Ka Nani `Aina

Game Two

2010-06-11T13:59:00.006-05:00

The ritual of getting a soccer (from now on referred to as football) match started is lost on me. I’ve not watched enough games. The players walk out, solid, tough, almost a glazed look in their eye as they prepare to play for their entire country.

At the World Cup, each player is paired with a young, I assume, South African child. Why? In honor of the host country? Looks odd, these grown men standing with a child they barely know. Although it will be the greatest experience the children will remember.

(Above, my brother Christopher (left) playing high school 'soccer' in 2002.)

In the packed stands, camera flashes light the darkness seemingly in unison; there are so many taking pictures all the time, when one stops, another a few feet away goes off as if to replace it. None of these people know the other, unified simply by the love of a sport and, lets face it, money (who can afford tickets to the World Cup AND a trip to South Africa?).

It may seem like I only become a soccer fan every four years, like other Americans only like gymnastics at the Olympics. Part of this is due to lack of opportunity – lately, with no TV and no time to look up when matches are, much less where I can find them again online, I do not watch live football matches. But truly – since I was a little girl, seeing that striped green pitch, littered with cute but battered players wearing lucky headbands and shoes, and hearing in the crowd a mix of several incoherent battle chants – my heart soars. Those who can’t play, watch; those who can’t watch, dream. I enjoy having a sport where I can yell at the screen because I know what I’m watching - too much confusion for me in American football.

Soldiering On

2010-06-11T13:55:00.002-05:00

Writing for a living makes it difficult for me to write in my spare time. I think that makes me a terrible writer, really I shouldn’t even be calling myself one. But once I get off work, answering emails, phone calls, Googling my research (just to start!), the last thing I want to do is keep writing. So I’ve been neglectful. And of course, now that I’m not writing, this has become a way to keep myself from going crazy.

I’ve been off work for five weeks, away from Molokai and my friends for four. Five weeks! Except one summer in college, when I worked at a Younkers, I have never had five weeks off my kind of work. Where I’m studying, writing, doing something with my mind. And my mind has turned to mush. No stimulation except TV – the worst kind – and sporadic conversations with my mom or brother.

Besides not working, it’s been weird being home. Driving makes me crazy. I wouldn’t call it road rage, more like justifiable road disbelief. There are simply too many people out there. Walmart is the worst, everyone weaving in and out of aisles that are no longer in straight rows, and I don’t know where anything is anymore. I was at a Quizno’s with my mom today for lunch, and I was overwhelmed. So many choices, and then once you make your decision and order, they still double check everything! Your sandwich comes with tomatoes and mushrooms, would you like tomatoes and mushrooms? …Yes! If I didn’t, I either wouldn’t have ordered the sandwich or have told you, no tomatoes or mushrooms! I can’t tell whether its fear of lawsuits (someone orders peanut butter and jelly, but gasp! are allergic to peanuts), or knowing their customer is probably stupid and has to double check their order for them. I did used to work in food service, so it’s probably the latter.

I miss the beach, looking up at the mountains as I walk down the main street, walking in a grocery store and saying hi to people. I miss being in on the action – when I read my paper and I don’t know what’s going on. I’m afraid I won’t be able to get back in the groove right away. I miss my friends, and am so excited if it works out to move in with one of them (cottage = vastly superior to the Juicy Mango).

For now, I must embrace my friends here and my family. That’s what I’m here for, and that’s all I have. I will miss them too, once I leave. I must continue to do something nice for my mom everyday, be patient with my stepmother, and not be so lazy with my friends.

Florence and the Machine

2010-04-10T21:42:00.003-05:00

It has been far too long! November as my last post...so much has happened. In my last post, I detailed my first trip to Kalaupapa. I have only been down once more since, but considerably improved my time and enjoyed myself much more. Oh! And one of the uncle/patients I met has been arrested on meth charges! Like I said...too much has happened.

I will try to sum this up as best I can. As the details gets fuzzier, I don't want to forget any of my amazing adventures/experiences/heartbreaks. Heartbreaks that have nothing to do with boys.

Since November, I have experienced a Hawaiian Christmas; my friend became ghastly ill; saw the most beautiful waterfall and swam beneath its icy embrace; learned a kane hula; gotten a tattoo; interviewed a Grammy winner and the Catholic Bishop of Hawaii; coached a swim team; and slept on a white sandy beach, among many, many other things.

