Skewed Snapshots

Moving, 2011 version

2011-05-30T18:35:00.002-07:00

It's just stuff, I say.
I'm lying. like I so often do.
There is my old cell phone with the radio, lying in the trash. There
are the hopes that I would listen to the radio like I did in high
school here, feeling part of the pop culture, singing the same songs
everyone knows, feeling full of hope that this could be my life too,
feeling like I wasn't just an outsider posing in a uniform like
everyone else (but on the weekends running to the park and listening
to Sheryl Crow over and over and dancing all alone)
Box and all, goes in the burnable? no, I should separate out the
instructions... which I've work so hard to read, though repetition
drills and sitting with a coworker reading out loud between classes,
with hundreds of dollars invested in books and dictionaries. It's not
my language anymore.

And the phone should go in unburnable, right? Or can I maybe recycle
it? Does it still have my old pictures of biking through the Nikko
mountains and feeling so unstoppable and free? Is the browser history
long dead after long train journeys skimming through craigslist ads,
wondering how I can find more people and fluff up my life and settle
down here?

And those comics on the wall? I might as well throw them out. I
mean, sure they are my brother's but they are printed off the online
versions. Sure they are this link to what we both felt in the jungle.
Sure they are a link that pulls us closer in a common subtext that no
one else really gets.

Burnable.

And the maps. Sure they are just from a hundred yen store. One I
made a point to go out of my way and visit because most dont have
these maps. Maps that I stare at and find inspiration over and over.
But where will that inspiration lead me now? I have different hill to
train on and different roads to ride. These mountains will soon be
too far away to hear their seductive calls weekend after weekend. But
no. I'll pack these anyways.

My mother's art and a beautiful handwritten birthday letter, packed
safely away. But what about all these drugstore cards? My experience
tells me that you never know when that stupid and simple card will be,
suddenly, the last letter that loved one has sent. And what then?
Does that make everything memorabilia for the possible sudden death of
everyone I know.

Sometimes.

Burnable, nonetheless. I know how they say the words, 'I love you'
and I know how they sign it on the bottom of cards. I know that in my
heart. I will always be able to picture my mother's hand writing.
That is enough.

People tell me of all the things I should keep. People tell me that
surely, I'll have room in my bag for this or that... maybe I do. but
really I don't

I can still feel the cold of sitting on the cement in the storage room
with all my moms stuff. One year after her death, my brother and I
finally doing something about it all. Her old clothes with the same
smell. The childhood chair that was the best fort turned upside down.
The flour grinder that she used before baking her own bread, the
house smelling of yeast and a warm oven for days.

I will never find cinnamon rolls as good as those, filled with walnuts
and brown sugar and hours of her strong hands kneeling the dough.

But what could I do with a 100 pound flour grinder when I live my life
out of a backpack more than an ocean away?

And away it goes.

The pots and pans I don't mind. Most are stolen anyways. When I
moved back I swore I was going to invest in a good set of kitchen
knives and that, alone, would make a symbol of home.

Backpacking through Argentina, my temporary romance blooming with a
man who loved to cook and got so tired of hostel knives he bought his
own. Carried it around in his backpack as we traipsed through dusty
wine country towns. Because to cook is to make a home. Even if it's
for a single night. Garlic and onion stained hands, the rhythmic
attack of vegetables preparing to make a lovely piece of a story that
seems to always be so filled with laughter.

But in the end I never got good knives. In the end I picked up some
cheap but sharp ones off of craigslist. Slicing open my finger early
in the year, desperate to make dwindling savings account stretch to my first
paycheck, sacrificing sleep to cook for myself and save a few yen.

Those knives can go. Any home is fine for them.

And the mirrors, glued to the shelves that had to be moved closer to
the floor as aftershock after aftershock hit my life. The mirrors
that I stared at my naked body, sometimes with a proud smile and far
too often with eyes trained on imperfections. But that is too normal
to mention really. What I will miss about those mirrors, much more,
is how my lovers would catch secret glances of themselves. In that
quiet relief of, ok, I guess I'm good enough after all. Or in that
hidden grin. Or in that understated flex. In that raised eyebrow and
that completely personal moment when we regard ourselves so truely
naked. I will miss being that witness. The mirrors will go where ever the shelves do. Burnable?

The last time I moved myself across the ocean, preparing to adventure
with only a backpack full of sundries to my name, I culled my life
with the glib motto of 'burn it all down.' The glib is gone this
time. Perhaps because I tried harder. Had stronger intentions. Sunk
my teeth in more. This time wasn't a lark. And nor is what I'm jumping into.

So with every piece of stuff, out goes a good intention, a fantastic
idea that might make everything ok, straw after straw after straw that
were never enough to break down my resistance to settling for this.
And with every clunk into the trash I send a small prayer upwards that
my life is not just doing the same thing over and over and expecting
different results.

That despite my constant movement and slipping from one place to
another. Despite never owning a goddamn plate all 5 years in Tokyo.
Despite all the trouble I have having a real conversation with
anyone... That I still made some mark here.

Being on the road I came up with something. And when I told it to
people they tended to repeat it. So maybe it was something worth
saying.

Home is where you can find your way to the bathroom in the dark. Where you know your trails.
Home is where you plant something and it grows, whether it be a friendship or an idea or a fix to some problem.
Home is where you'll be missed when you are gone.

And so even with the culling of things. Even with the murdering of
all those lost good intentions that never bloomed. Even with the
eagerness and hope I find in thinking about dancing in Oregon and
being able to kiss someone goodnight.

I hope that this was still home. I would rather grieve for losing it
than for failing to make it. Better to have loved.

And with that.

The adventures continue.

Sakura 2011

2011-04-26T12:01:00.005-07:00

I've spent a lot of time this year trying to put into words what makes the cherry blossoms feel so downright profound here. There are cherry trees in D.C. (supposedly). There are cherry trees in Eugene and Portland... but somehow the trees I've seen elsewhere never felt quite like the event that the cherries blooming in Tokyo are.

Perhaps, as I love this city in part for it's remarkable doublethink/hypocrisy the cherry trees are a part of that.
When the cherries bloom even the most workaholic salary-man stops for a moment, pauses and appreciates nature.
In a city so safe, so clean (well...), so polite, the park is still full of trash and half eaten food and stale beer in the mornings. And the crows, loud and ecstatic. Shouting and cawing, "This is the best day of my life!"

In the most boring cement suburbs, along a stoned in slew (full of murky slow water and feral coy) the blossoms at night catch the light and the beautiful smell catches you by surprise.

This year, local/neighborhood governments put up signs saying please do not party in the parks as usual out of respect for the tragedy in Tohoku (northern Japan). After all nearly 130,000 people are still homeless with no where to return to. The evacuation zone around the nuclear power plants increased. The after shocks continue... how could it possibly be appropriate to party in the parks?!?

Well, at least as appropriate as continuing to work 10-12 hours a day 5-6 days a week like 'normal.' and pretending, for the sake of the country, for the sake of the students, for the sake of our friends that everything is ok.

To say that we are all back at work and that the blackouts have been postponed is true. Some days do feel normal. Some days when everyone got woken up in the night by earthquakes and then rattled all morning... don't feel normal. And I don't think we should be hurring back to this type or normality.

So the Emporer and the neighborhood governments said don't party in the parks. And what did the people do? Well, there were fewer revelers this year. The parties were smaller and a little more low key, but they still happened. One park, the revelers got kicked out with a guilt trip so they moved to the stairs of the Government buildings with their musical instruments and put out a hat for donations to send north. They raised about $3000USD that day.
I think a lot of iconic Japanese imagery--the cherry blossoms, the cicadas, the maples etc symbolize not onlyl the seasons but rebirth. They are something we wait for every year. They are something we track-- have they started in Kyushu yet? There are forecasts for when which part of the country will burst into bloom. We collectively hold our breath. And Japan is all about the collective action, expectation, oo of 'that's awfully pretty'
It's an event worth celebrating and often coincides with the beginning of the school year and the when freshman workers enter new companies. Last year, there I was nervously scurrying to the train early in the morning, glancing up at the cherries and smiling as I rushed off to my brand new shiny job full of optimism and eagar to impress.

It's on of many of Japan's rites of passage that I've hit. A black suit with a white collared shirt, introducing myself to my new collegues with the set phrases. Hoping to work hard enough to succeed. Hoping that this job will be 'the one.' The one that becomes a career.

It didn't work out that way, but I've certainly grown from the experience, the challenge, the successes here and there.

And in two weeks, the moment has passed. The city as a whole relaxes a little and lets out a sigh of satisfied relief. The green leaves bloom immediately so that it's hard to remember that there was a frosted winter sky beyond those branches just a month ago.

The days warm and life moves on.
I keep working on this year's "Songs to Skip Town By" and read books like "Down and Out in Paris and London." I look forward to the new chapter and the new career. I look forward to eventually tramping through the jungle again and dancing Oregon nights away. But that's not to say that I won't miss 35 million people packed together and collectively holding their breath for the first cherry to bloom.

Morning light

2011-04-20T06:11:00.001-07:00

It's been a year of mornings and learning to love them.
It's easy if I'm not rushing, if the insomnia hasn't been so bad.
And it's easy on mornings like this.

At a loss for words: A Tokyo interlude

2011-04-10T05:25:00.005-07:00

#1 The cherry blossoms bloom in the street lights.

So, I'm back in Tokyo and back at work and for better or worse, normal life goes on. I still can't think too logically or articulately about everything that is happening in part because it hits me on so many different levels. I have so much history with this city and country and culture. It was complicated before March 11th and it's more complicated now.

I'm back at work and as April is a busy month for schools we have a lot of long days and a lot of six day weeks. I'm helping train up two new teachers (one in math, one in science) and trying to sort out my own stuff. Classes start tomorrow and I know I am not prepared enough, that I will sleep fitfully and that 5am will come much too soon. But so it goes. I had a lovely lazy Sunday that allowed me to sleep in, unpack my bags, vacuum and cook. Perhaps what I love most about this space is that I could look out from my balcony at the park, full of laughing children, kites, cherry trees and my favorite things in Tokyo.

As I am at a loss for words, I've been trying a project of taking one picture a day--usually just with my iPhone as I seem to have lost the cable for my proper camera--of something I love about this time and place. With all the changes, I find I sometimes slip into thinking about everything that drives me crazy because it justifies moving on. But I would rather not. I would rather revel in all the things I love.

So here are some pictures. I've uploaded them to facebook already so for some of your it's nothing new. Perhaps I will find some words for them here.

#2: An angel in the sky line. The view from the 9th floor of my school from one of my classrooms. After the big March 11th quake, the angel rotated about 60 degrees. We think it belongs to the Church of Later Day Saint's church. Recently, or perhaps because of the recent big aftershock, it is once again facing North.

#3: 530 am light. I am not a morning person but biking or walking through my park early in the morning is lovely. In the back you can see a crowd. Initially, I though they were a group who had partied all night. Not so. They were part of an all night vigil for Tohoku.

#4: Comfort bike. Most people when stressed want certain comfort food. I wanted this bike back in Tokyo with me. My commuter, my love. Ready to rumble.

#5: Sweeping cherry blossoms. A man spends his morning clearing the sidewalk near his business of fallen blossoms. Most businesses are back open and it appears that the blackouts are indefinitely postponed.

update

2011-03-17T05:15:00.002-07:00

It feels like betrayal but I bought a ticket for tomorrow
1) The military is evacuating
2) I planned to leave in July. Yes its been a secret.
3) I feel useless here.

I'm sorry friends. I really am. All my love and prayers are with you.

Why I don't want to leave

2011-03-17T04:21:00.000-07:00

I was doing good earlier today. Calm and felt like things were fine. I took a nap, the sleep deprivation finally taking over and woke up scared.

It comes in waves, this fear. and it’s hard to know what to do with it.

I desperately want to help. to be useful. to be busy. but planning for classes come April is both too much for my sleepy brain and just doesn’t have any umf. As my currently favorite coworker said: I want lift things and move stuff, you know.

I want to lift things and move stuff and as it gets cold in Tokyo my heart goes out to those in the north in the snow. There will be probably more deaths from hypothermia than from radiation.

It’s hard to get good information and that spreads fear.

I’m following news from the embassies. I’m following updates from the British Camber of Commerce, (generally inside information). I’m following http://mitnse.com/ from MIT. I have mostly given up on other news like BBC (horrible) or NHK. They don’t have anything helpful or meaningful. They just yell. I’m not interested in people yelling without double-checking their facts.

I remain undecided. I’m hopelessly undecided about everything in my life it seems. A friend asked why I wanted stay, especially considering how rough a year I’ve had here anyway and I wanted to share those thoughts with you too.

It’s complicated. And I’ve been in Japan a long time. It’s a relationship and breaking up is hard to do.

A lot of my indecision comes from the idea that if I leave, I’d rather just leave for good, because to be honest I’m planning to leave anyway. The plan is July/August. So to leave for 10 days now seems weird and wrong… but I don’t really know how to explain that. Here’s a try, as first written earlier today and now expanded.

1) I mean, I don't want to leave my bike ;)
It’s a stupid reason but it speaks to what a huge part of my life my bike is. I may never buy another one so nice.
2) I want to see the cherry blossoms bloom
3) I don't want to run because I'm afraid
I fear that I will lose more sleep in my life over running than staying. Being here, I know how it feels. For all of you abroad, I think here looks much much worse. It’s calm, despite the food hoarding.
4) I don't want to be that person
I don’t want to run every time I’m afraid or every time something is hard. I don’t want to be someone ruled by the desire to protect herself first and do what’s right or reasonable second
5) I want to help, not just because it is Japan, but because it's needed
I desperately want to volunteer, either within Tokyo or in the refugee camps. I’ve felt this type of desire my whole life, an aching desire to help those who need it most. so it feels stupid to run now.

6) I don't want the uninformed journalists or our culture of fear, paranoia and unnecessary precautions win over compassion and spirit
I am absolutely furious at the journalistic community. I am furious at the BBC, NHK, CNN (flat out wrong), Fox News (ridiculous as always), Huff Post… It’s hard to find good information and instead of helping they have created panic. Most of us in Tokyo are more stressed out by all you guys being stressed out than the actual situation.
On a larger scale, I don’t want our culture of fear over our sense of compassion to win. If the amount of energy being used to scare people was instead used to organize relief, I would be busy volunteering as would thousands of other Tokyo-ites. We would be gathering supplies to send north to people who need them. Instead we are glued to televisions and cellphones trying to decipher what is true.

7) and I don't want to leave japan this way. I might but I don’t want to.
It's been a long and often troubled relationship but much like with my ex's, I never want to leave with a fight. I want to leave on good terms.
It feels like when you are dating someone you really care about but know it’s time to break up and then they lose their job and are a wreck. Do you leave then?

8) I don't want to be a tourist to my life
I don’t want to be here only for the fun picture perfect moments. I don’t want to be here only for the drinking and karaoke. I don’t want my life to lack depth and meaning and the gritty stuff too.

9) Leaving now feels like betrayal to my ideals, to who I believe I am, to everything Japan has taught me, to my friends who are ‘lifers’ here and won’t consider leaving. I feel so protective of Japan…

But then again, I’m scared and I hate living/being alone in this situation.
But then again, I’ve been considering leaving Japan for a while anyway.

I remain undecided.
Maybe I should have a few drinks and just decide.
But that’s the thing, I do decide, over and over, to stay.

I’m looking at the data and deciding, little by little over and over. And that’s probably the best thing for me.

The commercial flights are not full and extra flights for Americans and Brits are also being added.

I’m continuing to consider my options but for now, I’m going to meet some friends and move away from the glowing news screen.

Let me repeat. Even if the reactors melt down completely, being in Tokyo for a few days after will not seriously threaten my long or short-term health.

Thank you for your love and support. Please please keep sending it. We all go through phases of feeling good and feeling scared. Too little good information and too little sleep will do that. I know you all are in the same boat there.

Lots of love to you all.

Some data

2011-03-13T23:37:00.000-07:00

One of my best friends in the states plotted this data. It's good news.

Feel free to share/comment.

An analysis of the last week’s worth of data from the Japanese earthquakes with magnitude greater than 5, as published by the USGS:

The aftershocks are, on average, getting weaker:

They are also getting less frequent (currently down to about 3/day from about 1/hour right after the big one):

The epicenters are staying close to the big one (no trend towards Tokyo or anything):

The epicenters are pretty much staying at the same depth (no trend up):

So the aftershocks are not moving towards Tokyo, not rising, and not sustaining their intensity or frequency. I think, based on this data, that at least we can rule out Godzilla rising from the laundry list of crap Japan will have to deal with in the aftermath.

Intelligent information about Fukushima Nuclear Reactor problems

2011-03-13T06:15:00.002-07:00

I never re-post things here but I think this is really important and people should read it. It is a clear and informative explanation about what is happening at the Fukushima Reactors-- now the scariest part of the earthquake after math. I'm re-posting the link as well as the text because if people start spreading this (PLEASE DO), the site could get busy.

Things in Tokyo are still stressful, we still are getting aftershocks. Many/most of us still don't have gas to cook or take hot showers. Black outs are scheduled. My school is still on, I think. But we're fine. We're ok. There is remarkably almost no damage in Tokyo. Send your thoughts and prayers farther north. But not so many to the power plants. Those will be ok. Read below.

love to all.

k

http://morgsatlarge.wordpress.com/2011/03/13/why-i-am-not-worried-about-japans-nuclear-reactors/

Morgsatlarge – blogorific.
My thoughts. Do with them what you want.

Why I am not worried about Japan’s nuclear reactors.
Posted on March 13, 2011 by morgsatlarge

I know this is a fairly full on statement from someone posting his very first blog. It will also be far and away the most well written, intelligent post I ever make (I hope!) It also means I am not responsible for its content.

This post is by Dr Josef Oehmen, a research scientist at MIT, in Boston.

He is a PhD Scientist, whose father has extensive experience in Germany’s nuclear industry. I asked him to write this information to my family in Australia, who were being made sick with worry by the media reports coming from Japan. I am republishing it with his permission.

It is a few hours old, so if any information is out of date, blame me for the delay in getting it published.

If you would like to contact Josef, please email me at morgsatlarge@yahoo.com.au

This is his text in full and unedited. It is very long, so get comfy.

I am writing this text (Mar 12) to give you some peace of mind regarding some of the troubles in Japan, that is the safety of Japan’s nuclear reactors. Up front, the situation is serious, but under control. And this text is long! But you will know more about nuclear power plants after reading it than all journalists on this planet put together.

There was and will *not* be any significant release of radioactivity.

By “significant” I mean a level of radiation of more than what you would receive on – say – a long distance flight, or drinking a glass of beer that comes from certain areas with high levels of natural background radiation.

I have been reading every news release on the incident since the earthquake. There has not been one single (!) report that was accurate and free of errors (and part of that problem is also a weakness in the Japanese crisis communication). By “not free of errors” I do not refer to tendentious anti-nuclear journalism – that is quite normal these days. By “not free of errors” I mean blatant errors regarding physics and natural law, as well as gross misinterpretation of facts, due to an obvious lack of fundamental and basic understanding of the way nuclear reactors are build and operated. I have read a 3 page report on CNN where every single paragraph contained an error.

We will have to cover some fundamentals, before we get into what is going on.

Construction of the Fukushima nuclear power plants

The plants at Fukushima are so called Boiling Water Reactors, or BWR for short. Boiling Water Reactors are similar to a pressure cooker. The nuclear fuel heats water, the water boils and creates steam, the steam then drives turbines that create the electricity, and the steam is then cooled and condensed back to water, and the water send back to be heated by the nuclear fuel. The pressure cooker operates at about 250 °C.

The nuclear fuel is uranium oxide. Uranium oxide is a ceramic with a very high melting point of about 3000 °C. The fuel is manufactured in pellets (think little cylinders the size of Lego bricks). Those pieces are then put into a long tube made of Zircaloy with a melting point of 2200 °C, and sealed tight. The assembly is called a fuel rod. These fuel rods are then put together to form larger packages, and a number of these packages are then put into the reactor. All these packages together are referred to as “the core”.

The Zircaloy casing is the first containment. It separates the radioactive fuel from the rest of the world.

The core is then placed in the “pressure vessels”. That is the pressure cooker we talked about before. The pressure vessels is the second containment. This is one sturdy piece of a pot, designed to safely contain the core for temperatures several hundred °C. That covers the scenarios where cooling can be restored at some point.

The entire “hardware” of the nuclear reactor – the pressure vessel and all pipes, pumps, coolant (water) reserves, are then encased in the third containment. The third containment is a hermetically (air tight) sealed, very thick bubble of the strongest steel. The third containment is designed, built and tested for one single purpose: To contain, indefinitely, a complete core meltdown. For that purpose, a large and thick concrete basin is cast under the pressure vessel (the second containment), which is filled with graphite, all inside the third containment. This is the so-called “core catcher”. If the core melts and the pressure vessel bursts (and eventually melts), it will catch the molten fuel and everything else. It is built in such a way that the nuclear fuel will be spread out, so it can cool down.

This third containment is then surrounded by the reactor building. The reactor building is an outer shell that is supposed to keep the weather out, but nothing in. (this is the part that was damaged in the explosion, but more to that later).

Fundamentals of nuclear reactions

The uranium fuel generates heat by nuclear fission. Big uranium atoms are split into smaller atoms. That generates heat plus neutrons (one of the particles that forms an atom). When the neutron hits another uranium atom, that splits, generating more neutrons and so on. That is called the nuclear chain reaction.

Now, just packing a lot of fuel rods next to each other would quickly lead to overheating and after about 45 minutes to a melting of the fuel rods. It is worth mentioning at this point that the nuclear fuel in a reactor can *never* cause a nuclear explosion the type of a nuclear bomb. Building a nuclear bomb is actually quite difficult (ask Iran). In Chernobyl, the explosion was caused by excessive pressure buildup, hydrogen explosion and rupture of all containments, propelling molten core material into the environment (a “dirty bomb”). Why that did not and will not happen in Japan, further below.

In order to control the nuclear chain reaction, the reactor operators use so-called “moderator rods”. The moderator rods absorb the neutrons and kill the chain reaction instantaneously. A nuclear reactor is built in such a way, that when operating normally, you take out all the moderator rods. The coolant water then takes away the heat (and converts it into steam and electricity) at the same rate as the core produces it. And you have a lot of leeway around the standard operating point of 250°C.

The challenge is that after inserting the rods and stopping the chain reaction, the core still keeps producing heat. The uranium “stopped” the chain reaction. But a number of intermediate radioactive elements are created by the uranium during its fission process, most notably Cesium and Iodine isotopes, i.e. radioactive versions of these elements that will eventually split up into smaller atoms and not be radioactive anymore. Those elements keep decaying and producing heat. Because they are not regenerated any longer from the uranium (the uranium stopped decaying after the moderator rods were put in), they get less and less, and so the core cools down over a matter of days, until those intermediate radioactive elements are used up.

This residual heat is causing the headaches right now.

So the first “type” of radioactive material is the uranium in the fuel rods, plus the intermediate radioactive elements that the uranium splits into, also inside the fuel rod (Cesium and Iodine).

There is a second type of radioactive material created, outside the fuel rods. The big main difference up front: Those radioactive materials have a very short half-life, that means that they decay very fast and split into non-radioactive materials. By fast I mean seconds. So if these radioactive materials are released into the environment, yes, radioactivity was released, but no, it is not dangerous, at all. Why? By the time you spelled “R-A-D-I-O-N-U-C-L-I-D-E”, they will be harmless, because they will have split up into non radioactive elements. Those radioactive elements are N-16, the radioactive isotope (or version) of nitrogen (air). The others are noble gases such as Xenon. But where do they come from? When the uranium splits, it generates a neutron (see above). Most of these neutrons will hit other uranium atoms and keep the nuclear chain reaction going. But some will leave the fuel rod and hit the water molecules, or the air that is in the water. Then, a non-radioactive element can “capture” the neutron. It becomes radioactive. As described above, it will quickly (seconds) get rid again of the neutron to return to its former beautiful self.

This second “type” of radiation is very important when we talk about the radioactivity being released into the environment later on.

What happened at Fukushima

I will try to summarize the main facts. The earthquake that hit Japan was 7 times more powerful than the worst earthquake the nuclear power plant was built for (the Richter scale works logarithmically; the difference between the 8.2 that the plants were built for and the 8.9 that happened is 7 times, not 0.7). So the first hooray for Japanese engineering, everything held up.

When the earthquake hit with 8.9, the nuclear reactors all went into automatic shutdown. Within seconds after the earthquake started, the moderator rods had been inserted into the core and nuclear chain reaction of the uranium stopped. Now, the cooling system has to carry away the residual heat. The residual heat load is about 3% of the heat load under normal operating conditions.

The earthquake destroyed the external power supply of the nuclear reactor. That is one of the most serious accidents for a nuclear power plant, and accordingly, a “plant black out” receives a lot of attention when designing backup systems. The power is needed to keep the coolant pumps working. Since the power plant had been shut down, it cannot produce any electricity by itself any more.

Things were going well for an hour. One set of multiple sets of emergency Diesel power generators kicked in and provided the electricity that was needed. Then the Tsunami came, much bigger than people had expected when building the power plant (see above, factor 7). The tsunami took out all multiple sets of backup Diesel generators.

When designing a nuclear power plant, engineers follow a philosophy called “Defense of Depth”. That means that you first build everything to withstand the worst catastrophe you can imagine, and then design the plant in such a way that it can still handle one system failure (that you thought could never happen) after the other. A tsunami taking out all backup power in one swift strike is such a scenario. The last line of defense is putting everything into the third containment (see above), that will keep everything, whatever the mess, moderator rods in our out, core molten or not, inside the reactor.

When the diesel generators were gone, the reactor operators switched to emergency battery power. The batteries were designed as one of the backups to the backups, to provide power for cooling the core for 8 hours. And they did.

Within the 8 hours, another power source had to be found and connected to the power plant. The power grid was down due to the earthquake. The diesel generators were destroyed by the tsunami. So mobile diesel generators were trucked in.

This is where things started to go seriously wrong. The external power generators could not be connected to the power plant (the plugs did not fit). So after the batteries ran out, the residual heat could not be carried away any more.

At this point the plant operators begin to follow emergency procedures that are in place for a “loss of cooling event”. It is again a step along the “Depth of Defense” lines. The power to the cooling systems should never have failed completely, but it did, so they “retreat” to the next line of defense. All of this, however shocking it seems to us, is part of the day-to-day training you go through as an operator, right through to managing a core meltdown.

It was at this stage that people started to talk about core meltdown. Because at the end of the day, if cooling cannot be restored, the core will eventually melt (after hours or days), and the last line of defense, the core catcher and third containment, would come into play.

