 1928, after the disappointments of the Pact of Paris following WWI, US Secretary of State Frank Kellogg (yes, of the Kellogg cereal family) got an interesting idea from a university professor named James Shotwell. According to Shotwell, the way to stop war was to make it illegal. Kellogg liked the idea, and, with the French foreign minister Aristide Briand, drafted the Kellogg-Briand Pact. They invited all other nations to sign the treaty, and all but five countries in the world signed it in August 1928. Interestingly enough, the treaty is still in effect, which means that war is still illegal.

Saturday:
Questions:
What makes the difference between a person who sincerely cares about other people, and a person who doesn't?

Last Week's question and response: “I'm trying to understand if materialism is so strong in the West because we want thing more than other people, or just because we have more opportunity to get things. Do all people want “stuff”? Have you ever met a person who did not have some desire for material possessions? Please tell me about them!”
Answer from Luke Ogden in Germany: Yes, I've been to a few monasteries of different sorts and have met monks who seriously don't want material possessions. For example I met some hard core ascetics at a small Serbian Orthodox monastery (in the hills in Northern California) who live with only the most basic necessities, which does not include things like electricity or hot water. They spend most of the day every day singing a cappella solo and praying. In any case, they certainly aren't interested in "stuff" or acquiring material possessions. Traditionally, monasticism includes the renunciation of personal property, and nothing at a monastery is the property of one individual.

Discover Something New #8 - Thoughts and Questions

2007-03-25T19:15:00.000-07:00

One good thing that has come from this week off is a new idea for the newsletter, but I'll talk about that in a moment. I do want to tell you that the most notable thing that happened to me this week was being in a pretty serious car accident. I say “serious” just because it was pretty dramatic, but no one was hurt even a little bit. A friend was driving me home in his car at about 3:00 in the morning, and we were driving on West Lindo Ave., which is a narrow street with a dry river on one side. On a turn the back tire went onto the side of the road a little, and since it was loose dirt it provided no traction, and when my friend tried to compensate with the front we lost control and drove over the side of the road, into a 10 foot drop, landing on a large bush and a fallen log. The log actually stopped us from rolling about twice as far down, but it also turned the car over so the car was completely on its side. We had to carefully climb out the top through the passenger side door, and then climbed out of the ditch. It's pretty amazing that neither of us were hurt. We sat on the side of the road looking down at the car for a while, in various levels of shock, and then walked to my house. I'd never experienced something like that, and I doubt I'll ever forget it. But if you must have an accident, this was probably the best way to do it! No injuries, no damage beyond the car itself, no one else involved, etc. Could have been much worse very easily!
Something like that always makes you think, though. And that's part of my new idea for the newsletter. I've also had some great conversations with people this week, with some great ideas, and I'd like to share those. So, I'm introducing two new categories for the newsletter: “On A Personal Note,” and “Question of the Week.” The first one will be one item a week, and it will be just something that I was thinking about or experiencing that week. The second will be a question for all of you, sometimes a silly question and sometimes serious, to get your opinion on certain things. Since this newsletter is going out to 8 different countries around the world, I think it could be very interesting to learn how different or similar we really are. When I have time then I'll write about the answers you send in the next week's newsletter. I think these will keep the newsletter interesting and not just about facts. So usually I'll have one “Personal Note” and one “Question” and five “Discover Something New” items, but this week I'm going to use only the new categories, just to give you some ideas and because I had a lot of ideas this week. Let me know what you think, and enjoy!
-C

Discover Something New Every Day
Sunday: We usually think that “The Best” is most threatened by “The Bad.” But that's not true. The most deadly thing for “The Best” is “The Good.” No one says that TV, Computer Game, Sports, Shopping, Money, Fame, Success, Knowledge, or Pleasure of any kind is “Bad,” but when “The Good” keeps us away from “The Best,” then they are deadly.

Monday: Even if you drive off a 10 foot ledge and crash into bushes and logs, it doesn't mean that the airbags will come out. In my experience the best way to protect yourself is to close your eyes as tight as possible, scream as loud as you can, and focus on not wetting your pants.

Tuesday: At some point in life everyone must decide what is more important: what is done THROUGH their life, or what is done IN themselves. What is more important to you, what you DO, or who you ARE? Of course they are very similar, and often it is the same thing, but not always. Being able to control your projection of self does not change who you are, and being able to change who you are doesn't mean you will seem any different on the outside. Sooner or later, the DO and BE parts of you will clash, and then you must decide which one is more valuable to you.

Wednesday: One of the few things that has not changed in human existence since the beginning, and I think never will change, is the unpredictability of death. Despite all our hospitals, medicine, technology, health-food, and safe habitats, despite the fact that we can live a hundred years and often be completely free of pain, is death less sudden than in the stone age? Death can arrive with just as much suddenness and shock as ever before. In many ways our efforts to control death has provided more opportunities for shock. Our cars, buildings, airplanes, needles, operations, medical schools, police, restaurants, domestic animals, bug-spray, genetic engineering, microscopes, all the things we have created to make ourselves more comfortable and make life more secure, these things do not make death less surprising, only more shocking and unexpected when it comes, because we really thought we were safe. Death is just as present, just as shocking, and just as in control as ever, and the only thing that has changed is that we've convinced ourselves that it isn't true.

Thursday: There's a funny thing about time: there's always more than enough time, or way too little, but never just enough. Think of how many times you hear people say “Hurry, There's no time!” or “Don't worry, there's plenty of time!” compared to how many times you've heard “There's just the right amount of time”! It seems that time, or at least the way we handle time, is not very balanced at all.

Friday: Question: Isn't it true that everyone in the world likes cookies? Have you ever known any human being who did not like eating warm, fresh, home-made cookies? If so, please tell me!

Saturday: Question: I'm trying to understand if materialism is so strong in the West because we want thing more than other people, or just because we have more opportunity to get things. Do all people want “stuff”? Have you ever met a person who did not have some desire for material possessions? Please tell me about them!

Discover Something New #7- Crazy English Speakers!

2007-03-13T01:39:00.000-07:00

Sunday: In 1970 there was a law suggested that would eliminate the estate tax. The estate tax heavily taxed people who inherited more than $7 million dollars. A survey was taken of factory workers which found that the vast majority of them opposed the law to abolish the tax, even though they barely made enough to save anything for their children, must less $7 million. Why were they opposed? They said that they might be rich some day, and that they wanted to pass their money on to their children without taxes. I think that shows the strength of the American Dream better than anything!

Monday: Interesting Person Review: During political unrest in Nicaragua in late 1800s, one political group recruited a few dozen adventurers lead by the American William Walker, who were supposed to be missionaries of "Progress". But the plan backfired when Walker got bored of teaching "civilized" life to the country, and thought it would be more interesting to declare himself President of Nicaragua. He wanted to "Americanize" the country, so he declared freedom of worship, made English the national language, gave large land grants to Americans, and made slavery legal (though it had been abolished in Nicaragua years before). But soon the military got fed up with Walker, and they caught and executed him, thus ending America's short direct reign in Latin America.

Tuesday: Science: (correct me if I'm wrong science guys!) The human eye can actually see a part of the "electromagnet spectrum." The best example is in a rainbow we see the different wave-lengths of the light. Red has the longest wave-length, purple the shortest. On the electromagnet spectrum these visible colors are 0.7 to 0.4. So imagine all the colors and light that you CAN see, and then think about the fact that the human eye can see less than 1/1,000,000 of the electromagnet spectrum. (here's a pretty good simple article: http://imagers.gsfc.nasa.gov/ems/visible.html).

Wednesday: Say What? When the British occupation of India came in 1947, there was a severe problem of Hindi and Muslim conflicts. So it was decided that India would break into two countries, Hindi India and Muslim Pakistan. The British created the geographic borders, and very creative borders they were. The plans didn't consider any pesky geographic details, it simply made areas with a Muslim majority Pakistan, and the rest India. That meant that "Pakistan" was actually two separate areas, almost 1000 miles (1700 K +/-) of Indian territory. Check out this map: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Partition_of_India.PNG. The two areas were called West Pakistan and East Pakistan, and even though they were 1000 miles apart, with very different cultures, identities, and appearances, they were expected to act as one country. They actually did (sort of) until 1971, when East Pakistan rebelled and demanded independence. There was an interesting conflict involving USA, USSR, China, India, and ships with nuclear missiles. But that's another story. In the end, East Pakistan gained its independence and became Bangladesh.

Thursday: There are currently only 11 countries with a population over 100 million people. Some of the countries are exactly what you'd expect: China, India, USA, Russia, and Japan, are expected members of the "100 club," but I was surprised that Indonesia has almost 235 million people, that Brazil, Pakistan, and Bangladesh have over 150 million, and Nigeria and Mexico are also in the club. The next probable member? The Philippines currently has a population of 90 million, and Vietnam of 85. Check out: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_countries_by_population, and especially this amazing population clock for India: http://www.mnsu.edu/emuseum/information/population/country.php?FILE=IN&NAME=India

Friday: Actually: In 1941 Japan was desperate for oil to fuel its empire ambitions, and the closest source was Indonesia, which was help by the Dutch. But Japan knew that America would never allow them to invade the Dutch colony, since the two countries had been on the verge of war for several years, so they planned to take America out of the equation by attacking the fleet at Pearl Harbor. People usually think that Japan wanted to start a war with America and so made the first strike, but actually there was not one Japanese general who thought that Japan could survive a long-term war with the US. The plan was to hit the US navy hard enough to put them out of activity in the Pacific for 4-5 years and then negotiate a peace deal with them after they had cooled off.
In fact, the attack didn't have the affect the Japanese wanted. In the attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941 about 300 US planes were destroyed. By 1943 the US could build 300 planes every two days. Also, every large ship except one that was sunk in Pearl Harbor was raised and repaired. Many of these ships played vital roles in future battles against Japan.

Saturday: The US actually leases the property of Guantanamo Bay from Cuba, even though the current Cuban government isn't officially recognized by America. Every month the US writes a check for Cuba to pay for the lease. The cost is in accordance with the 1934 lease agreement which dictated $2000 in gold a year, which equals $4,085 a year today. But in 48 years of getting checks, Fidel Castro hasn't cashed a single one.