Most of these things, thankfully, I am able to experience because of my job. A job that I love. A job that I have to leave soon. While I am constantly torn – about guys, clothes, friends, politics – I am notorious for fearing to leave a place. Thinking back to my first week here, and those blog entries, I cannot believe how much I have grown. This is a place that both welcomes and is suspicious of outsiders – and I find it to be my greatest accomplishment that when I walk into a building, people know who I am, say Aloha! and offer every thought of theirs under the sun.

This is a place that is cold in upcountry, but is the freshest air I’ve ever smelled. Molokai is a place of too many drinks, not enough pupus, short of talk story time and a never-ending Monday-night dinner at Hotel. It is a place I cherish for what I have been lucky enough to learn – how generous people can be (thanks again for the purse Kanoe!), what `ohana really means, what money really means, how the best night you can spent doesn’t cost a penny, except you need a really good truck to access it.

I think what I will miss most will be the stars. Nowhere else I have every traveled, however extensive or puny it is – depending on the person – has given me the sky the way Molokai has. The moon is brighter than any florescent light, the stars exposing constellations I have never seen to my naked eye, and the truth of how extensive this universe is is mind-boggling. I often have physics discussions with my brother, and I have a friend who is an astronomy graduate student, but nothing can teach me as much as just staring at the sky on a nearly-empty beach, or walking home from Paddlers. Light pollution will be my downfall in the future.

So why am I leaving? If I didn’t have a compelling reason, I would say sorry parents! The universe wants me here. Which I still feel it does – these days I’m putting a lot of faith in the universe and its instincts. But alas, I have a cool wedding/family reunion to attend, and my mom is having knee surgery, calling back her free nurse.

So I will willingly fly home to take care of my `ohana – because here that is the most important thing. I can’t take care of the `ohana I’ve built here while my flesh and blood has asked me to return. But that doesn’t mean I can’t come back…I’ll leave that up to the universe.

However, I am giving it a nudge. I’m stopping in Seattle, Washington for a few days before returning to the Quad-Cities, to check out jobs and the feel of the city. You know, it’s only an average $300 flight back to Hawaii from there…

More soon my dear friends.

Jazzy jazz jazz -- Allen Toussaint

2009-11-05T02:02:00.008-06:00

I apologize, I have not written in a while. Although this is pretty much for myself :p
Been quite busy at work - which I love. I'm one of those people who need to be busy constantly. It keeps me in routine and organized, which equals out to me being productive. That month and a half I didn't have a job? Lounged around at home all day, in my pjs, drinking coffee and watching Law and Order: SVU. Man, was I a steal.

The biggest highlight of my time here in Molokai so far was being able to visit Kalaupapa. At the bottom of 1700-feet-high sea cliffs (the highest in the world) is a small parcel of land that looks like a leaf (indeed, Kalaupapa means flat leaf) that juts out into the ocean. It is one of the most isolated places in the world, and it's where they quarantined the victims of Hansen's disease (old-school: leprosy) from 1866 to 1969. How they still were able to essentially kidnap people and leave them on that 'natural prison' as the Department of Health called it a full 15 years after a cure for leprosy was found is beyond me. Anyway, Kalaupapa is really what brought me to Molokai. I've been spending the last six weeks (has it been that long?) researching the life of Father Damien, now Saint Damien, the priest who voluntarily went to assist the exiles from 1873 until his death in 1889. So I of course have to make it down to the very place I owe my job to.

For all it's terrible history, the treachery of the Board of Health and the utter contempt these innocent victims of disease had to face, the peninsula is the most tranquil place I've ever been. I was unable to make it to the east side, where Damien lived and worked for most of his life in Kalawao, but the only 'town' now, also called Kalaupapa, has more churches than stop signs (take a page from my colleague Dan) and the definition of the Aloha spirit. We were down there to interview some of the patients for our stories -- something that I cannot express into words how amazing it was to witness. Uncle Norbert Palea was taken from his mother at age six, put on a plane with a dozen or so other kids, he being the youngest, everybody crying. He still lives in Kalaupapa, the only home he's ever known, but there is no bitterness. Not in his face, his voice, his stories. He told us of his life, and his experiences visiting Belgium and Rome for Father Damien's canonization last month, with surprising liberation. It's known that the patients are very private - it's incredibly difficult to get to Kalaupapa, and you need permission from either the Department of Health or a patient to be able to visit, and on the tours it's not as if you get to meet or talk with the patients. But after talking with Uncle Norbert and Uncle Boogie, it seems the administartion is more concerned for their privacy, and as they get on in their age (Uncle Norbert is the youngest at 68), they seem to want to share their stories. Many have, notably the amazing social historian Anwei Law who spent 20-odd years talking to as many patients as possible, as well as some patients writing their own memoirs. To be a part of that legacy, even to witness it, makes me so grateful, respectful and flabbergastedI somehow was one of the few.