But the goal at this stage was to manage the core while it was heating up, and ensure that the first containment (the Zircaloy tubes that contains the nuclear fuel), as well as the second containment (our pressure cooker) remain intact and operational for as long as possible, to give the engineers time to fix the cooling systems.

Because cooling the core is such a big deal, the reactor has a number of cooling systems, each in multiple versions (the reactor water cleanup system, the decay heat removal, the reactor core isolating cooling, the standby liquid cooling system, and the emergency core cooling system). Which one failed when or did not fail is not clear at this point in time.

So imagine our pressure cooker on the stove, heat on low, but on. The operators use whatever cooling system capacity they have to get rid of as much heat as possible, but the pressure starts building up. The priority now is to maintain integrity of the first containment (keep temperature of the fuel rods below 2200°C), as well as the second containment, the pressure cooker. In order to maintain integrity of the pressure cooker (the second containment), the pressure has to be released from time to time. Because the ability to do that in an emergency is so important, the reactor has 11 pressure release valves. The operators now started venting steam from time to time to control the pressure. The temperature at this stage was about 550°C.

This is when the reports about “radiation leakage” starting coming in. I believe I explained above why venting the steam is theoretically the same as releasing radiation into the environment, but why it was and is not dangerous. The radioactive nitrogen as well as the noble gases do not pose a threat to human health.

At some stage during this venting, the explosion occurred. The explosion took place outside of the third containment (our “last line of defense”), and the reactor building. Remember that the reactor building has no function in keeping the radioactivity contained. It is not entirely clear yet what has happened, but this is the likely scenario: The operators decided to vent the steam from the pressure vessel not directly into the environment, but into the space between the third containment and the reactor building (to give the radioactivity in the steam more time to subside). The problem is that at the high temperatures that the core had reached at this stage, water molecules can “disassociate” into oxygen and hydrogen – an explosive mixture. And it did explode, outside the third containment, damaging the reactor building around. It was that sort of explosion, but inside the pressure vessel (because it was badly designed and not managed properly by the operators) that lead to the explosion of Chernobyl. This was never a risk at Fukushima. The problem of hydrogen-oxygen formation is one of the biggies when you design a power plant (if you are not Soviet, that is), so the reactor is build and operated in a way it cannot happen inside the containment. It happened outside, which was not intended but a possible scenario and OK, because it did not pose a risk for the containment.

So the pressure was under control, as steam was vented. Now, if you keep boiling your pot, the problem is that the water level will keep falling and falling. The core is covered by several meters of water in order to allow for some time to pass (hours, days) before it gets exposed. Once the rods start to be exposed at the top, the exposed parts will reach the critical temperature of 2200 °C after about 45 minutes. This is when the first containment, the Zircaloy tube, would fail.

And this started to happen. The cooling could not be restored before there was some (very limited, but still) damage to the casing of some of the fuel. The nuclear material itself was still intact, but the surrounding Zircaloy shell had started melting. What happened now is that some of the byproducts of the uranium decay – radioactive Cesium and Iodine – started to mix with the steam. The big problem, uranium, was still under control, because the uranium oxide rods were good until 3000 °C. It is confirmed that a very small amount of Cesium and Iodine was measured in the steam that was released into the atmosphere.

It seems this was the “go signal” for a major plan B. The small amounts of Cesium that were measured told the operators that the first containment on one of the rods somewhere was about to give. The Plan A had been to restore one of the regular cooling systems to the core. Why that failed is unclear. One plausible explanation is that the tsunami also took away / polluted all the clean water needed for the regular cooling systems.

The water used in the cooling system is very clean, demineralized (like distilled) water. The reason to use pure water is the above mentioned activation by the neutrons from the Uranium: Pure water does not get activated much, so stays practically radioactive-free. Dirt or salt in the water will absorb the neutrons quicker, becoming more radioactive. This has no effect whatsoever on the core – it does not care what it is cooled by. But it makes life more difficult for the operators and mechanics when they have to deal with activated (i.e. slightly radioactive) water.

But Plan A had failed – cooling systems down or additional clean water unavailable – so Plan B came into effect. This is what it looks like happened:

In order to prevent a core meltdown, the operators started to use sea water to cool the core. I am not quite sure if they flooded our pressure cooker with it (the second containment), or if they flooded the third containment, immersing the pressure cooker. But that is not relevant for us.

The point is that the nuclear fuel has now been cooled down. Because the chain reaction has been stopped a long time ago, there is only very little residual heat being produced now. The large amount of cooling water that has been used is sufficient to take up that heat. Because it is a lot of water, the core does not produce sufficient heat any more to produce any significant pressure. Also, boric acid has been added to the seawater. Boric acid is “liquid control rod”. Whatever decay is still going on, the Boron will capture the neutrons and further speed up the cooling down of the core.

The plant came close to a core meltdown. Here is the worst-case scenario that was avoided: If the seawater could not have been used for treatment, the operators would have continued to vent the water steam to avoid pressure buildup. The third containment would then have been completely sealed to allow the core meltdown to happen without releasing radioactive material. After the meltdown, there would have been a waiting period for the intermediate radioactive materials to decay inside the reactor, and all radioactive particles to settle on a surface inside the containment. The cooling system would have been restored eventually, and the molten core cooled to a manageable temperature. The containment would have been cleaned up on the inside. Then a messy job of removing the molten core from the containment would have begun, packing the (now solid again) fuel bit by bit into transportation containers to be shipped to processing plants. Depending on the damage, the block of the plant would then either be repaired or dismantled.

Now, where does that leave us?

* The plant is safe now and will stay safe.
* Japan is looking at an INES Level 4 Accident: Nuclear accident with local consequences. That is bad for the company that owns the plant, but not for anyone else.
* Some radiation was released when the pressure vessel was vented. All radioactive isotopes from the activated steam have gone (decayed). A very small amount of Cesium was released, as well as Iodine. If you were sitting on top of the plants’ chimney when they were venting, you should probably give up smoking to return to your former life expectancy. The Cesium and Iodine isotopes were carried out to the sea and will never be seen again.
* There was some limited damage to the first containment. That means that some amounts of radioactive Cesium and Iodine will also be released into the cooling water, but no Uranium or other nasty stuff (the Uranium oxide does not “dissolve” in the water). There are facilities for treating the cooling water inside the third containment. The radioactive Cesium and Iodine will be removed there and eventually stored as radioactive waste in terminal storage.
* The seawater used as cooling water will be activated to some degree. Because the control rods are fully inserted, the Uranium chain reaction is not happening. That means the “main” nuclear reaction is not happening, thus not contributing to the activation. The intermediate radioactive materials (Cesium and Iodine) are also almost gone at this stage, because the Uranium decay was stopped a long time ago. This further reduces the activation. The bottom line is that there will be some low level of activation of the seawater, which will also be removed by the treatment facilities.
* The seawater will then be replaced over time with the “normal” cooling water
* The reactor core will then be dismantled and transported to a processing facility, just like during a regular fuel change.
* Fuel rods and the entire plant will be checked for potential damage. This will take about 4-5 years.
* The safety systems on all Japanese plants will be upgraded to withstand a 9.0 earthquake and tsunami (or worse)
* I believe the most significant problem will be a prolonged power shortage. About half of Japan’s nuclear reactors will probably have to be inspected, reducing the nation’s power generating capacity by 15%. This will probably be covered by running gas power plants that are usually only used for peak loads to cover some of the base load as well. That will increase your electricity bill, as well as lead to potential power shortages during peak demand, in Japan.

If you want to stay informed, please forget the usual media outlets and consult the following websites:

* http://www.world-nuclear-news.org/RS_Battle_to_stabilise_earthquake_reactors_1203111.html
* http://bravenewclimate.com/2011/03/12/japan-nuclear-earthquake/
* http://ansnuclearcafe.org/2011/03/11/media-updates-on-nuclear-power-stations-in-japan/

My kind of romance --Day 2 Kii/Shikoku winter tour

2011-02-01T23:38:00.003-08:00

I wake up, finding myself most of the way through Nara-ken already and
ready for breakfast. My body is still tired from the adventure the
night before and I feeling less than spunky. There is a phenomenon
that I call ‘the hundred mile hangover’ where the day after a
demanding ride, your whole body feels less energetic much like you’ve
had too much to drink the night before. I’m realizing that
dehydration is key part of this. But I find it hard to drink enough
water when it’s so cold out. Looking outside your window in the
morning and finding everything covered in frost, doesn't help with
motivating myself to move a little faster, either...

The only thing to do for a ‘hundred mile hangover’ is eat and
rehydrate and … ride
more. So that’s what I do, but I’m slow leaving, in part because
everything outside looks icy! But soon enough, I’m on the
road and it's clear and easy to ride. The winter landscape is
beautiful, the sky clear, and I'm much spunkier once I'm moving again.
Day 3 is supposed to be a short-ish day with a ‘quick de-tour’
to Mt. Koya—the beginning and end of all true Shikoku pilgrimages.

I find the road to Koya-san and it is small and beautiful and quite simply goes
up. The road just climbs. It’s about a 15 km, steady 5-6% climb.
It’s overcast and some of the shadows are frosty but soon the hat and
neck warmer comes off. The windbreaker is long stowed. The jersey
unzipped. The road follows the train tracks for a bit and some
tourists, including one foreign one, stare. I wave back. Grinning.
They wave back, eyes wide and sheepish.

Indeed, the best way to cure the ‘hundred mile hangover’ generally
seems to be ‘go up.’ Burn that lingering lactic acid out of the
system. Get the endorphins pumping. The world in this state is truly
beautiful.

And so I go up.

I see the train snaking up on the opposite side of the valley and am
so happy to be traveling by bike, right at my own pace, feeling the
landscape. I think about all the places I've traveled by bike and the
particular way I love them. I think about how I'd like to eventually
cycle every prefecture in Japan. Isn't this perhaps the best way to
really know and fall in love with a country? Intimately knowing it's
beauties and dangers at a human powered pace? This is a metaphor for
romance if I could ever think of one.

As I go up, I think about what this pilgrimage means and what I want
to say in my head when I finally get the to temples at the top. I
think a lot about the hot food I want to eat too… but mostly, I think
about what prayers I want to send upwards.

This prayer thing is something I never really know what to do with.
Pilgrims on the Shikoku pilgrimage often recite the Heart Mantra Sutra
which is a lot about to how there is no end of suffering or escape for
suffering because there is no suffering because, really, there are no
senses and a lot of that sort of Zen-type-stuff. I find it hard to
get into that. Perhaps the eternal scientist in me simply refuses to
do anything but believe the empirical evidence of the senses. And
yet, I'm still drawn to want to be able to say a prayer.

So rather than wait till I get to the top, I get started. And, it
turns out, all I can think to say sounds something like this
Thank you for the trees
Thank you for my bike
Thank you for the foolish idea of doing this lovely tour
Please continue to give me foolish ideas
Thank you for the strength in my legs today
Thank you for the fish I ate at breakfast
Thank you for that car just now not hitting me
Thank you for the good weather...

And I go on like that for ages as I spin up and up. Eventually there
is a small fork in the road and I think that I may be feeling a slight
drizzle. No worries, I'm sweaty and hot, a little drizzle is fine. I
take the fork left and up the mountain. The drizzle starts to feel
kind of hard and bouncy. Then the drizzle starts to get solid and
white.

In about 30 seconds the weather has gone from totally fine to snow in
every direction. And not just a little. Quite a lot of snow,
sticking to the road, turning everything icy.

At first I'm just surprised. Well, I guess it's too slippery to ride,
so I'll have to keep going on foot.

And then I start laughing. This is ridiculous! and beautiful! what
am I doing here? seriously!? I take some pictures and keep walking
up. Some cars and cabs pass, but don't slow down or seem to notice
me. Don't they worry about a crazy lone cyclist walking her bike
through the snow? I guess not. The cars aren't necessarily doing so
well with the snow, so I don't know that I'd want to try to get me and
my bike in one of them anyways.

I get to a small tunnel and put on more gear--rain pants, jacket, hat,
the leg warmers I mistakenly packed go on my wrists and cover most of
my hands, which are the coldest part of me. Sticker heat packs also
go on my 'wrist warmers' helping significantly. I eventually flag
down a van.

Umm, which way to Koya-san, I ask.
They point back in the opposite direction. (weird)
Ok... which way to the closest train station?
They point in the direction I'm going. (that's good)
How far is it?
mmm, a couple of kilometers.
Ok, thank you. I guess that's fine.
Good luck to you, they say, rolling up their window and driving off.

Well, I guess I don't look like I need any help. I guess that's good.

So I keep walking. The cedars and pines are covered in fresh snow.
I'm reminded of walks with my family around Christmas time. My shoes
make funny prints in the snow.

Thank you for giving me the sense to ride with SPD shoes.
Thank you for the heat pack warming my hands
Thank you for the station not being too far away.

I'm lost in disbelief at the whole situation but pretty warm and happy
and soon enough, there, indeed, is the train station, complete with
many of the cabs who drove past me without acknowledging my presense.

I go to the ticket booth.
Um... I know it's kinda irregular but I can take my bike down the
cable car, right?
You must put it in a bag.
Ok, no problem.
Where are you going?
Um... I don't really even know where I am. I guess anywhere down the mountain.

The station master isn't amused. He hands me a map. I buy a ticket
to Hashimoto.

It's not cheating to take the train if the weather is unsafe for
cycling. It is extra not cheating if you take the train DOWN the
mountain.

I bag the bike and look for snacks that aren't made of wheat. The
climb followed by the adreniline from the surprise snow have left me
feeling light headed and woozy. I find some chocolate in my bag and
make due. I fall asleep soon after getting on the train. As I doze
in and out I see the snow change to rain as we descend.

At Hashimoto I have a choice, ride to Wakayama or take the train. I'm
cold, tired, feeling like I've had enough adventure for my 'easy day'
and unwilling to miss the ferry from Wakayama to Tokushima where my
hotel reservation is.

Taking the train when you are lazy and don't feel like biking through
drizzle IS cheating. But that doesn't mean it isn't worth it. I curl
up with some M&Ms and listen to the local high school boys discussing
amongst themselves if my bike is a Keirin bike.

The rest of the day is uneventful. The rain stops and I feel a little
sad that I don't feel I have the time to bike through this
countryside. I get to Wakayama just after dark, ride from the train
station to the ferry port, find the next ferry is in an hour. Eat
dinner, spend my time on the ferry in a shared tatami room stretching.
Arrive at the Tokushima hotel 9ish.

I check in with my bike outside the entrance. After I get my key I
shoulder the bike and walk through the fancy lobby.
Um, would you like us to put your errr, luggage, somewhere? they ask
Oh no. I've got it. See, I'm carrying it so it won't touch anything.
*big grin* and I'm in the elevator going to my room. They don't stop
me. Sometimes it's just best to take advantage of the lack of
confrontation. My bike deserves to be in my room with me.

This was also supposed to be laundry day. I guess that's not going to happen.

And so the adventures continue...

The bears are asleep. Day 1-Kii/Shikoku pilgrimage

2011-01-22T03:23:00.005-08:00

Day 1 Jan 29th. Toba, Mie-ken to Gojo, Nara-ken 165km

After fighting the wind, the breath of god, to get to the little minshuku at the tip of the cape, I slept heavily and I dreamt of Maggie. Fighting, wrestling all night. She jumps, I block. She gets hold of my shirt, my leg, she drops down, ears pinned back, yellow eyes watching me for weakness, ready to jump again.
I hold my ground. I keep my voice calm. That's enough ‘chica bonita’. It’s fight but it’s also not. I pull her off me. We are ready for another round. It’s a dance. It’s playing. But it’s also serious. It's love and it hurts.
She makes another lunge. I counter. All night, in circles I dream of being attacked over and over by this Bolivian puma. Yet I wake up still full of love for that restless cat. Overflowing love. What a miraculous thing, that. And so, rather than waking exhausted from battles, I wake refreshed and ready to ride.

I catch a ferry across the bay to Toba in Mei prefecture and begin
what I know will be a long day. I try to keep up a good pace-- I know
I have over a hundred miles till the hostel-- but the little ups and
downs and the lovely sun make me lazy.

It is a beautiful winter landscape with brown fields and long views
through leafless trees. I can see the mountains in the distance. In
two days I will cross three prefectures-- the entire peninsula. The
mountains wait. I am getting there in my own sweet time.

I love this about touring. I love looking into the distance and knowing that everything I see I will slow spin myself towards.

Often, the first question people ask when I tell them about my trip
is, Did you go with friends? and I tell them, no. I rode alone. This
time I tried to recruit... but other people's vacations, family
commitments, and enthusiasm for winter weather didn't quite sync up
with mine. So here I am again. Me and my lovely Six. (my bike is called Six)

I-like-red-because-it's-fast is my new favorite pet phrase. (Red bike, winter coat, iPhone, headphones, ….) Not that I'm really all that fast these days. I like riding with company but I enjoy my own pace as well.

There is, indeed, still wind. but as I'm riding inland it isn't nearly as
strong. My legs are more tired than they should be but I'm learning
to love this feeling of the wind.

One of the lovely things about being in the Kii peninsula are the tea plantations (I'm told it's ice tea) ordered like baby shrubs for mazes. The more I travel in Japan the more the mountains resemble each other but the tea plantations make this place quite special.

The ferry landed 9:30am-ish and by 3pm, I’ve covered about 100km. I am in the mountains and the sun has slipped behind their snowy peaks. I have yet to cross the highest point of the day. The temperature is dropping with the sun so I put on more layers.

I am very nervous.
I feel very intimidated.

But this is what I wanted right? This fluttery, will-it-be-ok feeling in my chest. Mountains to cross. The roads are dry. Beautiful scenery…

Yes, this is what I wanted. I had hoped to make there before it got too dark though.

So I keep going. Indeed, it is my only choice. One thing that touring by bike has taught me over and over again: You rarely get everything you want.

A boyfriend once told me that I was the only person he knew who loved nervous anticipation as much as I do. Where other people would love a sure thing, I love not feeling 100% safe. I love the focus, the resourcefulness, and inspiration that comes from being in questionable circumstances. And in the end, I love calm of knowing, not just hoping, that I can do this too.

So up I go, into these mountains, playing with a metaphor in my mind that they, like beautiful women in impossible cocktail dresses holding colorful drinks may try to try to intimidate me with their cold still glances, but my strength will pull me straight past.

Or so I hope.

Unfortunately, this particular road, though beautiful, does not have convenience stores in any convenient sort of frequency. The michi-no-ekis (road stops with food) are closed for the holidays or the season. I’ve already eaten most of the food I had with me. As the road winds its way up, I see a small restaurant and despite the fading light decide it’s a better idea to eat. I have at least one pass and 60+ km to go. At 3pm and a lower altitude, a road side thermometer showed 6C. It’s not getting warmer as I go up. More fuel is needed.

The nice old man and woman are surprised to so me, decked out in my cycling gear and so very white. They ask where I’m headed and I tell them vaguely. I know they wouldn’t approve of how many kilometers I have left to go with so little daylight. They tell me that there is snow on the pass, which is a long tunnel at the top of Mt. Takami. I nod my head. There’s not much I can do… it is between where I am and where I need to go.

I will not be intimidated. I have no choice.

I eat quickly and head back out. They sky is beautiful, turning soft pinks and salmons, reflecting onto the snowy mountain tops.
It is a beautiful climb and easy to stay warm. With each small tunnel, I think I might have made it to the top only to find… no…
In the end, the approach to the tunnel is unmistakable and a crazy piece of civil engineering, curving and doubling back. The views of the valley below, fantastic but no good to dwell on. Sure enough, there is snow on the sides of the road, but the main parts of the lane are clear. It appears that at least one other skinny tired cyclist had been up recently, tracks in the snow.

The tunnel is two and a half kilometers (the map misreads it as me going over the whole mountain, km mark 170ish, but the reality of cutting through the tunnel is, thankfully, much less steep) and the other side brings me to Nara-ken.

Nara-ken is colder.

I now want to get off this mountain as fast as possible.
But not too fast because there is much more ice on the road.
It’s about 5pm and will soon be very dark.
It will only get colder.

Using every bit of grace and cunning I can muster, I descend as fast as seems safe.
Something about the beauty and ridiculousness of this moment. Something about the cold and dark. Something about using all of my bike handling skills with 100% focus. Something about this moment, makes me smile, knowing that whatever I came out here for--which I still can't really put words too--I'm finding. I'm finding in this cold crazy descent off this mountain.

I do not stop to put on extra gloves, toe warmers or anything to make the experience warmer. I just need to get down.
Curve by curve, judging where the ice might be and making sure that I do not need to slow down or turn while I am on those dangerous spots, I loose a few hundred meters of elevation before putting on more layers.

Indeed, most of the rest of the distance left to cover is downhill. There still seems to be an awful lot of it. Front and rear lights on the bike. Check. Headlight. Check. Toe warmers. awww. happy girl.

Ready. And so the evening continues. Eventually, I get off the main highway (166) and take a shortcut (Rt 16). A beautiful little road that follows a river. The winter stars shine down, crystal clear, reflect off the river, twinkling in the cold. This not Tokyo. This is lovely. However, as there are almost no cars on the road, I soon remember stories that cyclists tell about meeting bears...

And so begins my inside-the-head-mantra

the.bears.are.asleep.the.bears.are.asleep.it’s.winter.the.bears.are.asleep…..

and so, because I’m tired and as much fun as this is, I’m ready for bed, because I’m scared of bears, because this is absolutely ridiculous trying to go as fast as is safe on completely pitch black country roads..

I sing.

And I sing as loud as I can, with as much tone and beauty as I can muster. I sing songs that my brother and I used to listen to on long road trips. I sing songs that my SCA friends would sing around campfires. I sing the wake up songs from the camp in Bolivia. I sing from musicals. I sing whatever comes to mind.

I sing as I look at the river shining in starlight. I sing as I look out for the moving shadows of bears. I sing as I fly through the small towns and the little old people stare at me.

It’s lovely and it makes me happy.

And sure enough, after a few wrong turns and a frustrating moment when I realized that I wasn’t 5km off but rather 35km from where I needed to be, I arrive at the hostel, which appears to have no other guests.

I am grateful for food (my fourth meal for the day…) and a long bath. I realize, a bit to my chagrin that despite covering 165km, I have drunk less than 1liter of water.

I sleep with starlight and songs wrapped around me and prepare myself for more adventures to come.

Map of Day 0,1,2

Into the wind. Day 0- Kii/Shikoku Winter tour

2011-01-16T04:44:00.002-08:00

The journey starts on a Tuesday. Dec 28, after a weekend filled with Christmas parties and teaching lucky/unlucky students about ocean acidification and 'arsenic bacteria.' The point? We may be killing the world but something will always survive.

And with those thoughts mixed up with some confusion of whether Christmas really just happened, I pack a small bag. Rain gear, pajamas, maps, cell phone charger. I bag the bike and take the train about an hour and a half south of Tokyo to Toyohashi, Aichi-ken.

An old friend used to live here and I glance around wondering what it would feel like to have this as a home town. From first impressions, it's like many mid-sized Japanese cities at night, neon lights and convenience stores surround the station--good for packing last minute emergency provisions--but soon highways lead to vegetable fields.

But not right away. I start off, cautious of traffic that might not be as used to crazy cyclists as Tokyo drivers. There are flashes in the sky, clouds flickering like spastic strobe lights. I think to myself that it must be an awfully quirky airport flood light. And then there is the thunder. Aw... well, there was almost no chance of precipitation... I'm not worried.

And then it starts sprinkling. I debate whether it's worth stopping and putting on rain gear, which will likely leave me sweaty. The drizzle picks up to a pitter patter so I pull of under a street car stop. The pitter patter turns to a *clink *clink and suddenly hail is pelting down from the sky. The street turns white and the locals yelp as they take cover.

I stand under the shelter and watch in amazement and slight horror. It's nearly 7pm and I have about 50km to get to the minshuku. After about 10 minutes the hail relaxes into downpour. I curse a cyclist called YellowGiant who sent me a message just before leaving saying:
"Just a quick, "wishing you well!" message. I hope you have a great time, and it doesn't rain (too hard - you need a little bit of rain to make the stories interesting), and you get back safely with heroic tales of battling the roads & elements."

A little incliment weather I was prepared for but not within the first 15 minutes of my tour! But there is nothing else to do. I gear up. Rain pants, rain jacket, head light. The street car comes and goes. I garner many looks of disbelief. It will not be the only time this trip.

After another 10 minutes the downpour relaxes back into a drizzle and my hotel isn't getting any closer so off I go. Navigating the city isn't difficult and the sky seems to have exhausted itself for the moment but puddles plus cars makes for some excitement. I am grateful there is no ice.

Quickly I'm out of the city, heading for Rt 42 and the southern edge of the Atsumi Peninsula. The center of the sky has cleared and the lights of the city have faded. Vegetables fields lurk in the darkness of my periphery and clouds in the distance flash with lightning. I'm reminded of the nights in Bolivia when we could see the sideways lighting jumping between the clouds. Silent sky and crystal clear stars above. The smells of mud and sweat and rain. We would fill those strange weather patterns with fortunes and prophecies. Sideways lightning brought mixed blessings. And thus we chose to make sense out of our crazy situation.

And here I am, wet, winter night, biking into the darkness. Smells of cows and winter fields, the painted while line disappearing into the night ahead of me. How do you make sense of these crazy situations? These choices to give up my warm bed and familiar roads to throw myself into this winter night are full of that small question: why?

Soon I hit the coast and head west towards the cape. The road is a little inland, thankfully, but the wind is a force to be reckoned with. It comes in pulses and there is nothing to do but hunkers down into the drops and push. Spin by spin, I make slow progress. It is a fight and I chose this. Why did I chose this? I concentrate on all that I am grateful for and push one slow pedal stroke at a time.

Before, it took a couple of days to get the pondering of "Why have I done this to myself (again)?" There is no honeymoon period this time. Whatever awakening, whatever clarity, whatever mental or spiritual journey I'm seeking starts right now. Why am I here, fighting this wind? (and loving it, mostly)

There are people who think I'm brave to put myself in this situation and I enjoy the flattery but I can't accept the compliment. I am not brave. I simply mix a willful naivete with stubbornness. I love falling in love with the idea of something, and once there, I'm unlikely to back down. Cultivated self deception plus pride is not exactly the same as bravery or courage. Though, I'm grateful it appears the same from the outside.

So that's part of it.

Perhaps, we all live in fear. Some fear the cold or being poor or being unhappy. I fear being weak. I fear being boring. I fear that I will wake up one day and feel completely unspecial, unaccomplished, a life unlived. I fear that complacently will leave me soft and unable to survive the apocalypse. I fear that if the moment comes to stand up and fight for what I believe, I won't be strong enough.