Correction: Last week I told the story of the Czech soldiers who traveled to Siberia in WWII. Actually it was WWI. (Thanks Dr. Wilson for the correction!)

Upper Upper Bidwell, part IV

2007-03-13T01:35:00.000-07:00

Upper Upper Bidwell, part IV

So I found myself continuing up the road. Now things were getting strange, because I really had no idea why I was walking forward, and I was increasingly worried about my energy levels, foot endurance, not to mention mental health. Being goal-oriented, I decided that I was looking for some place to sleep, and then stay there until the morning. Easier said than done. The complicating factors? 1. getting too close to the thick bushes made me worried about wildlife. I knew that probably no predator would attack a human if he is upright and not running away like prey, but laying down and within easy claw reach? I was not about to sleep anywhere near the brush. 2. The wind was bone-chilling and gusting. As long as I kept walking and generating body heat it was no problem, but I knew that in 10-15 minutes of inaction that body heat would be gone, and that kind of exposure would probably be more dangerous than any animal in the forest. 3. I couldn't get the picture out of my mind of the hypothetical person who had been sleeping on that blanket in the abandoned building. He sees a light coming and ducks into the forest, then he watches as some kid walks around and pokes through "his house." The kid then shows signs of nervousness, and continues to walk down the road. The man decides to follow, and see what this invader is up to, and why the kid is in "his forest." And if the kid finally goes to sleep...

There you have it. I couldn't sleep out in the open, I'd freeze. And I couldn't be too close to cover, I'd be eaten. And I couldn't be near the road, I'd be found. But I couldn't go off-road, I'd get lost, and then frozen, and then eaten. You know, I'm naturally an optimist, really.

So I kept walking, I guess hoping to magically find some place where I could sleep that met all these criteria. I think you can see that my logic was starting to break down a little. After another hour and a half, and after thinking I'd found the end of the road three different times, only to realize that it continued, I finally found a place to rest. It was a large slopping clearing, filled with layers of large flat rocks. Well, the clearing itself provided a buffer against the forest, I felt far away enough from the house and any inhabitants, and the final ingredient was finding a small "wall" of rock about two feet high that I could lay behind. After walking for about 11 hours, I was ready to rest.

I huddled down against the rock and tried to relax. I admired the stars for a while, which were beautiful. I was slowly getting more drowsy, but figured I should eat something first. It took about 20 minutes to convince myself to make the effort to open up my bag. You know, at the end of the day, I'm a pretty lazy person. If it weren't for my suicidal sense of adventure I doubt I'd ever bother to get out of bed. Well, when I finally did decide to eat instead of just sitting there falling asleep, I realized that I am also pretty stupid. I'd forgotten that I had brought a nice big beef stick along with me... It wasn't hard to imagine myself sound asleep, the sweet smell of meat drifting through the forest and into the nostrils of lions, bears, and coyotes from miles around... I nearly smacked myself for almost falling asleep like that.

So I decided that I would either start walking back immediately, or if it seemed like I could sleep then at least I would put my bag somewhere on the other side of the clearing. Well, then I tried to decide by seeing if it would be possible to sleep. I could feel the icy wind coming over the rock behind me and blowing over my head, but I felt pretty sheltered. I even started to feel comfortable and drowsy again, but suddenly the wind changed directions. It was gusting, sometimes blowing from behind, sometimes directly at me, sometimes just brushing past me. It's really hard to understand the frustration and torture of this if you're never spent a night out in the open. The wind finds any opening in your clothing, any exposed skin, and hits it with everything it's got. So you turn around to protect that area, and the wind finds another place. You know those nights when you just can't get comfortable? Now imagine that 99% of the comfortable positions you DO find are also impossible to sleep in. Having had a few experiences with this kind of environment, I'm absolutely in awe of the homeless people around the world. I understand why they look the way they do, since I don't think I would even survive many weeks of that kind of life.

When I felt my feet going cold, I knew I had a problem. No amount of positioning would help that problem, and I knew my feet would only get colder and colder until after I had been walking for at least 15 minutes. Before long they would start getting painful, and if I still ignored them the pain would go away, but that wouldn't be a good thing. There was really no question of sleeping at this point.

But still I didn't get up. It wasn't that I was lazy, or too tired to get up. It wasn't that I was thinking about the long trip back, or the perceived dangers along the way. I certainly wasn't enjoying myself lying there on the rocks. So why didn't I want to get up?

The answer came to me suddenly, and it was the most important moment of this whole trip. I've already said that I started trip this because I needed to clear my mind, and this was certainly a moment of clarity. I simply didn't want to go back. I was nearly miserable here, and home sounded so comfortable, but I still didn't want to leave this place.

I had spent the last month of winter vacation doing basically whatever I felt like doing, which pretty much meant sleeping, TV, a few family trips, and that's about it. I half convinced myself that I deserved a break between semesters, and that I "shouldn't push myself too much". The more I lived like that, the more disgusted with myself I became. I knew that every day was one I would never see again, and I started to hate going to bed each night, thinking of how much nothing I'd done that day, knowing that I'd be too lazy to wake up until the afternoon, and then it would start again. I was so focused on making life pleasant and comfortable that I was shutting out anything challenging or real. I just wanted to be happy with life, but I was sacrificing everything that made me happy with myself.

And now here I was, in the middle the the night, miles into the wilderness, in the freezing wind, on a rock bed, and I still didn't want to leave and return to that artificial life of distractions from that which is real. At least here I was alive, and knew it. Here I was not letting a speck of energy go unused. Here I was not unreasonably and uncontrollably frustrated when the Internet connection is too slow, or when my favorite TV program isn't on. I was living in the moment, and living it to the fullest extent of my abilities. There was even enough danger to make me think about survival, and nothing strips all superficiality from your mind like the whisper of death. In one moment I realized that a large part of me would rather stay and freeze in the dark than return to that useless world I'd created for my own pleasure. I almost laughed out loud at the irony.

Well, this was a realization worth the trip. I felt a new motivation to discipline and focus myself. I knew that if I couldn't monitor and balance the vast luxuries our society offers, then soon I'd be out on a freezing rock somewhere again, and I really didn't want that. Okay, I was ready to try again.

So I stood up, and prepared to start the long walk back. At this point it was about 9:30. I figured I'd been walking over 11 hours, so by starting back now I should get home around 6 am. A little early for me, but I'd had enough of the cold, and I was ready to go home.

The way back was pretty stressful, but for many hours nothing interesting actually happened. I was worried about my flashlight battery dying. I was worried about lions. Every time I heard a noise in the bushes I flashed my light at it to discourage any attack. Several times I disturbed birds sleeping in the bushes as I pushed past them, and they would burst into flight with loud screeches. That always made me nearly wet my pants.

Besides that there was always the interesting experience of seeing the lights of Chico whenever the trail curved towards the ridge and out of the trees. It was strange, seeing so many lights of so many people, so close and still it all looked very far away when I thought about walking there. Hey Matt and Daniel, you remember our trip to Ishi Wilderness? It was kind of like that. It was a different kind of lost, because I knew the direction, I could even see where I was going, but I really had no idea where I was.

I kept walking, sometimes making plans about how to avoid letting my life get so distracted in the future, sometimes just putting one foot in front of the other. At one point my dad called on the cell phone. He said that there were weather alerts on the news about the cold, and they advised everyone to stay inside. The police were driving around to make sure no one was staying outside too long. Needless to say my parents were worried about me, and wanted me to call them as soon as I was near the Upper Bidwell road so they could come and pick me up. They sounded like they were more convinced that I was crazy, which I'd already discovered was pretty much true, so I didn't argue.

Thus it went for about five hours, and then it started getting interesting again. See, up in the higher hills the thick brush made it very clear where the road was, but as I came down into the lower hills the terrain was more flat and open, which made me more comfortable, but also made the road much more difficult to follow. Usually it was nothing more than an area where the ground was a little clearer than other areas, and in the dark that's a distinction easy to miss. I constantly caught myself walking off the trail in the wrong direction before I realized my mistake. I wasn't too worried about loosing the direction (the lights of Chico were impossible to miss), but I was worried about getting caught in the bushes, and also about finding the gate to take me from the reserve into Upper Bidwell. Every half hour or so I would notice a landmark that reassured me that I was on the right road, but then the landmarks stopped. I was still on the road, but I was more and more certain that I hadn't come this way. It seemed like I should have reached the gate already. I was also aware that I didn't have a lot of time to waste, because I was starting to feel the effects of asking my feet to go from relative inactivity to walking all day and night. Blisters were growing, and it was slowly making it more difficult to walk on the rocky ground. But I had little choice, and the road was in the right direction, so I kept going with growing unease, wondering how far away the gate was.

It's amazing how something like this can captivate your whole mind for hours, even if it's useless to think about it. For two hours I kept thinking that the gate would be just around the next bend, that maybe I'd gotten turned around, maybe I'd just forgotten how long it was, etc. Then finally I saw a gate ahead of me. The rush of relief in my heart lasted a moment until I got closer and realized that this was not the gate I'd crossed 15 hours ago. And I could see a clear dirt road on the other side, traveling down a gently slopping grassy hill. That certainly wasn't the rough and rocky land of Upper Bidwell! I had no idea where I was, but I decided to just keep the right direction and continue on. I climbed over the fence and tried to take stock of my surroundings. I didn't recognize anything, and I had absolutely no idea where I was in relation to the park. But one thing I did know, I was out of the reserve. Also the terrain was much more pleasant, and judging from the tall barbed-wire fence I'd just left, there wouldn't be much wildlife in here. That was a wonderful relief by itself!

As the road headed down the hill I felt strangely relaxed and calm. I could see clearly all around me, there was no close brush, only widely spaced trees and low grass. I felt like I'd left the dark part of the adventure and was moving slowly towards the sun. The valley floor was laid out below me, twinkling with lights. I could even see cars moving on the road, looking like little pinpricks of light. Even though the road was very rocky at times, and that was becoming more and more of a factor to my blistered feet and weakening ankles, this was finally starting to feel like a night hike should; quiet, peaceful, and picturesque. I even started enjoying myself.