From the top, amazing.
From the bottom, not so much. Three-and-a-half miles have never been so excruciating before. You think on the way down, wow this is going to be hard on the way up. You start up, knowing just how long it is, how steep the path is, how uneven the steps are (I have very short legs!). But, it's amazing the simplicity that goes through your head. You are constantly going up! There is no break! It's all up, for two hours, being passed by someone you had an hour's head start on!
And I'm sad to say, I'm afraid to do it again! Kalaupapa is a wonderful place, for personal and of course professional reasons. But like the dentist, it's something I dread that I know I have to face in the future, at least once more. You know that clip of Chris Legh in the 1997 Ironman, when he collapsed? I hope it's not disrespectful, but I feel like I knew a bit of what he felt like!

Overall, being able to visit one of the most isolated settlements in the world, on one of the more isolated islands in Hawaii, one of the most isolated archipelagos in the world - I'm starting to feel surprisingly at home.

Pandora mixes a great selection (Ingrid Michaelson)

2009-10-13T03:00:00.004-05:00

A typical Friday night has turned into Monday night for me.
I'm sitting in my room, browsing internet shit, alone. And I am conflicted.

By typical, I mean in the past I have the tendency to stay in rather than go out. Going out entails first, a shower, and second, motivation. Its not that I don't like going out, and spending time with people. Its simply an unfortunate fact that I can talk myself into staying in to do some boring activity, like Photoshop, 'catch up' on reading, rearranging my room, and ... this. All projects that need to be done -- but do they need to on a Friday night?

This 'Friday' night (which I'm writing on a Monday because in my new schedule, Mondays and Tuesdays are my days off) was after a great day at the beach. After work, Kodi, Dan and I went to a few beaches, where they surfed and I snorkled/napped.
We drove back, joking and listening to Hawaiian radio, and thought about watching a movie, our usual ritual. A few hours into to the evening, I had eaten my dinner and was getting bored. Kodi (and possibly Dan, I don't know where he is) had decided to drink some beer and talk story (chill out) with neighbor friends. They also decided to do a certain illegal, but enjoyable, baked activity.

This is my issue -- I had decided a while ago to forgo any similar activity. I don't especially enjoy it and the majority of people I have participated with are plain boring afterwards. Not an activity I decided to continue. Also, if I am not partaking, it's a boring experience for me then.

So I turned down the invitation to join. But this is the time to make friends! To enjoy the local's color, talk story, be friendly.
I truly did not want to seem rude. I even called my self a 'square' when I told Kodi I didn't want to join because of that.
Hopefully this does not turn into a pattern. I can't rely on Catherine to hang out with in the evening, or the other roomies -- I must go make my own friends. Put my fear aside (because, yes, I am actually quite self-deprecating and shy) and take initiative! Call over for a dinner, or drive over for a movie. I am not the greatest person to hang out with -- if I'm by myself. I'm boring myself.