So here I am. Proving to myself that I'm strong enough, defeating one gust of winter wind at a time.

It's cold, I'm hungry, I still have a long ways to go. Though my rain/wind gear is pretty good, my feet are soaked and freezing. The dark country road rolls into a small town with a convenience store. I drink a hot lemon drink and buy a fresh pair of socks. Two plastic bags please. The clerk obliges with a poor poker face. And then there I am, in the parking lot, off comes the shoe, then the sock. First goes on the dry sock, then the plastic bag, then the soaking wet shoe. Heaven. But the wind picks up and soon, there's me: chasing after a plastic bag, one barefoot, one cleated shoe, curious clerks staring through the window. Crazy gaijin girl laughing as she clomps around chasing what other people regard as trash. This is my life and I'm in love with all of it. Wet feet, already tired legs, wind, stars and all.

But once all sorted, off I go into the wind again. My feet are now warm and I'm feeling more game for what feels like it will take me all night. Slow kilometer by slow kilometer. I can see the mountains to my right but have little evidence that I'm so close to the ocean to my left other than wind. There is no let up. I feel I'm getting closer to the tip of the cape. The road splits, to the left it looks like just a parking lot at sea level and to the right the road narrows and heads up. My headlight swings up and hits a sign proclaiming 13% grade. no no no... the map said...
I must be on the wrong road. I'm so ready for bed. This isn't *fair.* I try to check the map on my iPhone. no reception. But this *must* be the road. There really is no other way but up. The palm trees thrash back and forth. A resort hotel sits on cliffs above me. I wonder how far up the road goes. But no matter, nothing will change with me just standing here shivering in the wind and staring at my phone telling me there is no service.

It's not a long climb but leaves me warm and as the road crests, the wind hits like a tsunami. I'm quite literally not moving forward. I unclip, stand and brace myself. I feel like I'm going to picked up like a kite and thrown to the rocks below. I wonder if the whole trip will be like this. I nearly fall as I dismount and have no hope of staying balanced on the bike in this gale. I push my bike 50m, leaning into the wind until I can continue. This is ridiculous. This was supposed to be the easy part.

I'm nearly there. The stars are beautiful. I'm scanning hotel signs for the name Egao (translation: smiling face) and as I round the cape the wind is now at my back. I'm so happy. I coast along with no effort looking... looking... I check my phone. I've over shot by 3 km. I turn back into the wind. The hotel had two names, the one on the sign was not Egao, so back into the wind I go. Slowly and steadily. Eyes forward, body streamlined and poised, like I'm stalking prey. Like I'm stalking prey very slowly. I reach the hotel and am exhausted. I wasn't expecting to feel this tired so early in the trip, I'm ready for a shower and bed.

The lady at the desk, the owner of the hotel is more than kind. She has a lilting infectious laugh and unlike most locals, thinks what I'm doing is wonderful rather than strange. She doesn't ask me the stupid question, "But isn't it cold?" I'm immensely grateful. This little old Japanese lady gets it.
I mention the wind with an apology that I'm much later than I'd expected.
Yes, she tells me. The wind is the breath of god.
She looks me in the eyes and I'm at a loss for words.
That must be why I feel so refreshed, I tell her.
She smiles. It's a good way to think about it. It's also kind of true. I feel a lot of the Tokyo grim and the lingering too-many-parties is slowly falling from me. 12 hours ago I was teaching middle schoolers. It seems like a lifetime ago.
I'm being blown clean by the breath of god.
She tells me about the angles. Usually only 6 come down to earth. This year there are seven. She tells me that for the last five years especially high souls have been coming to Japan, she insists I must be one of them. She tells me about the local gods and the mountains. She tells me that it is her purpose in life to bring joy and happiness to travelers and neighbors.
I'm woozy from ride and lost in her disarming laugh. She shows me to the bath and my room and I thank her. It's a wonderful way to start such a trip.

I am beginning a pilgrimage of sorts, though I couldn't tell you exactly what for. Though that's the thing, I guess. It's clarity I seek. It's the answers to the "what am I doing and where should I be going" questions that I'm cycling towards. Or at least I hope so. If the wind is the breath of god, then I am cycling into god's mouth, and isn't that where wisdom should reside?

Cycling video

2011-01-12T17:37:00.004-08:00

I do plan to write the story, as it is a good one, but for now here is a video.
The soundtrack is the same I was singing to myself.
Go, go, go.

the adventures continue

Kii/Shikoku day 7

2011-01-04T03:29:00.001-08:00

Catching the ferry back to Tokyo tomorrow. A few more temples to visit tonight. Happy I got to the Iya valley (in the picture) going up was fine. Coming down was cooolllldddd.

Kii/Shikoku day 6

2011-01-03T04:15:00.001-08:00

120@20.6kph

Lots of nice people today. Ready to rest up for one last long day across the mountains tomorrow.

Kii/Shikoku day 5

2011-01-02T00:24:00.001-08:00

First time into town before sunset ! Feeling stronger and hungry!
Beautiful beautiful day. Highs above 12C but still snow in the shadows.
140km. Avg 22.4kph.

Kochi Prefecture Tosashimizu
幸町２−２７
Japan

Kii/Shikoku day 4

2011-01-01T03:30:00.001-08:00

My "rest day" ended with a 50km short run for food. Oops. ;)
Beautiful coastline along the way. And the stars here are unbelievable.
Happy and sore.

Happy new year!

2010-12-31T15:05:00.001-08:00

Kochi Prefecture Susaki
浦ノ内下中山
Japan

I arrived quite a bit before sunrise and had a lovely warm nap first
230ish km...

2010-12-31T15:01:00.001-08:00

Sunset on 2010

2010-12-31T02:56:00.001-08:00

;)

Kii/Shikoku day 2

2010-12-30T02:21:00.001-08:00

Oops should have taken that weather forecast more seriously. Koyasan snowed on me with only 2 km to the top! (don't worry, i was plenty warm in my winter gear in the picture) Another day for that mountain ... Cable car and much public transportation followed.
Currently on a ferry one of the roadsides heaters I've ever felt in japan to Tokushima and a warm hotel room
徳島市

Kii/Shikoku day 1

2010-12-29T04:10:00.001-08:00

五条，奈良県
165km
As I headed to the highest pass of the trip, sun setting and thinking the snow covered mountains were a lot like beautiful women with expensive colorful drinks in impossible cocktail dresses. I told myself I wasn't intimidated. It was a lie.

Day 0

2010-12-29T04:00:00.001-08:00

笑顔の宿民宿丸栄, 〒441-3624 愛知県田原市伊良湖町宮下2822-23

Strongest headwind of my life. Hostel owner tells me it is the breath of god

55km

Kii/Shikoku tour Day -1

2010-12-27T04:46:00.004-08:00

I may get rained on, or snowed on

I may get a flat tire
I may get lost
I may hit a spot of frost or moss and slip and fall again
I may have to continue on despite being bruised or scraped or tired
I may have to eat the same boring curry over and over because I can't find good food without wheat in it
I may spend too much money
I may have a wicked head wind
I may question if this was all a good plan after all
I will likely get chapped lips and nose
I will likely shiver now and then
I will may swear into a headwind or a climb at the end of the day
I will probably get sore and tired muscles
I will probably want more sleep
I will probably want more food

These things may happen. I am totally ok with them. I'm choosing something that isn't supposed to be easy. I'm making a deal with myself to not complain about the cold or really, anything. I choosing to be grateful (as best I can). These things are, mostly, part of the plan. This isn't supposed to be easy; this is supposed to be kind of a pilgrimage. Though a pilgrimage to what or for what, I guess I'm not really sure.

I hope the elements and the kilometers, new and beautiful mountains and prefectures in Japan, will ground me somehow. Will bring clarity.

What I worry about most is not the weather or the potential mechanical problems. I most fear the loneliness. Don't get me wrong. I love traveling alone and I would miss the freedom of it if I did travel with others, but like a lot of this year, I've struggled to embrace being alone. I used to be quite happy living alone, loving the silence and the ease of going at my own pace. But after the year in South America with all the hostels and bunk beds and the tribe of El Parque volunteers... I've changed.

That said, though I am craving more social interaction in my life than I can fit into nonworking hours (working hours being warm and professional but not exactly friendly), I still believe in the value of holding yourself in a quiet space. I believe that clarity comes from not distracting yourself. I believe that whatever lessons I am learning with will grow and surface if I give myself that space.

And I believe that checking facebook and email constantly dilutes the experience.

And so, for the time I am traveling, I am going mostly media blackout. I play with my cellphone, checking crack-book, email, blogs far too much. I feel almost addicted to it. I miss those long south American bus rides that went on for days with nothing to do except doze and look out the window. Stuff happens in your head when you don't fill it with flashing lights. That said, if I do cave and check my email, I will most certainly appreciate any letters...

I will let people know that I am still alive and I hope to find some time to write all about it when I get back.

A poem that sums it up rather nicely

And finally, a Race Across America cyclist, in an interview explained why he trained so hard and did such crazy races. He says this
I learn how to beat the dark side of me, if you do that and then you race in yourself you are proud of yourself and that inspires me. For me, that's it.

And so the adventures continue. Keep my warm in your thoughts

2010 holidays

2010-12-26T01:15:00.005-08:00

It has been a lovely holiday season so far. Despite working 24th-28th, I had the fantastic day off on the 23rd, the emperor's birthday, and led a bike ride out in the nearby mountains. In santa regalia, no less. My friend took some great pictures here. This is my favorite with Fuji in the background.

It has been a great year cycling, getting to know the roads, finding my place in the community, feeling strength build in my body. I'm hoping for a faster and awesome 2011. I will be filling my upcoming holiday with a bike tour. As usual.

I tried to take video with my iPhone during my summer tour and put it together... but the project kind of failed. Here are the mediocre results. Don't let it give you a headache (sorry...)

I still have two more days of work before my winter break of about a week, which, predictably, will be a cycling tour. I tried to find some buddies but other people have families and/or prefer to celebrate the New Year more traditionally, inside with booze. I plan to bike through the night into the sunrise.

This time I will not be camping. (brr!) and have hotel/hostel/couchsurfing/bed and breakfast reservations for every night. I'm also planning to go in a media blackout BUT posting just location and (if I can do it easily) one picture at night, so that people know that I'm still alive. (that's what the 'test' was about)

I'll write more later but must get to organizing!

the adventures sure do continue...

a faraway tune

2010-12-15T15:53:00.000-08:00

I have not tangoed for well over a year. I spend my Fridays in yoga class, usually, and Saturday nights often happily collapsing after spending the day in the mountains on my bike. In some ways, it is not dissimilar to the twists and turns of violins, bandoneons and steps lead by strangers. The mountains lead me in crazy dances around tight corners, dodging fallen stone, skimming across little bridges. Plaintive tango music finds its way into my morning commutes and late night walks through the city. I work far too much, though I enjoy much of it. I meet friends after work for a little dinner or a drink a few times a week. This is my city mouse life. Caught in the occasional cocktail conversation.

I’m doing acupuncture. I begin my 530am mornings with yoga in the dark. Predawn sun salutations. A year ago, tangoing in Eugene, playing cards with friends, moving from one friend’s couch or spare room to the next, all my clothes worn to pieces and faded from the dust of the road, morphing into far too much time ironing my one good white shirt and interview after interview… it seems awfully far away. It was only a short year.

This time last year I was caught in an incredible pull to try to get back to Bolivia and the park. Much like vertigo –or that desire to fall—, I longed to plunge into those simple and intense days. And there was a boy in the plan, wrapped in imagination… there so often is.

When I think about choices, or perhaps the choice-less idea of fate, I see it much like the potential energy diagrams of chemical reactions. You can take the girl out of the science lab but you can’t take the science out of her explanations about life… So, in the various paths we can choose there are many configurations, possibilities. Some are more stable than others. Some you can settle into easily. In order to move from one stable configuration to another we must first get the energy to get over a hill, of sorts. Once on top of the hill we can go many ways, rolling down to a new stable configuration.

So, this time last year, I see myself, a marble trembling on top of a very smooth hill. Poised between signing a contract for what looked like my dream job, plunging back into the jungle, helping my best friend with her new baby, … and the list goes on.
So many ways for that marble to roll.
Listening for the wind.
Unsure of where to slide down.
And because of a kind word here and a slow response to an email there. A weather forecast. A small coincidence. The sunlight through the window of my cold apartment… a bunch of very small things, really, and the choices were made.

I didn’t spend the last of my money on a three month return to the jungle. I paid off my credit card and biked to work through freezing temperatures, slowly regaining my cycling form, slowly rebuilding my Tokyo poise. Some part of me knows that if I left for a 3 month jungle return, I would have never returned to Tokyo. Just as if I had come back to the states this summer, I don’t think I could have returned to Tokyo. The gravity sink of the jungle, or anywhere that feels like home, is incredibly strong. I’m still here, in Tokyo, but the tug here and there never really gives up. I’m happy here but it’s nice to know there are many other directions I could roll.

And so I glide through my Tokyo days. I will likely be offered a new contract by the end of the year and I will likely accept it. Do you teach English? no. I teach Chemistry and Math.

At first I fought so hard to make sure all the English teachers knew that I felt we were still in the same boat, that I respected them and their work as much I respect my own. But as the terms progress and I see the curriculum I’ve built from scratch. The short term and long term learning goals, the tests, the assessments, the report card comments, the bigger picture, I know that teaching English lessons in eikaiwa or as an ALT is very very different. A single lesson at a time is easy. No oversight of your students’ progress is easy. That’s fun stuff. This is also fun stuff but it’s a labor of love sometimes. All teachers must feel that way. This year has been an incredible learning process. I feel like the time and energy invested in students and classes has –at least most days—has paid off. And that, more than anything keeps me, marble blown by winds, happy to stay where I am, learning, challenged, a little longer. I am learning so much.

Though I am happy in my current energy sink, gravity hole, it doesn’t mean I don’t miss my dear Northwest friends and that close-knit group of dancers. I truly don’t miss the rain and the dark, but I do miss the people. And I miss the beautiful tango music pouring out little Oregon dance halls and the graffiti-ed Buenos Aires past-their-prime buildings. summer night milongas and 2am frenet and coke. speaking Spanish and waking up late.

This is a year of mornings. Possibly the first year of mornings since I was 18? I’m not a morning person. Getting up early has been a serious adjustment. I wake up and see the sun rise as I, and a million other commuters, descend upon the caffeinated sleep deprived city.

I walk 10 minutes through a beautiful park with the leaves slowly moving from green to yellow to browns and reds. from the sky to the ground. feet crackling in the dry leaves as the crows. Today was the first day that felt like winter. Gray sky and bare branches reaching into the lazy sunrise. Puddles and damp leaves. Scarves and gloves.

What a fascinating journey.

and the adventures continue…

Hakone/Fuji cycling weekend

2010-11-23T02:13:00.010-08:00

November is quite possibly my favorite month in Japan. The days are cool but not cold. The leaves turn beautiful colors. Birthday planning has come and gone.

So I'm out on my bike. Every weekend. Both days if I have no other pressing social engagements and the weather is good.

Though stress at work has been ramping up as we prepare for finals (two more weeks-- so much to do!) and I'm at work 12+ hours a day far too often, the weekends are mine and I refuse to take work home. Well, I can bring it home but it can't come out on my bike with me. In other words, if I bring it home I won't do it, so why bother.

In the beginning of November, I decided to spend the weekend going from Hakone to Fuji and back to Tokyo. As I planned it last minute, I didn't have time to find people to come with me (almost another adventure with my crazy fixed gear friend, but not quite) so I set off on my own from Odawara.

Every January there is a relay marathon race called the Hakone Ekiden run by the fastest university running teams. Each leg of the race, starting in Tokyo, is a full marathon. The last leg goes straight up a mountain, grade between 5-8% but 725 m elevation gain. The runners do it at about 17km/hr!

Every year there is a group of cyclists (hundreds) who start in Tokyo or jump in somewhere on the course, trying to ride on the closed off roads but get enough of a head start that they can beat the runners off the hill. If the runners gain on you too much you get kicked off to the side of the road. Last year I got kicked off to the side of the road.

So heading out from Odawara up this course I wanted to do it as hard as I could to get an idea of if I could do better than last year. Soon I was up and around the hairpin where I got kicked off last year... and low and behold, the gradient lets up for a little after that. It gets steep again but I had a good mind set and felt strong, getting to the top with an average of about 13km/hr. Maybe good enough to beat the runners in 2011. ;)

Hakone is beautiful and a combination of traditional tourist attraction and kitschy nonsense like a fiberglass pirate ship that sails across the lake. Oh Japan, I love you.

I had a little to eat because though it was a beautiful sunny day, it was definitely fall and chilly by the lake and headed out to circle the lake towards Fuji. Unfortunately, the skyline road I had planned to take was very clear about not allowing bikes or scooters. Grumble grumble. My map doesn't say...oh, wait, I guess that is what that Japanese means. Well damn, I'll go back around... and as I head back down to the lake. Puncture. sigh. Well, I'm pretty fast at changing them these days. Another cyclists stops to make sure I don't need help and confirms, no bikes allowed on the skyline. I can see the road in the distance, it must have a beautiful view. Why do the lazy cars get to have all the fun?

Before long I'm rolling again along the north side of the lake. It's pretty enough and rolling hills but far more traffic than I like on my days off and slower than I'd like. It's hard to get the layers right because each uphill part is sweaty and each down hill part cold and I'm getting a little frustrated by traffic. So, when the split comes in the road, I take the round about way up Nagao pass and am instantly super happy.

Very few cars, beautiful leaves, view of the lake, easy climb... heaven.

And then, when you get to the top, you go through a little tunnel and Fuji is huge on the horizon.

I start flying down the mountain. The road is good quality, two full lanes with a little shoulder in most places. Not much traffic. Steady but not crazy steep. Really fun corners. I get behind a car with an old driver sticker and they are going SO SLOW. Like not even normal car going slowly around corners slow... waaaaaay slower than they need to. I almost never pass cars going down hill because they usually pass you later and it can be dangerous... but this one, on this day. I waited until there was a clear corner and cut inside and got in front. (this startled the driver enough to hit the gas briefly...) And then it was smooth happy sailing down.

Maybe 15 minutes of beautiful banking around curves later I come up to a corner, I'm in my lane but towards the middle of the road and there are cars coming the other direction. The shoulder has disappeared and I want to give the driver more room in case they cut the corner a bit (who knows what some of these drivers will do...). So, as I'm already in the turn, I tap my brakes, adjust just a little....

and next thing I know I've lost traction and am sliding wheels first, knee and elbow along the pavement right towards the wheels of the oncoming car. My speed of maybe 30 of 40km/hr quickly slowing as I slide along. Thankfully, the driver of the car wasn't a million years old and he stops, gets out and asks if I'm ok. I'm overwhelmed with gratitude for being alive and stand up (ouch!) and tell them I'm fine 大丈夫。。。。I pick up my bike. It's fine. (thank you bike gods!) thank you gardian angel. thank you biker gods, thank you thank you thank you. I'm fine.

I limp to the side of the road and the driver gives me a sincere "Be careful" before driving off. Yeah. I'm ok. But my tights and handle bar tape are torn to pieces. My knees and calf are bleeding and sting like a m*%#$F*&^&%. I hang out at the side of the road, torn up bits angled away from the road and take a few breaths to get my bearings. The old people I passed earlier drive by and give me looks of "stupid" and "serves you right" Who knows what these unpredictable cyclists will do... Sorry bringing the reputation of cyclists everywhere down a small notch. I'm sorry.

I then realize I also have part of my ass hanging out of my ripped bike shorts. Ooops.

I decide to put my pajama pants on over my torn up leg to hide my gore and the only thing to do is to keep going down the mountain. I head down carefully. I make it through the slog of traffic around Gotemba, stopping at a convenience store and not being able to find anything to bandage myself up. I head on towards the hostel. It's now getting dark and getting cold. I am not the happiest camper.

Any long distance cyclist knows the whiny voice in their head. It the voice that complains that you are tired, that it's cold, that you've got a big goddamn pass in between you and the hostel where you can curl up and lick your wounds. It's a voice that doesn't look up and see the beautiful sunset on Mt. Fuji or remain in awe of the autumn colors. My favorite song for that whiny voice has this lyric "what makes you so lavish that you can afford to spend every selfish moment feeling angry and bored?...you try and tell me this world just isn't beautiful enough?"

It was beautiful. I focused on that for a while. Until it got dark and uphill. Then crooning folk singers weren't enough. Then it was rapping Eminem, out loud, as loud as I could between breathing up that hill.

You better lose yourself in the music, the moment, you own it you better never let it go, you only get one chance, do not miss your chance to blow, this opportunity comes once in a life time, yo. you can do anything you set your mind to man"

And with that rap, the endorphins started pumping and I passed two other cyclists going up. RRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRWWWWWWWWW ;)

By the time I rolled into town (after stopping at a convenience store as soon as possible again to get a new battery for my back light and finding some bandage stuff) it was hours after dark and all of 5 degrees C. The hostel people, as promised, let me keep my bike inside, Michael's hostel-- highly recommended. A shower (oh my god that stiiiiinnnnggggs), a beer, some soup and sound sound sleep.

I wake up the next morning, feeling a bit sore and the road rash still stinging, but happy to have another day to ride. I would tour on my bike everyday if I could. Regardless of flat tires or slow traffic or crashes... I'm happy on my bike sailing through these mountains.

That said, the desire to climb up to Mt. Fuji had nearly evaporated, in part because my tights were destroyed and worthless, in part because more down hill tight turns didn't sound like such a good idea.

So I sailed around Kawaguchiko and Yamanakako and headed home on Doshi-michi. At the turn off to Doshi-michi all I could remember was that the lady at the hostel had asked if I had a mountain bike to go over it (??) and some people on the TCC boards had said it was a nice 'rolling hills' with beautiful views. Who from TCC said that? Did 'rolling hills' mean it was like two or three Otarumi's (17min climb, max 6%)? Or like six? Or like two or three Kazahari's (hour climb, max 11ish%)?

I was so happy to find that Doshimichi is pretty much down hill the whole way back but not very steep and, indeed, beautiful Autumn colors. Occasionally, I could still catch a glimpse of Fuji farther in the distance.

Cutting over a small pass from Doshimichi toward Rt. 20 had me sailing past the big red pepper that TCC sometimes uses as a land mark and brought me to little back roads that I'd been on a handful of times. Returning back to the familiar roads of Yamanashi and West Tokyo make me realize how much time I spend out here and how much these roads are home. The view of life changes so completely when you realize you know your trails.

I stopped at Sagamiko to eat the rest of my snacks and decide whether I had enough energy to go over Otarumi back to Takao or if I should just hop on the train there. I figured I had either enough energy for one more climb OR to be able to go to the store after I got home. I, perhaps predictable, chose to climb. I remember going up that same climb in February and feeling like it was going on forever and ever, spinning up in my easiest gear and wanting to stop. I kept a good 12km/hr average up. It won't win any races, but it's a big improvement for me, especially after a long weekend. At the top of Otarumi, I looked out at the view, and too my surprise, there was Fuji.

I took the train from Takao, like I always do, and had about enough energy left for a shower and re-bandaging my oozing elbows and knee before going to bed. A very beautiful weekend.

Next summer, I want to do that whole ride in one long day. *grin*

Day 1 map
Day 2 map

3000m of climbing, 210km

grateful

2010-11-03T05:33:00.007-07:00

October had many good things but a main theme was, unfortunately, nagging chronic migraines. I've had migraines before and went to a doctor in July or August because I was worried something might be really wrong with me. He told me ti was probably just stress and that I could have a bunch of drugs if I want. I told him that I would rather quit my job and leave my life here than take his stupid drugs. But I'm not quite ready to leave and I fear that I'll take my migraines with me, so I've been searching for alternatives.

I've been seeing a yoga therapist, meditating about twice a day (did you know that this can shrink the part of your brain that feels pain!?! cool), doing acupuncture once a week, given up coffee and wheat (no birthday cake this year) and for a while nothing got better. BUT, last Friday, the migraines kind of broke like a fever and I've been mostly ok since. I hope, I hope, I hope it lasts...

So my first free day and, as usual, I was out on my bike.

One of my favorite things about living in Japan is cycling in the mountains. I'm out almost every weekend. Occasionally both days if weather and social obligations permit. This week we had a national holiday on a Wednesday.

There were mountains and changing leaves and maybe 5 dozen cyclists working there way through the various passes and valleys. I ran into two I knew! Tokyo can be a very small place sometimes.

That's it for now. After a beautiful 100km, 1121m climbing, it's bedtime.

how to dress for a halloween typhoon

2010-10-30T01:29:00.004-07:00

I'm never getting rid of these jeans. never.

I've been writing poetry lately...

2010-10-17T06:07:00.000-07:00

And this is a storm.

In the beginning
The wind picks up
And rain slides from clouds
And I fight it with upright force
Leaning in
Hanging on
The the roots of overturned trees
Like hands of life guards
Helping me surge up and forward
Guiding, strong, I continue forward

Slogging through raging rivers
Feet brave despite the current
Despite slippery stones
Heart strong and fighting
I know where to go
And push forward

I slog through the damp forest toward a lighthouse
Shining
beckoning in the distance
Each inch hard won
And full of skinned knees and palms
But movement
Eyes up and alert
Muscles full of fight

And there are breaks in the storm
When the sun sneaks through the clouds
Light cascading down in sheafs
Like cliffs to far away fairy lands
And those moments of beauty, relief unlike any other salve
A moment to catch my breath
Noticing the small flowers
Growing in the moss and glinting between the wet rocks

But the storm grows
The wind growls deeper
And blows full of debris
of formerly beautiful things

Now with too much speed
And stinging to the eyes
Pelting down
And rivers like angry oceans
Oceans like angry gods
Too brutal to be passable

And the only thing to do
Is to fall to a stop
In the knee deep mud
On a wind battered slippery scree slope
And the light house too far away
The only thing to do
Is to find somewhere a little out of the wind
Pressing into an old mossy log
Of folding myself into a crack in the rocks
Anything to let the wind whip past me
And as the rain attempts to drown me
I curl up and know that, somehow, I will survive this gale
And I protect the flickering flame inside
That never fails
Storm after storm
Hidden behind my eyes or pressed next to my heart
Warming me no matter the surrounding chill
So I wrap these storm beaten arms
Tired shoulders
Bruised thighs
Stubbed toes
Around this fragile flame
And shelter it with everything I have left
And wait out this storm

The heavy solid beads
Of past love stories
Of beautiful places
Of sunset colors
Of moments of uncontrollable laughter
Of a friend's sincere promise
I string up like pearls or interlocking daisy chains
Wrapped in my fingers
Like prayer beads of the mothers of Chilean miners
Small touch stones
And though the storms beats so loud through the night
That the song of stars is impossible to hear or even remember
And the wind tears with vicious teeth
And the chill of rain seeps in

That lighthouse
Too far away to picture its light
Too far away to feel its undying glowing
But nonetheless waiting
And deep inside, that small flame, unwavering

And those touch stones
Heavy and smooth
With strength that will last through the dawn
Regardless of all the ruined maps
The lost footpath
The storm overwhelming

And morning will break
The sky, even if only slightly
Will soften
And there will moments to look up
And breath in
The life beauty of the forest
Upturned
And ready for a new chapter
Ready for each new foot fall
To create puddles
That catch the rainbows
And reflect green life
Reflect the light of stubborn flames
And shining eyes
Looking around in wonder

The morning light, ever so slightly warm
and despite soggy feet
and stiff spine
the flame still burns, simmers, flickers, glows.
Undeniable, inextinguishable, stubborn.
And somewhere, through the dense thicket
Between the fallen blackberry brambles
And muddy hillsides,
All promising scratches and slippery footing
But nonetheless
Like a yellow brick road
I think I see my path.