After about an hour of thinking through what I knew about my position, I got a pretty good idea of where I was. Those of you who are familiar with Upper Bidwell know that as you drive up the road into the park on the left is a wide area of property used as a cow ranch. I was now pretty sure that I had stumbled onto that land. Apparently it reaches as far back into the hills as Upper Bidwell itself, but is much gentler and grassy. Knowing this (or being pretty sure that I knew it), I became a little more conscious about my light shinning out over half the valley from the hillside, and a little more concerned with bumping into anyone. But by this time it was after 3:00 am, and I wasn't too worried about anyone being up and about.

That all changed very quickly when I came around a bend and heard sounds in the grass in the shadows on my far left. I froze, crouched down, and waited, my eyes wide. The distinct sound of something large slowly moving through the grass continued for a moment, getting closer, and then stopped. I stayed as still as I could, and then decided that it couldn't be a man, and if it was an animal I would just have to face it . After all, if a mountain lion had somehow gotten down this far and was watching me, then sitting still on the ground radiating nervousness was probably the worst thing I could do. So gathering up my courage, I jumped up and waved my hands around wildly. About 10 feet to my left, a very large something leaped back, making loud animal sounds. At that moment large figures all around me jumped off the ground and started running fast in all directions. I almost yelling in fright before I realized that they were cows. You probably figured that out already, but somehow it hadn't entered my mind. And I've never seen cows move or sound like this! I guess they only do that when you sneak into the middle of their group when they're sleeping in the middle of the night and suddenly jump out at them like a madman. By the way, if any of you know the rancher who owns these cows, and he mentions that all his cows suddenly stopped giving any milk, please forget that you read this story, okay? Thanks.

Anyway, I stood there breathing hard and giggling to myself for a few minutes before continuing on. It was about this time that the moon finally came out. It wasn't much of a moon, but it was enough to walk without my flashlight, and that made me feel a lot better. Walking by moon light is a great feeling, especially on land like this. I even thought about laying down under one of the trees and calling it a night, especially since I was now limping along and really concerned about twisting my ankle in the dark. But I was more worried about the rancher being up and about by the time the sun rose, and now the darkness was my friend if I hoped to get out of here without being noticed. So I kept going.

I walked for about two hours over the hills, crossed several small creeks, found ways around little valleys, and eventually found myself on the flat grasslands level with the still distant lights of the city. Then came my last little adventure on this journey. I looked ahead and saw a gate. It was a big gate, taller than me, and on the opposite right side was a large fenced farm-yard. It looked like the area where the cattle were loaded into trucks for transport. Everything was as quiet as a graveyard, and I wanted it to stay that way. There was always a small chance that the rancher lived here in one of those buildings.

I approached the gate and considered the best way to get over it. It wouldn't be difficult to climb, the challenge would be in keeping silent. The middle of the gate was locked with a padlock and a lot of chain, and the hinges looked very rusty and squeaky. I started up one side, and was moving pretty stealthily until I reached the top and swung one leg over. And then, well, you know that thing that sometimes happens when you're climbing over a fence and you stop at the top and the fence starts shaking, and you shake with it to try to keep it balanced, but really only make it worse, and the movement keeps getting greater, until you end up making a noise like a small marching band for several minutes? Okay, maybe some of you haven't experienced that personally, but it happens, and that's what happened to me at this moment.

So there I was, tottering back and forth at the top of a 6 foot gate, making a noise to wake the gods of thunder, and then over in the farmyard I heard dogs barking. Bad news, that. So I forgot about getting stabilized before climbing down, and instead half fell half scrambled like a frightened squirrel down the other side of the gate, and I started walking, fast! If it had been an option I would have been running, but it hurt enough just walking fast, so running was completely out of the question. I think that even if a crazed farmer with a shotgun had charged out of the farmhouse with both barrels blazing I still could not have managed to move faster than a one-legged kangaroo. I'm not sure where that image came from, but work with me on that one.

So I tripped along, very aware that my footsteps sounded very loud on the loose gravel. The dogs kept barking, but the sound slowly faded into the distance as I walked to safety. I still didn't feel completely safe, and I kept looking over my shoulders looking for headlights that would be the sign of a wild-eyed rancher coming after me, and I was ready to through myself into the ditch on the side of the road at any moment. It's unflattering to think how much time I spent on this trip looking over my shoulder. But anyway no lights came, and the countryside grew quiet again.

From there it was a matter of finding my way out. I eventually recognized the Upper Bidwell road on the other side of the fence, and after about half an hour I found a place to climb over the barbed wire. By the way, that particular fence is one of the best I've encountered of the barbed-wire variety. The bottom wire leaves no room or flexibility to climb under, it's too high to think about jumping over, and the posts are just wobbly enough to make climbing over very very precarious. If you're considering getting into that land, I suggest you go about 10 minutes past where I stumbled over the barbed-wire and go over the nice iron gate at the end of the road.

Anyway, it felt strange to be back on public land after about 18 hours of worry about getting caught trespassing. It was like the feeling after you get into bed and put your feet between the freezing sheets, and then you feel them slowly warm up to a cozy, comfortably temperature. Still I was in pretty bad shape, and quite glad that my father had "ordered" me to call for a pick-up, instead of having to try to walk across town to get home. I don't know what would have happened if I'd tried to walk another few miles.

After a few minutes I arrived at the playground at the beginning of the upper park. I checked my watch and saw that it was 5:50. Right on time. I sat on one of the playground platforms and caught my breath, drank the rest of my water, and then called my dad. When his sleepy voice came on I told him where I was, and asked if he was sure he wanted to come and get me, because I could still walk home if he'd rather stay in bed. He said he'd come and get me. Even though I kind of wanted the satisfaction of making it all the way back to my front door, I was relieved that my walking was over for the day.

At home I peeled my socks off (found that I had actually burst two blisters by walking on them, which I didn't think was possible), took a long shower (no ticks, amazingly!), tended to my poor feet (which was difficult because my feet refused to speak to me and tell me where it hurt. Only now are they beginning to trust me again), and headed to bed. I had been out for almost exactly 20 hours, and at least 18 of that was walking. I figure I walked at least 25 miles round-trip, although all my efforts to figure out exactly where I went have failed. That's no Marine's hike, but I was pleased with myself. In the 24 hour period after that trip I probably slept about 15, but I didn't feel guilty at all! It wasn't very difficult to justify that!

All in all, I felt it was a successful trip, whatever that means. I'm sure each of you reading has a slightly different evaluation of the experience, but I'll leave that for you to decide. I also had the adventure-urge beaten out of me for another several months at least, so for now I have to make my peace with the "real world," or whatever it is that we've decided to call real, and try to find a balance without staging a prison break and running into the hills. But knowing me, I'm sure that sooner or later I'll find myself out on a freezing rock bed, wondering how I could be crazy enough to be out there, and what it will take for me to be "normal." For the record, if anyone out there is wondering, I don't plan on ever being normal. Besides, if I was then I'd have nothing to write about!

-The End

I have few last thoughts from this little story. Although it was only one day, it was a significant day for me. I realized how quickly and how radically the wrong life philosophy can turn my heart sour. And although I didn't meet anyone but myself in the whole journey, it does involve a number of other people. It may not seem like it, but I put a lot of time into writing this story over the last month. I enjoyed it, but I wouldn't have finished it without knowing that many people were reading it and encouraging me to "get on with it!" :-) Thanks to everyone who kept asking me what would happen next. I'm sorry I dragged it on so long, this last chapter especially, but I hope you enjoyed it and got something to think about from it. Also, this story is only one small example of how much my parents have learned by having three sons. :-) I am grateful for their understanding and support in all the craziness behind and ahead of me. Last of all, I thank my God for making it clear that He will always be my "Real World" whenever I'm willing to step away from the counterfeits I've built up around me. Take care everyone, and live well, this is not a rehearsal!

Discover Something New #6

2007-03-04T02:17:00.000-08:00

War War War... And a Volcano

Sunday:-Wow: Imagine walking 11 miles (17.7 K) in a straight line. Then you turn right and walk another 11 miles, making two sides of a giant square. Then you walk straight down 11 miles, making a giant cube. Now imagine that that is how much rock was thrown into the air when the volcano Mt. Mazama erupted 1000s of years ago. Mt. Mazama was in southern Oregon. The ash in the air covered eight US states and three Canadian Provinces, traveling nearly 1000 miles (1600 K) in all directions. (For you Europeans, if the volcano was in London, Prague would be covered with ash).

Monday:- Impossible? I've been wanting to cover this one for a while, and now that there's a movie coming about about this story I want to write about it before Hollywood claims another story for themselves. It was August 11th, 480 B.C. And Persia was attacking Greece. At the battle of Thermopylae the Greek army was vastly outnumbered. The numbers vary a lot, but the Greeks numbered about 5,000, and estimates about the Persian forces range from 400,000 to 5 million. Amazingly, the Greeks were holding their position on higher ground. Then the Persians found a way to travel behind the Greek lines through a narrow mountain path. Most of the Greek army retreated towards the city, but King Leonidas of Sparta and 300 Spartan soldiers stayed behind to defend the path. The legend says that the 300 Spartans held back over a million Persians and caused so many casualties that it crippled the Persian army and gave Greece an eventual victory. Every one of the 300 died.
The truth is probably a little different. There were also 700 Thespian soldiers with the Spartans, and the number of attacking Persians is not clear. It may have been much more or less than a million. Also, not all of the Thespians were killed. Still, the legend could be pretty accurate, and I like that version. 300 vs. a million (that's one Spartan against 3,333 Persians). Impossible? Maybe, if you want to live. A general of the Persian army is reported to have said to the Persian King, “what kind of men are these against whom you have brought us to fight? Men who do not compete for money, but for honor.” For all the details on this story I recommend: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Thermopylae

Tuesday:So That's Why- No third-world country has sent military aid beyond its immediate neighborhood, except Cuba. Strangely, most Cuban troops sent abroad went to Africa. Indeed, the Cold War was not cold in Africa, where dozens of rising countries were being pulled between Russia and America. Cuba wanted to help its communist brothers, and in 1975 sent 36,000 soldiers to Angola, in 1977 16,000 soldiers to Ethiopia, engaged in small-scale missions in Congo, Guinea, Guinea-Bissau, Mozambique, and Benin, and in 1988 Cuba sent an army of 52,000 to Angola. There were also 10,000s of Cubans sent to Africa as experts in health care, education, construction, etc. Considering that this poor island country was putting the US to shame in the battle for Africa, it's little wonder why the US/Cuban relationship is still tense.

