Photo of the week... month?

September 27, 2010

mani walls at the Deurali Pass, Solu-Khumbu, Nepal

This time last year, I was two days into a three week trek from the middle hills of Nepal up through the Himalayas and back again. When I returned, having neither had nor desired internet access for nearly a month, I found myself fielding quite a few questions about my whereabouts. I find myself now in a similar situation, though the adventure is quite different and accessibility is certainly not the issue. My friends, I have embarked on a quest called Grad School, and I'm afraid it has effectively sent me off the grid for awhile... just not in such a literal sense this time. I am pleased to say that after much wandering, I think I've ended up where I'm supposed to be after all.

This photograph was taken at the top of the first mountain pass on my trek, traversed on this day last year, which is oddly appropriate having just cleared the first major hump, hurdle, mountain pass, of my academic career. Ah, and like a ripe cheddar, it appears I've only gotten cheesier with time. You know you missed me.

I'll be back.

you know it is going to be a great day when...

...you can see the Himalayas from your window in the middle of monsoon season.

Confession: Today wasn't a great day... it probably wasn't even good. Internet service calls, frequent phone calls to the landlord about small but vital tasks that should have been completed weeks ago, staying put for nearly 7 hours to wait for an important UPS delivery that couldn't be left on an inner city stoop... these are the annoyances of getting settled into new digs. But at least I have electricity without rolling blackouts, hot water, and reliable internet (I think), right? Right?! Those are big important things I should be happy about, yes? (Lindsey, this is Baltimore, not Kathmandu- it's OK to adjust your standards).

A year ago, I came home from work in the morning to find this magnificent vista visible from the balcony outside my room. During the monsoon season, it is rare to get such a clear view of the Himalayas from Kathmandu (these particular mountains are part of the Langtang range), so catching such a panorama is the sort of moment that instantly brightens days.

With a few monumental, exciting, scary things just around the corner, I have found myself caught up in details, bogged down by small concerns rather than propelled forward by the tiny notions that can make one's day. I don't expect to look out my window and see 6000 meter mountains breaking through the clouds, but I know there are little day-makers amongst the daily annoyances. At the very least, it is still Shark Week.

Sunday Night Souvenir: Nepalese Necklace

As I have mentioned before (though hopefully not ad nauseum... yet), shopping for unique jewelry is one of my favorite things to do while traveling. Realistically, when you get home, are you ever going to wear that dress that you bought for $3 in a Cambodian market, even if it was your go-to look across much of Southeast Asia? Or that edgy leather jacket that you spent a small fortune on in London that you just had to have even when it was too small and not really your style (a shout out to my sister)? Jewelry is perfect. Small enough that it doesn't take up room in your suitcase, it is the kind of investment that you just might hold on to forever and pass down to someone that shares similar genetics (who you can wow with your stories of world travel and Y2K). You are never going to gain or lose too much weight to wear a pair of earrings, and you never know when that wild necklace you bargained for on the streets of Bhaktapur is going to be the perfect statement piece for that little black dress.

While living in Nepal, I accumulated several such necklaces as personal souvenirs and gifts. The cost of purchasing small trinkets from local vendors is relatively low, and purchasing crafts can have a huge impact on low-income households that depend on such fickle business for survival. With those things in mind, I went through several periods where I was incessantly purchasing small crafts to bring home, such as necklaces and scarves, as it always gives me great pleasure to bring home gifts if my wallet and--possibly more importantly--my suitcase can afford them. Multi-strand beaded necklaces are traditionally worn by married women in Nepal (though such customs vary amongst the several different ethnic groups in the country). This is a different take on the beaded necklace-- one that probably exists more as an appeal to foreign travelers than as something commonly worn by Nepalese women-- with a large pendant inlaid with turquoise as the main attraction. It is bold, and though probably not suitable for most outfits, it is the perfect statement piece. Most importantly, though, it reminds me of a people and place that will forever remain close to my heart, cheesy as that statement may be.

happy Earth Day from some of the most beautiful places on the planet!

Chitwan National Park, Terai Region, Nepal

fields near Egeskov Castle, Funen, Denmark

Lake Champlain, Adirondacks, New York, USA

Arcadia, Greece

Manla Reservoir, Tibet

dawn near Great Smoky Mountains National Park, Tennessee, USA

sunrise over Sargamatha (Mt. Everest) and neighboring Himalayan peaks from Kala Pattar, Sargamatha National Park, Nepal

*please don't use my photos without asking/crediting me!

time-lapse video from the Canary Islands and nostalgia for the Himalayas

The Mountain from Terje Sorgjerd on Vimeo.