Small adventures

2010-09-26T04:19:00.007-07:00

I've had the last blog up far too long because, thankfully, things are going pretty well this fall.

The heat has broken and summer is finally turning to fall. I'll start commuting by bike again on dry days now that the heat index is well below 100F. Classes have started again and I've only stayed really late *once* in the last month (seriously, 10 hours a day at work is enough, right?). I've been dating a new boooooy for the last month and though I won't say much more, except that he likes the parts of me that I like about myself, so -so far at least- I don't feel like I need to apologize for who I am. and in this crazy Tokyo city, that alone is an immense gift.

It's now been a year in the Northern Hemisphere and I think my body appreciates it. I'm out having bike-tastic adventures almost every weekend. I'm slowly covering all my walls with pictures and maps. If it wasn't for the chronic headaches, I'd be really happy and content this season. As it is, though, there are good days and bad days.

I'm not quite sure how to sum up so many small adventures that have pleasantly been filling up my life, so instead you get pictures.

Sumo.

I imagine there is a stillness that flows into their minds, that makes everything simple and divine. I imagine that looking at someone well over twice your weight across from you, you must send a prayer upwards...

One of the first weekends in September. Solo day trip. Biking up in the Nagano Alps, one of the most beautiful places I've ever been.

I think these switchbacks are, arguably, the 'easy' way up.

Below is called 美ヶ原 or roughly translated as 'really beautiful place.' (seriously) I was so bonked from cycling up the switchbacks and shocked that I was suddenly on a gravel road, you could have told me I was in a fairy kingdom and I would have believed you. Out of this world gorgeous.

Deciding, with no real planning, to join a middle aged fixie rider (as in a bike with a single gear that can't coast) on Sept 11 to bike all through the night up to 5th Station of Mt. Fuji and then try to summit. (I got a bit past 7th station before the 32 hours of no sleep caught up with me and I decided to head back down and get off the mountain in the daylight)

At around the 80km mark, 3am, we realize that the funny noise Tim's bike is making is that his 20 year old steel frame has suddenly developed critical stress fractures and may snap in two at any moment. Though I hate to be the voice of reason, I suggested maybe we call it a night... Tim, however, decided that convenience store disposable chopsticks and duct tape was sufficient to McGyver himself up to the top of Fuji.
Before the sun rose, we could see the switch backs illuminated by strings of hikers with headlamps. like lava zigzaging down the mountain. 6am, about 120 km in, the sun rises and Fuji glows alone in the sky waiting. About half an hour later, clouds swamp it.
From about 6th station, on my way back down. 1pm. Hiking 5th to summit is not a pretty trail. But I'll probably do it again.

And a week ago, accidently, suddenly everyone was taking pictures...
So many things just happen in Japan, and in Tokyo, and in life. Things are going well.

The adventures continue...

half way

2010-08-15T07:10:00.002-07:00

A lovely friend suggested a blog called Sunday Scribblings, and maybe it's just narcissism or too many friends who tell me I could write a book (I mean seriously, we ALL could write a book, right?) but anyway, I took the bait and wrote for their prompt.

I've come back from my cycling trip early, mostly because of the rain but partially because I was just too lonely and partially because if I'm doing so much solo soul searching, I want write. So here's a start. A full report for the week's bike journey will come sometime this week (with pictures... and maybe video)

Half-way.

though I keep trying to dig my feet into life here, I can't seem to stick. something has changed and though I try and try to re-invest myself into this life, I can never manage to get myself more than halfway in.

Let me be clear. I am glad that I've come back. I'm glad that I am slugging it out in this job, learning so much, lucky to have such fantastic students. I am grateful for my apartment on the park. I am endlessly happy about my road bike and the adventures to beautiful places it takes me.

I realize I am lucky to have an interesting and well paying job that people respect (even if it is stressful and makes me miserable many days). I am still lucky.

I realize I am lucky to have friends here that helped me out so much when I arrived and was broke and homeless.

I am grateful for this adventure of living abroad, for better or worse. and the five years I've been away from America.

Yet, I don't know how to sound like I'm not complaining and keep my optimism and positivity and still admit that I'm disappointed. and I feel down right betrayed by some of my decisions.

Somewhere in the miles and miles of cycling, I started to think that really, Tokyo is a city for innocents. It is a city for the young at heart to come to feeling like they will make their name, make their fortune, grow up to be the adults they always wanted to be. Those who come like this, full of enthusiasm and wonder at the lights, the language, the food, the trains, the singing, the cherry blossoms, the money you can make and don't leave, they keep that innocence, somehow. Sure, the drunken singing looses it's charm when you step in vomit a few too many times and the marvelous trains become boring after commuting on them for years, and the language either grows comfortable or levels out somewhere in your brain... the shine wears off, of course. But for those that come here with little experience, they grow into a certain--this is just how things are here and this is where I fit. I was like that. When I left, that's how I felt. There were good days and bad days, but I had created a place in all this that I felt like me and like this was home.

So when I returned to Japan, I felt like I was returning home. and everything smelled the same and the jingles over the loud speakers were all the same and it felt like slipping on an old coat.

But as I try and try to settle in, the coat actually doesn't fit that well anymore.

I can go for weeks with no one sincerely asking me how I'm doing. Sure, there are the friendly coworker greetings and small talk. Sure, there are drinks with people I'm trying to get to know but don't really yet have anything in common with. Sure, there are the occasions when schedules with an old friend match up... but generally, I don't talk sincerely with anyone very much.

but the part that gets me is that everyone tells me this is normal. everyone tells me that here you can't really expect to have a social life or see friends more than once or twice a month.

so I spend my weekends on my bike and my evenings in the gym. better than playing on facebook all the time.

After a week of biking by myself and hardly speaking to anyone, I got back to Tokyo days before expected and have complete failed at coming up with any friends to see until much later in the week. but this is normal, this is too be expected. everyone is overworked and double booked.

this is so frustrating.

I used to love how I was never good enough for Tokyo. Here I really have to work on being pretty enough or smart enough or nice enough or thin enough. In some ways, I love how this pushes me to be better. Or I did. Now I'm tired of it. I want to just be me and be good enough sometimes.

so I'm half looking at moving on when my contract is up in March. but still trying to invest as much as I can into my time here.

if soul searching was a sport, I'd be training for the olympics...

Optimistic (but still angsty)

2010-07-26T04:32:00.003-07:00

Though I have been sending a lot angsty emails and writing blogs about being miserable... I just want to say that I'm still very optimistic. I mean, yes, it is a rough year but I am very diligently counting my blessings, as well. Though I complain about how disastrous the dating scene here is for someone like me, it is also good to have so much head space to do with as I see fit. I'm getting to know myself better and though that isn't always a happy thing... it's a good thing. And though the job continues to drive me crazy, my impossibly small desk is between two fantastically talented and supportive teachers who I learn a lot from. I haven't quit yet.

I am constantly torn between all my yoga classes and their philosophy of finding contentment in life and Buckminster Fuller's “You never change things by fighting the existing reality. To change something, build a new model that makes the existing model obsolete.”

Or in other words, what do you just accept and what do you work to improve, change and strengthen? What do you fight for and what do you find grace to accept just as it comes?

A year I was here:

Sideways lightning brings mixed blessings like freezing rain and generous friends. Dressed in anything anyone had that was at least a little dry, we used our half day to climb up and see practically all of Bolivia from the power towers.

Two years ago, I was here:

Commuting 50km a day along the river on my lovable steel bike, teaching preschoolers, fighting to keep a relationship afloat, preparing for my first solo bike journey, equally restless and content.

Three years ago I was here:

In a little country school, saying goodbye after 10 weeks to some of the best coworkers I have ever had and some of my favorite students. Loving the constant stream of new faces, friends and adventures but leaving in tears, never feeling like anywhere was home.

Four years ago I was here:

A tiny island off the northeastern coast of Hokkaido, hiking through alpine flowers in July, watching the sunset and missing SeaDog so intently. Making friends in broken Japanese as if my life depended on it. Feeling alone but free.

Five years ago I was here:

In the states, saying goodbye to my darling cat, the career I was so sure I'd always wanted, my family, my friends. Saying goodbye to my mom. Leaping into the unknown, excited, scared.

There's a momentum to it. There's so much beauty in this. So many new friends, breathtaking sunrises and sunsets, poetry in learning the languages of these places, the comfort and pride of finding, building a little niche here and there. There is the intoxicating feeling of 'this is my briar patch,' I know this maze, this is home now. But there is also so much disappointment and sadness of the strings of goodbye parties and the rip-itwillneverbethesame-ness. The frustration of foreign bureaucracies kicking you when you are down, the never-quite-being-a-right-fit-ness.

I'm optimistic and I am so grateful. I'm also scared and not sure what is worth fighting for or worth walking away from.

The journeys continue, without and within.
The adventures as well.

One of my many first loves

2010-07-21T21:32:00.004-07:00

When I left science and the states in 2005, I figured I'd go back to science as soon as I missed it.

Well, now that I'm teaching it and after 5 years away from the lab, I once again miss it. Well, I don't miss all of it, but I really miss some of it.

I've taught cell biology to 8th graders this first term including my true love of an organism responding to environmental signals through up (or down) regulation of genes and the absolutely amazing transcription/translation process. My students produced mostly accurate things like this on their final.

In sophomore chemistry, I'm deep into intermolecular interactions (hydrogen bonds, London dispersion forces) which is the heart of biochemical interactions, protein folding, the structure of DNA...

It's been fun teaching, but with no lab, no running water, no classroom of my own, no materials, no where to set up a project, only a very small desk in the teacher's room to organize all my classes from. I miss DOING science. It's hard to make the classes more hands-on than drawing cartoons of things like the photosynthesis/respiration cycles and watching youtube videos of other people throwing pure Sodium in water... I miss playing with stuff.

Nonetheless, I am immensely proud of my students and how hard they've worked for me. I wish I could give them more, but we do the best we can.

Next week we have summer courses, or as my boss explained to me, glorified babysitting...
So we are going to go the park, talk about plants and insects and try to have as relaxed and hands-on a learning experience possible.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wRR1feHqZPY

A link to the school's website with a picture of me at the board explaining the difference between types of bonds and a sneaky peak at one of the pages from my Chemistry final, clutched in one of my poor student's hands, available by request. No official link between me and them will be made on the blog.

The adventures continue...

Motion

2010-07-19T23:29:00.007-07:00

Something weird happened this weekend. Something that hadn't happened in a while.

I looked in the mirror and almost recognized myself.
I looked a little bit like I do in my mind's eye. It was kind of like, um hey, haven't seen you around lately. I missed you.

3 day weekend
30+ hours of sleep (more than the entire week before...)
300+ km of cycling (almost 200 miles)
mountains mountains mountains. a few summer thunderstorms. me and my bike up and away.

I'm reading a trashy book called "Eat, Pray, Love" and yes it is total feel good chick lit. It's also kind of good. In the middle of the weekend, I found myself thinking about a question that arises in the book. According to the story, every city and every person has a sort of central word to them. Rome apparently is 'sex' and New York is 'achieve.' So, to know yourself and how you relate to the city or town you live in, you must find your word.

As I climbed meter by meter up the passes and flew down, hugging the curves, valleys, rice fields floating away, it was a question I returned to. What is my word?

Of course we are all more complicated than a single word, as is every city, but when I started thinking about all the things that are important to me, the word I best came up with was 'motion.'

Not only am I happiest when I am physically moving, feeling like I'm moving in a direction for my 'career' or 'life' makes me happy. Though I think about leaving this job often, I can't bear the idea of doing something that doesn't teach me new skill, give me new experiences, keep me, well, in motion. I don't think the direction is so important, but the movement, the building towards something very much is.
(on top of a tiny little pass between Rt 121 and Rt249 in Tochigi on a road the internet claims does not exist)

I returned to work Tuesday morning, a bit worn out by the weekend but in a better mood than usual, well sorta. My brain has gone on 'summer break' mode as all the 'important' work is done and there are no more classes for the term. But teachers are still here. It's hard to focus on prepping for term 2 or about anything related to the job.

Within a few hours someone came to take little pictures of us for a brochure to advertise our special winter break optional classes. I'll be teaching on Christmas again and can't imagine it. I can't imagine being here in this school at all that long, I can't even imagine teaching second term, let along teaching on Christmas.

The picture they took of me looked nothing like me. I'm not sure who it was, but I didn't recognize her. I nearly burst into tears.

About a year ago, everything started to get really shaken up and the following identity crisis (though no need to be so dramatic about it all, right...) has lasted a whole year. The joy and fear and sweat of the jungle, followed by the privilege, the shallow tourism, the quiet age of Italy, the almost but not quite familiar feeling of the rain and family and friends in the Northwest, the fight in Tokyo to get the job, apartment, life I so wanted, and recently feeling down right betrayed by it all... a lot of things have kind of fallen apart a little in the last year. I feel betrayed by many of my choices --that is, except when I'm on my bike, in the mountains. Only then am I sure that this all was a good idea.

On the train home, exhausted but happy, I started to feel like I could begin to pick those pieces back up just a little. The feeling of mountain air at high speed, the smell of cedars (and sweat and sunscreen), the views that went on forever, growing confidence that I can climb and climb on my bike if I only put my mind to it and then sitting there alone on the train, with no shoulder to fall asleep on and no one to return home to, but also happy about that in my own way. Slowly breaking down those persistent fantasies that there is anyone that can save you other than yourself. Just lost in my own thoughts, quietly gathering and feeling the strength that I know hides inside somewhere.

I've spent a lot of time lost recently. But I'm also finding myself, little by little, in beautiful places.

(a glimpse of Mt. Fuji from on of my favorite country roads west of Tokyo)

the break down of summer

2010-06-22T01:37:00.000-07:00

I’ve decided not to come back to the states for summer.

It’ll be five years away this summer and I’ve made it back at least once a year since then. There is a time when people stop sending care packages and a time when ‘real life’ happens away and you no longer identify with the newbies and their culture shock and a time when you don’t go home every year. I’m crossing that line.

Here’s the break down:

A plane ticket back for three weeks, leaving July 30th in time for my cousin’s wedding will be minimum 1,700 dollars. Some quotes look close to 2 grand. Leaving on the 30th also means taking 6 of 10 sick/vacation days off, in addition to our two-week summer break. Since there is no spring break at this school for teachers, taking 6 days now means no spring break later.

So, paying possibly 2 grand for a ticket and then maybe another grand for zooming around from Seattle to Portland to Eugene will wipe out my savings, will wipe out my spring break, and though fantastic to see everyone briefly, unlikely to leave me rested.

And what I need more than anything right now is to invest in my life here.

Though, of course, I want to see you all, 4 days with family, a week in Eugene, a week in Portland and busses busses busses, will give me a taste of everything you are and everything I love but not really be satisfying. It’s always great on one hand, but a painful tease on the other.

Though I thank you all for your congratulations for getting the job and apartment and everything…. but you missed the point of the last blog. The subtext was ‘yes I got what I wanted but no, I’m not happy and so spend a lot of time thinking about wanting to leave.”

I spend my time telling stories about the jungle, the cats, the mud.

I ask myself often, why did I come back?

1*To get back in shape

It hasn’t happened yet. In fact, I am 8 kg heavier than when I left Japan and am pissed. I haven’t been biking as much as I’ve wanted to because of a bike accident with the mean old lady followed a few weeks later with nearly going off the side of a mountain when my tire blew out wounded my confidence and took a lot of joy out of riding for a while. Also, I have to lie about commuting to work by bike, so it’s taken a little while to organize the clothes that I wear when biking, wear between locking the bike and getting into school and actually wear when working. Though I’m getting more organized, I’ve been working stupid amounts of hours rather than exercising.

And though the good weather has passed and the hot humidity has set in, I’m getting this together little by little. I’ve started doing yoga after work once or twice a week. My confidence and invincibility in cycling has slowly recovered. I go from bike clothes to throwing on a skirt (longer than bike shorts) and the right type of t-shirt on over, walking the two blocks to work, changing out of cleats, shorts and sweaty things… repeat going home. I’m also getting a professional fit to my bike as I am still too saddle sore to ride more than 50km on consecutive days, which is not enough.

2* To get work experience while taking online graduate classes and getting my teaching degree.
The work experience part is going well, though the amount of freedom I have with the curriculum is daunting. Or rather, I will be judged later by some standard, but no one has really decided what that is, so I have freedom because of unclear goals. The hours are long but it’s a real job and that’s kind of the way that goes, I guess…

I PASSED my first graduate course! However, even one course was so much work and one of the reasons I was regularly at work 12 hours a day. Though the professor was easy to communicate with, the administration has be really difficult. For instance, I owe them money but can’t log into which ever page that information is on and because I can’t call them for technical help, I can’t fix the problem. Organizing internet for my apartment has proved difficult with my only options at over 60 dollars a month. So, I’m switching to an iPhone. I still won’t have skype without a wifii signal but at least I’ll have maps and internet at home. I’ve ordered books for a class I plan to take in the fall. I hope I can get some of the reading done early thereby manage my time better.

I’m not taking a course over summer because I can’t get the books in time and I just can’t manage…

So, I’m moving to these goals really slowly.

My Japanese isn’t improving at all.

3* Save money.
When I got my first pay check I had less than 200 dollars left, which doesn’t get you so far in Tokyo. I would have just enough saved up to come back to the states but it would wipe almost everything again and it would be back to living pay check to pay check. Now, when my job is so rough I don’t think I can take it, I have options. If I have no money, I’m trapped.

I plan to finish out the contract through to the end of March. If I renew for a second year, I don’t know. On good days, I think sure. But I need a week of spring break. On bad days (and those details aren’t good to go into on a blog), I figure I’ll leave. On bad days, I am so done with Japan, Tokyo, and this sort of rat race lifestyle. My dating life is nonexistent, my life revolves around work, I feel out of place, out of sync, difficult to connect with everyone who is afraid of a little dirt…. And in that case, I want to use the money I’m saving to come back for a few months, not for a hurried three weeks.

Anyway, I’m sorry I’m not coming back. I miss you all and I know I’ll be missing some important events, but it’s better for me to be here, do something that makes me love my life here—rather than count the reasons I want to leave—and then make better decisions come what I want to do in April.

All my love to you all.

A Sacrificial Llama

2010-05-23T15:59:00.000-07:00

I have a job. I have an apartment. I have a commute. I have some routines of yoga classes or bike rides with local cycling clubs. I know all my students names and they have finally got that the vowels in my last name are pronounce like 'eye' or 'buy' or 'bye'. I, very thankfully, received my last paycheck from Ye Ol' Eikaiwa before they declared bankruptcy and succumbed to a hostile take over from another chain. I am making steady progress on my graduate course toward my teaching degree. My lessons are getting better and my students are improving. For the first time in about a year and a half I am not needing or trying to live on a shoestring or feeling totally broke. I am no longer living out of my 35L backpack. I am no longer living paycheck to paycheck.

Life is good.

When I was apartment hunting, I went to six different agencies before I found one that treated me well and I wanted to work with. In the end, I think I chose them because they had a pragmatic sense of humor. And for a foreigner looking for a real apartment in Japan, a sense of humor is key.

60% of apartments disqualified me because I was a foreigner. Of those who would consider me, important points were:

I teach math and science; I am not an English teacher.
I am female.
I am 29.
I have living in Japan nearly 5 years.
I was in high school here and lived with a Japanese family.
I speak Japanese fairly well (I did all the apartment negotiations in Japanese)
I am working for a good/prestigious school.
I am "accustomed to Japanese ways"
I promise not to make too much noise.
I am pretty. I negotiated apartments wearing professional looking, attractive clothes.
I have a "guarantor," or a Japanese person to vouch for me.
etc.

If I was a guy, if I couldn't speak polite Japanese, if I taught English, if I had not dressed nicely... I may not have been able to get this or any apartment. Non-discrimination laws simply don't apply.

In the end I looked at about a zillion schematics of apartments and veiwed/visited 6 . I settled on one that was a bit smaller than I initially wanted but with a fantastic fantastic location. It would probably be called a studio in the states but is described as a 1K here. K means there is an area that is the kitchen and 1 means there is one other room. Total space is about 20 sq. meters. The size is certainly big enough for me but it makes it difficult to have couchsurfers, which makes me a bit sad.

But the location brings a smile to my face everyday. I live on one of the coolest parks in Tokyo. I have a little balcony and sliding glass doors that open out onto the park where there are always people picnicking, walking dogs, playing frisbee, or otherwise laughing, being noisy and happy. On the weekends there is the Inokashira (name of the park) Art-Walk and the sidewalks through the park are lined with people selling homemade art, postcards, T-shirts, miniature dog clothes and performing. There is a guy who reads comic books out loud, there are jugglers, there is a violinist, there is a "living art museum" guy who is hilarious. And they are there, performing with a hat out for coins, almost every weekend.

It is a lovely place to live.

And if that wasn't entertaining enough, around the station there is tons of shopping and about a zillion bars with every theme you can imagine and it is colorful and young and really no wonder that it's currently the most popular place to live in Tokyo.

Naturally, living in one of the most popular neighborhoods in Tokyo means that I could be getting a lot more space for my yen if I lived elsewhere. But it is so worth it to me to live somewhere that feels alive and has green space and has just enough foreigners that we are generally treated just like normal people. To me, it's worth every penny.

Ah yes, but not to forget the sacrificial llama.

When you move into an apartment in Japan, it costs a ton of money upfront.
In my case, I paid
First months rent +
1 month deposit
1 month agent's fee
1.5 months key money (basically a gift to the landlord)
150 dollars of fire insurance

or about three and a half grand. wham. it hurt. That's six month in Bolivia worth of money. That was three months at Ye Ol' Eikaiwa pinching pennies so tight that I didn't even take the train into town to have a coffee with friends on the weekends and another month and a half after waiting for my first private school paycheck.

That money was my sacrificial llama. (no? still doesn't make sense? I don't blame you).

So in Bolivia, apparently, before you build a house you sacrifice a llama on the site. This sacrifice blesses your home. However, since killing a llama is awfully messy, you can also buy dried llama fetuses to bury under your house. It's a strange world.

So, I guess I'm trying to say that after being footloose and free for so long and suddenly staring at a 2 year apartment lease ... the commitment freaked me out something fierce. I haven't live two whole years anywhere for the last 15 years. Commitment to anything is not really something I do well. I get itchy. I cut and run. I start from scratch over and over.

But there I was, signing a contract for a serious job and needing an apartment. I could have found a crappy one that was cheaper and didn't have very much upfront money... but I felt I kind of had to do this all the way. All 9 yards or nothing. California or bust. If I didn't sacrifice the llama I was bound to just cut and run when the going got tough again.

And so I'm here, living on the park, teaching chemistry in a school the will forever in this blog be dubbed "The Private School."

Last week was a good week. Some of my students, without any prodding or leading questions, volunteered that I was their favorite science teacher that they've ever had. I'm still glowing. I made significant progress in getting the graduate work I needed to do done. I got a little bit ahead in planning my classes for next week. I had a good yoga class on Friday night and a beautiful bike ride with friends on Saturday. I made a definitive win against the dishes monster one night and am, by a tiny margin, winning against the sleep deprivation monster. Waking up at 5:45 am every morning is a bitch but I'm getting used to it.

Nonetheless, I often still want to cut and run. I won't because I'm learning so much and loving teaching these kids. I won't because it's been much harder than I thought transitioning from living out of backpack to furnishing an apartment and having appropriate clothes to wear to work everyday. I won't because I think my routines can be improved upon a lot with a little more work and tweaking to include more social time and more time on my bike. I won't because I still have so many places I want to cycle too and so many mountain passes I want to be able to make it up without stopping. I won't because I feel I am making progress toward something that is important to me (becoming a teacher, having a meaningful career) rather than killing time. I won't because I'm making more money than I ever have in my life. I won't because I can't find this kind of opportunities anywhere else. I won't because I love my friends here.

But still, every time I see pictures from Ambue Ari or my boss puts on a power-trip and makes me angry or I wind up working another 12 hour day for the second or third time in a week or I see that I totally have enough money in my bank account to just cut and run....

The pull of the road is strong but if I can last here for two years, in this job and in this lovely apartment, finishing my graduate course work, saving money, becoming a kick ass cyclist... it would be a good thing.

But then again, there's nothing like waking up to howler monkeys gently hooting outside your window at dawn or the feel of a puma's tongue liking your mosquito bitten arm...

What a strange and wonderful journey this is.

the adventures continue...

resume (check), job (check), apartment.... now looking

2010-01-22T00:46:00.001-08:00

And so the job search draws to a close. Finally and with much relief. I started sending out resumes mid October. I signed a contract for the 2010 school year (April - March 2011) Jan 19th. Many things about this job search came as a surprise, including that it took 3 months, but I suppose this is my first real adult job search. Compared to anything else I've done, it resembled applying to graduate school more than anything.

Stats: I sent out dozens and dozens of resumes. I got replies on less than half. Some jobs I was under-qualified. Some I was over-qualified. Ratios of positive verses negative responses didn't seem to change based on qualifications. Some replies were generic, "We'll put you in our database..." only one clearly stated that I was not qualified for any positions at their school at the moment (but after I finished my teaching degree please feel free to contact us again...).

If I didn't hear back from employers after about 3 days, I never heard from them. The first cut goes by quickly. One popular company claimed they had about 13,000 applications for 10 spots. I made it to their second interview before dropping out and signing with a different company (too much like what I'm doing at Ye Ol'Eikaiwa, though much less evil), but one thing is clear: resume first impressions must be sharp to even get your foot in the door.