Wednesday:-Say What? During WWII the socialist revolution started in Russia. In June 1918 Allied forces were sent into Siberia to meet an army of 70,000 Czech soldiers. What were the Czechs doing in Siberia? Well, at the time of WWII Czech land was part of the Austian-Hungarian Empire, and the Czechs were enlisted by Austria to fight against the Allies. But the Czech people wanted independence, so they devised a way to fight against Austria. When the chaos of the Revolution began, they planned to march across Russia and Siberia, sail from the port of Vladivostock to San Francisco, join the American army, then sail across the Atlantic Ocean and fight against Germany on the French western front. The Americans who met them in Siberia saw nothing wrong with this plan, but they suggested that the Czech fight against the Russian revolutionaries instead. In the end, the Czechs spent so much time fighting the Reds that the war with Germany ended before the Czechs could do any fighting against their real enemy.

Thursday:-Actually: The word “Aryan” usually conjures up images of Nazi Germany and Hitler's twisted vision of a perfect, pure, white, “Aryan” race. Actually the word Aryan comes originally from the holy books of Indian Hinduism, where the word is used to describe the people of the India area. It really has nothing to do with any kind of “pure” race.

Friday:-World problems: It is estimated that by 2100, 90% of the world's 6000 languages will be replaced by a dominant world language. The process is already well under way. In Africa only 10% of languages are used in school. And while around 350 million people claim English as their native language, about 1.4 billion people live in a country where English is the official language.

Saturday:-Amazing person review: In 1921 the US Secretary of State Evans Hughes called a meeting of the representatives of England, Japan, France, and five others. The topic, the naval arms race. All these countries were in competition to have the strongest navy, and it was getting out of control. Hughes wanted to put a stop to it. So in the first speech of the conference, when the others were expecting just a nice welcome speech, Hughes presented his plan to abandon, destroy, or stop construction on 845,740 tons of ships for the USA, 538,375 tons for Great Britain, and 448,928 tons for Japan, making the total over 1.8 million tons of military ships to be voluntarily destroyed. Amazingly, everyone agreed to this plan. Some say that in 30 minutes Hughes destroyed more military ships than all the wars in all of history.

Upper Upper Bidwell, part III

2007-02-26T23:11:00.000-08:00

There, in the middle of nowhere, no sign of human civilization for miles around except for an overgrown dirt road and an isolated chimney, I walked through the night, nothing visible except what was illuminated by my flashlight. I expected the road to suddenly end, or see it slowly close up with bushes and trees, but suddenly the brush opened to the left, and I looked, my light falling on the most surprising thing I can imagine. I think a mountain lion, or a man, or a vehicle would have surprised me less (though frightened me more!). This is what I saw:

I want you to look carefully at this picture for a moment. Go ahead, take a minute, and imagine yourself in my shoes. Can you feel it? Until every hair on your body is standing on end, you don’t understand what was going on inside of me at this moment. Let me emphasize again that there was NOTHING around this building, nothing but barely-visible trees that my light couldn‘t penetrate. I’d been walking for 9 hours, and seen absolutely nothing to prepare me for this. In that first moment or two of shock, the brain races like a gray-hound, filled with ideas and theories and explanations and plans and reactions and feeling and maybe even a little bit of panic. A little. Oh my God, what now?

Of course I saw it only for a split second before I snapped my light off. After all, I had passed through three different layers of “no trespassing” areas, and my worry of getting “caught” was ever-present. So I got a quick flash of a three-storied, glass-fronted, balconied, ominously dark house in the middle of the forest, and then I was in the dark. Oh no, I had shined my light directly on the front windows, anyone inside probably saw me! Do I run? Do I hide? What do you hear? Do I ask casual? Who would be living here?!?

That last question, though frightening, brought a little of that logic and reason that has saved me from many potential panic attacks. Who WOULD be living in this God-forsaken place, and on a freezing night like this? I wasn’t sure if I’d seen a vehicle parked anywhere, but probably not… and then the real key: even though it was completely dark already, it was only 7:00 PM. If there was anyone inside, would they have all the lights out and be sleeping already? Not likely. The possibilities that this was an somehow an empty building increased steadily. Of course there’s always the chance that people inside heard me coming noisily up the hill and had turned off the lights. After all, hadn’t I seen something like electrical lights in the distance an hour ago? But I should have passed that a long time back. Or maybe they WERE already sleeping, because they had no electricity… but it wasn’t likely, and I knew I had to go with the odds. After all, you never get a 100% shot of anything in life, do you?

I counted off two minutes, listening intently for any sign of movement. When there was none, I switched my light back on, and examined the house better. It was definitely a house, a very impressive house, the kind you would find up in the snowy mountains where rich people have their winter ski-lodges. I couldn’t imagine what it was doing here. I mean, a little rough cabin maybe, but this was ridiculous! I couldn’t imagine any vehicle making it up the road here. Where did the material come from? Why?!

Then came the question. You know which question I mean: to explore, or not to explore, THAT is the question! And it was a tough one. But obviously there wasn’t much choice. I mean, here I went to all this trouble and stupidity with the hope and faith that I would find an adventure somewhere along the way, and here it was. Could I just turn around and run away scared and ever be able to look myself in the mirror again? I’d trapped myself in a situation where the disgrace of defeat was worse than the fear of the unknown. Okay, now I just needed to get the job done.

I needed help to take the first step, so I did what any courage-needing boy-in-the-dark would do, I pulled out my gun. FAKE gun, remember, but here I figured it might actually be useful. I figured out a way to hold it in combination with my flashlight so that anyone in front of me would see the outline of the gun behind the light, but not the fact that it was made of clear plastic. Hopefully. I figured at this point that if I did encounter anyone, they probably were not the legal residents of the establishment, and that could be any sort of person up here. Having the outline of a gun in my hand might give me just the advantage I needed to control any situation I encountered. But mostly, as is obvious to all of us, it was psychological support. Thus fully armed with a toy gun and a flashlight, I moved slowly towards the front of the house. Then came another surprise that stopped me in my tracks.

Now relax, the real heart-stopping surprise for me is still coming. No, I simply looked to my right as I was getting closer, and realized that there was something behind some trees on that end of the clearing. No, several somethings. It was more buildings. None of them were as grand as the one directly in front of me, all single-storied but of pretty good size. I planned to take a closer look as soon as I’d figured out what was going on with the main building. Not wanting to worry about being watched from the other buildings, I moved to the opposite side of the house (the left side of the picture). I tried to keep my light as veiled as possible, just in case someone was inside. I moved very very carefully along the concrete wall, holding my pistol in front of me. I had some vague notion that if I saw anyone I would yell “Federal Agent, get on the ground now!” I wondered if I’d be able to pull it off without my voice breaking. I was also aware that there’s probably some sort of repercussions to impersonating a federal agent, but I didn’t anticipate meeting the type of person who would call me up on that.

I noticed that ahead of me the wall had a shadowy indent. Probably a doorway, I thought. Okay, this is it. I turned off my light, just in case, and moved silently to the edge of the doorway, my pistol pointing at the ground (just like in the movies!), my back hugging the wall. I was worried that the door might be open, and more worried that someone would be watching for me. I planned to quickly move away from the wall, turn towards the door, raise my gun into position, and shine my light at the door, all in one quick, fluid movement. Actually, this part when very well, and I almost had 1/100 of a second to be pleased, until I followed my light to the doorway… there was no door.

This alone made my heart stop for a second, maybe two. I almost dropped everything in my hands. Then my brain registered that I was seeing the light shine through where the door should be, into the building, onto a rough, uneven dirt floor, scattered with bits of overturned furniture, garbage, tools, debris. It was so unexpected that I almost fell over.

I stood there for a long time, wavering. The impulse to just cut and run was very strong. I held my light in the same direction, hoping that anyone else who saw it from inside wouldn’t notice that it was quivering. Finally, I knew I needed to approach the door. This was why I came, right? ….. Right?!? HELLO?

I tried to not make a single sound on the dirt as I moved closer and closer. I wanted to make sure that I used the pistol to full psychological advantage against anyone inside, meaning that they see it before trying anything. But do you look into the right side of the door first, or the left? And you just know that whatever side you chose, the man is going to be on the other side waiting for you to expose yourself. The only tip is that if a person has free choice, they’ll automatically chose the side that they’re dominant in. A right-handed person will chose to stand on the right side of the doorway. Also, the rest of the house stretched back on that side of the doorway. And finally, being left-handed, I can better approach what would be the right side from inside. So, I moved in from towards the left. I got up to the door, trying to watch both sides, and at the last moment I leaned in and pointed my light and pistol around the corner.
Suddenly everything happened at once. Out the corner of my eye, I saw movement to my right. I looked, saw the outline of a person standing there. Before I had time to react he reached out and grabbed my shoulder.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Okay, just kidding about that part. There was actually no one inside the door. Sorry, I just HAD to do it! What there WAS was more dirt floor, various objects scattered around, and two doorless doorways leading off to other rooms on the left. It was too dark to see into them.

At this point, even without a hand reaching out of the shadows, my imagination was beginning to win the internal war, and for good reason! It had more and more basis in reality. Even if I didn’t encounter anything living in here, it was just the absolute perfect example of those scenes you see in CSI or Law and Order in the beginning of the episode: some kid messing around in an out-of-the-way place, he stumbles over some boards, revealing a dead body grinning up at him. Well, I KNEW it was exactly that kind of place, and I didn‘t want to meet that dark secret hidden here and then have to run screaming 15 miles though the dark with lions hot on my tail and every deer and squirrel in the forest wondering if Armageddon had arrived. That image firmly in mind (if you‘re wondering what happened to my reason-based imagination, just put a sock in it!), I didn’t actually step into the building. I stood in the doorway for a few moments, waiting to see if the courage to step in would arrive, and then moved away.