Reggae is big here

2009-10-01T00:19:00.004-05:00

I'm slowly starting to blend in. And yes, I mean physically. After another afternoon at the beach, I'm more of a light toast color and less of an ivory. I wander around town, in my now uncomfortable plastic flip-flops (or slippers), and I don't feel like I stick out. However, even if or when I did, the people here are so gosh-darn friendly it's hard to feel out of place. Except me, the 'city-slicker,' who at first was suspicious of so much good will. You want to know where I live, you say? Why? So you can sneak up on me as I get out of the shower? No? You just want to drop off a box of mangos? Well...thank you. I can make smoothies from them, you say? And so on...
I never really lived in a small town, so I never got the hang of walking into a bank and being greeted personally. Or walking into the grocery store, and being greeted by...my bank teller? Or in that same grocery store being approached by the 10-year-old girl you met earlier while covering a story at the elementary school. Kaunakakai is literally one square block of shops, eateries, two gas stations, two groceries, and plenty of places to get ice cream. And it's just one person after another who know your name, making you feel unbelievable guilty you still can't remember theirs.
And I gotta say...I'm getting the hang of it! Not looking at your feet while you walk, not even having your headphones in! Waving at people across the street, having a five-minute conversation with total strangers while waiting in line at the post office. It's only been six days, and while I don't feel like I've been here longer than that quite yet, everyone around me certainly does!
And another thing...I have never been treated with more respect as a journalist! As soon as people hear I'm the new Dispatch intern, they gush and say, 'they just get the nicest people to work there!' Of course I still get the same PR suggestions and 'oh, you should really write about my shop!' But everyone is so genuinely nice here, it's too hard not to smile and say 'I'll ask my editor.'
So, here I am, drinking some of the freshest coffee I'll ever have, swimming in secluded lagoon-type beaches (except some older male nudity - that's another story), walking in sunshine everyday, and being surrounded by the most agreeable people. I can deal with this :)

Only I would be listening to BBC Radio Asian network, playing bhangra, in Hawaii.

2009-09-27T01:25:00.006-05:00

I've learned a lot about myself and my assumptions in the past few days. First, I'm a brave little chicken. Second, no matter how much research you do, you will inevitably be wrong. Third, small town life isn't what it seems.

To begin, I want to stress that this is still an amazing opportunity. It's just taking me a little longer to adjust. Working for a newspaper, you have to know the community. Moving to a community and reporting on it the following day is difficult to say the least. I don't know the people, I don't know half the words they say, I don't know my way around. The other interns, and the managing editor (a former intern) are incredibly supportive and friendly, but they seem to have forgotten what is was like to start out. Or maybe there just is nothing else to say besides 'you'll get used to it.' Or maybe I'm just a big baby. The worst part is, I'm homesick. I didn't expect that. It took four years and several thousand miles to realize how much my family means to me. Not being familiar with my surroundings is something I can get used to; I'll learn how to navigate this small island and smaller towns. However, I'm worried I'm going to constantly compare my life now with my life then.
Positives. The house is quaint. It's not the spider invested, primitive dwelling I was picturing after repeatedly being told it's 'rustic.' My room is nice enough, a bit hot with only a small fan, but I get internet and privacy. My other colleagues are lovely: Kanoe (ka-noi) is sweet and punky at the same time, she knows how to laugh; Todd isn't in much, but is easy to work with and his wife would win the perkiest person in the world award; my roommates, Kodi, Catherine and Dan are friendly, generous and patient. They're fun to hang out with, at the only bar on the island and on the beach, but professional when it comes to worktime.

My second point refers to my research on Hawaii. I know most of the topics of conversation for Molokai by reading past issues of the Dispatch, but I was taken aback by all the other research. I got many thing wrong. It's true this has the most Hawaiian population of the islands, but the other half are from everywhere. I had assumed most were expats, mainlanders and other nationalities bumming around because of the laid-back island vibe. But most of these people moved for jobs, or because of a connection making it easier to open a store. Catherine's boyfriend, Clayton, is a very nice guy who's been living here for several months after he got laid off in California. His parents already lived here, so he moved in with them and works odd construction jobs around the island. He's one of many younger people living on the island; I had assumed a rural island in a remote island chain would be mostly made up of baby boomers.
And Hawaiians don't hate white people. These are the most generous, friendly, unpretentious people you'll ever meet. Yeah, you'll get a grump, but you can't get rid of those.

My last point is this: when you watch a movie featuring small town life, or pass through a small town and decide to stop at that quaint antique store, stop and reevaluate before you decide to lay down some property at this little piece of heaven. Maybe I'm just a deviant. I'm really not sure I'm cut out for small town life. I like busy, I can do busy. On this island, I often feel like I'm wasting time when I don't have something to do, but no one else is concerned. I guess because I don't have any other friends, when I rely on my roommates I follow their schedule. And I've been more bored than I wanted. Even today at the beach, because the waves were too big I couldn't go in that much, after about an hour I was bored. Who does that?