Most of the schools or recruiting companies interested in me required at two interviews or an extensive pre-interview task. Many of the schools seems to have already made up their mind before I arrived (some in my favor, some not).

A question I never answered: How do you dress for an interview at a pre-school. The staff will be wearing jeans and smocks, be covered in finger paint and/or snot. Business formal hardly seems appropriate. I chose slacks with an ironed crease, a crisp white collared shirt, and a sweater, or just my red, trendy, winter coat. Subtle make up and heels, as those are signs of adulthood here, and if wearing stockings don't forget to touch up your toenail polish. After all, you'll have to take your shoes off to come in.... These were not job offers I got. The question remains unanswered.

Of the 15 interviews (with 10 different schools) I did over two months, (on weekends and mornings while working fulltime...) the most formal included a nearly 2 hour train ride out to their school and then sitting in front of panel of 5 teachers/staff. They hand me a photocopy from an English communications text and tell me the situation is a coworkers has called in sick. They want me to teacher his/her class. You have 5 minutes to prepare.

I raise my eyebrows, nod, and get to work. Luckily, subbing for Ye Ol'Eikaiwa has given me more experience than I should perhaps have with this sort of situation. Then, before the model lesson, they interview me first in English and then in Japanese.

The Japanese portion of the interview includes:
This may be a private question but are you single/unmarried.
Er. Yes, I'm single.
So, do you have any plans to get married.
Ah.... Um.... Well, not really. Maybe I guess. Uh... I mean, I don't know what will happen in the future, right?

(How do you respond to that? How do you respond to that in your rusty second language? damn.)

Ok, now teach your model lesson about "What are you going to do on your winter break?"

(right, ok brain, focus. foooocuuuusssss.)

The Japanese staff was enthusiastic about me joining the school but the Native staff (i.e. the Native English speakers teaching English Communication) were luke warm. This discrepancy was enough for me to turn them down. Who wants to work in a place where the boss likes you but the coworkers would have preferred someone else?

The most casual interview was for an after school program school. The owner met me, twenty minutes late, at the station and immediately asked if she could buy me lunch. Um, sure... (says the girl who is working immensely hard to save money and was just worrying about the cost of train fare in to meet her. yeah, I'll take lunch!)

We talk a little about teaching but she also tells me about her ex-husband who wants to give it another try with her but she's not sure, a teacher who she got drunk in a similar sort of interview situation, and enumerates the reasons she wants to quit her day job to make her dream of this school come true.

By the end of the "interview," including visiting her school which is a converted apartment, I wonder if she is a con-artist and not a very good one either. Naturally, I don't sign up. I do feel a little bad about her buying me lunch but so it goes...

In the end, I am left with two very good offers from two private high schools. For a little while both are sending me emails defaming the other. It's a bit like school yard name calling. It feels like when I was interviewing at Emory and they started bad mouthing Stanford to try and convince me to join their program. (They missed the key point that I learned later: The reason Stanford has so many young untenured professors leading research labs is that many never intend on getting tenure and are there to get the Stanford stamp on their resume. Therefore, why not work grad students to death?)

In the end I chose the school in central Tokyo, teaching near native speaker kids only math and science. I will no longer be an English teacher come April. The class sizes are between 7 and 15, almost all the kids have been schooled/lived abroad for a number of years but have always spoken Japanese at home (with their Japanese parents). Though Japanese seems to be their language of choice, among each other and to teachers, English seems to be their stronger language in terms of grammar, vocabulary, syntax, ability to express complicated ideas. I find this split fascinating. The school gives an accredited Japanese high school diploma but is not International Baccalaureate. The kids have their core subjects in English and their PE, music etc classes in Japanese. They do have both English and Japanese classes to try to make them truly bilingual speakers/readers/people.

I will most likely be teaching 10th grade Chemistry, 8th grade Life Science and 8th grade math (interestingly, the math follows the Japanese curriculum as much as possible and includes much more algebra and geometry early on but less on number theory, sequences....)

I will be working really hard on something new, interesting, challenging, rewarding... I'm endlessly excited (and more than a little nervous too). I will learn a lot this year.

For now, I'm still subbing at Ye Ol'Eikaiwa. There are days when I remember how I loved this job. I meet a lot of cool people and see a lot of interesting things. There are days when I remember why I've already quit 3 times... Yesterday, I spent over four and a half hours commuting to and from the school. I'm reading a lot. I suppose I should be studying but it's hard unless I can get a seat. Next week, I'll visit my 50th school. Luckily, I'll be teaching there for a while AND it's close to where I live. For at least a week...

Many weeks are just a blur of new faces and names every day. It's both exhausting and invigorating. I'm living alone in a company apartment far from central Tokyo but with a nice kitchen. It's both a fantastic respite after a year of hostels and shared everything, but also lonely some days.

I take immense pleasure in simple domestic things, a cupboard full of food that will not be eaten by rats or cockroaches in the jungle night, a kitchen that is mine to leave as clean or dirty as I like. Going to the store and picking out vegetables that will be made into lunches that I bring to work. Curling up with tea and a Japanese study book or a book of poetry. A whole corner of my apartment dedicated to my bike and it's ever growing paraphernalia. My New Year's Resolution is 6000 miles on my bike, or about 200 km a week. Currently, not being able to commute and not being in good enough shape (yet!) to easily go out on a century ride (i.e. a hundred mile ride/ 160 km) every weekend, I'm averaging a little less that 100 km a week. So I'm on track to get in better shape and up the odds. I feel and see the tone returning to the muscles in my calves and feel it in my shoulders. It will be a good year on my bike.

I will be back in the Northwest the first three weeks of August. I think I used to like the distance that Japan is from the NorthWest more. I liked the separation of this life versus that life. But now, trying to wrap my head around living alone again, reading books that many of you would love, I often wish I could pop back for just a weekend here or there. Or better yet, bring some of you here to enjoy the beautiful winter weather (chilly but sunny and clear).

all my love to you.
the adventures continue...

2009 in Review

2009-12-31T23:59:00.001-08:00

New Year's sunrise at Enoshima Beach.

Tom Robbin's "A Roadside Attraction" sends one of it's characters all over to world. "I'm voyaging back to the source" he says. And aren't we all. And what does that mean, particularly. We return little by little to the wisdom that was so simple to us as children? We voyage back to our homes, literal, physical, spiritual? We search a moment of truth and love that we have glimpsed dozens or hundreds of times but still eludes us? Where are you going? I'm voyaging back to the source.

We are voyaging, not hurrying, not fighting and we are going back. Whatever this source is, we have known it at one point and have now lost it. Our journey takes us back to places and people we have already known. And it does.

It's been a year not only of filling myself with new experiences but also of seeing the old with new eyes. Perhaps if this source is a place, be it a source of joy, love, or wisdom, shifts to a zillion different places. Perhaps it depends who you are. How can mine not be scattered over a handful of continents and a dozen countries and hiding in every new friends' eyes?

It's been a year of changing my mind about a lot of things.
Last year found me very worried about being 28 and single and likely childless in the near future. And sure enough, I'm still childless... but I no longer feel rushed. I no longer feel worried. The clock isn't ticking so loudly that I run through my life grasping at every almost-good-enough straws that peak up. The last year has been full of crazy short term intensely wonderful relationships and crushes. It has been a year of romance like I would have never imagined and it has made feel like I am still young and beautiful. It's made me feel that I'm ok being me. It's a lovely feeling.

I've grown to love hammocks, which I once hated.
I've decided okra isn't so bad after all.
I've come to appreciate that Death Cab for Cutie is not just a whinny miserable excuse for a band and that though their music still screams emoTASTIC, their lyrics can be beautiful enough that I don't mind. Decemberists are still out.
I got contact lenses for the first time in my life and not only managed to stick my finger in my eye to fish them out, but got damn quick and non-squeamish about it.
I started introducing myself again as "Corinna" to make it easier for Spanish speakers after years of campaigning to only be called "Kori." And if they couldn't even get that and preferred to call me Carolina, as often happened, I didn't mind either.
After years and years of always having my hair tied back, I've recently cut it a bit shorter than shoulder length and have been wearing it down, often even falling in my eyes and liking it anyway.
I let myself be changeable and good things happened.

I have returned to friends and smiled with my first year of smile lines around my eyes and had them grin back at me, "you're better than before." and for that I'm glad. The journey has changed me, strengthened me, centered me.

My hot water went out about a week ago and more than anything, it just made me homesick for the park in Bolivia (Parque Machia is Parque Machia. Parque Ambue Ari is "the park, el parque" just ask at the Santa Cruz bus terminal and see where you end up...). The hot water ended up being too expensive to fix so I moved to an apartment directly below the old one and though not as nice in many ways, had food in the cupboard. Judging by some of the dates it's probably been two years since someone lived in this unit. Nonetheless, I cooked the spaghetti, ate the packaged cookies. What's the worst that could happen, I thought? I ate most things that presented themselves to me in South America and only got really bad food sickness once. eh. It wasn't that big a deal in the end.

This year has left me with a much more pronounced view on how much of our culture centers itself on convenience and avoidance of pain but when you stop caring, a much more beautiful world emerges. The possibilities multiply. The only way anyone kept from going crazy about the dangers of Buenos Aires was just to surrender to it. I may be robbed today. This is the reality. So I won't carry much cash or anything important. And you didn't, so being robbed stopped mattering so much. If you lose 20 bucks and a little bit of ego but otherwise walk away unscathed, is it really worth being that upset about. That said, though 60+% of my friends got pick-pocketed, held up, or robbed, I was lucky and never had anything worse that getting fake bills as change.

The first day at Parque Machia we are told that when working with animals scratch and bites are to be expected. And the first time it hurts a lot when a parrot climbs on your arm and digs their claws in for balance. But it's not enough of a reason to stop, to love the bird less, to change what you're doing. It certainly isn't a good idea to start flailing around and make the parrot grip tighter.

The first time the puma jumped me, just playing that time, my mind went blank unable to comprehend the cat wrapped around my leg. But generally, I came back to camp bruised more than anything. My mind relaxed into knowing what could happen and as I became aware of the jump, with much less fear than in the beginning, I could respond, my reflexes quickened. The bites and bruises, much like the mosquitos and the swamp rash, just became something that happened. If you spent time and energy trying to avoid it, you missed the beautiful jungle around you.

In Oakland, my brother's lovely girlfriend spontaneously invited me to join her in a yoga class and the first part of the lesson was about some of the principles of Enlightenment and the spiritual foundation of yoga. We talked about courage/determination and how that relates to our lives and the practice of yoga.

The yoga teacher led a discussion that led to us agreeing that often, in our lives and culture, we often classify things as good/bad, delicious/disgusting, fantastic/terrible but if we throw off all that urge to classify and leave things in the ambiguous category of "just is" how will that change our lives? How does that relate to courage? The upshot of it was that if, instead of thinking of an exercise as hard or painful or negative, we just let it be, we are more likely to try. If we slough off the fear of stepping into a yoga class and not being as flexible or strong as your peers (i.e. being judged) and instead just let the class be what it is, we are more likely to come, to practice, to improve.

She used the word surrender and I remember a sticky note on my uncles car. Silence. Surrender. Serenity. And my best friend, when talking about her 36 hour labor with midwives and no pain medication spoke also of a surrender to the pain of natural childbirth.

I feel that surrender more this year and feel calmer because of it. Not that surrender means laziness, inaction, or lack of ambition. No. I'm getting up at 5am on New Year's Day to bike through nearly freezing weather to see the first sunrise from the beach and have done dozens of interviews rather than accept the first job I was offered (and it wasn't a bad job...). I will start the process of getting my K12 teaching license this year while working full time. I plan to but away about $500 a month so that I can go back to the park... These things will be hard work.

Rather than surrender meaning taking the easy way, I find it means to me not being afraid of the difficulty that taking the more ambitious route will bring. It means not wasting my energies pushing at the immovable but not shirking the obstacles in my path either. I don't find the concept of surrender in this sense to be particularly passive but rather like the concept of Aikido, directing the energies in swirling circles rather than trying to stop them.

Kerouac would say "just dig it"
Vonnegut would say "so it goes"
Friends from the park might say "Let it ride" or "this is ridiculous!"
They mean the same thing I do when I speak of this "surrender"

The last year was great for relaxing me, bringing me closer to the ground, helping me shrug off the persistent feeling of Japan that I'm always running late (it's true). The next year will be busy and will need a lot of discipline and organization to make it happen, but I feel ready.

Moving from one routine to another is another type of voyaging back to the source, I think. If we can do the same thing but with different light, we do something different. I have returned to the routine of Japan, filled with trains and bike rides, and drinks and teaching, cooking, reading, studying, wandering around lost.

Come April and the beginning of the school year here, I hope for a job teaching science and a bike ride to work. I hope for time in the evenings to work on my teaching course but also to meet friends or be a bigger part of the couchsurfing and cycling communities. I hope to fill my small apartment with couchsurfers and new ideas and energies. I hope to work on my Japanese and grow strong as I hit the mountains on my bike. I hope to return to the States for at least two or three weeks in the summer. I would like to have a roommate and cook a lot. I think these are things I can definitely do.

and the adventures continue...

a quiet Christmas

2009-12-24T01:32:00.001-08:00

This year Christmas will not be so unlike every other day. I'll wake up to the alarm on my cell phone in a temporary apartment and hit the snooze. I'll mutter to myself, not wanting to get up: it's cold, I'm sore from my latest enthusiasm for exercising. I'll check my emails on my cell phone and try to engage my brain. I'll turn on the heater and climb out of bed ten minutes or so later. I'll pull the curtains and smile at the sun. Yes, it's chilly and winter but it's lovely here.

I'll boil water for coffee and probably corn soup, an instant soup that is thick, salty and sweet enough to perhaps be the perfect comfort food. I'm so addicted, I'm beginning to think they must mix crack into it or something. There may be some toast or rice or yogurt. Perhaps I'll splurge a little and buy a cinnamon roll on the way to work.

I'll leave the apartment around 10:30 am and if it's a clear day, see Fuji, covered in snow, the perfect cone of a mountain, looking down on me as I walk to work. I'll unlock the school, get the heaters going, the computer system up, change into work clothes, make myself another cup of coffee, and be ready to go just as the clock rolls to noon.

There will be a handful of classes scattered through out the day with plenty of time to read or study Japanese in between. Perhaps a student will bring cookies or a Christmas cake and there will be treats. Maybe I'll go and pick some up myself. The lobby will be filled with the same hip Christmas songs we've been listening to for a month. Perhaps I will remain anti-social in my room with better music playing. I'll finish at nine and meet some friends who live in the same building for a little foreigner Christmas dinner. Perhaps we will go to the near by Chinese restaurant and fill our selves with gyoza and noodles.

It will be a quiet day with few exclamations and little drama. And I am totally ok with that. There will be no boyfriend's parents to meet or make nice with. There will be no awkwardness of Christmas presents for people I don't know. There will be no pressure to make this day special and normal in a family that have had too many hard holiday seasons recently. No one is dying this year. It's been a while since I could say that. There will be no subtext of, I'll probably never see you again. I love you. There will be no tears to hide. This year Christmas will be a slightly boring normal day. It feels like a relief. Though my family are all spread out this year, we are all solidly on good paths. We are healthy and learning, and for that I am infinitely grateful.

The 27th starts a week long holiday and it will be filled with friends and bike rides along the rivers and the coast. On the 25th, my first pay check in over a year should be transfered in to my bank account. It's good to be working, mostly. I still dream of the jungle and returning to the park.

The plan seems to be continue working for Ye O' Eikaiwa till mid March. It'll give me a place to stay and enough time plan the next steps thoughtfully. I have landed what will hopefully turn out to be a good job. Though exact start date (late March or early April), money, vacations, details of what work I'll actually be doing, are still very much in the air, the general idea is that they are hiring me to create an English as a Second Language component to their "Super Science School." In an often typical Japanese way, they decided to first hire a good candidate and then make the program to match their talents. So, the program will be brand new and the science/EFL curriculum my own creation. I'm waiting to see the details before I sign on the dotted line, but it sounds really interesting and good fun. The interview was funny, we hardly talked about my resume or skills but rather talked about cycling and triathlons, my interest in Japanese language and culture and ended with them asking me what my favorite Japanese work was. お疲れ様, Otsukaresama, I answered. A word that has no real equivalent in English or Spanish. It's said at the end of the day to denote a, "thanks for your hard work" or "good night." You would say it to your coworkers at the end of the day or to your friends after a long hike. It means you've finished something together. Hmmm, they answered. That is a good word.

And with that, I got the job. It will be sunny with some clouds on Christmas. There will be a high of 12C.

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanaka or Solstice to you all.
More than anything, I wish you a day of peace.

and the adventures continue....

Thank you.

2009-11-26T15:06:00.003-08:00

I've been back in Tokyo a week and a half and it's a good, yet strange, mix of still being in backpacking, every thing's cool dude, mode. a mix of, bustle bustle, perfect make-up, perfectly pressed suit, ready go, mode. a mix of, staying with friends in unfamiliar neighborhoods and much like my first year teaching, wandering around a little lost and constantly discovering new things, day after day.

As today is *the* day to meditate on giving thanks, I've been wandering around, a bit lost or perhaps just directionless, forming a list of things to be thankful for. It turns out to be an immensely long list, in part because it's been an extremely lucky and good year.

To everyone who inspired me and encouraged me to travel to South America and try something different, challenging, scary. Yet again, after that experience, I feel I can handle anything and am a calmer, more independent, more flexible, more tolerant person for it. Thank you.

To everyone, here in Tokyo and in the Northwest, who took me back after my adventures.

To the friends and family who smile with open arms, say welcome back, you have a home here any time you're ready, we love you... but nonetheless accept that my life still leads me away. I love you, no matter how far away I am. Thank you for your love, acceptance, patience.

To the travelers I met who were really on the road to learn (about the place, the people, themselves). You were unfortunately the minority, but you always made my day and gave me food for thought. For us, the most important journey is within and taking the same picture as everyone else has little to do with that. You taught me to live my life less afraid, more open, less worried. Thank you.

To anyone who helped bring me to joyous conclusion of "fuck the paradigm." Age, relationships, status, jobs, stuff.... It's been a conclusion I've been working on a long time and many of you have been a part of that. Know the rules and expectations of where you are, what you're doing, but in the end, live by your own. For all of those heartfelt conversations: Thank you.

To not being in any debt and therefore able to chase the wind to South America, Italy, Japan... Not being tied to making monthly payments on anything has been incredibly freeing. Still, if I had the choice, I'd wish my mom back. It's a funny sort of being thankful.

To all those who I have reconnected with, proving that my extremely footloose life is still full of meaningful lasting relationships. It's good to see some of your history in the faces of your friends, lovers, coworkers. I'm glad to know that I am changed, having known you, and happy when you've found yourselves changed as well. I look forward to each of our paths crossing again. Thank you.

To Loopy. I will always love you and am so glad I had three weeks to know you and your little parrot heart. If only we could all chase those we love with such reckless abandon and lack of pride. If only seeking the things that bring us immense happiness (over-ripe papaya, a nap in someone's arms) could be that simple and we could all ask for it so simply (squaw!).

I cried my eyes out the day I heard that monkeys had raided the aviary looking for food one early morning and with no volunteers to protect you, you'd been killed. I'm sorry I wasn't there. Still, I'm glad I knew you and loved you for as much time as I had. You taught me so much about how, sometimes, love can be the simplest thing in the world. Thank you.

To Maggie and Sama, whose love was hard won and never to be taken for granted. The bruises and scratches were all worth that occasional friendly, "thank you, you're ok after all" lick at the end of the day or rub against the fence of your cage. You taught me that I am much stronger-- emotionally, physically, spiritually-- than I ever knew. You made me earn being good enough for you and the nights I woke up with nightmares or days my frustration brought me to tears were all worth it. Thank you. I miss you immensely.

(Pictures of the park)

And special special loves goes out to Dave and Katie and their new baby--any second now-- please don't name it "Gratitude" or "Turkey." I am at a constant lack of words to try and describe what you've meant in my life and how lucky I am to be so close to you. I'm so glad you finally get to meet your munchkin. Thank you. All my love.

To all of you who read my blog, keep in touch with letters, or drop me a line now and then. I never have as much time as I'd like to keep in touch but so often there is a beautiful sunset, a funny joke over beers, a ridiculous Tokyo scene, a small secret, that I wish I could share with you. I keep all of you with me. Thank you.

(Some of the prettiest pictures of the year)

Happy Thanksgiving to all of you, whatever this holiday means to you, may you find it.

the adventures (and job interviews) continue...

I'm from Oregon

2009-11-16T00:43:00.004-08:00

I'm from a state where the seasons could be described as colors: grey, green, bright yellow. The days of rain are plentiful but when the sun comes out, it's a gorgeous sight. I'm from a land where it rains more than half the year but no one bothers with umbrellas. I'm from a state where things are looking up when unemployment goes from 12% down to 11.5%. Welcome to Oregon.

So what does a state with out enough jobs and no sunshine? My friends bike everywhere. Or you take the bus, which is filled all sorts of normal people. You deal with soggy feet by drinking micro brew (well, or PBR).
You get part time work and devote the rest of the time to their favorite creative outlet. You cook, You can your own food, you learn to knit. You fix your own house, bike, clothes. You buy used or find it for free. You make what you need; you take care of what you have. You get by with out the glitz. You kind of learn to hibernate and slow down to a different pace of tea and beer and indoor projects, or rain gear and hot showers and coffee.

I've been gone for more than four years, now. On the road, on the run, on the move from one place, job, school, group of friends to the next. During those four years, I became more and more divorced from the feeling of being Oregonian and had more and more trouble answering that question of, "Where are you from?" After all, I've been gone for a long time and everything has changed since I left. Can you still be from some place, even if it just vaguely resembles how it once felt like home? Before this October and November, each trip back to the Northwest was straight from a rushed Tokyo pace of life down to Oregon speed and I always found the adjustment jarring. Don't people have more places to be? Why does no one put some effort into dressing up and/or going out? With all of Tokyo's lights and bustle and independence, coming back, car-less, bike-less, restless, never reconciled very well.

So, previously, I found myself still in love with my old friends but in love with the cities and space of the Northwest. This time has been different though. After living out of my 35L backpack and chasing semi-wild animals around in Bolivia, I not only have renewed respect, admiration, and love for my hard-core, we will bike through the cold rain, no bullshit, we can innovate around that, friends, but also, I'm moving at a different pace. I'm walking around, just to see somewhere, not to go somewhere. I'm alright being a few days behind schedule because hey, I can and I'm not ready to leave yet.

I don't know what my future will bring or if it will lead me back to the Northwest. The pull to return and settle is stronger than ever, but so is the smell of crazy adventures. But regardless of that, I'm convincingly and happily proud to say, "I'm from Oregon."

packing. what's in a bag?

2009-10-25T02:28:00.007-07:00

So now comes the time to pack everything I will take to Japan and start a new life with. again.

First thing's first. The bike:
(I'm totally in love. Isn't it a beauty?? Totally worth giving up the extra checked bag. Totally.)

After the bike I have a carry on and one more checked bag.
My carry on will be my backpack which has now seen four continents. REI, you were worth every cent.
(the blue and gray thing on the bottom. It's now going on 10 months living out of a 35L backpack. I can't wait to settle into a little more space. A Tokyo shoe box apartment is looking like a mansion (ha ha ha... Japanese speakers, don't you think I'm clever? hahaha) compared to my backpack.)
And one big checked bag.

So. What's the packing list?
Two suits, grey and black. (pair of pants each plus a straight skirt for the black one) all at least two years old but in good condition.
My new resume picture. It could be better but it's good enough to do. I've already got two requests for interviews so it must be passable. whew.
and what else gets packed? Three new blouses, one old one. Three pairs of new slacks. A new skirt. One old pair of work heels. One new pair of flats. Two potentially work appropriate sweaters.

And then there are the casual clothes....
There'll be some tights and leg warmers and sneakers too, I imagine. The going out fashion will pretty much have to wait till I've got a paycheck...

Tokyo, meet the Boliva jeans. How ya doing?

In the meantime, my schedule's looking like this:
Sunday 10/25: Olympia, Monday:Portland. Halloween in Portland. Eugene... Nov 2nd? San Fran...Nov 10th? I land in Tokyo Nov 17th!

This post makes me feel like I have multiple personalities or something. but never mind that. the bag needs to be packed. I'm looking forward to settling down for a little while. At least 3 months would be great.

the adventures continue...

On the run...

2009-09-12T08:14:00.007-07:00

Yesterday, after a quick bike ride to a neighboring town, I came back, showered and tried to dress up for lunch. A dress, shaved legs, plucked eyebrows, a little make up here and there... I looked at myself in the mirror and found it hard to recognize myself. It's ok, I told myself. This is just my secret life.

I find it so hard to wrap my head around everything these days. I can't imagine a bigger culture shock. There was the park for what was only 6 weeks but feels like half a year at least. Then there was a fantastic send off party and hours and hours on busses to Buenos Aires. 50 hours from Santa Cruz, Bolivia to Buenos Aires, Argentina on one bus without air conditioning through road blockades where we all sat on the side of the road and watched the sunset and drug searches and a birthday where we got up and danced in the aisles. 75 hours in total from when I left the park, send off party and buses buses...

Then there was Buenos Aires and Em was there. There was operation de-jungle and I bought some new clothes and got a hair cut. I washed the bog mud from my sandals and send my clothes to be cleaned. Em and I had nice dinners and talked and while I grew to understand our friendship much better in those two days, my mind still hadn't really caught up with my body.

And then it was 22 hours in airports and planes and BA to Lima to El Salvador to LA. And then it was California with all of it's millions of cars. Cars cars cars all fighting by themselves to get to where ever faster. And it was operation buy a new bike (more news on that later) despite having the flu (yeah, better living through chemistry). And after 4 and a half days (one day spent doing nothing but sleeping off a fever) with a shiny new bike, we got on the plane to Italy.

And it was more airplanes and airports and then it was Florence and then Anthony's family friend's house and then the fever came back and I was down for nearly a week. There was a doctor and a possibility that the whole house might have to be quarantined because I could potentially have swine flu. But recoveries come in time and I'm back and running but somehow I'm still waking up not knowing where I am and looking in the mirror not really knowing what I'm doing here.

But let me show you in pictures:

Ambue Ari Schedule
Every day I woke up to the sunrise and monkeys running across the roof and fell asleep to the sound of crickets. And when I think of the park I can imagine what they would be doing at any given time of the day.