I walked around the front of the house (giving it a wide berth and keeping two eyes on the windows) towards the other buildings. Two of them were actually more shacks, what I’d actually expect up here. One of them was filled with firewood. An interesting clue, that. But the third building was large, one-storied, with a cement floor, all one room. Actually, it was a lot like a garage except that there was no large garage door in the walls, just a large window and door in front. As I got closer to the open door I noticed that there was almost nothing on the floor. Almost.

I stopped quickly when my light fell on something laying in the middle of the floor. It was a blanket, spread out like it was waiting for a picnic. Or like a bed. It didn’t look like a blanket that had been sitting there for months, it looked dry and disheveled, maybe even slept on, recently. I decided that I was liking the place less and less, so I moved back towards the road.

The most pressing theory about the blanket in my mind was that someone was sleeping on it, maybe VERY recently, and had seen my arrival. Probably that person had no more right to be there than me, so perhaps they slipped into the woods when they saw the light. That certainly wasn’t a comfortable feeling.

Still, I knew I was in control of the area for the moment, so I quickly opened my bag and took the picture you saw of the house. I photographed the other buildings also, but I was too far away for the flash to reveal anything. I didn’t feel like getting closer.

Then I found myself back on the road, wondering. The irony is that if I was looking for a place to sleep or rest for a while, I would never find better shelter from any natural elements then this. But you know, when faced with an unknown natural element (rain, freezing wind, lions, rabid squirrels, falling giant pinecones), it’s never as frightening as an unknown human element. There was no way I was staying here. I didn’t even feel a compulsion to make myself go inside. So what now?

The logical thing was to accept this adventure/discovery as the conclusion to my trip, and start back. But here’s where things started to get internally strange, and even a little surreal. I wasn’t ready to head back. I wanted to keep going. I really couldn’t figure out why, and the strangest thing is that that side of me just stopped talking with me. I mean, usually my reasonable side and adventurous side argue and work things out, but I’d never had one side just quit talking and insist on something without giving reasons. The larger part of me wanted to go on, no explanation. I interpreted it as wanting to know where the road ended. I hadn’t reached the end of my rope yet. So, after arguing silently with myself in the shadow of a shadowy house in the middle of a shadowy forest, I turned up the road, and continued walking, checking behind my shoulder every few minutes, of course.

I really didn’t want to do this, but it‘s getting late, so:
To Be Continued….

Discover Something New #5 -- Marijuana Apartment Costs Latins $466 Billion

2007-02-25T10:42:00.000-08:00

Sunday: So That’s Why…: Have you ever wondered why we call South America “Latin America”? There’s really nothing “Latin” about it! The story is that in the 1850s South America was seriously defaulting on massive foreign loans, and so Spain, England, and France invaded to make sure they got paid. For several decades France had been interested in increasing its power in South America, and it saw this as an excellent opportunity to take control of some territory. South Americas spoke mainly Spanish and Portuguese, which are both languages that come from Latin. French also comes from Latin, and because France wanted to make its presence in South America seem natural (hoping that someday the continent would speak Spanish, Portuguese, and French, the three most powerful Latin languages at this time), they declared that the continent would now be known as “Latin America.” The French influence didn’t last long, but somehow the name stuck, and we still use it today.

Monday: In Chaco Canyon, New Mexico, is the oldest “apartment complex” in the western hemisphere. Called Pueblo Bonito (beautiful house), the building is about 1,000 years old, has more than 600 rooms and is 4 stories high in places.

Tuesday: Amazing Person Review: Homer Lea (of oriental decent, sorry, can’t figure out exactly where) was born in America in 1876. He had health problems as a child which turned him into a hunchback weighing less than 100 pounds (45 kilos). Still, he dreamed of becoming a great soldier. He attended West Point and Stanford. When he was 23 years old he traveled to China to join the forces against the Boxer Rebellion, and was made a Lieutenant General. After several serious defeats, he fled to Japan and met Sun Yat-sen (a very important figure in Chinese history), who sent Lea to America as a representative of China’s growing Republicanism. At 27 years old Lea returned to China as the head of Second Army Division, but soon had to return to America for Health reason.
After these experiences, Lea wrote several books in which he predicted Japan’s attack on US-held Philippines, Japan’s surprise attack on Pearl Harbor, German’s rise of power based on ethnic purity, and Russia’s attempt to take control of Europe, all decades before it happened.
Lea died at the age of 35. His books are still relatively unknown in the western world.

Wednesday: Say What? Marijuana is America’s largest cash crop. The government hasn’t exactly confirmed this (surprise!), but numerous studies confirm it. I was a little skeptical at first, but just type in “American Cash Crop” in Google and you’ll see what I mean. The US produces around $35 billion annually, more than corn and wheat combined. California alone produces $13.8 billion annually. (Thanks Elizabeth Quivey for the info!)

Thursday: Actually…: We usually have a picture of Tibetan people as peaceful, calm, and benevolent. But it’s hard to say where this image comes from. In the beginning of the 20th century England and Russia were competing for influence in China and India (called “The Great Game“), and in the middle was Tibet. But the Tibetans were so suspicious of outsiders, that they would kill any non-Tibetan found in their boarders. Trespassers were skinned alive, or drowned, or put on a saddle filled with nails and ridden until dead of blood-loss, or some other terrible form of torture. In history Tibetans have been hostile to outsiders, which isn’t surprising considering their experience with China and other countries, but that’s another story…

Friday: Impossible? It seems like some things would be impossible for a human being, right? For example, running across the Sahara desert? No one could do that! Well, until now. Some of you probably saw this story a few weeks ago. On February 19th, three runners (from Canada, Taiwan, and USA), finished their 111 day run across the Sahara desert. Their trip covered 4,000 miles (6,437 kilometers) and six different countries. To finish they ran the distance of 2 marathons every day (44-50 miles daily) across terrain that gets over 100° F (38° C) by day and under freezing at night. They ran to increase awareness of the organization H2O, an organization trying to provide clean water for Africa. Check out this great link: http://www.nationalgeographic.com/runningthesahara/

Saturday: The US spends almost as much on the military as the rest of the world combined: 466 billion in 2005. http://www.globalsecurity.org/military/world/spending.htm

Corrections: This is the first of many future corrections on my information. Last week I said that Tibetan Monks are not required to be celibate. Actually it depends on the group. Some groups of monks do require it, others not. Also, “Dali Lama” is actually spelled “Dalai Lama.” And I should have thanked Megumi Shimamoto for the information about Swaziland. Thanks Megumi!

Photographer's Favorites 2003-2006

2007-02-23T01:50:00.000-08:00

Photography has been an on-again off-again hobby for me since my first trip to Europe in 2002. I love the way it focuses all my senses, as nothing else does, on finding the beauty around me. That's the thing about photography; everything has beauty. Maybe it's a matter of waiting for the right lighting, or finding the right angle, or catching the perfect moment, but the beauty is there, you just have to look hard enough. And once in a great while, even the beauty is penetrated to reveal something deeper, greater: a Spark, a touch of the Divine. These are pictures that have done that for me, for one reason or another. They capture a small particle of what I seek. I hope some of them will touch you in a similar way. If that's the case, then please comment below to tell me specifically which photos here touched you, and if know why. Part of my reason for posting these is to see how the hearts of others respond to them, and if it's at all similar to my reaction. And check here later for more detail about the story behind each picture. Mejte se pekne!

1. A Window to Heaven
2. Zina
3. On Wings Like Eagles

4. Under the Eiffle Tower

5. Tina

6. Sun Storm (or The Glories of Man, the Glories of God) 7. Strawberry Snow
8. Steps
9. Snow Church

10. Rising Moon

11. Strawberry Smile
12. Pavel

13. Moon Storm

14. Monika

15. Memories

16. Lucka

17. Love Takes Flight

18. Dawn of Adventure

19. Kacka

20. Frozen Dock

21. Crystal Fountain

22. Field of Dreams

23. Escape

24. Eiffle Gazer

25. Cross Bridge

26. Panda (or Wisdom)

27. Cesky Krumlov Dawn

28. Cathedral of Light

29. Love

30. Ben

31. Advent of Spring

Upper Upper Bidwell, Part II:

2007-02-20T09:42:00.000-08:00

At this point the title of this story is quite inaccurate, because I was no longer in Upper Bidwell at all! I was outside the boundaries of the park, in an area I knew nothings about, and anything might happen! Who know what’s up there in those endless hills and forest?! There must be something, right? This brings up the unique aspect of this particular adventure, I had no goal except to find something interesting. In the past I’ve always had a goal, like surviving a freezing day outside in Stockholm, or walking from Bratislava to Vienna, or getting to the top of whatever rock I found myself climbing, there was always a goal, a clear end. But what about this time? I had no idea what was in front of me, and I was just planning to keep walking? How would I know when I was finished? And another problem was timing. If I wanted to get back home before dark the next day, then the half-way time would be about 4:00 in the morning. So was I just going to walk through the dark forest until 4, and then just decide to turn around and come back? I really had no answer to this question.
But the truth is that all these details weren’t important, that wasn’t the point of the trip. I needed to get away from what we ironically call “real life” and clear my head a little. You see, this was during my 5th week of holidays from school. I know that sounds nice, but it really does get old fast, especially when you’re completely undisciplined. I had such a nice list of things I wanted to do during the break, important things, useful things, fun things! And instead I mostly slept, watched TV, and… well, that is about it. And I couldn’t make myself do anything! I was scattered in my social, mental, and spiritual life, and didn’t feel strong enough to do anything about it. That can make a person like me go crazy….Hmmm, crazy enough to out into the mountains in freezing weather with no plan, you ask? Exactly.
There are times a person needs to step back and look at life, really get away from everything else and just think. It’s so ridiculously easy for us to get distracted from the only things that matter. It’s almost like a conspiracy! Try to list everything you’ve spent effort and time and thought on in the last month. Now, what percentage of those things will be important to you when your life is finished? There’s so much to fill our lives with, and so little that’s really valuable. The only thing to do is to get away from the distractions once in a while. And for me, “I need an adventure” is code for “I need to feel like my life is real.” You know, I want to worry about things that matter! I know it sounds crazy, but sometimes I would rather be worrying about my survival than about finishing chapter 7 in my agriculture textbook, or wondering how I’m going to get food tomorrow rather than what item in the fridge will require the least amount of effort to prepare. It just seems more real, more natural, more full. Does that make sense to anyone else?
So stop stalling and get on with the story, right? Well, the truth is that most of the trip was hours and hours of quiet walking, and most of the story was these thoughts in my head. Now wait a minute, don’t go anywhere! I didn’t say nothing exciting happened externally! In case you want to know, there IS an adventure in this story, a very unexpected and mysterious and slightly frightening adventure, but not yet…
You’ll remember that I jumped the fence onto government land, and now I was a little worried about being seen. I was pretty sure that no one else was going to be there, but who knows? There was a road going from the gate up the hill, so I tried to avoid that as much as possible. Instead I walked along the ridge of the mountain (it was more interesting there anyway, see picture #1). Here it was also a little sheltered from the wind. Wind is nice for a while, but it can easily be too much. Trust me, when you’re out in nature, nothing can exhaust you as quickly as wind. In my opinion not even rain is so dangerous, if you’re prepared for it. But you can’t really be prepared for wind. It will push you and pull you and drain your warmth no matter what you do. So it was nice to get away from it for a while. But there were still signs of the temperature around me. There was ice on the ground. But strangely, there were also signs of spring (see picture #2).
Well, after about an hour it was clear that I couldn’t continue off-trail anymore. I had been making a way through the bushes, but at one point I realized I was trapped, and I had to return about 10 minutes back (see picture #3a,3b). So, I decided that if I really wanted to get deep into the hills then I should follow the road. It’s quite a nice road, usually fit for a jeep or something like that (though later on it is too out of repair for anything with wheels). It cuts through the forest and over the hills in a pretty straight direction; away from the valley. That’s all I wanted.