On summer nights, my dad would set up the telescope in the backyard, and we would scan the night sky, identifying Venus low on the horizon just after dusk, Mars with his reddish hue, Saturn with his rings, or on rare occasion the mighty Jupiter and his cluster of tiny moons.  As a child I could identify constellation after constellation in our northern hemisphere sky, a feat I can sadly no longer claim, as those memories have fallen into the abyss of my mind, stashed somewhere alongside my dinosaur catalog.  My fascination with the stars followed me to my slumbers, as my dad and I mapped out our Pennsylvania night sky (for the month of February, I believe, as it is my birth month) in glowing stars on my bedroom ceiling in our previous house, and it remains with me today, though I cannot rattle off the impressive facts that the precocious childhood-me knew by heart.

I would love to one day create a time-lapse video or (more realistically) a gorgeous long-exposure photograph of the night sky.  Had I brought a tripod and a few extra layers along with me on my trek through the Himalayas, I would have had access to the perfect shot.  In particular, I am thinking of a night at Dole, a small village on the way to the Gokyo valley at an altitude of 4040 meters.

The lodge I was staying in had a small bathroom through the dinning hall and down in the basement, near the majority of the rooms.  I, however, was sleeping in one of the four (even colder) rooms at ground level, and lost access to the toilet when the tea lodge locked up for the night.  At altitude, you constantly feel like your bladder is full-- a good thing, as frequent urination is a sign of the body acclimatizing-- which means that it is rare to sleep through the night without waking at least once for a bathroom break.  For me this meant running outside and bearing it all to the elements in the adjacent barren fields.  As the cold stung my rear, I happened to look up, away from the urine splashing at my sock-and-teva-ed feet.  The night was calm, the clouds had parted, and I caught the most perfect night sky imaginable.  Out of habit, I located my favorite, Orion, in an attempt to get my bearings, and fought to suppress all of the emotions welling up inside of me.  I wanted to scream out to nobody in particular, to express being floored by such a grand, yet so simple, display of nature, to share it with everyone and keep it all for myself at the same time.  Pulling my fleece pants back up, I was determined to ascertain the proper reaction before returning to a night of restless sleep.  I looked up to the sky for an answer only to realize that hot tears had stung my eyes and were streaming down my face.

requisite biweekly shark post with a side of dog meat and ethical dilemmas

Kind of joking.  I never intended to post this frequently (now 3 times in 6 weeks?) about the cartilaged creatures, but here I am again (sort of... this post actually evolved to have almost nothing to do with sharks).

Galding posted an article yesterday using California's proposed ban on shark finning (a practice I previously mentioned here) as a launching point for a discussion of the global politics of culinary delicacies, which made me think a bit about my own experiences with food and culture abroad and at home.  The author raises the question of how to strike a balance between wildlife conservation/ethical food production and the preservation of culture.  While shark finning is a gruesome practice that for me is hard to justify with the argument that shark fin soup is integral to Chinese culture, there are other dishes that might not seem "ethical" to many "Westerners" that I have no problem with.  The author writes, "The Philippines has long been under fire for its mistreatment of dogs destined for the dinner table. I don't condone animal cruelty in any form (which is why I want to see gavage [sic]), yet we must also realize that pets are not a traditional part of that culture."  Just to clarify, the Philippines outlawed the eating of dog meat in 1998.  Though there is an underground market for it, most younger Filipinos did not grow up eating dog meat and think of dogs only as pets.  I'm really curious though as to what extent the doggie legislation came about through Western influences-- something that reminds me of a very similar issue in South Korea.