The spider monkey, Moracha, would break into the kitchen multiple times a day. Here she is eating beets, which would then still be served, as is, as lunch to volunteers. Better not to think where those monkey hands have been... but that's the food we have.

There were all of the goofy 19 year old gap-year kids or summer break-ers, full of energy and idealism and enthusiasm. Full of bravery over experience and the desire to prove themselves. Here, two of my favorites are showing off.

Ana and Moracha relax on Saturday afternoon
There were Saturday afternoons off and laying about relaxing.

Maggie kisses
There were endless scratches, bruises and blisters from shoes, from boots, from clearing trails, from the animals, from the plants and trees, from the cages....

Party at Dona Lauri's

There was partying on Fridays and Saturdays at our favorite bar with out walls, a dirt floor, and a jukebox. The power grid ran only from 6pm to 11pm and after that we had to go home (or convince them to run the generator for us.... )

Morten, Amy and Rauiri freak out
There was a lot of entertaining ourselves by being stupid, silly, random...

There was the daily walk through the hip deep, smelly bog.... mmm. but with a sense of humor it was a beautiful place

There was beautiful Maggie.

I'm checking Maggie for ticks under her collar while she was on heat.

Morten and Maggie

And now, I'm in lovely beautiful Italy. Things are clean and beautiful. Everything is old and well cared for, though people don't seem to smile much on the street. The couple we are staying are absolutely fantastic and have a lovely home and cook gormet food and entertain smashingly.
procuito and cantalope at Josepina's

Columns of the Roman bath at Motecatini

And it's all perfect here. But sometimes I miss Maggie kisses. It's hard to wrap my head around...
Maggie doesn't look too happy

shock

2009-08-13T16:41:00.002-07:00

I´m leaving the park on Aug 25th and heading to Buenos Aires before flying back to the states and then yeah.... good things will happen, but...

I´m already anticipating the horrible culture shock.

things that have become normal and I will miss
-having a tribe. a group that you eat every mediocre meal with, share chores with, drink to oblivion with, share dorms with. a group that has your back and visa versa. even if they do let you sleep with the pigs... but that´s another story.
-quiet. so much of the day spent listening to insects and birds and trying not to make a sound
-waking up with the dawn as it comes through the window just before wake up call.
-chaos everywhere. A spider monkey in the kitchen. the semi wild pigs in the dorms in the middle of the night. 5 new people who are wandering around lost. half a dozen languages and mistranlations. todlers running around covered in god knows what.
-making due. somehow, despite the food and hygene(sp?) and unstocked clinic, we make due.
-facing fear. working with Maggi is amazing, but at the same time everyday there is a moment where the bottom drops out of my stomach and I hold it there and don´t flinch despite some other part of my desperately wanting to run. there is something in that type of moment that I´ll miss. and also won´t.
- dirt. we are filthy. the chaos of all the animals contributes, naturally. and somehow, everyone here is still one of the most attractive groups of people I´ve every had the privilage. the grooming is irrelavant.
-nothing (er, very little) is wasted. the garbage system at first was daunting but it´s a complicated system so that all food left overs get eaten by someone or something. pigs. pios. parrots. the dog... it all filters down and what´s left goes to the compost.
- the body is tougher than I thought. people here get beat up and keep laughing. it´s fantastic.
- the stars and fireflies and having the time to just stare at them.
- time. ¨what time is it, Corinna?¨ asks my friend Rauiri. ´¨I don´t know. ¨ I answer. things happen when they do. some days are signinicantly longer or shorter than others. it goes. and it´s ok.

the rest of the world seems very far away and I can only imagine with dread the overwhelming panic a US supermarket or god forbid Walmart like store will rain down on me. or the traffic. or the streams of people who don´t give a damn. or just the waste of food. or the televisions and radios.

I can look a pissed off puma in the eyes and indulgently say. ¨no chica¨ but a grocery store with elevator music will probably bring me to tears. my life is weird.

the adventures continue.

much love to all of you. xx.

hormones

2009-07-31T06:49:00.002-07:00

a puma on heat is a sight to behold. deafeningly loud. lovey dovey. so calm you can pull ticks off her neck and face. slow.... a completely different cat.

A puma coming off heat (in less than a week) is apparently a very different sight to behold. and just when my bruises had recovered.

all my love to you guys. I´ve gotta run....

Ambue Ari. part I

2009-07-18T12:55:00.003-07:00

One week at Parque Ambue Ari down. I´ve been assigned to work with a puma named Maggi. She´s one of the most energetic and demanding cats to work with and I´m really excited for the challenge. She´s about two years old, so a teenager by puma years with all the trappings of a teenager: moody, energetic, alternatively grumpy and affectionate.

Maggi requires two volunteers to work with her because of her personality and energy so most of the first week has been only half days with her. I´ve been working with a goofy American guy named Travis from Georgia, among other places. He´s really good with Maggi and when he leaves in the next week, I´m a bit nervous what will come next. So far, a days have looked something like this

630 the whole camp gets a wake up call and we stumble out of bed
700 most of the volunteers (including me) take care of the aviary. feed the parrots, clean up, etc
730 rotating morning chores like sweep the patio or clean the bathrooms
800 breakfast of exactly two plain bread rolls, and instant coffee or something resembling hot chocolate. sometimes butter. rarely powdered milk. no spreads unless you buy them yourself.
900 helping with construction of a new puma´s cage
(945, I´m hungry.... but so it goes)
1230 lunch. only one plateful and no seconds as there never seems to be enough. the cooks cook for 30 regardless of how many volunteers it seems.
200 get ready to go with a bucket of meat, water, key. Also, change into bog pants.
15-20 min walk down the highway
change into wet muckbooks and tie sneakers to my backpack
10-15 min walk through THE BOG. often up to mid thigh deep in water and mud. no chance of keeping the feet dry. beautiful. smells like bog.
change into dry super baggy pants and clean dry sock and running shoes.
300 get Maggi out of her cage. A strong rope goes around my waist and is attached with a heavy duty caribiner (sp?) the rope is maybe 10-15 feet long and I attach it to her colar in a holding pen.

After everything is secured, the door is opened and we take off at a full out puma sprint. I wiped out twice my first day on the rope trying to keep up while being pulled off balance. Maggi is maybe 40 or 50 kg, so I out weigh her but she´s still super strong.

She´s not much for endurance so she soon slows down and both volunteers follow behind as quietly as possible. If we are too loud, breaking twigs or chatting, she turns around and hisses, showing all her teeth. She´s a moody teenager and we are her unfortunate goofy parents who aren´t cool enough to be a silent speedy puma.

Sometimes she prowls. Sometimes she stalks something and then launches forward in another dead out sprint to catch it, me pulled behind. Naturally, I´m too slow and then she´s kinda pissed I let her down.

If I let her, she often dashes into the patuju leaves and settles her self down in the shade. Then, peering out, she eyes me or Travis, trying to catch us off gaurd and then bolts toward us, jumps up, all four feet off the ground and gives a playful attack. The jump can involve a lot of torn clothes and big bruises where she bites, so I don´t like it *so* much... but on the other hand it is pretty cool. Sometimes she gets a little over excited and it takes the second volunteer to get her off and calmed down. Interestingly, she scratches Travis much more and bites me more. The bites don´t usually break the skin like the scratches, but bruise up quite big.

As I learn her moods and how to physically interact more, I´ll get bitten less, I hope. I feel down right beat up at the end of the day, but am loving the experience so far. It´s one of the more challenging relationships to build, compared with some of the other cats here, I´m told. I think that´s good for me. If I got one of the lovey total pussy cat pumas, I think I´d be a bit bored in comparison. At the end of the day, Maggi usually comes over for a pet or to lick my hand. She still wants affection and to love and be loved.... it´s just on her terms and in a physical sort of way.

After walking and napping and stalking and jumping and running, we call it a day a bit after 5... depending on her and when she finishes her trail. She has some of the best -longest, most varied-- trails of any of the cats in the park, so we never have to do laps and rarely retrace our steps.

500 clean the poop out of her cage, clean her water bowl, put out fresh meat. Let Maggi back into her cage.

Change into bog pants and muck boots. THE BOG. the highway, barefoot, as the sun sets and the wild parrots call from the trees.

cold shower. brrr. but good not to smell like bog.

600 Dinner. One plate. no seconds.
700 a bus heads to the tiny town of Santa Maria and most people go, though usually not me.
play cards over candle light, hand out with the few other non-partiers, chill folks.
1000 the bus from town heads back to the park but by the time they get in, I´m usually already asleep.

And so it goes. In the next few days, the majority of the very long term volunteers (i.e. more than 3 months) leave and I´ll pick up some organizing people type responsibility. probably organizing accomidation.

Saturdays, today, are half days and so it isn´t too hard to come in to use the internet in Guarayos (an hour by bus away from the park) but I might not bother next week. or I might. we´ll see.

It´s been slow to make friends with out drinking heavily, but things are slowly getting better and better. I can´t deal with Maggi with a hangover or sleep deprived. I chose to let my bruised body rest. I´m in one of the better dorms, more light and air, less cockroaches.

I´m tired and sleeping well. I´m not antsy to start traveling again. It´s good to be in one place with a project of a grumpy puma.

I miss you all and wish you could see this place.

the adventures continue.

leaving paradise

2009-07-07T12:04:00.004-07:00

I have left paradise, and I am sad to leave somewhere so overwhelmingly beautiful, but am excited to be on my own again. The days open up in an entirely different way when you know no one around you and have no one to look out for and there is no one to take care of you. I have only myself to please or not. This type of transient loneliness between places and friends is something I'm becoming accustomed to. It's when I write.

Despite everyday on the farm in Brazil being filled with the poetry of the landscape and words of a budding romance swimming in my ears, I could hardly write. Here, again, in a small border town, a stranger to the people around me, I can put words to the time there. Here, in Corumba, in what a Brazilian woman named Carmen called the hottest town in Brazil (though I don't believe her), guests speaking European languages and splashing in the almost but not quite warm enough pool, it's easier to fold my thoughts and words around the lingering sunsets and the smell of burnt sugar cane on Fazenda Milhã.

Warm winter days, in a way that I can't believe it's not fall or spring or perhaps an early summer day, and rolling red hills with row after row of swaying sugar cane. Jabuticaba trees blooming snowflake flowers , delicate scent calling all the bees so that standing inside one is to hear nothing else than the industry of busy insects.

Papaya trees in troves. Swaying in the wind, some knocked down in the storm that scattered lightening over the hills and between the clouds. Papaya trees standing awkwardly like a woman with too many breasts and no children to chase them. Waiting for the awkward fruits to grow and ripen.

(perhaps, I'm writing like what I've been reading: Tar Baby by Toni Morrison)

Every day we ate papayas and avocados from the farm. Food was plentiful and rich. Simple in a country sort of way, beans, vegetables, a dish of meat, all seasoned with garlic. always plenty of garlic. Everything, butter, mayonnaise, bread, made from scratch, the result of labor being cheap and culturally appropriate. Salads almost every meal, the greens, tomatoes, carrots, beets all straight from the garden. Lovely Brazilian coffee.....

And the sun would set slowly and the air seemed to turn a little red, whether from the red dust or the smoke from the burning cane or an illusion from the warmth of the land... At night we could see the sugar cane burning it the distance and hear the blaze even miles away. The ash would float through the air like snowflakes before landing and sootying up clothes or houses.

And red mud, again and again, covering feet, cars, dogs. The two little dogs (and one old one too) always bouncing around, getting caught up on each other. Stupid but sweet little things that seemed to defy gravity and have endless bladders for pissing on bushes when we went out walking.

Anthony's grandmother, 91, cute as a button, fluttering about and making sure none of us were cold. Speaking me in Portuguese as if I understood as well as anyone else. How I smiled the night she kissed me goodnight and called me "mi amor" like she did her grand kids. Tiny and thin, with Anthony and his family all encouraging her to eat constantly, "First you tell your kids what to do and then at some point they are always telling you what to do," she explains to me.

Anthony's aunt, a woman who I sincerly respect, running the farm and all sorts of sugar cane/alternative energy associations, I will also miss very much. There is a type of strength and social grace that I have always sought to develop in myself and she has it.

And owls on the fence posts, and the Southern Cross bright and clear at night, clean air, good water, fresh cheese from the local dairy, waking up warm and smiling...

Before leaving, I sat out on the grass, looking out over the reservior and hills, dogs playing on me and rolling around on the grass, just listening to how quiet it was and loving the beauty of the place. *this* I'll remember, I thought to myself, when I'm sad and can't find enough beauty around me. This will be one of those touch stone memories I come back to.

But then there were bus rides and border crossings and train rides and so on, and now here I am, now finishing this post in a hostel in Santa Cruz, Bolivia before heading into a jungle filled with mosquitoes and other bugs, a day away from running with pumas or jaguars, fingers crossed.

the adventures most certainly do continue....

La Paz

2009-07-02T08:21:00.004-07:00

It's been about 6 weeks in Brazil. The time has flown by remarkably fast and though I'll tear myself away on Saturday, it's hard to leave. After Bolivia and La Paz, Brazil has felt a lot like paradise. Not that Bolivia did not have it's own charms, of course...

with the little square buildings climbing up the sides of mountains
and little old lady street venders in bowler's hats and shawls, selling all manner of things
Flowers, fruits, llama fetuses of varying sizes, shapes, and colors
and full of little mini-bus vans that always had one person yelling out the windows or open doors trying to hustle more passenger. Regardless of how full the van was, someone, sometimes school aged, was trying to attract more fares.
La Paz *smells* undeveloped and the nagging sensation in my stomach never seemed far off the entire time I was in Bolivia. And soon I will embark on another holygodlong bus journey back to the jungles of Bolivia...

I wonder how La Paz has changed in the last 10 or 30 years. Compared to Brazil (er, the Sao Paulo to Rio part), which in many ways is a very developed and first world in terms of fancy super markets, paved roads and shiny cars, Bolivia feels 30 years behind. In Brazil, you can even flush toilet paper down the toilet, a rare thing anywhere else in Latin America.

arg... but I must run... the adventures continue. more stories to come

grrr

2009-06-29T07:48:00.001-07:00

oooh! pictures enter the blog sphere once again!

the sugar cane battle wages. kori 15489723, cane 5.

did no one have my back? seriously, guys.

2009-06-23T18:31:00.000-07:00

people took the opportunity to validate my existence

apparently, this is how to spell such a thing. not "opprotunity" and "existance"
though, blogger now won't let me use so many characters OR upload pictures. so... yeah.

Some days, I feel like Charlie from Flowers for Algernon before his brainy operation. I mean, I know I have about a zillion spelling and grammar mistakes on here... but they are unique creations, like half melted snow flakes. This repeated mistaking is just... embarrassing.

Why did no one tell me? It's like having a bugger smeared all over your face and you can't tell why people are smiling at you so you just give them what you think is your best heart-breaker's smile, sorta thing. and they turn their heads and run. and you smack your friends for not smacking you and telling you.

dudes.

it's been a weird day. the adventures continue.

Sugar Baby

2009-06-21T16:32:00.000-07:00

BubbleShare: Share photos - Easy Photo Sharing

Brazil for now

2009-06-19T09:34:00.000-07:00

hmmm. blogspot will not give me any love these days and let me upload pictures easily. and it seems I don't really know how to arrange my thoughts without pictures. so... here's the best I can do:

after nearly three weeks in the jungle and getting the unspeakable heat rash/yeast infection on my ankles, I fled to La Paz to let the cold air and high altitude heal my feet and kill the mold that was growing on my backpack and shoes.....

ew.

Anyways, pancake breakfasts and wandering through stalls of llama fetuses was good to clear my head, rest my feet and take my breath away (highest capital city in the world and all). I wonder how La Paz of today compares to the La Paz my aunt Kitty knew in her Peace Corps days...

and then it was to Brazil, with Anthony, and wham bam, now we're all speaking Portuguese, thank you ma'am.

and after a week of horse riding and kayaking and tramping through sugar cane fields planted in the reddest dirt I have ever seen, we pulled ourselves away from paradise to go to Rio. In Rio, we met Em and we ravaged the usual tourist spots and caught up hanging out on the beach.

We go to witness Iguazu falls, which because of the drought and dry season, is only at a 1/3 of it's capacity. 450 m3/s still impresses the hell out of me. I simply cannot organize my thoughts without showing some pictures... hopefully, this technicality will get sorted out.

and after mailing Em to Ecuador a few days ago, I'm back on the sugar cane farm with Anthony and his family. I'm learning some Portuguese, trying to communicate with his 91 year old grandmother (who keeps walking in on us, forgetting what she saw-thank god, but also forgetting that she shouldn't walk in...), and learning all about all things sugar cane. In theory, I am also using this time to get back in shape before heading back to the jungle to run with cats. However, the cold I caught in Iguassu is kicking my ass, still, and the running is uninspired.

So, I've changed my ticket. I'll fly back to the states September 1st. And then soon after will be flown to Italy for 3 weeks as a birthday present.... life is good, though I'm sad to miss eventing season in the states.

So some time here, some time back in Bolivia in the jungle, some time in Buenos Aires, some time as a birthday present and then October and a bit of November in the states before heading back to Japan. Because after all, at some point I really need to work again.

life is good.
the writing will get better when the pictures happen.
really. hmmm.

the adventures continue...

when our best is not good enough

2009-05-16T10:18:00.007-07:00

In the three weeks spent at the Copa Aviary, there was never more than a two day stretch when someone didn't escape or die. Perhaps it was bad luck. perhaps it was arriving after a number of waves of volunteers who didn't even stay their promised two weeks and did the bare minimum of work. perhaps this is just life in Bolivia.

It's a hard lesson to learn, I find, that my best isn't always good enough... but it's the best I can give so somehow it has to be ok.

Many of the birds who escaped, like Sunshine, returned after a day or two, looking for food and their regular bird social contacts. All the birds who escaped, save Woody Allen-- a huge Red Macaw, we were able to catch and return to their cages/rehabilitation schemes.
(Sunshine, a Yellow Collared Macaw with beady red eyes, will hopefully be released when the park has found a good place and gets permission from the government. He was gone for a full 24 hours before getting hungry and returning to his cage.)

Woody Allen, a huge red Macaw, escaped because of a faulty door. The elastic cord broke, I fixed it so it was tighter than before, a different volunteer put it on backwards making it a little looser than before and Woody Allen escaped. We arrived in the morning, and I started uncovering cages, Loopy on my arm as usual. I could hear Woody Allen's very loud voice, but he wasn't in his cage, the door still fastened. There he was, at the top of the tree, RRRAAAWWWW, I'm king of the WORLD!!!! I put Loopy in the kitchen and ran to fetch a vet, who suggested putting a banana on a stick and trying to lure him down. RRRAAAWWWW HA HA HA, I'M KING OF THE WORLD, Woody Allen replied from 30 feet up. I followed him for a day, as he moved to taller and taller trees, voice like a fog horn, only to loose him near the end of the day. A huge red parrot is surprisingly easy to loose...

Last seen near the river, not native to central Bolivia, never to find a partner, I hope you do OK Woody. I hope you make it. You're always welcome to come back, we have some bananas and mandrines waiting for you.

And here we were, trying our best, and one of the very important birds for the park escaped. The vets and volunteers all knew that his cage was too small and that his was bored. We knew he had escaped before and might again if things stayed the way they were. But there was nowhere bigger to move him, it's was the best we could do. It wasn't good enough and he escaped.
This flock of 3 dozen Blue Crowned Conures had four casualties while I was there. A disease swept through the flock, killing the weakest and necessitating antibiotics in the water, the whole cage scrubbed with bleach, and then, when things didn't get better, the vets came and gave every bird in the flock injections of antibiotics and vitamins. After the vets came to give the first round of antibiotic shots, they isolated four very thin birds for special attention. Had we, the volunteers, been feeding the flock enough? We were doing what the volunteers before had done, though sometimes the flock ate every tiny bit of papaya or corn especially for their dinner meal... Could the epidemic have been prevented?

When carrying the sick conures and injured parakeets (attacked by their own vicious flock) back and forth to the clinic, I noticed a tiny baby parrot. Tiny and slowly being nursed back to health was this tiny little guy
Only 5 months old, very shy, wings clipped, so weak she'd walk right off the kitchen counter and fall horribly to the ground. Unable to hold on to your arm or eat hard foods, she eventually transfered from the clinic to the aviary. The volunteers all instantly became like excited little girls, aaawwww a baby parrot.

We'd carry her around and she started to get accustomed to us. One day, instead of being scared, she took a few steps toward me and tried to climb onto my arm. I swooned. We gave her as much care and attention and love as we could. The vets gave me all the instructions in her care in Spanish, the gist of which was, treat her just like Loopy. She can eat whatever she wants, carry her around, etc. We tried to help them make friends and tied her cage next to his, though they were both only in their cages at night.

She survived about 4 days with us.

One night a storm blew in and her cage was not as sheltered as we thought. The volunteers found her in the morning soaking wet and ran her to the clinic. She'd died in the middle of the night of exposure, a good four hours ago. The vets said it was a bad place for her cage...

Had I misunderstood the instructions? Had the vet said that before and I'd missed it? My Spanish is still very bad but the best of all the volunteers at the aviary. Should I have asked someone to translate? Should we have know it wasn't a good place to tie her cage? It seemed protected under the rafters... Our best wasn't good enough and she died.

Rest in peace, little one. I'm sorry we couldn't take care of you better.
And such is life, day after day in the park. What do you do? Giving up and walking away solves nothing. The day after Woody Allen escaped, we improved all the debilitated latches. The day after Baby died, we made sure the birds in small cages were better protected at night. When the Conure epidemic started, we worked harder to clean the shelves and tables where we put the food for the birds.

To paraphrase one of the original 6 couchsurfers, "I do the best I know. When I know better, I do better."

And so the aviary goes on, another string of two week volunteers take over, as many lessons as possible are passed down. Be careful of the cage doors of the Macaws, they can be escape artists. Take extra care when storm clouds are brewing...

I've been working on a proper file for the birds so more of these lessons can be passed down, I was in the clinic trying to print some pictures and talking to one of the long term vets. And how are the two new volunteers, she asks me. I don't know, I say, shaking my head. They like birds but...I'm a little worried. She shrugs her shoulders, they are better than no body she says.

We do the best we can, with whatever we have, when we know better we do better. The vets never got mad at us or tried to make us feel guilty for the escapes and deaths. Life goes on. We are doing the best we can with what we've got. There is no time for whining and complaining and talking about "what ifs." This is life and there is still a hell of a lot of work to do.

This is a damn fine lesson to learn. And so I'm going to go back, after meeting my darling Em in Rio. I'm changing my plane ticket, delaying my return, and promising more time to this park and these people who are as tough as nails doing their best for these animals who have no better option. This is good work to do. These are good lessons to learn.

Heat rash, bug bites, puncture wounds and blisters be damned.
the adventures continue...

lessons in love

2009-05-16T08:14:00.007-07:00

A year and a bit ago I was here, in Xian China.
I stayed in a hostel run by a charismatic guy from Jersey and his dog Charlie. Charlie is not just a normal dog, but one of the friendliest mascots a hostel could ever hope for. Charlie is also a very lucky dog.

Charlie was a street dog, the guy from Jersey explained, friends and I were all out on a drinking binge and I decided to adopt her. I mean, you have to be pretty drunk to think that adopting a Chinese street dog is a good idea. But she's amazing. This dog will teach you how to love. This dog loves so hard, it's changed my life.

And everywhere Jersey went, Charlie was at his heals, occasionally stopping to share some love with the hostel guests. And when the hostel, sadly, went under a few months later, Jersey took Charlie back to the states, a feat that surely involved patience and paperwork that only true love would inspire.

And it's been quite a year thinking about love and relationships and commitment and promises. Most of it is unbloggable as I generally try to follow "the rules of group therapy" when blogging, i.e. talk only about your own experiences. And here I am, 11am, in the empty bar on the top floor of a hostel in La Paz, sappy music with Spanish lyrics playing over the radio, stuck on the same questions that never seem to get answered. Where do I find what I'm looking for? Where's the line between someone just not good enough and someone, imperfections and all, who I'm better of with than without?

and then there is Loopy. I LOVE YOU LOOPY!
A funny little Severe Macaw, who loved so hard and who I dearly miss, sitting on my shoulder.
A funny little parrot who despite apparently having the ability to learn how to speak and make many different sounds, only had a mildly grating "squaw" to say over and over. A small parrot who most of the volunteers lost patience with quickly because of his unrelenting and loud squaw, but who I absolutely adored. I rarely let him sit on my shoulder as he was so loud and instead carried him around on my arm as I did chores or chopped vegetables.

When I couldn't carry him around, like when I was working in other birds cages, I'd put him in the "kitchen" near his beloved papaya fruit or over-ripe banana.
But often, preferring love to food and unable to fly, he would climb down from the kitchen counter and follow me around the aviary, slowly walking on his little parrot legs, "SQUAW"ing the whole way. Sometimes he'd climb up the outside of the cage where I was working to try to get closer only to realize that the bigger parrots inside the cage were less than friendly to him and then be stuck because he couldn't fly away and in desperate need of rescue.

And when it was eventually time for the afternoon break after all the birds got lunch and when there wasn't too much extra work to do, Loopy and I'd sit down and relax.
Him sitting on my lap or chest and me scratching the back of his neck and head and him slowly going from LOUD SQUAW to sleepy squaw to everything-is-right-with-the-world-and-I'm-so-happy-little squaw. Sometimes if there were no monkey raids on the aviary and we had enough time to relax he'd fall asleep on me, completely undignified, neck stretched out on my chest, wings askew, totally relaxed and more cat-like than parrot like, blissfully happy.

But eventually there were always afternoon chores and cages to repair and dinner to prepare for the aviary and Loopy would give his most frustrated SQUAW when the time came to get up and do work. And he'd follow on foot or sit near the kitchen flapping his mostly useless wings like a toddler stamping his foot, demanding that nap time be extended.

And I find it amazing how simple and obvious animals make loving someone. I'll walk 20 minutes on my short parrot legs just to have you pick me up, give me a pet, laugh, and then put me back on the kitchen counter again and I'll climb down and follow you again. What I want from you is simple and I have no qualms about asking for it obviously and clearly over and over again, despite that I'm not designed to walk and my wings will never be strong enough to fly. I'll come to you, in what ever way I can.

And somehow we humans never keep it that simple. And I don't think I've ever had someone fight as hard for my love as this little parrot did.

Of course it's not the same, I guess. Of course it's not the same with people. I wouldn't want to be responsible for a partner the way I felt responsible for Loopy (...though for kids, if I'm ever so lucky). People ask for a lot more than just a hour to fall asleep on your chest while you scratch their head. Or at least most do.