More positives: the beach is beautiful, and you will nap while you're there. Ice cream is plentiful here. My work is challenging in very different ways; I still have my skills as a reporter, but starting over in what feels like a different country takes much work. My work is interesting: I've decided I may like the challenges if I look at it like an anthropological case. The culture here is so intricate and ancient, but if you show the slightest interest, they will smile and tell you everything.
Just keep thinking positive. Don't get mad at me for complaining while in Hawaii, just think positive thoughts for me.

Translation: Beautiful Land

2009-09-09T13:25:00.004-05:00

Guess what. I have been lucky enough to be offered essentially free lodging and a writing job in Hawaii! And I almost blew it.
I have always liked change, to move around, to visit and explore new places and things. I am not afraid to travel to places I have never been before, and I've become enough of a people person that I think I can thrive in entirely new environments. All of this I thought I was.
Until I was offered this amazing chance to write for the Moloka'i Dispatch on the island of Moloka'i. The interview went great, but afterwards I felt like crying. Only partially because I was worried about the cost; the editor-in-chief, Todd, said I should make sure I am financially ready for this and to make sure I have enough in savings. He's right, I won't be able to live solely off the $40 per week grocery stipend. So, for the next two days, I did cry. I nearly talked myself out of the internship, convinced that the financial burden was too much and that others would agree and talk me out of it. But man, was I wrong!
My parents were unbelieveably supportive. They pointed out that this is a step forward in my career, that opportunities like this were rare - and offered to help pay for my trip. I am so grateful that even after I graduated and should be on my own, they are still willing to help. Although it happens rarely, my pride almost got in the way this time. I didn't want to keep accepting money from them, but I had to realize its not about pride on either part.

So! Off I will go in two weeks! Two weeks to get student loans sorted out, credit cards paid off, piles of laundry and lots of research. I'm currently learning Hawaiian vocabulary and local lingo to help adjust; it's true that Hawaiians are distrustful of outsiders, but I think we'll come together if I show the proper respect to their culture, heritage and customs.
I'm also starting research on my special project. I'll be in charge of categorizing and cataloging the research on Father Damien deVeuster, a Belgian Catholic missionary who helped the leper colony on the island in the late 1800s. The colony still exists, with no active cases, and Father Damien is being canonized for sainthood next month - the reason for my project. This is quite honestly a dream of mine, to be able to combine both journalism and history.

Until next time, most likely when I'm on the island (squee!), A hui ho'u!

Too much time to think

2009-08-31T23:36:00.004-05:00

My dog is asleep at the foot of my bed. Having doggy dreams. That cause him to thrash a bit. Sometimes I feel like he's going to have a heart attack, he is 11 years old, and sometimes I want to kick him for waking me. But I do love the old bugger.

I've been having imaginary conversations in my head for as long as I can remember. Mostly to people that I never have the courage to say the things I really want to say. For example, I had a roommate a few years back who I was close with and chose to trust despite her shady demeanor. By the end of the year, she had stolen from me and our other roommate, spilled her own blood on my tennis shoes, demeaned me for trying to help her during one of the worst times of anyone's life, and then skipped out on the last month's rent while I was out of the country. I now owe a debt collector $145, which I consider lucky.
But oh, the conversations I would have with her if she ever has the guts to face me again. I imagine I am completely cool, collected, but above all cruel. I know just the right jabs, her buttons to push and all the sensetive information that would make a CIA agent cry. I would tell her how I found her to take her to small claims court for a start. Well, actually I'd start by punching her in the face. Slapping is too good for her. Then I would lay into her, quietly and with dignity, what a low, foul dirty little tart she is. She would have no reply; I would have shocked her to silence.

However, not so sound full of myself, the girl is not the brightest bulb and I'm glad she's not around. There's someone else I have imaginary conversations with. Things that I want to say, but somehow, even though we're not friends anymore, I don't want to hurt this person. The relationship got to hard, they hold grudges, and that was that. I like friendship over romance because it's easier to fix, its more simple. But with this person, nothing is simple. And while there were mistakes on my part, my conversations always start with, 'you had something to do with it too! it wasn't all my fault!'