My experience with the bushes off the road should have warned me about something. If this road seemed to me like an easy way to travel away from the city, then it would seem that way to other things also. I saw a lot of deer tracks, and small animals and bird tracks in the mud. These didn’t worry me at all, I really didn’t even think about it. Until I saw something completely different. I looked down and saw tracks larger and different than anything I’ve ever seen before (see picture #5). It is about the size of my hand, but much thicker. My first thought was actually that someone was wearing ski gloves and fell in the mud. But then I started seeing the same tracks along the trail, in a line. Unless someone was willing to get very muddy for a bad joke in an area with no people, this was no human track. My best guess (both then and after looking online)? Bear. I can’t be sure that it was, of course, and I never expected to find bear so close to the city (less than 10 miles), but I can’t find anything else that makes sense.
Well, I’m actually not too frightened of bear. After all, they can be cute! Okay, seriously, they’re also quite afraid of people, and will most likely run away before I even know they’re close. However, a bear wouldn’t come so far out of the mountains unless it was desperate for food, and I did have a backpack full of cheese and sausage and bread…. But I’m just trying to be dramatic, I didn’t think about this at all then. Moving on!
Shortly after these tracks, I came to the end of the government preserve. I’d walked through it in about two hours. Now there was another gate, leading to “Musty Buck Reserve: No trespassing.” I hopped over and continued on. Behind my left shoulder I was getting some excellent views of the valley far below. I also noticed that the sun was getting pretty low. It was around 3:30 by this time, and it looked like the sun would set in about an hour and a half. Then we would see how I react under pressure.

Have I mentioned that I’m really not comfortable with darkness? Especially when alone, my imagination just goes wild. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to control that. I mean, even when I go into my backyard at night, I’m not afraid anymore, but I still imagine someone hiding behind the trees or a shadowy thing standing behind the door. It’s just how my mind works, I’ve just learned to not take it seriously…in my backyard, that is. Out in the forest miles from anyone, well that’s something different. As I now thought about going through the dark forest alone, my heart started beating a little bit faster, and I really started to wonder what I was doing. But, I’d already been walking 6 hours, and even if I turned around now I would be walking a long way in the dark, so that wouldn’t help. This was the “fun” part anyway, right?
Around 4:45 I finally came to the end of Musty Buck, I think. There was another gate, but no signs on it. And it looked like no one had opened it in years. Well, I didn’t need to open it! Hop to!
I started thinking about how rough the road was here, and how no car could come up here, even if the gates would open. Just a few minutes later I came around a corner, and all the brush and trees to my right opened up suddenly into a large clearing. And there, in the middle of nowhere, was a chimney (see picture #6). It looked so strange and out-of-place, I really can’t explain it. I just stopped and stared at it for a while. Seeing nothing but trees and dirt road all day did not prepare me to see this. All around it there were piles of burnt tin cans, glass bottles, and rusted scrap metal. There was also the signs of building, but it doesn’t look like anything was ever built up more than a foot. What was it for, and why was it here? I have absolutely no idea, and I probably never will.
The clearing did give a nice view of the sunset, though, and so I watched my source of light and heat sink behind the earth’s edge (see picture #7). It’s pretty amazing how much the temperature is instantly effected when the last sliver of sun disappears. Even though I was wearing 4 layers by that time, I started to feel the cold a little. But a more pressing concern was the growing darkness. In the clearing it was still okay, but as soon as I went back into the forest, I could see that it was going to get interesting. About this time I saw a sign on the side of the road: “Property of Sierra Pacific Industries: No Trespassing.” Hmmm, better pretend I didn’t see that.
I stopped at the side of the road to prepare myself for night. I put on the rest of my cloths: five layers on the torso, three on the legs, extra socks, hat, put away camera, prepare flashlight and… ahem… pistol. Okay, now wait, it wasn’t real. I don’t know if that makes it better or worse, but it was an air-soft pistol that shoots little pellets. Shoots them quite hard, actually, enough to really hurt, but not to cause any real damage. I just thought that if I met a dangerous animal, and it wasn’t going away I could… you know… shoot it a little… or something. Okay fine, it just made me feel better to have something that could shoot something. And in the end, it’s the psychological part that really matters, right? Unless you really meet a dangerous animal… But anyway!
So, I was ready for anything! There was still enough light to see my feet for about half an hour. The last time I came out of the forest along the edge of the valley I got another surprise. I looked down on the road, and could barely see something new. Tracks (see picture #8). These were different than the tracks before. They are definitely lighter, not so thick, more pointed. As I looked at them, I tried to tell myself that they were dog tracks. And that’s possible. But really, they don’t look like dog tracks. The size of the back pad, the way the “fingers” are pointed… They look more like a cat… a big cat… a very big cat…a mountain lion, even. I knew that’s probably what they were, that it was a very real possibility. I was now at least 10 miles past the limits of Upper Bidwell, and in an area that was basically wild. I’ve looked at a track guide online, and I’m pretty sure about this guess. Now this gave me more to think about than the bear tracks. After all, I’m not afraid of bear, I am afraid of mountain lions. I’ve seen them in zoos, and even in captivity they’re just one massive, powerful muscle. And their eyes, so cold and deep and unfeeling, they can see fear like a physical thing, and they fear nothing. Meeting one on a trail in daylight might be okay, but I was going into the night, where he can see and I can’t, and my cute little toy gun would only make him mad. What was I doing here?
So I wanted to worry about something “real,” eh? This is it, and I hadn’t found a reason to turn around yet, so I kept going. You know, don’t tell anyone, but I think a small part of me wanted to see a lion. A very small part.
Well, when I looked up from the tracks, I could see something deep in the forest. It was a light, a man-made light. I thought it was deep in the forest, but it’s so hard to tell. In situations like this, it can look like a UFO is landing on the next mountaintop, until you realize there’s a glow-bug landing on your nose. But I was sure that it was electrical. People, here? I wondered what kind of people would be in such wilderness on a night like this, and if I wanted them to see me. After all, I was through three layers of private land… Anyway, you can think about the possibilities, and whoever they were I was pretty sure I didn’t want to met them, but also sure that I wanted to see them. It’s always nice to have a goal, after all.
So I started trying to walk quieter, and to use my flashlight as little as possible. It’s really cool how the fear leaves you when you feel like the hunter, and this helped me continue through the forest for 10,15, 25 minutes, but there was still no sign of life. I decided I hadn’t seen anything after all. I was back to having no goal. Also, the road had changed a little. Before it was wide, and very clear. Now it got narrow, and the bushes and trees pressed in close on both sides. I kept expecting to look up and see the road just end in a wall of bushes. There were also a lot of rocks and branches on the road, so I needed to focus on my feet. That can be difficult when you start thinking about something jumping out of the bushes onto your back. Then the road started going uphill, sharply. Nowhere else to go but up.
I continued up that hill for a long time, questioning myself more and more. Okay, we’re here in the pressure now, no escape. So what now, Caleb? What are you going to do? Do you want to lay down here and freeze to death or wake up to a lion looking down at you? Or are you going to keep walking into empty forest for another 13 hours until sunrise? What’s going to be enough for you? There’s nothing there but more forest and empty road.
No, the road must be here for a reason, and I’m not ready to give up yet. Nothing has happened, and you know, part of me is enjoying this.
So I kept walking for another half hour. It was now close to 7:00, completely dark, completely silent. I could only see where I pointed my flashlight, and whenever I tried to walk without a light (a much better way to walk if there’s a little bit of natural light), I kept hitting my toes on rocks and tripping over branches. There was no moon, and all this talk about walking by starlight is pretty useless under trees. So I kept my light on, feeling like I was calling every living thing from miles around, and not being very comfortable about it.
Still I started to feel a little better, for a moment. Just a moment. I reached the top of the hill, so the road leveled out. I was pleased by this, and stepped forward. I then realized that all the bushes on my left were gone, they had opened into a clearing. I automatically moved my light in that direction, and straight onto the last thing I expected to see, but the very thing I was looking for. I’d found an adventure.
I quickly turned off the flashlight, and felt myself breathing faster. “It’s not possible,” I whispered. What should I do now?…

To be continued…

Discover Something New #4

2007-02-20T09:38:00.000-08:00

Sunday: In China there are 668 cities with over 1 million people, and 400 of them have water shortage problems. In 1972, the Yellow River, a great river that flows across half the length of China, failed to reach the sea for the first time. By 1997 it reached the sea only 1/3 of the time, and for the last 10 years it has stopped short of the sea every year. Imagine if the Mississippi or the Rhine River didn’t have enough water to reach its end, and you’ll begin to understand the magnitude of the problem. It is reported that water levels in the wells of this area is shrinking 3-6 feet (1-2 meters) every year.