I miss you Loopy. In the last month in Bolivia you've made me laugh and made me so happy. You've taught me how to love better. Funny how a stray dog or a loopy little parrot can change your life.

and the adventures continue....

A little more faith in humanity

2009-05-14T07:54:00.006-07:00

This is not the San Diego Zoo. An aviary with over 100 parrots (including one red listed endangered species), parakeets, and raptors as well as a dozen and a half tortoises and 61 turtles run by short term volunteers, usually only staying for two weeks. Volunteers come for all sorts of countries, about half from Israel, usually early twenties, to try their hand at volunteering in the jungle. No experience necessary. The work day starts at 7:30am and ends between 5:30 and 6:30pm when it's too dark to work anymore. You can have one day off every two weeks, so there are few chances to catch up on sleep.

Some days there was no running water at the aviary (other than the downpours...) and we hauled it from the hostel nearby.
Often the right food for the birds hadn't been delivered (road blocks, drivers couldn't be assed, Bolivian style efficiency) and so we improvised.
Birds often escaped because there was so much maintenance to do on all the cages.
Often the only information we had about the birds in our care was something like this:
But here you are, at a place that is run on pure heart and love for animals. No great organization, not much infrastructure, very little training, zillions of bug bites, all of us doing the best we can. There was never a day where it was an ideal situation, so everyday was doing the best we could with what we had.

I worked with these two girls for two weeks. Two young Danish girls traveling Peru and Bolivia together, only 19 and 20, only knowing a few words of Spanish, who were some of the hardest best workers I'd met in a long time.

Some people surprise you are restore some of your faith in humanity. These two girls did for me.

I love Japan and I miss Japan but I left in December very burnt out. I was surrounded by many people, especially immediate coworkers, who didn't like their jobs, who didn't think trying any harder would make any difference, who didn't problem solve very well on their own. Of course, there were many amazing people who were exceptions, but there were enough that were down right incompetent and lazy and mopey that I began loose respect for people in general.

Those who know me best probably know that it's a lot easier to win my love or my trust than it is to win my respect. As a result of how I felt about my coworkers in Japan, I stopped giving new people much benefit of doubt and began assuming that everyone was a bit incompetent or lazy. I didn't really like the assumptions that I was making about new people I'd meet, yet, it's a hard habit to break.

And then here come these two very young, inexperienced, shy, seemingly naive Danish girls who were some of the best workers I've ever had the pleasure of sharing a job with. Even when we were told there was going to be an inspection of the park and we had to take down all the tarps and scrub them all clean, a job that took three days and left us all soaking wet, exhausted, and with chapped red hands, they still had a sense of humor and didn't shirk from more hard work.

Surprisingly funny, surprisingly diligent, surprisingly organized. I hope these two take over the world. Thanks for restoring some faith. Thank you. I'm always surprised by who changes my mind and how.

a little quiet time

2009-05-13T09:52:00.002-07:00

After almost three weeks in the jungle volunteering with parrots at Inti Wara Yassi's Parque Machia, I have sadly left.
I'm in La Paz, letting the bug bites, blisters, and heat rash heal, staying in a posh hostel a million times quieter than the aviary with over 100 parrots. I'm wandering the streets contemplating life and love, what makes a good community, home, what really is necessary, what money buys and what falling in love over and over again does to a person.... etc.

all in all, I'm loving Bolivia and most likely changing that June 26th plane ticket so that I can come back and volunteer more.

the adventure continue. more stories to come...

Going north

2009-04-21T16:18:00.001-07:00

Mendoza, Argentina to Santa Cruz, Boliva.

Start time, noon April 17th. Arrival, 2am April 19th.

When Dan headed North to Bolivia and Machia animal park, he had some border issues.... I was prepared for some nonsense but hoped it might not be quite as hard for me, after all, I speak some Spanish by now, have 3 months of south America under my belt. blah blah blah.

I start at the bus station, asking every bus company for a bus that goes direct to Santa Cruz. no beans. International buses run to Peru, Uraguay and Chile... but no cross over into Bolivia. I return and check the internet. nothing solid, reputable looking. Even if I could buy a Bolivian ticket online there are no companies I'd be happy giving my credit card info too. no beans.
So I'm flying kind of blind in... and when my brother did it he got stuck in a border town for 3 days.... so my expectations are for not an easy day(s). but, you know, here goes nothing. I buy a ticket to the border. (Salvator Mazza crossing to Potsoi (?) bus then from neighboring Yacuiba to Santa Cruz is the plan...)

it's a 28 hour bus ride to the border and I have crap luck with Argentine buses. So far, 3 out of 6 have broken down on me though everyone else tells me it's not usual. this one breaks down at the 24 hour mark, I am the only whitie on the bus. standing water/murky puddles everywhere and everyone covering themselves with DEET like it's going out of style. There is, after all a Denge Fever epidemic with something like 30,000 people in Northern Argentina infected. It's not the best of places for the bus to break down.... A few people not so far from their destination call a cab, including a woman about my age and her gorgeous 7 year old daughter. I smile at the kid and she smiles back shyly. She holds a naked baby doll, completely unadorned except for some hair drawn in around the ears in blue ball point pen. Her eyes could break any heart as she clutches that doll to her like it was the most important thing to save in the whole world. and perhaps it was...

Eventually another bus heading the same direction pulls over and picks us up.

All the non-Bolivian looking types get off at the next stop, leaving only about half a dozen of us for the last hour of the ride. The driver's wing man comes up to me and sounds very concerned. Do I have a place to stay? um, no. do I need one? well.... do you have a reservation on a bus on the other side of the border? um, no. wasn't possible. etc. etc. this is all making me nervous. We get off the bus and I am immediately swarmed by people trying to call me cabs, asking me where I want to go and trying to take my arm and lead me places. After 28 hours on a bus I'm dazed beyond belief but hold it together. The bus driver's wingman reappears, tells me to take a cab to immigration and if there are any problems come back to the station and go to this window and they'll help me find a place to stay.

I only understand this much after asking 3 times and telling him he really must speak slower. but fine. ok. he tells me very seriously, glancing around, WATCH YOUR BAG for the tenth time. ok.

I get in a cab, bag in my lap and hope they aren't going to sell me into white slavery. I, unfortunately, know that I need to find an ATM to successfully cross both borders. but I have enough ARG money for a cab and the potential, you've-overstayed-your-visa-by-a-day fee (50 Argentine pesos).

Argentine immigration goes smoothly with no fee and I walk across the bridge to Bolivia. There is a street market five miles long that I walk along looking for where Bolivian immigration is. Eventually, after about 15 minutes walking, I get to a cross street and someone catches my attention. I ask where the long distance bus terminal is and they flag a bus for me. I get on the bus realizing that I have only 100 Boiviano notes and no coins. crap.

The bus's door has directions written in Japanese on it. I feel a little like I'm in the twilight zone. I also realize that the man who caught my attention could have been a slave trader or something. I look around the bus. hmmm, no one else with bags. no other gringas. well, breathe and look sharp, I think.

I get to the long distance bus terminal, paying with an Argentine peso, and bus driver gives a little honk as I get down to the street. Immediately women start running toward me. They ask where I'm going, Santa Cruz. and start trying to steer me in their direction. I'm not as sold as they would like and so they grab hold of my arms and backpack straps trying to guide me to their bus office. This is so not cool. The company the loudest one is from is called "American Bus" and looks dodgy as hell. Another lady is pulling me in another direction. More hawkers are approaching by the dozens. they are all touching me. I'm so tired I feel I could just drop onto the 90 degree cement and pass out. I try to come up with the Spanish for GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF ME but my mind is blank. This is all so not cool. I'm surrounded.

A woman slightly older and not as loud as the rest asks where I'm going, Santa Cruz, and points to a decent looking bus and says it's her company. I ask how much. 40 bolivianos. sounds cheap. (14USD=100Bs) ok. she is the only one who is not touching me and so I shake off the others and follow her. sigh of relief. the women have all let go.

The bus leaves at 8. It is now 4 in the afternoon. Immigration, however, is back at the border. I am, nonetheless convinced to buy the ticket. I'll take the risk that I won't be able to get back in time. I change my left over Argentine pesos and Chilean Pesos into Bolivianos and pay the woman. says she'll hold onto my bag for me but I decline. I'll keep my crap with my thank you very much...

I then hail a cab back to the border.

the cabs in Bolivia are normal cars with tiny, sometimes hand written, signs that say "taxi." sketchy as fuck. no ID. no meter. we get near immigration and I ask how much. I already feel like a sucker. 12.5 bolivianos. I have no idea what the rate should be. I pay the man.

I get to immigration. I have only some of the things I need. I don't have photocopies of my yellow fever card and passport. nor do I have the 135 USD or 1050 Bolivianos for the visa fee. no problem. Where's an ATM? back in town. near the long distance bus station in fact... arg. the immigration officer sees my look of oh-dear-god-I'm-too-exhausted-and-might-just-break-into-tears look on my face and assures me it's only an 8 minute cab ride. just get the cab driver to wait for you, he tells me. ok. fine.

first I get copies of my passport and yellow fever card and check they are ok. I also still have left over passport style pictures. check. ok. all I need is cash. back to town in a taxi, money not a problem to withdraw. sigh of relief. back to immigration. I ask the cabbie how much? mmm, this probably makes me a double sucker. this time the cab is 50 bolivianos.... um.... crap. I'm tired and a pushover.

I have faithfully played the part of the gullible pushover gringa. But I comfort myself that in first world money 50 Bs will buy you only a cheap beer in Tokyo. The world is so weird.

I push on.

I fill out the same information 5 different times at the border, pay them the cash, they put a colorful sticker in my passport (I'm actually starting to worry about running out of pages...) and stamp it multiple times with different information.

An army looking guy, as soon as the stamps and forms are finished, tells me to hurry and follow him. I stuff my passport back in my waist money belt as I hurry down the street after him. He's trying to hail me a long distance looking bus and telling me important details about my visa (only good for 5 years, but doesn't matter because my passports only good for 3 more anyway, re-entry stuff....) as I hurry after him in a crowded street and he yells at the double decker buses.

We catch one. He tells them I'm going to Santa Cruz. I assume this means they will drop me off at the long distance bus station again. Thank god, I don't need to take another cab. A Nick Cage in Vietnam flick is playing, the air conditioning is on. I can relax....

Two Bolivian men are sitting across from me and begin making friendly conversation. I'm so trying to be game for being friendly. The usual where are you from? what are you doing? Estados Unidos. traveling and studying spanish. Oh how nice. Some talk about visas. something about Bolivians getting visas to America... I don't really know. Something about how his brother is in America or wants to go or something and he's really not a bad guy at all. and wouldn't it be easier to get a visa if we all went together and when was I going back to the states.

Suddenly, I conjure up a boyfriend. A rich American boyfriend. I smile dreamily. Yeah, left him in Argentina but will see him soon.

the bolivian man looks disappointed. He asks if I can have a different boyfriend in every country I go to? Isn't that how American's do it? I shake my head very sadly. oh no. I'm a very faithful girl. I don't know how anyone else does it... but not me. I couldn't possibly.

They get off at the long distance bus terminal, the border town of Yacuiba their final destination. I wonder how many foreign girls they try to marry every day and if the rejections ever dampen their spirits.

I try to get off too. But why? the wingman of the driver asks. Aren't you going to Santa Cruz? Well, yes. but after all my ticket is not for this bus.

He looks at my ticket in the dark bus. Oh, this is obviously a fake. It doesn't have a date on it. um.... but isn't it right over. but it's too dark and the ticket is in his hands. Where did you buy it? I point. he shakes his head. Wouldn't you prefer this bus anyway? we have food, air conditioning, movies.

and it's true. I don't want to move. I'm so exhasuted. The sun is setting on the border town highlighted as both a Dengue Fever and Malaria epidemic zone. The mosquitoes are sharpening their talons, not to mention the dozens of women who's tickets I did not buy.

How much? 100 Bs. ok. fine. give me food. here's cash. I'm too tired.

The wingman named Wardo tells me all about Boliva and Santa Cruz and makes sure I have everything I want. Food. Coca-cola. endless conversation (errr, that I kinda want.) He points out a river where people are fishing and then the monument to fish in the small neighboring town. He hopes I like Bolivia as much as the rest of South America. He thinks it's stupid they charge Americans so much at the border. It's not like Americans are going to want to move to Bolivia, he says. He's heard of the animal refuge I'm going to and has fantastic things to say.

I eventually apologetically tell him I must sleep. But thank you.

The bus arrives in Santa Cruz at 2 a.m. The night is hot and dark. This was not supposed to happen. I have so far tried very hard not to arrive in the middle of the night in a city I don't know. Especially with out a reservation. My hostel reservation is for the following night... but I decide to go there anyway. If they are full maybe they'll take pity and I can sleep in a corner with a mop or something. I so don't care. I just want to be safe and sleep already.

I get in a cab. Give the directions. He knows the hostel. 12 Bs. (a fair price, now that I know about these things)

I ring the doorbell and it feels like it takes ages for someone to answer. But they do. And they have a bed. I write my name over and over on all their paperwork, crawl into bed and fall asleep in all my clothes.

A full day to recover. A day and a half to do nothing but write and lay about by their pool. My friend Anthony from Japan has joined me and tonight we catch another bus, this one toward the interior of the country and the animal refuge. The same one Dan went to. I wonder if I'll walk the same bear.

It's hot and beautiful here. The flowering trees that were so beautiful when I arrived in Buenos Aires in February and slowly lost their petals during my 6 weeks there are in full bloom here.

The adventures continue...

Pictures of Buenos Aires

2009-04-19T19:08:00.006-07:00

Generally speaking, I've been a bad tourist in Buenos Aires. For my six weeks there I spent less than 6 days doing touristy things. I spent my first week going from the hostel to tango places and back. When I wasn't dancing, I was apartment hunting and following new friends to unknown resturants. The next 4 weeks were spent hardly leaving the neighborhoods of Palermo and Belgrano where I was living and doing the teaching course, respectively.

As a result, and also because petty crime is very common, I don't have all that many pictures of Buenos Aires. But I did get out a few times after the course ended and before I skipped town with my friend for wine country (pictures of that... possibly coming soon).

The Recolleta Cemetary in Buenos Aires:

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Palermo, the neighborhood I lived for a month. Posh and green but also debilitated and graffiti'd.
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The pictures are much better bigger so have a click and check 'em out if you like. What's your favorite of the cemetery? Mine is 12. I think.

The adventures continue...
(now posting from Santa Cruz, Bolivia)

Thinking about "home"

2009-04-04T20:46:00.006-07:00

How do you do it? my friend asks. You've gone hard core ex-pat.

The comment arises in an Irish pub called The Bangalore we expected to be an Indian restaurant. An Argentine couple in the corner is past the point of teasingly telling them to get a room. The rest of the world doesn't exist to them as they fall into each other's lips and arms. Radiohead plays and Irish beers and ciders are tap. The Indian food arrives and we laugh.

I'm as dressed up as I ever am in one of three outfits. I rattle the same bracelets I wear every day and sip my frenet and coke; a drink I love here but wouldn't seek out if it wasn't unique to this space.

How do I do it? How do I par my life down to a few suitcases over and over again, giving away everything in my apartment, moving again. I don't know. I don't seek to have as chaotic a life as I create. The constant packing and moving in and of itself is not the life I seek. And yet. here I am.

I moved out of my apartment on Friday. 30 days of my own little cockroach war apartment. 6th floor with a view of the sun setting over Buenos Aires every night. Music drifts up from the plaza below. I'm sad as I hand over the keys to the old man landlord whose English makes less sense than my Spanish but he still tries.

I don't know the next time I'll stop even 30 days in one place or where it will be.

How do we create a space that feels like home? What does it really take? If I had been in that apartment for 6 months I would have patched up all the tiny holes and cracks that the cockroaches used as highways. I would have put up my own pictures on the walls. I might have taken all the business cards off the refrigerator. I might have gotten rid of the TV that I never turned on.
but I didn't. I called it mine and made it as much home as I could for the short time I had. I called it enough and ran with it. The things I would have changed, had I lived there longer, I fixed instead with a sense of humor. There's only so much you can do...

Is this my life? It has been. Will it always be? What are these spaces we make home? Strings of temporary apartments and hostels. For years. and years. and somehow it's become kind of normal to me. Thinking about living in a house in that way that most people do sends me into giggles. a nervous sort of giggles. my life is so weird, I say to my friend. and I laugh.

The last day of the CELTA course, I felt so sad to say good bye to my classmates. Goodbye to a space that was a mixed experience. But for a month, they had filled my life and been my home of sorts. And though I'll keep in touch with some of them the feeling of all of us working to get each other through will never happen again. The space the 12 of us created grew to feel like home and that has passed.

And so the adventures continue. My friend and I have commandeered a 6 person dorm all to ourselves and will soon head to the vineyards at the foot of the Andes. Life is weird but it's damn good. The adventures continue...

a dizzy pigeon

2009-03-31T15:55:00.000-07:00

I'm growing up. I am losing some illusions perhaps to acquire others.
(Orlando, Virginia Wolf)

It's been quite a month. It's been 70 hours a week pouring my heart into the CELTA teaching course and still coming up with standard marks half the time. It's been a month of learning a lot and questioning everything I thought I knew. It was a month were I started off with confidence and enthusiasm and three quarters through started to loose all confidence in my ability to learn, to teach, to interact appropriately with anyone. It was a month where my best efforts often weren't good enough. It was a month where almost everyone in the course broke down in tears at one point or another. Including me. more than once.

It was a month of crazy making. Twelve 20 to 30 somethings were the CELTA candidates. trying to learn as much as possible and put it into practice immediately was overwhelming. overwhelming for some because they'd never taught before. overwhelming for others like me because first we had to unlearn everything we once thought we knew to be "true." at least one, if not two, of the twelve of us failed out. it was a tough month.

It's been a long long time since I tried as hard as I could and didn't ace it. It is perhaps the first time in my life that I haven't been sick/crazy, tried as hard as I could and didn't ace it. The ego took a slap across the face.

a boy I've been seeing a lot of commented that if this is the first time I'm being graded as average it means it's just the first time I've really been challenged. I called him cheeky and tried not to pout. I think he might have been right though.

the classes we taught were evaluated by our peers and a CELTA trainer. There are three possible grades: "not to standard," "to standard," and "above standard." Each week the criteria of what constituted a high mark was raised. An "above standard" class for week two became a "to standard" class week three. They kept us on our toes. On average, I would spend at least 4 hours preparing a 40 minute class. Working a real job back in Japan was so much easier.

Week one went well. Week two and three were tough. I would teach and afterwards think, that was a great class by previous Japanese standards, and then the trainer and my peers would systematically pick apart and explain why my class was ok, but "to standard" as the grading system went. I would stammer and try to defend myself but really, they were right. Soon my confidence, arrogance, insistence on defending my views was crushed. It hurt a lot. But out of it came a greater desire to listen and question everything I had once though I "knew".

Sometime in week three I was beat and finally ready to learn all I could. I realized that I wasn't going to be able to get the top mark in the course and ironically relaxed. I started asking all the stupid questions I could think of. At some point the trainer, after a series of these mostly stupid questions, looked straight into my eyes and asked accusingly, "You have a science background, don't you?" Umm, yeah.

"Well there's no right or wrong. Teaching isn't black or white. It's not the same formula every time."

Rather than snap back that of course I knew that, I was filled with a massive lack of confidence and wondered what the fuck this course was doing to me.

It was a rough month. The last class I taught went well. I know I passed the course as a whole though I don't know my mark. I'm a bit scared to go back to the school and see if I got a "pass," "Pass B," or "Pass A." Well, "Pass A" I think is out of the question. Even with 5 out of 9 "above standards." Dear god did I work my ass off.

The course finished last Friday and since I've done almost nothing other than sleep ridiculous hours a day, drink, laze about and plan a week (starting on Saturday) riding old bikes through the vineyards of Mendoza with this boy I quite like but very soon will likely never see again.

It's been quite a month. Every day I've changed my mind about what my future looks like. Yesterday the Brazilian embassy effectively forced my hand and made me nail down some dates with plane tickets. I've bought a ticket that has me arriving back in LA on June 26th. It's changeable but it's a plan to start with. I'm very seriously (ha! at least in comparison to everything else!) ahem. I'm very seriously moving to Eastern Europe/Central Asia in the fall and teaching English somewhere like Kazakhstan. It's an idea I'm falling in love with, like most of my best ideas that sound ridiculous to everyone else at first. Like going to Japan both times. Or coming to South America.

Moving somewhere like Kazakhstan makes a lot of sense in the current state of my brain. Most days I think of myself as a very dizzy homing pigeon. However, lacking grounding and direction is fantastic for feeling open to the possibilities of the world and life. Questioning everything I once knew has made me feel off center and lacking in previous confidence but also very capable of adapting and learning and growing.

It's been quite a month. and I've taken almost no pictures. the journey has been mostly within. much learning has happened.

and the adventures continue....

I'm so young II

2009-02-28T06:11:00.003-08:00

I'm so young in the Buenos Aires summer. Is that not something we seek in a place? A city, a town, a night sky that makes us feel young and alive and thriving in our bodies and selves?

When I first joined a biochemistry lab and everything was an exciting magic puzzle to sort out and I was the hot fresh talent, I felt young. Years later when I gave up those 80 hour work weeks and threw it all to the wind, heading back to Japan, I felt young. As I turned 25 in Japan, language slowly finding it's way back into my brain, days filled with challenges and nights filled with too much cheap beer and karaoke, I felt young. As I met people cycling up the Japanese coast in August, they'd say, oh, sure you can do a trip like that, you are young. But responsibility and routine combined with Japan's conservative ideas about what a woman's life should be at 30 and the years leading up slowly sucked up much of that youthful feeling.

And now here I am in Argentina and today I again feel so young.
tango dancing almost every night sometimes until 4 am.
sleeping till noon, and then napping, just so that I can dance all night again.
drinking frenet&coke with an international mix of friends
sleeping through breakfast served till 11... again and again
waking up to girls snickering in a hostel not mine
strings of cat calls and compliments (yeah yeah, I suppose I shouldn't be happy but honestly I feel complimented and it makes me smile and feel hot)
perfect city summer weather
hiding money in my bra when dancing
beautiful people everywhere in this city making out on street corners
riding the bus passing beautiful buildings
colorful graffiti everywhere, music pouring out of buildings

It's not everyday that I feel so young. and I'm happy about that too. 28 is easier than 24 was.

I have the confidence to not bother with people I don't enjoy and turn down drinks I don't want.
I have the money to rent a cute studio in a perfect location. (near a nice night life plaza, fantastic tango clubs and close to my school)
I have 10 years of dancing experience under my belt.
I can buy a second pair of dance shoes if I want to (and, yeah, I did...)
I know what I'm doing (or have gotten pretty good at faking it when I don't).
I can read a map and have more street smarts than the "kids" I meet.
I know how to learn a language and be ok with sounding awkward most of the time.
I have a better sense of when to procrastinate and when to buckle down.

I'm excited to start my teaching course on Monday and move into my apartment on Tuesday. I'm sad that I have to be at school 9 to 5 and therefore will not be able to go out as much or as late. But such is life. It's easy to fall in love with a city when your are filled with nothing but dancing and yoga (!) and friends and walking through beautiful streets and having drinks and dinner at midnight.

It's been a good week.

On Tuesday, I went dancing by myself for the first time here. I'd been the last couple of days as well, but always had people from the hostels tagging along and wanting to see what "real" tango was. But on Tuesday I was headed to "Practica X" which has only a intermediate/advance level. Supposedly more experimental, younger, hipper... basically where the beautiful, young, kick ass dancers of Buenos Aires come.

naturally, I was super intimidated.

So far, I'd been having some good nights dancing and doing really well in intermediate lessons and had taught a really good impomptu beggining lesson in my hostel a few nights ago --so I spent the bus ride to that part of town talking myself up. I arrived at the place to find its two huge black intimidating doors still locked and beautiful talented people milling about speaking in their beautiful Argentine Spanish to their beautiful friends.

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.
(tara, if you're reading, I was thinking of you)

but then I notice another slightly awkward looking person and smile. introductions are made and not only does this JAPANESE guy not speak any Spanish but is going to hit this place with only 5 months dancing experience. (I make friends with my own types over and over again. Give me a room full of people and I'll gravitate to the NWers and Japanese every time it seems....)

so.

Recently, I've been claiming my personal philosophy is that moxie can make up for lack of real skill, talent, or experience almost any day of the week. So I figured, to hell with it, you know what, instead of being intimidated, I'm just going to say: you know what, I'm pretty hot shit myself. Buenos Aires bring it on. Show me what you've got. Give me your best shot.

I went into the lesson (successfully ditching the Japanese guy for a partner more up for the level of the lesson) and when he was wrong and I was right, stood up for myself and my dancing skills. This is something I have not done FOR YEARS, possibly EVER. I have assumed that it's my mistake or that I'm not good enough to give advice and I never criticize.

But there I was, with some else who also thought HE was hot shit, standing up for myself on the dance floor. It was amazing and I've been running on a high from my new found attitude all week.

Bring it on Buenos Aires.

and for Lent I'm give up apologizing so fucking much. so there. I'm not giving up cursing, in fact, I'd rather expand my vocabulary in such. ha.

it's been a good week. the adventures continue....

in no particular order

2009-02-17T06:48:00.003-08:00

25 random things. It's a meme (rhymes with dream) that's going around. I'm spending the day sorting through pictures, which is damn tedious, and am sick and so have a short attention span. anyways, here it goes.

1 My new year's resolution was to write everyday and it just hasn't happened. When it's a choice between socializing and writing a journal, I'm choosing socializing and don't regret it.

2 I feel very homeless some days. I think I've realized that I can't move back to Oregon no matter how much I love my friends and family.

3 I've been playing with the word "modern immigrant" to describe myself. I'm not sure if it fits or exactly how I feel about it. Traveling is spending at least a third of your time making introductions so it's a good time to test out new words to describe yourself.

4 I still give myself an 80% chance of returning to Japan in August/September.

5 I think I'll have enough money left over to buy myself a sweet bike. And then I'm going to train for brevets in the mountains. Because that's the type of hard core I enjoy.

6 I do not regret in the slightest not touring Argentina by bike. With the way the roads and drivers are here.... it's not the type of hardcore I enjoy.

7 Last night I had a yellow jacket/bee crawling on my back for at least half an hour without noticing. A 24 hour friend knocked it off and I wasn't stung but am now paranoid that I'm covered in bees and don't realize it.

8 I enjoy arbitrary things sometimes. 25 is not one of these times.

9 Tomorrow I leave for Buenos Aires, taking the bus for 20some hours. Luckily I'm so tired from hiking that I think I may be able to sleep the whole way.