In Seoul, the capital city of South Korea, the sale of dog meat has been illegal since 1984, though the law is barely enforced and one doesn't have to look too hard to find dog meat in the city's traditional markets or in restaurants specializing in 개고기 (Gaegogi aka dog meat).  Hell, it took me less than a week of living in Korea to see my first frozen Fido.  Lindsey, my co-worker leaned in to warn me, you know some people here eat dog, right?  Moments later we passed a large dog in its entirety on ice-- and nowhere special, this was just the market closest to my home and workplace.  Many older Koreans continue to consume dog meat from time to time (especially men-- for stamina, of course!), but far fewer of the younger sect eat it with any regularity and many refuse to eat it at all on the same grounds as most Americans-- dogs are pets, not food.  But where did this shift in perception come from?  I'm willing to bet that most of the men that passed the law back in the mid-80's are part of the crowd that still visits their favorite gaegogi joint from time to time for "stamina soup."  If you remember correctly, Seoul played host to the Summer Olympic Games in 1988.  In talking to older Koreans (one of the distinct advantages of teaching English to adults), I learned a bit more about the historical state of dog meat affairs.  Apparently, in the years leading up to the Olympics, the government tried to phase out the selling of dog meat-- or at least run it underground-- in an attempt to appease the international (read: Western) community and shed the label of "backwards society that eats dogs."  At this point in time, South Korea was beginning to show significant signs of recovery from decades of poverty following the Korean War and was naturally eager to showcase its progress to the world during the upcoming Olympic Games.  They didn't need to be torn apart in the Western media for their culinary practices when their opportunity to become a bigger global player was on the line.  And so the visibility of dog meat quickly faded, and the practice has since steadily declined.

 Side note: I am Olympic Fanatic.

Is it fair?  What surprised me most upon seeing a full dog on ice in the market was its size and build  This clearly was not someone's pet; it was an animal bred specifically for one purpose: human consumption.  In Korean, these dogs are known as 누렁이 (Nureongi) and 황구 (Hwangu), clearly distinguishing them from the type of "dogs" that are considered pets.  For many, that still doesn't make it right, but I don't think you can point the finger at Asian communities for centuries of domesticating dogs as livestock while innocently consuming beef or chicken that comes from American slaughterhouses.  Cows are sacred to the Hindu community, and it is illegal to kill a cow in Nepal and most Indian states, yet Americans consume an average of 67 lbs of beef per year.  If the 1.4 billion people of India and Nepal got together and decided to vilify Americans for their consumption of cows, what would the response be?  Many people would probably laugh at the audacity of the two South Asian countries for suggesting such a thing.  So why does the West get to decide what is globally acceptable at the dinner table? (and I ask that with regard to food production only and issues of conservation aside-- as I do think it is important that global measures are being taken to protect threatened and endangered species)

So what is my personal philosophy on food, culture, and ethics?

I absolutely draw the line at threatened or endangered species, especially when many of them are killed not for survival, but for sale as delicacies, often wasting most of the edible parts of the animal and leaving them to die a cruel death, the way sharks are definned and then thrown back in the ocean to perish.  As a somewhat recent fish consumer, I'm working to become more knowledgeable about sustainable fishing, as I would like to get the occasional super dose of omega-3's without contributing to the destruction of our fragile ocean ecosystems. 

After that, the lines are hazy.  I have been trying to become a more conscious consumer.  For both health and ethical reasons, I eat significantly less meat than I did in the past, and when possible make more responsible decisions when it comes to the source of my food.  My personal decision not to become vegetarian or vegan has a lot to do with culture as well as the belief that one doesn't have to go to extremes to be more responsible or make a statement.  

First off, culture.  Anyone who tries to convince me that food is not an integral part of culture will ultimately fail.  We experience the world through our perception of sensory details, and what, other than the experience of eating and drinking truly uses all of our senses?  If you think back upon your childhood, how many memories feature food to some degree?  If you've traveled, can you honestly say that the experience yielded no culinary memories?  Travel has become a huge part of who I am and I would be remiss to claim that food is of no importance to my appreciation of different cultures.  Whether this means enjoying a buttery fresh baked croissant early in the morning while ambling through the streets of Paris or eating raw octopus on the Yeongmeori coastline of Jeju-do straight from the haenyeo (traditional female free-diver) who caught it, I don't want to limit my experience through a narrow definition of what constitutes acceptable food.  But there is also another, more direct cultural experience that concerns me.  At many times over the past year, I have been a guest at the dinner table, experiences that I am overwhelmingly grateful for and that rank as some of my fondest memories of time spent abroad.  Aside from wanting to be polite and try everything offered, there have been times when the meal I have been served as a guest is considerably more expensive than what the host would normally cook-- how can I possibly eschew the relatively expensive chicken that I am being served on ethical grounds knowing that my gracious host will go back to a diet of rice and lentils for weeks to compensate?  I just can't.  When my host has her husband go miles out of the way to pick up special curd from another town for dessert, how do I refuse it and explain that I do not eat any products that have in any way derived from animals?  I don't.  I can't.  Not only does it not translate to the majority of humans around the globe, but getting on my ethical high horse in that sort of situation just doesn't seem right.  

 eating octopus by the sea, straight from the woman who caught it, right next to where it was caught- doesn't get much more local than that, right?