Have you ever had that person? Where you just wanted to be rid of them, of the toxic bits, but in general, you find yourself missing them? Even when you knew you were being manipulated, or felt less respected than how much you respected them, you still remember some of the best nights of your life were just sitting around, drinking shitty wine, watching shitty TV, but laughing all the way?

Palin is wrong again

2009-08-13T12:47:00.003-05:00

We've been hearing about healthcare reform for more than a decade now. Reform in any respect is difficult, especially in the United States which has stuck steadfastly in it's ways since the early 19th century.

In the recent debates, confusion, misinformation and just plain smear tactics have gotten in the way of the facts.
Somehow socialism gets mucked, as we regress to the 1950s, and conservative politicians and especially media pundits use fear tactics to confuse the American people about another Domino Effect. Didn't work the first time by the way.
Let's get some facts and definitions straight. Socialism is not communism. First, it is an economic system opposite of capitalism, where access to resources are more equally distributed among all. Socialism also provides plenty of room for private enterprise, although with regulation of the markets. Communism begins when the state has ownership of all resources and access is allowed on an equal basis. Note the difference: the state, the government, ownes property and resources in a communist state; socialism mearly allows more equal distribution of goods and services with the help of all.

Now, back to healthcare. The United States is the only industrialized nation not to have universal healthcare. Universal healthcare is not a code word for 'enslaving citizens into socialized medicine.' It means the government guarantees accessibility of medical, dental and mental healthcare. This does not necessarily means the government provides the healthcare, such as in Canada and Germany.

A 'socialized' form of healthcare, which it tax-funded and government regulated can be seen in France. Citizens are refunded 85% of their healthcare bill, and the World Health Organization proclaimed it to be the world's best system in terms of responsible providers and patient health. It is also one of the least expensive systems to pay per capita (already half what Americans pay).

Now, you probably knew this from Michael Moore's film Sicko.
(Also see Salud about Cuba's booming healthcare.)

What President Obama is proposing now is not socialism, although it is a form of universal. In simplist terms, and straight from what Obama has been trying to get across, this reform would create a system so that no American would be turned away for lack of payment, but if one was happy with their health insurance, they would be able to keep it.

So as sprung from the widely-publicized town hall meetings, the issue seems to be: if I'm paying for my own health insurance, why should I pay for someone else's?
The short answer: you already are. Where do you think Medicare and veteran's programs come from?
The mean answer: get over yourself. Healthcare reform in the United States is long overdue, mostly because we never set up a proper system. We did as we always do: we let the private sector take care of the messy details, and now we are being gouged out the rear end for their profits.

Let's take a look at what the bill intends to do. It will start to regulate private insurance businesses, which is long overdue for an overhall.
"The issuer cannot vary the percentage increase in the premium for a risk group of enrollees in specific grandfathered health insurance coverage without changing the premium for all enrollees in the same risk group at the same rate, as specified by the Commissioner."
i.e. they have to stop jacking up premiums because you're sick.

The bill also guarantees essential benefits in all plans, including hospitalizations, emergency transportation, prescription drugs and maternal care, among many others.

This bill will come at a cost. The bottom line has always been where this reform will hit America's pocketbook. But people can't be afraid to help out their neighbors. Maybe if this reform had come at a time when the economy was not crippled, things would be different. But probably not. America has a long history of being proud to stand on its own, be independent. That is no longer possible; isolationism doesn't work.
I understand this comes to a fundamental issue between conservatives and liberals: hard-working Americans don't want to pay for some hippie's dental because hey, they should be able to do it themselves. But I think we've seen in the past, and in our contemporary's countries, that is not how the world works. To keep the world together, we have to work together.

And I think it's a little sad when money makes fools of us all.

America's Affordable Health Choices Act of 2009:
http://thomas.loc.gov/cgi-bin/query/F?c111:1:./temp/~c1110TsKhu:e21210:

It's like plastic surgery for a mummy

2009-08-06T12:28:00.004-05:00

Today, I made a list. First, wake up in time for the new dryer to arrive. Failed. Second, have a healthy breakfast. Success! Third through whatever, get out of the house and do something. But as I find my new blogging endeavor important, items three-? will wait. (However, the farmer's market starts at 2pm, so I'm on a deadline!)