Monday: The Global Positioning System (GPS) is powered by no less than 27 satellites (24 active and 3 spares) that circle the earth in 12-hour evenly distributed orbits. A hand-held GPS unit picks up signals from at least 4 of these satellites (but can use as many as 12). These signals are sent out in a regular pulse, and the GPS device detects the distance between it and the satellite by measuring the time between the sending and receiving of the signal. At least, that’s what I understood of the explanation! GPS is funded and controlled by the US Department of Defense.

Tuesday: The Panama Canal is quite an example of political intrigue. See, the French had the idea first and started the project in the late 1870s. They hired the French engineer Ferdinand de Lesseps, who had designed and built the Suez Canal earlier. But The Suez Canal was sea-level, and the Panama Canal was not, it required much more complicated sea-locks. By 1889 Ferdinand de Lesseps had lost his money and his sanity trying to plan the canal. Then America came in. They liked the idea of a canal even more than the French. The only question was whether to dig across Panama, where the distance would only be about 30 miles but would require locks, or across Nicaragua, which would be longer but with no locks. Well, the French knew what the US should do, because they wanted the US to buy their equipment and 15 years of digging in Panama. The French went to work on the US congress, trying to convince them to use Panama and buy their investment. They even hired a Wall Street lawyer to make their case. In 1901 the House of Representatives passed a bill, which officially recommended the path across Nicaragua. But The Senate would have to agree. Then the French representative and the Wall Street lawyer put on the desk of every senator a Nicaraguan postage stamp. On this stamp was a beautiful picture of the volcano Momotombo, in full eruption, in the middle of a lake. It happened to be the lake that the Nicaraguan Canal would pass through. The Senate chose the Panama route and bough the French work for $40 million.
If you want to understand how important the canal was at this time, think about this: When Teddy Roosevelt visited the Panama Canal in 1906, it was the first time an American president had EVER traveled outside the US while in office.

Wednesday: In Swaziland, Africa, a person is expected to live 32.62 years. By 2010 it’s believed that this number will be 29 years life expectancy.

Thursday: Tibetan Monks are not required to be celibate. In fact, they can marry and have families. The Dali Lama, however, must be celibate. His position is passed on by reincarnation, so really the Dali Lama is always the same soul, just different form. The current Dali Lama is the 14th reincarnation. When a Dali Lama dies, then the chosen representatives try to find the “reborn” Dali Lama. They search for several years for a young boy, physically flawless, born around the time of the Lama’s death. Then they do tests. It is believed that the reborn Lama will remember something of his old life, so they show the possible boy several pairs of glasses, or canes, or books, etc, and the boy should remember and pick the one that belonged to the previous Lama. The boy who can pass these tests successfully is hailed as the newest reincarnation of the Dali Lama.

Friday: If you‘re telling your friend about a very cold winter that was - 40°, and your friend asks if that’s Fahrenheit for Celsius, you can say that it doesn’t matter! At -40°, Fahrenheit and Celsius are the same! (Thank you Curtis from Canada for that (personally verified?) information!).

Saturday: Juana Azurduy, a Bolivian woman during the Bolivian revolution, is remembered for wearing a man’s uniform and leading a cavalry charge in which she personally captured the enemy’s flag. Capturing the flag was often viewed as a proof of being a “superior male.” This reminds me of the Naadam festivals in Mongolia, which involve the “Three Manly Sports” of wrestling, riding and archery. The rules require the men competing to wear tight shorts, and absolutely NO SHIRT. That’s because it’s said that hundreds of years ago a man won the wrestling competition, and afterwards they discovered that “he” was a woman. They certainly don’t want that to happen again!

Upper Upper Bidwell Part 1

2007-02-11T05:59:00.000-08:00

I was planning an adventure for a long time.
I needed to get out and challenge myself a little. For several months I’d had the idea to discover what’s on the other side of Upper Bidwell Park. For those of you not from Chico, Bidwell is a huge “park” that starts in the city, and reaches way, way outside the city into the hills. Most of it is pretty wild, and after a few miles there are many places were almost no one goes. It’s filled with (okay, I mean it’s possible to find) caves where Indians lived, old stone walls, snakes, deer, and even mountain lions (probably not in Bidwell park, but certainly up in the hills). Well, I’d been many miles into it, and explored a lot of the park over the years, but I never found any official end of it, though I knew that sooner or later there had to be a fence or end to the park. And what’s after that, I wondered? How wild does it get? This seemed like the perfect opportunity for adventure. So for months I thought about a trip into the hills, over at least one night, to see what I could see.
When school was in session I couldn’t find the time, and when winter vacation came my work schedule made it difficult to get away for a few days. There was really only one weekend when I could do it. I planned to leave Friday morning, walk on the park road to the end, and then climb up to the top of the valley and walk along the ridge for as long as possible. It seemed like a good plan. But as this weekend started getting closer, there were weather reports about record cold weather coming. On Thursday, the weather report said that Friday and Saturday night would be in the teens (-8 C) with a strong wind. So basically, it wasn’t idea weather to be miles into the hills at night. It reminded me of one of the Christmas hikes from Karlstejn, when all the news said to stay inside because of snow storms, and we were planning to walk 25K through the countryside at night for fun… turned out to be absolutely beautiful weather, though.
So I wasn’t going to let the weather stop me! That’s right, I’m that crazy (or that desperate, perhaps. I needed a little excitement that badly!)! I also had some experience walking in cold weather, and I knew that if I kept walking I wouldn’t get cold… at least, wouldn‘t freeze. So my new plan was to walk into the hills, keep walking until night, see if I could find a place to sleep, and if I couldn’t then just keep walking until sunrise. I’ve done this before, and knew it would be hard but possible.
So Saturday night I packed (as lightly as possible!!), and tried to get up early Friday morning, planning to walk to the park from my house. But my parents caught me. Needless to say, they weren’t thrilled about the idea of me wandering into Upper Bidwell on a night of record cold. This might also be the time to say that it’s illegal to camp overnight in the park, that the land after Upper Bidwell is government or private land with no trespassing allowed, and that mountain lions sometimes attack people in California. My parents and I both knew all this, so it’s a testament to how cool my parents are that they didn’t argue too much, just insisted that I take a cell phone, emergency equipment, and my mom drove me to the end of the Upper Bidwell road. Great parents, huh?
Well, I was off in nature by 9:00, and started walking along the side of the valley. I couldn’t find a good trail, so it was a little slow. And of course I had to focus on avoiding poison oak, which is harder to see in the winter. I continued on in this way for two hours, waiting for something exciting to happen… It didn’t. I saw some deer, enjoyed the scenery, climbed a rock or two, but nothing too interesting.
I finally came to the top of the valley near a very large rock formation, which had a face on the side of it (see right). I explored the “eye-caves” on the rock, and from the top saw that I’d reached the end of Bidwell park. Ahead of me on the ridge was a fence, and on the fence was a sign. When I got closer to the sign I read: “Boundary: Ecological Reserve. Entry permit required. Property of California State University, Chico.” Well, this was it, I’d found what comes after the park, and I still had a full day left. If I was serious about finding adventure, it was clear what had to be done. I quickly jumped over the fence, and started walking on. Now I was on government land, and I had no idea what I would find there. That definitely promised to make things more interesting. With the wind blowing powerfully into me, I moved forward to discover… something.
To be continued….

Discover Something New #3

2007-02-11T02:49:00.000-08:00

Sunday: The nation of Japan consists of 4 main islands. But the nation covers over 3000 separate islands altogether.

Monday: All across the eastern US there are 1000s of earthen mounds, which were “discovered” by Europeans when they first arrived in America. They are basically big piles of dirt, but who could make them? Monk’s Mound in Illinois is 70 feet (21m) and covers as much area as the largest pyramid in Egypt. Serpent Mound in Ohio is in the shape of a snake, is 5 feet tall, 20 feet wide, and over 1330 feet long (1.5m X 6m X 405m). Another mound is in the shape of a bird that is 70 feet high and 700 feet wide (21m X 210m). The oldest are at least 2000 years old, and some believe them to be constructed as early as 3500 BC! And many of them had beautiful sculpture and ancient skeletons inside (http://www.ohioarch.org/PastArticles8.htm) So who build them? Well, Americans in the 18th and 19th centuries had dozens of theories. Maybe it was Vikings, or some other early European. People suggested that Egyptians, or Chinese, Hindus, Africans, Greeks, the people of lost Atlantis, or the Lost Tribe of Israel built them. One pastor even claimed that the Snake Mound was built by God to mark the place of the Garden of Eden. Anything was possible, except the Native American Indians. Maybe because this was during the time when whites were trying to claim Indian land as quickly as possible, and they didn’t want to think about Indians having a “civilized” history. Instead everyone like the idea that a civilized race of people had lived in America before, and the Indians had destroyed them. To make a long story short, (too late!), it wasn’t until 1894 that a Smithsonian researcher released his official opinion that the Indians had built the mounds. By then the Mound Building Civilization had indeed been destroyed.

Tuesday: For a population of 300 million in the USA, only about 1.8% of the population is engaged in farming to provide food.

Wednesday: Have you ever asked a small child “what does a doggie say?” Well, be careful, because what about animals from other languages? Think it doesn’t matter? Think again! It seems that even animals suffer from the language barrier, since they also speak different languages! (spellings are for how they sound in English, not the correct spelling in the language)
Dog Cat Pig Cow Frog Duck
English: Woof! Meow! Oink! Mooo! Ribbit! Quack!
Czech: HafHaf! Mnyaw! KroKro! Buuu! Kunyk! Kvak!
Japanese: Wan! Nya! Booo! Moe! KeroKero! Gwa!
French: Ouah! Miaou! Groin! Meuh! CoaCoa! CoinCoin!
(For many more, see: http://www.georgetown.edu/faculty/ballc/animals/)

Thursday: Did you know that if you put a heavy bookcase filled with books over your internet network cable, it can dramatically slow your connection speed? I didn’t!