I know it is not every day that I'm in a situation that demands those decisions of me, but I am not really keen on undertaking a lifestyle of extremes such as veganism knowing full well that time and again I will make exceptions in the pursuit of understanding and respecting other cultures.  Nor do I think that eating healthy and ethically has to come in the form of extremes, as it only serves to further alienate the majority of the population who cannot afford such a lifestyle.  Millions of Americans struggle to get enough fruits and vegetables in their diets-- not because they are ignorant or lazy, but often because the things that are heavily subsidized by the government (corn, meat, processed dairy) are more affordable and more filling, despite how nutritionally poor and lowbrow on the foodie scale they may be.  Healthy and responsible eating should not have to be expensive, divisive, or elitist.  But if the poor keep eating poorly based on the few affordable choices they have (and looking at the factors for beef consumption in America, geography, income, and race have a significant impact on who relies most on meat in their diets) and the rich who can afford to make food choices that reflect how "socially conscious" they are continue to buy into their exclusive diet and lifestyle clubs, what will change?  What incentive (other than it being the responsible thing to do) does the government have to correct the subsidies that encourage these unhealthy behaviors?  What incentive do companies have to target health foods at a wider population and offer them at more affordable prices when they already have a faithful elite that keep them in business by paying top dollar for organic-local-vegan-status-symbol products?  There really isn't much.  In this way, I think the small changes have the potential to be most effective.  If enough people start to be a little more discriminating about what they put into their bodies, I believe it can have a much stronger impact than if a teeny tiny fraction of the the population decides to cut out entire groups all together.

I've rambled a bit, from shark finning and dog meat to culture and American diets.  Things got out of hand.  Food is fascinating, isn't it?

I'd like to just end with something that I read awhile ago on my friend Andy's blog, which really seems to sum up the conundrum I face balancing health and social responsibility with respect and appreciation of culture when it comes to food:

Eating nutritious and local food is important to me, but I don’t want to turn my back on culture to do it.  Truly experiencing food is what I’m after, and if that calls for settling for imperfection here and there, bring it on. In a perfect world, we’d all grow turnips in our backyards and eat them like candy.  In a perfect world, our farmers would tell us what to eat, not our televisions.  In a perfect world we’d all be eating well.

Truthfully, I’m happy with eating goodly.*

*Eating Goodly is the name of Andy's blog- as a future Master of Management in Hospitality student at Cornell, I assure you he can get away with making up words to make a point.  For some thought provoking posts on food (from ethics and culture to darn good french toast and beer), I encourage you to check it out!

Sunday Night Souvenir: shopping Bangkok's Chatuchak Weekend Market

If markets are your thing, then browsing the Chatuchak (Jatujak or JJ) Weekend Market in Bangkok is probably a must, as it is the largest market in Thailand.  Even if you are not looking to buy anything, the sheer size is impressive and there is plenty of nomming to be done.

this is not a great photo at all, but whatevs, I was too busy shopping and nomming on everything in sight

As I would be traveling on and could not afford to spare any room in my bag, I didn't have much place shopping at the JJ, but I did manage to score some some tiny trinkets.  I bought two pairs of fantastically wild earrings at 50 baht each and spent another 30 baht on a large (but weightless, so still practical enough!) bag of lemongrass, suitable for tea-making.  Lemongrass tea was something that I came to look forward to after a long day of massage school, and while the citrus flavor makes a great addition to both black and green teas, it can also stand on its own as a purely herbal drink.