10 I've been observing groups of people a lot. Groups and pairs of friends traveling together. Couples. Dorm mates. Hiking groups. I feel there are things to learn in this aspect. I join the groups for dinners, hiking, conversation but in the end I decide when I leave and travel again alone.

11 People here say "Buenos" a lot to mean "hello." I think I could transliterate it and just start saying "good stuff" all the time and kissing Japanese people on the cheek. People would be confused but I'd be amused.

12 I'm a little sick from too much sweaty hiking in cold wind. But it was well well worth it. Besides, a little cold will help me enjoy the 20hr bus ride.

13 I swear to god I will never be fat and lazy again. This outdoor stuff is just too cool.

14 I spend a lot of time thinking about how I want a family and kids and stuff. But I don't know what the thinking will lead to. I mean, if I say I'm going to make having a family a priority in my life, what does that mean in terms of real actions?

15. number 14 is related to the missing 20% of number 4

16 I also spend a lot of time thinking about food and cooking and eating. Especially when hiking/cycling.

17 Third on the list is probably dancing and/or flirting.

18 I've learned how to make baked apples and cream sauce so far this year.

19 One of my bestest friends ever and a guy who I've illogically decided is the one to have 4 kids with, share a birthday. Fuck it, I'm calling it a sign.

20 I'm totally in lust with an Italian climber whose name and birthday I don't know. However, I have seen him with out his shirt and tried not to let my jaw hit the floor as I stared at his gorgeous tattooed rock hard body. However, I think I will never see him again. It's one of those relationships that will live only in my mind. So it goes. (unless he returns from the mountains back to my hostel tonight, in which case I will be at a loss for words and it will be one of those relationships that will live only in my mind. so it goes.)

21 For the first time in my life I considered going to Italy to look for more beautiful tattooed climbers. But, for the moment have decided against it.

22 There is a ghost cat that lives in my hostel. but it's ok because we made friends.

23 I'm learning how to use my 45mm lens. It's slow going but good.

24 Almost everything I own smells like the salami that made it 8 days in my bag without being eaten. It's unfortunate. Even after I wash my clothes I'll have to put them back in the bag that smells like sausage. If I don't break the cycle I may never get laid again.

25 I should never wear my hair back ever again. Seriously, why did I not come to this conclusion about 10 years ago.

26 I always feel I have too much stuff. Even, like now, when it all fits into a 35L backpack. Nonetheless, I often still want more stuff--like a tent, for example. It's hard to reconcile these things.

27 Sorting through pictures has been kind of productive. Here are a few so far. The glacier, Mt Tronador, is still to come... I'll get on that right after my 20 hour bus ride...

BubbleShare: Share photos - Find great Clip Art Images.

BubbleShare: Share photos - Find great Clip Art Images.

and the current plan is:
next 6 weeks in Buenos Aires.
then a 30hour bus ride to Santa Cruz Bolivia.
2-6 weeks in Bolivia mostly volunteering with animals
meet my buddies in Rio May 25th and travel in Brazil.

and June? possibly back to the states.... but too soon to tell.

and August, 80% likely back to Japan for work and a new bike....
BubbleShare: Share photos - Find great Clip Art Images.

a little update

2009-02-12T15:09:00.000-08:00

after two weeks of Spanish classes in Barlioche-- a beautiful small town of 90,000 in northern Patagonia-- I'm now tramping around the mountains in the company of two funny Dutch boys.

Today is a day of rest in a small village called Colonia Suiza. Pictures will come later but for now, I'm just saying hi. I'm still alive. The stars are beautiful. Patagonian summer is still pretty cold most days but sunny and gorgeous. I feel I could take a million pictures of the sky here and every one would be breathtaking, if perhaps, only to me.

I'm feeling very lucky right now.

much love to you all

notes from Neuquen

2009-02-05T13:02:00.005-08:00

Jan 25

A lovely day in a town famous for dinosaurs:Neuquen Argentina. presumably famous I should say, I saw no evidence of dinosaurs other than what was written in the guidebooks. but what do they know?

I had spent the night on the bus feeling homesick for Japan and feeling restless in a way I didn't know how to shake. not restless in a seeking to throw off stability type of way, because obviously I'm doing exactly that. restless rather in that I didn't feel I'm moving purposefully and as such I didn't know how to use my energy. I missed commuting by bike 50 km a day and studying Japanese during breaks at work. Perhaps restless isn't the right word at all but I don't know another one, exactly.

I fell asleep vowing to hit the Spanish school and classes with as much mental energy as I could muster. I fell asleep reiterating to myself why I had come here, to clarify again for my self: to learn a language again, to become more affectionate again, to gain perspective on my life and where home is.

I woke up to a perfectly flat sunrise and once again felt like I was on my path, doing what I need to do.

Desert. Perhaps not surprisingly for anyone who has done any "real research" about traveling in Argentina, a lot of this country is desert. Much like Nevada and northern California there are miles upon miles of sage brush type deserts. It feels very unforiegn to me, though I can't quite say it feels like home either. whatever that word is. It feels familiar. It feels like my past experiences have led me to this exact here/this/now.

And so the day went:

a mistaken bus stop. no.

a sleeping pretty French girl/protena (portena, with a funny n, is what people who live in Buenos Aires are called), doing 100 interviews with Argentines from all walks of life.

roomies of the couch surfer: Roy and Maxi pot smoking dreaded reggae lovers

writing people's names in Japanese

wishing to be trilingual and struggling with the Argentinian shhh shhh

kisses on the cheek with every introduction and goodbye

sitting in the park in the city center

a nap before lunch

going to a semi-private river beach and having to talk our way in. Maxi's mom, a medium sized Argentine woman with two oversized fingers gesturing and arguing to get us in. (not that I talked at all)

going to the river and just hanging out on the grass, Argentine spanish in the air

a jaded English speaking Argentine twenty something in love with "California Dreaming" and angsty American music.

a lovely swim in the river

jumping from a tree into the river, feeling great emerging, being confused by the looks on everyones faces until I realize I have a bloody nose and my face is covered in watery blood.

a long list of brothers and introductions.

fruit salads sold in plastic cups.

a lovely dusk sky and walk home. followed by pizza and beer. and melons filled with wine.

What's the time? Mendoza, Argentina

2009-02-05T12:39:00.002-08:00

Jan 20.

As I walked down the streets of Medoza with Dan I asked him what the time was.
If Japan is the far far future, when are we now?

The air is dry and hot but the streets are lined with green trees. Shops close between 1 and 5 or so and then stay open till 9 or 10. No one eats dinner before 10 or 11pm. Breakfast is open at the hostel from 7 till 10 or 10:30 or whenever the people can be bothered to put it away.

Dan says he's not sure what time it is. It's like the present, we agree, but better in many ways. Nevada could have been this but instead it's towns like Reno. What the fuck Nevada? Mendoza has old buildings, streets lined with trees, and parks where people sit in the shade all day just making out as if the world wasn't watching.

mendoza

2009-01-22T07:21:00.002-08:00

Jan 22. (I´m trying to update properly in the next few days before hiking in the mountains and climbing a glacier.... I know this is old but I´m working on it slowly... too much to do to spend enough time on the computer box thing...)

Tonight I'm leaving Mendoza after about 4 days that have gone by in a total blur. It's hot here and humid, not even dropping below 80 at night.
The combination of the heat plus and unsettled stomach has made me very lazy. As I wrote in my journal a few days ago, it's hard to feel you are figuring out your life when a large portion of your concentration is always on not shitting your pants.

Dan headed North two days ago and initially I was really sad. He's the best travel partner I've ever had. But after relaxing into my own pace again, I'm enjoying it. The hostel threw their weekly dinner last night and Argentine beef is indeed delicious.
I met a funny Australian couple who were joyfully counting down the days (7) before parting forever and still enjoying each other's time. People mistook them for brother and sister by the way they called a spade a spade and gave each other crap. People mistook Dan and I for husband and wife on more than one occasion. I don't want to think of marriage and a sibling relationship is so similar. It's something on my mind but I don't have the words for it yet. It creeps me out something bad, for sure.

I talked with some other solo women travelers who are staying in Mendoza studying Spanish and are on "career breaks" whatever that means. Is that what I'm on? I now tell people, that I'm here between teaching jobs and here to study Spanish. I make it sound like it all has more of a predetermined purpose than it does. The westerners are very unquestioning about my approach to not knowing when I will "go home" (whatever that means) or that I'm looking for where I want to live next. The Chilean family thought it strange that I'd want to live so far away.

I talked with a biotech guy who seems to get himself laid off every couple of years and then goes and travels. We had a brief discussion about spirituality and politics. Hope can be similar in both, I think. For the third day in a row, Obama has made the front page of most of the newspapers.

There was a Dutch couple who loved Chile more than Argentina and when they eventually go home to Amsterdam, plan to check out the activities that their local hostels suggest. Funny how sometimes locals forget there is so much to do and just drop into a routine.

I've had 5 Japanese girls in the same dorm as me for the last two nights and it's been fantastic. I admit, I have been homesick for Japan and my life there. It's good to be here, but I miss the busy and sound of the language of Japan. Yesterday afternoon I lay in bed studying Spanish as they chatted amongst themselves in Japanese. It's all such a jumble in my head and being around Japanese speakers has helped the languages stay partitioned in my head a little, rather than just one pushing the other out.

and now it's time for a shower and organizing my bag before going for a walk and getting food for the bus. I hope Dan is doing well and got across the border alright.

Santiago

2009-01-18T16:18:00.001-08:00

I have few pictures of Santiago and few touristy things to say. I do have an idea about what life is like in one upper/ upper-middle class family who all but adopted Dan and I. Mario, the father, and Alvaro, the son a little younger than Dan and I picked us up at the airport at 7am--early by South American standards and have treated us fantastically. They are the family of the wife of Dan's previous coworker Toby. I wasn't sure how this would turn out, so I initially had my reservations, but I have been blown away by the fantastic hospitality.

Perhaps they did adopt us. On the second night, after so much food we could barely move and more drinks that I could count over many hours, there were proclamations that I shouldn't call Mario a friend or an uncle but rather a father. He told the story of Toby for the 10th time.

Toby stayed in my house 3 days. 3 days. He left for three month and then came back to stay for 3 years. Toby is my son ( and indeed, Toby married one of Mario's daughters) and you are my children too. Tonight you stay in my house and when you return to Chile you don't stay in a hostel. A hostel is so cold. soooo cooooold (the drunken slur was in evidence but the heartfeltness of his words had echoed all day). Whenever you come back to Chile you stay in my house. It is warm here. You are my children and you can stay 3 days, 3 months, 3 years and it doesn't matter. My heart is ********this******** big.

They will feed you with the best food you've ever eaten, says Toby, until you are stuffed and want to explode. like a balloon.
and they do. the food is rich and full of meat and eaten with fresh tomatoes. It's delicious and ridiculously plentiful.

Mario and his family speak almost no English and Dan and I have been speaking as much Spanish as we can muster.

The Spanish I remembered more than doubled the first day. Again the second. I'll hear a word once and remember it because I studied before. Other words that I haven't heard are also flooding back in my active vocabulary. Of course there is much more I don't understand than what I do but it's fantastic being immersed and totally above my head again.

I find it funny that this feeling of only understanding 50-70% of the conversation is where I feel so comfortable.

Today, after sleeping till a ridiculous hour and then, eventually, going to the swimming pool at Mario's country club, we stopped by a bread shop. And in that moment I could picture myself living in Santiago. They say it's where all the best teaching jobs in South America are....

and yet, I woke up this morning missing Japan and sense of purpose everyday. Today I'm sending off my information to WOOF to try to get to a farm for a week or two before heading to Buenos Aires. I think my Spanish is improving well for now and will postpone going to a Spanish school for a few more weeks.

A current plan....
tomorrow Dan and I leave for Mendoza, Argentina. He will stay only one night but I will stay three and see a bit of the city. I will travel south to Barlioche and try to WWOOF near there or in Patagonia for a week or two. There is a couchsurfing campout in Pucon Chile -- nearish to Barlioche at the end of Jan, beginning of February. I'll see where the road leads me.

I will be in Buenos Aires sometime from late February and all of March and probably April. I'm probably going to rent a room for March and April. March I will do my teaching course and April I will volunteer. In May I will travel in Brazil, visiting my friend and his family in San Palo and meeting my friend in Rio de Janeiro. After that, I don't know...

My bonus from GEOS was much bigger than I expected. I guess people had my back more than I thought and the money got transfered on a day when the yen was strong. All in all, my budget for the trip is almost doubled.

Today a third language grown in my head and I feel very lucky to be sharing this time with my brother. Today, I have a Chilean family. Today, I played in a pool and no one looked at me as if I was foreign, at least until I opened my mouth. Today I feel none of the fear of the future I did a week ago. Today I feel I am exactly where I should be, doing what I need to do, learning the right things.

It's 9:30 at night and, in Chile, the night is still young.

much love to you all, I miss you in a totally new and warm way.

I'm not in Tokyo anymore

2009-01-11T14:10:00.009-08:00

leap.

it's the word I think of when the next big step comes. and tomorrow it comes again. a time line I'm theoretically completely in control over yet, I'm never ready to leave and I always do. something keeps pushing me forward. or something. tonight I'm tired and not really ready to be heading away from so many friends who always try to convince me to stay. I smile. I nod. a lump often forms in my throat but there's something I can't explain telling me the time is not yet right to stay.

It's been a good month homeless. It's been a good 36 days.

I'm starting the count on Dec 6th, the last day in my apartment, the second to the last day at my job, five days before I left Japan. I'm starting the count when all my stuff had to be sorted and sent and packed (... though sure, there's always more sorting and repacking at every stage)

But before that, there was saying goodbye to the kids who have forever changed my life and who I dearly miss.

Then, on day 1 of the beginning of this journey, I took a Japanese test and put studying Japanese behind me. On day 5, I sat in the Tokyo airport tired and too full of emotion to think straight and started studying Spanish. Everyday now, one replaces part of the other in my mind. Most days I feel I will never be bi or tri lingual but just stuck in my head with a mixed pidgin language that few others understand. But the Spanish grows, as the English recovers. The journey within continues much like the journey without.

But before the plane ride, there was a day walking around Tokyo for the last night (of this leg of my life) and admiring the beauty of a city that took me a long time to love. I walked with a friend also on his way out of Tokyo despite wanting to stay. I found this city exciting my first year, dreadfully lonely and cold my second, and by my third I'd made it home.

There's so much to love when you learn how, as many of us do. Some days it's easy to imagine staying forever and others there are plenty of reasons to leave. Everyone misses Tokyo, it seems. Though it's time to leave, saying goodbye with the clear knowledge that what I have right now will never be the same again always breaks my heart a little. Tomorrow morning I do it again. Somehow it's become a way of life.

Then, there is one of the travel conversations with a complete stranger, with honesty we too rarely use, about the meaning of life and love and kindness that with the right timing can change your life. A straight looking self identified Republican, an expert on photons and solar panels, he explains to me about other dimensions he feels he's witnessed evidence for and about a huge benevolent energy that some call god. He explains about how we are all parts of this energy. We are all part of the same soup he says. We must be good to each other because, really, we are all the same.

At some point there was a discussion of how freewill and destiny are not mutually exclusive and the moment felt heavy with the profundity that comes from transitions and lack of sleep. Perhaps we'd met before and perhaps we'll meet again, in that way that only makes sense in the moments you believe it and no others.

And I arrived in Portland, found myself fascinated by the size of the coffee and vegetarian gravy and then slept like the world was going to end for nearly 24 hours.

And then there was a house party with cakes and space that was created solely by the party goers, not by a club or a bouncer or a DJ who's real name we didn't know.

And once I was recovered, I headed down to Eugene between snow storms. I've taken almost no pictures of Eugene because it feels too much like home. The visuals of the town say nothing compared to the stories that wait on each street corner. Once, how thick the town was with history was a big reason to move away. There was too much subtext in every walk, casual conversation, and errand. No event stood on its own anymore and became a web of friends and lovers and many late nights. Now, I navigate the web with caution and new curiosity. It's changed a lot in the three and a half years I've been gone with many people leaving and others becoming key players in the social scene. Alliances change; unexpected friendships grow.

I try to spend my days here listening as much as possible but somehow it often it doesn't work and I tell my favorite stories again. I try to ask as many questions as I can, trying to understand what keeps people here and if I am the same as them. Some ways I'm not, I can't be, otherwise I'd move already. What makes me different and can I ever come back to stay? I love the size of this town and that a bike will take you anywhere. With every dance I fall in love with this town all over again. And yet, I hit the road again.

This Friday we rocked hard with a "Rock Star" themed party.

There's nothing like looking at your own history on the faces of your friends. or so a favorite song goes.
In my favorite dances (Argentine Tango and West Coast Swing) there is a grounding step or a way that partners reconnect between fancy flying moves. before take off there's a moment when you find the ground and your partner and your balance and only from there can you take that leap. For me, Eugene is that place, or at least one of them, that I don't feel I've been home until I come here. And here, more than any place, home is the history that is written on the faces of my friends. It's been good coming home and though I'm sad to leave, I could never be ready to take this leap before coming home first.

A year of photos 2009 Jan-May

2008-12-31T00:58:00.011-08:00

for once, maybe I won't talk too much

January
Edogawa River at sunset (Chiba, Japan)
Funabashi gamblers make their way home (Chiba, Japan)

February
smoke/ art break near Shinonome, Tokyo

a quiet shrine in rural Chiba, Japan

children avoid snowflakes with pink umbrellas, Funabashi, Chiba, Japan

March
Joe and a 31.05 meter tall Buddha stare each other down in rural Chiba, Japan
"When when god knocks you down another lifts you up," a student once told me. Rural Chiba, Japan
Strange days and places, Seoul, South Korea
ha ha ha, that petty man is no longer my boss! Seoul, South Korea

April

Nikko, Japan
Nikko Japan
A local shrine in Funabashi, Chiba, Japan
Part of my commute to work by bike, Toyoso, Tokyo, Japan

May

public art and smog in Shanghai, China

Bell Tower at dusk, Xi'an China

sometimes posing with your water buffalo is more profitable than plowing fields. Yanshuo, China
I could spend weeks looking this view. Dazai, China

a bamboo boat ride down the Li River. Ping An, China
Sunrise at the top of one of China's sacred mountains. HuaShan, China

more to come...

"god's will" or whatever

2008-12-22T01:34:00.006-08:00

Yesterday, someone took my pants. I believe they were stolen from the washer in my friend's apartment building, or at least all the current evidence points to it. And yet, I'm not so angry. I'm not so upset. Though I'm not a subscriber to organized religion per se, what I feel in my life is as close as I can imagine to trusting it all up to "the will of god". Or joyfully resigning yourself to destiny or fate.

It took me days, months really, to decide what to keep to pack in my not so big backpack and what to throw out or what to send for safe keeping or to give away. The things I decided were going with me to South America were a small percentage of my wardrobe and then to have the things that I'd finally decided on stolen in Oregon... it's a kink I'm surprised by and not happy with. But then again, if it's "god's will" or whatever.

I'm not going to go holly roller on everyone but it's hard to find the vocabulary to describe this feeling. It's similar to when a stranger smiles at me from across the milonga and I smile back, agreeing to dance a series of tango songs together. We step on to the dance floor, usually not exchanging names or any small talk. My right hand takes his left. My left arm wraps around his shoulders and his right around my back or waste. We are cheek to cheek, chest to chest. He knows the smell of my hair and I can tell if he shaved recently. I close my eyes and together we conquer the dance floor.

We move as the music wills, avoiding dozens of other couples, strangers to each other but in a lovers embrace, racing among each other. In the dance, my eyes are closed to all other distractions. I do not think of the other beautiful dancers, who I might like to smile at later, who I might like to emulate in terms of style, of who is happy and who is not, if the lights have dimmed or who is moving toward the exit. My eyes are closed so my senses are tuned on the music, most that I have heard dozens of times and that enthralls me every time. My senses are tuned to my partner who is sending me everything I need to know though his body. I feel where his feet land and where to move. And a step and a sweep and a turn. the music spins us around. I am not distracted by the danger of running into the other couples. I keep my feet under me, making my movements small and beautiful. Careful and graceful. I move so as to respond quickly as to not endanger myself or others with my new two and a half inch heels.

I am balanced, holding my height and strength above my own feet. I am confident in my movements. I listen with all my senses to my partner before I move. I have trusted my sight to him and when I move I do so with out hesitation or doubt or distraction. I land on my own feet and am ready for the next step.

And so it is with nearly half the clothes I was planning to take stolen. It's a turn I wasn't expecting. But I'm on my feet and am ready to respond. I'm not distracted by their sentimentality or base unfairness of my pants being stolen (ok ok, maybe a tiny bit). I'm deciding what to replace and what I don't really need after all. Really, I many not need any of it after all. I think I'll just pack a little lighter.

and the adventures continue...

(theft not considered, it's been great being back)

transition

2008-12-15T14:18:00.001-08:00

The last ten days of Japan were perhaps typical of any major life transition. A "to do" list a million miles long, not enough sleep, intense time with friends, tears, excitement, and a general sense of reality not quite catching up with the timeline of life.

I think I have never gone though a major transition in any other state than massively sleep deprived. It is first for practical reasons. When I wasn't working, I was packing, or studying for the Japanese test, or seeing/drinking with friends. There was a little sleep thrown in there but not as much as would have been ideal.

But then again, with more sleep the crystal clarity of what I was doing--leaving a life that has treated me well for something almost completely unknown--was a bit dulled and easier to deal with. Not to say that I'm not happy with my choices; I am very happy with my choices. But that doesn't mean they don't frighten me too.

I had banked on sleeping from 3pm Thursday Tokyo time to 7am Thursday Portland Oregon time (or about 9 hours) as I almost always sleep the whole flight without any problems. Instead I ended up having a great conversation about the meaning of life with a complete stranger. Or maybe not. We were both kinda sure we'd maybe met in a previous life.

"I can see it in your eyes," he says to me, "your on your path. And your ready, I can see you're on the top of your game."

8 hours later, I woke up in the middle of an epic 24 hour "nap" looked in the mirror and realized one of my eyes was almost completely swollen shut, oozing grossness, and completely red. Luckily, I don't think that's what the stranger was talking about. I sure hope not.

I'm now on day four, almost looking normal and still have this going through my mind:

Kori's Id: scratchy, itch it. Itchy, scratch it. eye ball eye ball eye ball....
Rational Kori: no. no. think of something else. shut up Id, I hate you. no. arg....

I'm feeling it though. I'm feeling like I'm on the right path. I sit in my brother's kitchen, snow on the ground, sun shining in, waiting for some hippies I met last night to swing back around and give me a lift to Eugene where my friends are waiting. I'm a bit concerned that the hippie boys are much longer than they said they'd be but if it doesn't pan out, I'll head down by bus tomorrow and that will be ok too.

One of the things this is about is gaining flexibility.

the adventures continue...

(and pictures will continue too when I get the machines talking to each other again...)

it's not exactly 'happy' ...

2008-11-28T05:52:00.006-08:00

My coworker asks me if I'm happy to be leaving and I pause, not for dramatic effect, but because it's not so easy to say. I mean, I'm happy now with what I know and do everyday. I teach children I adore (well, 90% of them) like my darling Korean 2 year old
In the last class she slowly listed to herself in Japanese, "this is Kori sensei's head. this is Kori sensei's hand... etc." while touching what she was saying. I love her.

My first graders are as funny but in a totally different way, of course. They are attracted to violence and grossness whenever possible but are so eager to please and be praised.
and for me, unlike the vast majority of teachers who have ever left this school, the hardest part of leaving Japan is saying goodbye to these kids. they have changed me so much. I've become both more adult, in terms of being responsible and calm in stressful situations, but also much more joyful and silly.

My 28 year old biological clock is pounding in my ears.
I will miss them a lot. Unlike many friends who are indefinitely staying in Japan or my adult students, who I will also miss, if/when I come back to Japan I can't call up the kids to just "hang out." It is extremely unlikely that I will be able to continue to have any sort of relationship with them after I leave.

So it that way, I'm sad to be leaving. In that way, it feels down right heart breaking some days.

But on the other hand, I'm beginning to cast off the negativeness of a lot of the adults that I'm consistently around. Not all my friends and coworkers are happy with their lives here and I can't help but take that on. But recently, as I throw out garbage bag after garbage bag of stuff, I'm feeling lighter. I am beginning to shake off the dark clouds are rediscover the beauty of things exactly as they are.

My apartment is such a wreck and on Sunday my friends and acquaintances come to take anything deemed not trash. I still have an almost insurmountable amount of work to do before 3pm Sunday, but the sorting has been and is good for me. It's hard but it's good. After all, most of it is just stuff after all. some of it is heavy with sentimentality and history and that transforms it, but most of it is just stuff.

I feel I've lost some joy and zest in the last year but I know that it's on its way back. With every well loved but faded and now too big for me piece of clothing I throw out, I feel a little better. (I've lost a lot of weight in the last year and things don't fit right anymore.)

I've re-read all of the letters I've found and have kept the ones that mean the most to me. But some I've thrown out, not because they aren't of value but to make more room. When we keep everything, it tends to get dustier, I find. With too many thing, they all become part of a whole. A box of letters is a heavy box; a handful of letters is somehow more precious to me. and so the sorting goes. If it brings tears to my eyes, I keep it.

So, I'm happy to shake the dust of things, face how I feel and decide what's important. It's been a shaky month. I've been re-reading my favorite books. I miss my mom horribly and wish I could ask her many things. Perhaps she'd tell me I'm going to get myself killed in South America, though... but probably not. She always listened to what I meant, not just my words.

I land in Santiago, Chile on her birthday, Jan 16th. From there, the adventures continue.

I'm filled with joy and hope and excitement but it's not exactly happiness. It's more complicated that that. With every goodbye there's a little r-i-p of itwillneverbethesameagain. (to paraphrase a favorite poet) but the road rises up to meet me and vivid South America waits to challenge everything I know in ways I can't imagine.

The story redefines itself and "skewed snapshots of tokyo" will soon take a new name. It's no longer a story of a girl who thought she'd be a scientist and accidentally became a teacher.

It's now a story of a single 28 year old heading out on the road in search of wisdom, dancing, and tri-lingualism. I'm a teacher. I will probably always be. My biological clock may be pounding in my ears but Argentian tango music is pulling at my heart. Most days, I can't imagine not coming back to live in Japan again, as it feels more like home than anywhere.... but there are many places I haven't been yet.

I don't know where this path will lead but I'm sure that I want to start down it.

the adventures continue... wish me luck