Friday: All you Americans probably remember “Freedom Fries,” right? For everyone else, during the beginning of the war with Iraq, France didn’t like the idea of the war at all, and tried to stop America from going to war. During this time it became so popular and patriotic to dislike France that some restaurants renamed “French Fries” and called them “Freedom Fries!” Well, apparently this isn’t such a new idea. When America entered WWI against Germany in 1917, The Committee on Public Information officially announced that sauerkraut was now to be called “Liberty Cabbage.” Fortunately, neither name stuck.

Saturday: When Lenin rose to power in during WWI, his main goal was to stop the fighting with Germany. This was very popular with the Russian people, but not so popular with France and England, who would then be left to face the full force of Germany’s armies. Lenin was so focused on an end to the conflict, in fact, that the leaders of Western countries were absolute sure that Lenin was a German spy sent to “hijack” Russia’s part in the war. The interesting thing is that this theory is not as crazy as it sounds. Lenin moved to Austria in 1913, right before the war began (Austria and Germany were fighting together), where he was arrested one year later as a revolutionary. But he was released surprisingly quickly and allowed to live in Switzerland (http://www.spartacus.schoolnet.co.uk/RUSlenin.htm). When he wanted to join the revolution in Russia in 1917, specifically to call the people to stop the fighting, he made a deal with Germany to travel on a sealed German train through Germany to Russia. (http://www.cpgb.org.uk/worker/556/redscandals.htm) When he wrote a peace treaty with Germany he gave 25% of all Russian territory to Germany, which certainly didn’t change any opinions in France or England. Today, this theory is alive and well. At the events for 80 years after Lenin’s death, a reported asked on Russian man what he thought of Lenin. “I don't even know how to put it in respectable words” the man answered “he's a German spy who took power without the slightest idea about what to do with that power.” (http://www.rferl.org/featuresarticle/2004/01/7840e170-c08c-46ac-80b1-b98eaf4e792e.html) Well, who knows?

Discover Something New #2

2007-02-11T02:48:00.000-08:00

Sunday: Usually we think of Mexico as Spanish-speaking, and it's true that out of 107.5 million people, at least 100 million speak Spanish. But Mexico has over 60 major different languages, and over 280 different languages are still spoken in the country. http://www.ethnologue.com/show_country.asp?name=MX

Monday: For the western world, Hollywood is where entertainment begins. But Bollywood (in Mumbai, India), now creates at least twice as many films per year more than Hollywood! Known as "Hindi cinema," Bollywood is already much more popular in the world than Hollywood, even if Hollywood makes much more money. In 2002 Bollywood sold 3.6 billion conema tickets, and Hollywood 2.6. However, their overall profit for 2002 for tickets, DVDs, television, etc., was Bollywood: $1.3 billion; Hollywood: $51 billion.
http://www.businessweek.com//magazine/content/02_48/art02_48/a48tab37.gif

Tuesday: The Aztec empire in pre-European South America may have been so brutal that it caused its own destruction. They were ruthless against their neighbors, even forcing them to engage in "Flower wars." This sounds pleasant, and they were less violent than total war because the goal was not to kill anyone. The goal for the Aztecs was to capture prisoners alive. The prisoners would be fattened up and then used as living sacrifices for the Aztec gods. When the Spanish explorer Cortes arrived to conquer the Aztecs, 10,000s of native Indians joined his small army to destroy the cruel Aztecs. Without this help, it probably would have been impossible for 550 Spanish soldiers to end the Aztec empire.

Wednesday: In North-West China there is desert called Taklamakan. It is about 100,000 square miles (270,000 square kilometers). In Turkik the name means basically "if you go in, you won't come out." It's probably the most dangerous place in the world to get lost. Fast wind moves the sand so quickly that cities can be buried in a few days. It's so dry that rivers run out of the Himalayas and simply disappear into the sand. Here is a quote from a traveler in 1950: "Never once until we reached the plains were we out of sight of skeletons. The continuous line of bones and bodies acted as a gruesome guide whenever we were uncertain of the route" (Hopkirk, 1980). So why did people continue to go there? Basically, money. The famous Silk Road that connected trade routes of China to Europe ran on the north and south edges of the desert.

Thursday: Around the turn of the 19th century, the USA was urgently looking for new foreign markets, and this pushed the development of its navy at amazing speeds. In 1889, the US navy was 12th best in the world. Albania and Chile had better navies at this time! And of course England was the 1st. In 1900, US had the 6th strongest navy in the world. And by 1914, it was 3rd. In 25 years, the US went from an international weakling on the waters to being an important world power, just in time for World War I!

Friday: Most people agree that World War I was started by the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand (who lived in modern-day Czech Republic, in Konopiště castle). But few know how Improbable that event was. Ferdinand was in Sarajevo, Bosnia June 28, 1914, trying to diplomatically claim that country for his empire. Of course some nationalists didn't like that, so seven men planned to kill him. When Ferdinand's car went by, one man threw a grenade at the car, which missed, and Ferdinand raced to the castle. After the excitement wore off, they had to return to the other side of the river to leave the city. Unfortunately for the world, the driver made a wrong turn, and had to stop in front of a cafe to back up. Meanwhile, the leader of the plot, Gavrilo Princip, had apparently given up on the assassination and walked into a cafe to get a sandwich. When he walked out (sandwich in hand?), he amazingly saw the Archdukes car slowly backing up past him! He pulled out his pistol and fired twice into the car. It seems that his training and marksmanship was not good, because one shot when into the door of the car. But amazingly again, this bullet went through the door and hit the Archduke's pregnant wife in the stomach. The other bullet hit Ferdinand in the neck. Both were dead in minutes. Princip then swallowed a cyanide pill to kill himself, but it seems that the poison was old and just made him throw-up. Because he was under 19, the maximum penalty was 20 years in prison. The only justice is that he died in prison before the world war he caused was finished. (If you want to see the bullet that killed Ferdinand, take a trip to Konopiště castle south of Prague. The bullet is there in the castle museum).

Saturday: Ladybugs are carnivorous (they eat only meat), and they hibernate through the cold seasons like bears!

Discover Something New #1

2007-02-11T02:46:00.000-08:00

Sunday: If you covered 100 km² (39 miles²) of the earth’s land every hour of your life, without sleeping, for 75 years, you wouldn’t even see half of the world.

Monday: It seems that many cultures have a phrase which they say before every meal. From Italian “Boun Appetito!” to Czech “Dobrou Chut’”, even the Japanese “Itadakimas!” The Japanese even add an end-of-meal phrase to the tradition; “Gochisousama!” While this custom is uncommon for English speakers, other cultures follow this tradition almost religiously and find it extremely strange that English speakers have no equivalent, besides some rarely-used phrases such as “Dig in!”

Tuesday: The Great Wall of China is 4,000 miles (6,500 km) long, often nearly 20 feet (6.5 m) high, and wide enough for 6 horses to walk on top side by side. Although it is most likely the largest man-made structure on earth, some well known “facts” about it are not true. The Great Wall is not visible from the moon. It is visible from a low-orbit satellite, but just barely. It is also is not 1000s of years old, since the wall we see today was built mainly in the 1600s or later. The first wall was built about 2200 years ago, but almost nothing of that wall survives today. The Great Wall was not always the strongest symbol of China. Until the 1950s, the wall was a symbol of tyranny and brutality to the Chinese people, and often ignored. Today it is used to display the power and determination of the Chinese people. This is ironic, because although no other nation ever created something similar, the Wall was never at all useful. Two Chinese dynasties, the Ming and Qing, were founded by people who came over the wall.

Wednesday: Two weeks ago was New York City’s annual “No Pants Subway Ride.” It is designed to make people laugh and have an interesting New York experience.

Thursday: A few weeks ago Ethiopia attacked Somolia. This brought up the fact that one of Somalia’s current warlords is a United States Marine! If you’ve seen the movie Black Hawk Down, you know that in 1992-3 the USA was in Somalia trying to kill/capture the leader/warlord Mohammed Aidid, because of his cruel and inhumane treatment of the Somali people. What you don’t know is that before the conflict, Aidid’s son, Hussein Mohamed Farrah, went to America at the age of 14, became a citizen, and eventually joined the Marines. During the fighting, Farrah was accidentally sent to Somalia, but when there was “trouble” with his father the marines moved him to a different country. When Aidid died in 1996 (killed by a competing political group), Somalia asked Farrah to become their next president. Farrah immediately resigned his job with the Marines and accepted the offer, taking the position of his father, the man he was sent to fight a few years earlier. Like his father, Farrah is not clearly accepted as leader of Somalia, and it’s uncertain whether he should be called president or warlord. He’s a strange mix of America and Africa, sometimes seen in an expensive western-style business suit while walking barefoot. He claims to want to repair Somalia and open it to western aid, but if his is really willing or able to do this remains to be seen.

Friday: The sub-continent of India was originally a part of Africa. Then it broke off, drifted through the Indian Ocean, and finally collided with the ‘coast’ of Tibet. The force of the collision pushed up the Himalayas, caused the ‘bulge’ of east China, and formed the course for the 10 major rivers of Asia. Seashells have been discovered in the Tibetan Plateau, which is now landlocked behind the Himalayas and 1000s of miles from the sea, but was once a coastal region. Even today India continues to move into Asia about 5 cm a year.

Saturday: Aleš Hrdlička (pronounced Al-esh Hrd-lich-ka) was born in Czech Republic and became the first curator of the Smithsonian Institution National Museum of Natural History in America in 1903. Although he was brilliant, he had a number of strange habits. He collected human brains and saved them for later study. One of these brains was Ishi’s, the last known wild American Indian, who lived near my home in Chico, California. Hrdlička also studied several Eskimos who were persuaded to come to New York City by the explorer Robert E. Peary. When all but two of the Eskimos quickly died from disease in the city, Hrdlička sent them to be boiled down into skeletons and put on display in the museum. Legend says that when the Eskimo son of one of these victims accidentally saw his father’s skeleton in a showcase, he tried to shoot both Peary and Hrdlička. On the positive side, Hrdlička was one of the first scientists to argue that Native Americans came from Asia across the Bering Strait and support the theory with field research. Today he is a well known as an early former of the field of Anthropology. In WW II A battle ship was named “SS Aleš Hrdlička” in his honor.