While eating my breakfast of banana-nut Cheerios and coffee, I read the news. I came across an article, more of a commentary by the reporter, in London's Telegraph. He wrote of newly released proposals to add 'enhancements' to India's biggest tourist attraction, the Taj Mahal. A development company thinks that by adding ropewalks, a suspension bridge, cable cars and a Ferris wheel, not only will more tourists come -- but just in case they were bored looking at a 300-year-old monument to love that three million people visit a year, a Ferris wheel will cure them!

I thought this a ridiculous notion, that I can only hope some historical commission or the World Heritage people can put a stop to it. However, included in the article was a reference to another ridiculous plan to 'enhance' the experience of tourists at the Grand Canyon. Not even a plan, it was done! They actually added a suspension walkway to the Grand Canyon for better viewing! Complete with a cafe and gift shop. How did I not know about this!? Completed in 2007, the glass-viewing walkway is in Arizona, and provides panoramic views of the canyon. Since when did the Grand Canyon not provide panoramic views? Why was this blight on such a fragile environment allowed? I am amazed at some people's ideas to 'improve' upon nature; or in the Taj Mahal's case, upon 300-year-old celebrated architecture.

Leave historical monuments and achievements and natural phenomenon to their eternal tenaciousness. Otherwise next we'll see an artificial island created to hold a hotel/resort so visitors can better view the Great Barrier Reef.

the original article: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/travel/destinations/asia/india/5976407/Taj-Mahal-doesnt-need-a-theme-park-India.html

The beginnings of an international correspondent

2008-11-30T22:19:00.002-06:00

In tradition of being a writer, I find comfort in those that share my passion. I enjoy writing about a variety of things because they bring challenge to my job, and educate me about things I didn't know before. But the biggest challenge for me would be to take away the language I know so much about (most of the time), and have an assignment to write about a completely different one.
Vanessa Veiock, a senior at the University of Iowa, was a student in Spanish and journalism when she combined the two in a semester in Spain. "Lost in translation" is a literal description of what happened to Vanessa in her study abroad experience.

Vanessa wrote for CafeAbroad.com, a social networking site for study abroad students, in the fall of 2006, and continues to write and edit for their new print additions. Knowing Spanish, and majoring in it, Vanessa said was still not able to completely prepare her for this internship. CafeAbroad.com has postings on the restaurants, dance clubs, festivals and other local specialties written by students in the area for other or future students. She wrote about an article per week, and some reviews of local bars and bands. For this, Vanessa said she would have to interview patrons and business owners, which was not the same as she would when she wrote the The Daily Iowan.
"Email is not as popular," she said. "There it could take up to five weeks for someone to get back to you."
She also struggled with the words themselves, having to translate as she wrote. Vanessa studied in San Sebastian, a region in northern Spain called Basque where local dialect is more similar to Italian, she said.
Without the fallback of email, which many journalists and laypeople alike take for granted, Vanessa began to enjoy face time with her sources. She would develop relationships with them, "instead of relying on a machine."
She interviewed the owner of a cider house, which was owned by the same family for generations. By talking in the best Basque she could, she saw for herself the tradition involved in a cider mill.

As Vanessa and I are talking, she describes her rings, of which she has eight, coming from different places and people. She gives off a graceful air, which we both agree to atribute to her travel experience. Traveling gives you a sort of confidence, she said, especially to a country with a foreign language. Trying new things, like local foods, requires an adventurous spirit. Unpleasantries aside, which are going to be common in unfamilar places, developing as a stronger person, and in Vanessa's case, a stronger writer, follows you your whole life.

Vanessa definitely still has her travel bug inside of her - while abroad the first time she also traveled to Scotland, Portugal, Italy, and even a spontaneous individual trip to Dublin. She will also be traveling to India over winter break for more hands-on experience, this time learning business planning for non-profits.

What is she talking about?

2008-11-12T21:11:00.002-06:00

As a late introduction, I should tell you all what I will be writing about.

I abhor cliches, but when it comes to study abroad, they kind of are all right. Best experience of my life, changed my life, worth all the pennies. Blah blah blah.
Traveling is one of life's greatest adventures, often wildly unpredictable and at times confusing. Take my first day in the Netherlands: I waited an hour and a half for my ride to the house I was staying at, outside the train station, in a country where I did not speak the language. Close to a panic attack, I realized I needed to suck it up and work it out for myself. And wouldn't you know it, that taxi driver spoke English.