Some of my friends would probably give me a hard time for these additions to my eclectic earring collection, but they clearly don't know what they are missing.  I love the combination of colors and the wire coiling in both of these.

though I can't claim that these are made entirely of precious stones, I can't argue with paying just over $3 for two pairs

Another great thing that I picked up from a street vendor during my stay in Bangkok was a sturdy embroidered bag that was perfect for schlepping my stuff around during my three months in Nepal.  I can't tell you how great it was to have something large and durable enough with the safety of a zipper to carry around a heavy DSLR, water bottle, book, etc. all over the place.  And bright.  Very situationally appropriate.  I think I'm starting to miss the bright colors of Thailand and Nepal...

here I am awkwardly posing in a photo that was originally about the gorgeous scenery of the Kathmandu Valley as seen from a hilltop monastery, but has now been cropped down and made all about the bag I'm carrying.  And how hot is my Speedo watch?  Even hotter= the bright orange Princess Jasmine (slash harem) pants that I have conveniently shielded your eyes from.

 

(humble) Pi Day

For all my talk about freeing oneself from guilt (the requisite affliction that reappears with each passing Lent), I have succumbed to a similar mental plague as of late.  Perhaps it is not coincidental that these sentiments arose around my lusting for a certain Catholic island that shall not be named.  Nevertheless, I am trying my best to remind myself that I have done nothing wrong here by wanting to seize the day.

A friend, and sometimes blog reader, sent me this link to a podcast.  Upon receiving it, I shuddered at the title and description-- "Back to Work" in response to a listener in the midst of a quarter-life crisis.  Oh god, I asked with trepidation, is this going to catapult me right back into the abyss of an existential crisis?  He assured me it would do quite the opposite.  Now, I am fairly decent at the internets-- at the very least, I can Google like a pro.  There are, however, a few things that I have yet to embrace.  Blogs used to be one unfamiliar realm, though I am slowly conquering this blogging thing (with moderate success?) whereas things like podcasts definitely remain uncharted waters.  But I had no reason not to keep it on in the background while I did pointless things on the internets, so press play I did.  Addressing Quarter-Life Crisis Richard, these middle-aged dudes seemed to quell the exact fears bubbling out from my being at that very moment.  They seemed to be suggesting that I'm not an awful person for going after the opportunities that present themselves to me while I am not committed to things like mortgages, a grueling 9 to 5, a significant other, a kid (a dog!), a tenure track position, etc., etc., etc.  That I should not feel bad doing things for myself!  That I should commit to doing something for myself every day, like writing!

Quotes that I liked:

Nobody's every going to be happy with how far along you are at being the person they wish you were. . . true, and good, but as much as it would be nice to say that it 100% does not matter what others think, individuals do not exist in a vacuum... to some extent gaining approval, or at the very least not being the subject of disappointment, is important in relation to those that are most important in our lives.  I wish I was impervious to this, but, alas, I am only human.

The only way I have time to do nice things is if I don't do everything.  I used to try so hard to do everything.  But it really is so much easier to enjoy things when you are not in a rush and you are truly doing the things that make you happy.  And sometimes, it isn't simply a matter of choosing the thing that will make you happier because you are presented with two (or more!) deeply satisfying options.  If you have to choose, you might lament not being able to do both, but if you try to be accommodating, you run the risk of not having enough time to energy to devote enough attention to either.  I think of this often whenever I am traveling somewhere close for a short amount of time (i.e. New York, Philly, DC) where I have a number of dear friends that I would like very much to see.  I could run around the entire time, like a chicken with my head cut off, shuffling between city blocks, on and off public transportation, drink after dinner after coffee after lunch date, trying to give everyone due diligence, for I do truly want to spend time with all of those near and dear to my heart, but it is not fair.  It is not fair to me, exhausted from this hypothetical jaunt up and down the isle of Manhattan or on and off the DC Metro, and it is not fair to those that deserve my fullest attention and appreciation.  In the past, I might have tried to pencil everything in, squeeze as much exhausted time out of my days as possible, but I realize now the importance and the luxury of being able to savor every enjoyable moment without the pressure of trying to do everything at once simply because I can.

It brings me back to the notion I once clung to of being able to exist solely in one moment without fleeing (mentally or otherwise) to the future or the past.  It was an awareness cultivated during my time in Nepal, and despite my best efforts, the remains are slowly slipping through my fingertips.  I realize that I might not be able to get back there from here-- to exist in my society requires a certain amount of consideration for the future-- but while I should not lose touch with reality, maybe I should cut myself some slack.  For (here is my inner-nerd coming out) as Gandalf says, All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us, and, at 24, I can already say that I've had a pretty good go at things.

Reasons why I travel...

impromptu dance parties!