The willingness to put yourself out in the unknown, to risk money and time, is a rare ability. As students, now is the time to risk it all. After all, you're still on your parent's insurance right?

I have shared the best of my study abroad experiences; next time I will share someone else's unique experience and the lessons learned.

How to be an archaeologist

2008-11-06T13:29:00.010-06:00

View of the dig site from a giant crane.

Me and my fellow trenchie, Laura, digging what turned out to be a medieval trash pit, on top of a Roman walkway.

First, have unending patience. Expect to find one artifact of value every 20 days. But usually, that one item will be paired with several others - especially if the pot was broken. And I swear I found it like that.

For one month this summer, I participated in an excavation in Nijmegen, The Netherlands. Nijmegen, located near the border of Germany about two hours south of Amsterdam by train, is a typical university town in Europe - which coincidentally is very similar to university towns in America. It is even complete with wannabe-punk students and many who speak English better than some freshmen.

I, for the record, have no patience. I am what you might call a "fair-weather archaeologist." When I found something of value, that one day, it was the greatest day I had yet. All other days were, politely said, learning experiences. Boring ones.

I need to squash this myth right now: archaologists are not Indiana Jones or Lara Croft. They are usually bureaucratic-looking men in their 50s who spend most of the time in their office, writing papers about their organization's digs, and driving their Jaguars to the dig site once a week or so to check on progress.

This description is not meant to demean or ridicule the archaologist. But every job, every organization or business has to have the office boss-man, and the Bureau Archeologie Gemeente (municipality) Nijmegen had Kees Brok. Kees (pronouced kays) worked his way up from a field worker to archaeologist, through university degrees and excavations, to be Gemeente Nijmegen's head archaeologist. The ones in the site, digging and planning, getting dirty for several hours a day, are either field technicians or field directors.

My boss, Jerone, was a very young field director. In fact, he was actually a field technician assistant - the field director left Jerone much of the responsibility, unofficially. At 28, he was running his own site, located in a residential neighborhood near the River Waal. I would mostly see him in a construction jacket (brightly colored so not to get run over by the cranes) and a hard hat, walking with various field workers, discussing the problems of pipes or time constraints.
You see, Nijmegen is old. Two-thousand-years-old to be exact. They just celebrated their birthday in 2005. The Romans built a military camp along the river in the 1st century, and the city has been added upon by Batavians, Charlemagne, and various Germans. About five feet below the ground surface, I found artifacts from the 1950s, medieval times, and even a few Roman building bricks.

Since there is such history in this city, new developments are carefully handled. The site I worked on was a former housing block where the city wanted to put up new condos. Somewhere in legal clauses it states that before any new building project, the city must conduct an environmental impact survey, one of which is archaeological. This site began in March, and when I left in early August, they were fighting their timeline of September.

This is where I discovered the most disheartening thing about archaeology. You don't get to save everything. Willingly. After a day or so, Jerone had to make the call whether a pit was worth the manpower (the site is divided into several pits, usually depending on age and type of artifacts). Many times they would come across a virtual field of (sometimes broken) pottery from a Roman trash heap, but wouldn't have enough time to comb through it all, and so left it to move onto another site. The head of my pit, Martijn, said this was sometimes a shame they had to leave artifacts they knew were there because there was no time.

However, giving me renewed hope as well as an overwhelming headache was the warehouse. Comparing just one site to the abundence of artifacts still needing cleaning and processing in the warehouse put it into perspective that perhaps we didn't need to get those last bits of broken pottery, so tiny I usually thought they were rocks. The storage capabilities of these types of warehouses make it seem like there should be a thousand more museums in the world, just for Roman artifacts in upper Europe, and if only just for me (I did visit several archaeological museums in the Netherlands and Germany, and became excited to see artifacts similar to what I had handled myself).

While I can never picture myself being a field technician or an archaeologist, I appreciate the work they do to bring history alive for the rest of the world, and relished in my part in that.
There is something oddly satisfying about shaving away the centuries of muck, which to me looked like chocolate shavings. Also bragging about knowing a little Dutch, when in fact most of those words are work phrases. Pauze! (break-time)

One of Nijmegen's city squares, or platz. It's really something to be in a town with a deeper history than my entire country.