tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53208159688281810732024-03-05T23:32:03.323-08:00Follow the SignsAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880257934588378902noreply@blogger.comBlogger25125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5320815968828181073.post-60507387521561299142015-04-13T23:42:00.001-07:002015-04-13T23:42:08.931-07:00Nairobi in Snaps<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Well, I have already gone home and come back to Africa (I'm currently in Zambia). I just finished putting all of my Snapchats into a single video so you can see my whole Nairobi trip in a little under 7 minutes. Add me on Snapchat (teahop) to watch realtime! I will begin posting about this trip once I get out of the (incredibly lovely) hotel.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880257934588378902noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5320815968828181073.post-78649626700699358322015-02-28T16:39:00.001-08:002015-02-28T16:39:23.651-08:00The Day Off<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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We took Sunday the 22nd off in part because, well, we needed a day off at some point. The other part because it was my colleague Rafa's birthday. He wanted to go out to the Rift Valley for a hike through a park called Hell's Gate and I was not one to argue with that.</div>
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We stopped at the grocery store for sandwich makings and headed a few hours out of Nairobi. It was my first time out of the city and the vastness of the Great Rift was even more majestic than I had romanticized in my mind, along with thoughts of roaming beasts and the dawn of mankind.</div>
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Carlos, our driver+translator+fixer extraordinaire had hired Rasto, the same guide he and Rafa had last year when they did this hike. He is a Masaai man who both went to school and spent four years in the bush, so he had a unique perspective on the clash of cultures going on in his country. Here he is telling us about the various clans in his tribe while standing right before the entrance to the Devil's Bedroom, the end of a long canyon we climbed through.</div>
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Rasto had a wealth of knowledge about the area having lived in it his whole life, as his father and father's father and so on and so forth since the beginning of humanity. My favorite story started the Monday before we arrived, when a little girl from Sweden asked him if he had ever seen snow. He had not, there had never been snow in the area. He gave her and her family and tour and they left on their way, only to be followed by a storm that brought, can you imagine, snow! The first ever! Hah!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWDP06phfrDX-eJLjskg34NaGpojhMDsA44jWdemD0k3-Y1botuljoslfldDHrUSdjwXWntHsZGa793UlbsVpg5ABGSY5vF4mm58FWfmacUS3CMwr-q0av_b8z7UHtMDw1KI0Q3hRp_c9H/s1600/park.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWDP06phfrDX-eJLjskg34NaGpojhMDsA44jWdemD0k3-Y1botuljoslfldDHrUSdjwXWntHsZGa793UlbsVpg5ABGSY5vF4mm58FWfmacUS3CMwr-q0av_b8z7UHtMDw1KI0Q3hRp_c9H/s1600/park.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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The park has been home to Masaai's long before it was a park and the tribe has been moved a number of times to make space for steam plants that drill down into the earth to harvest the geothermal energy. They were loud and very scary places where it felt like you were hearing the rumble of the depths of the earth's core from miles away. Rasto assured us they were well compensated for their moves, but that it had seriously disrupted their nomadic shepherding ways of life.</div>
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We had planned to go to Pride Rock with a potential reenactment of The Lion King, however our climbs through the canyons were slow, sometimes sideways, often through a few feet of murky water and once a 8 foot jump down a steep wall. It was very Indiana Jones, which I had been watching last week while I was sick, so I was totally digging it (even with pitifully low energy levels). Actually, Tomb Raider was filmed there, although I couldn't find a still of it because they made the whole thing look like Cambodia.</div>
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I had an interesting conversation with Rasto about education, money and culture. I asked him if it was possible to have all three. He said in his experience you can have education and money (I said lots of people have that in the US) or money and culture (he said some people have that in Kenya), but you can't have education and culture. He agreed that like the US, in Kenya sometimes people get their education, earn their money and come back to attempt to reconnect with their culture. It reminded me that culture really is an education. They are one and the same - we simply have a culture of Western schooling rather than, for example, ancient land-based tradition. Which is also the case for his newborn son, who his wife (from another tribe that doesn't go into the bush like the Masaai) had in January. He said his people were some of the last to get Western style education, which began for them in the 90s, while other tribes began as early as the 40s in Kenya (which, coincidentally, I had learned in my pre-travel research was the beginnings of daycare in the country). It gets my imagination running wild, thinking of what our country might be like if we were just now watching native culture crumble, rather than having decimated it a few hundred years ago!</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880257934588378902noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5320815968828181073.post-68891195508869202772015-02-26T14:58:00.000-08:002015-02-28T16:39:35.862-08:00Climate & Environs<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The most surprising thing I learned about Nairobi in my pre-travel research was its elevation: 5,450 feet. This is higher than my elevation in the foothills of the Sierras! I was curious to see how this would feel on the equator and it turns out to be quite lovely. February is the driest, hottest time of the year for Nairobi, but it seemed pretty perfect to me. It was in the high 70s most days and although we got some rain (which is most unusual - typically it doesn't leak at all until the rainy season starts in March) it was mostly sunny with adorable fluffy clouds in the skies.</div>
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I actually dreamed about those clouds a few times, including one where I was attempting to photograph a giant Yucca in the sky. Turns out it was a Sisal:</div>
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Anyways, back to reality. The city is actually quite garden-like, with bougainvillea abounding and all sorts of (to us exotic) house plants for sale by the side of the road. </div>
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There are also huge cactus trees:</div>
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And tons of very large birds of prey. These are vultures above my hotel, I also saw hawks, massive crows, songbirds with long tails and an occasional bright colored or black and white robin-sized creature.<br />
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As I mentioned in a previous post, most of the roads aren't paved so there is really a feeling like you are in the country, especially in Kangemi, where there are fields in the middle of the densely-packed housing:<br />
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Given the traffic situation, I decided if I needed to live in Nairobi I would somehow infiltrate the Kangemi culture and find a place near one of these fields and just never leave the neighborhood. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880257934588378902noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5320815968828181073.post-2622035278448078972015-02-24T13:40:00.000-08:002015-02-28T16:39:49.701-08:00Part Two: Nairobi by Car<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I have discovered a few more interesting traffic tidbits. First, another cause of travel disruption is things that do not work well with traffic flow:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZBypBFToalIPZmQQN4JKkrPWxzXjEIDiC5DGHlmOqlV8QRHJq9I8n4pc-LvSYocXvsGNKqtbcSVuQ-Pvw198-XRtOgAIRNuxpGEWhOS6ZqTjKHjDBI3lqdJoMLSdQ-JEPuwehh3Ujeo7C/s1600/stopped.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZBypBFToalIPZmQQN4JKkrPWxzXjEIDiC5DGHlmOqlV8QRHJq9I8n4pc-LvSYocXvsGNKqtbcSVuQ-Pvw198-XRtOgAIRNuxpGEWhOS6ZqTjKHjDBI3lqdJoMLSdQ-JEPuwehh3Ujeo7C/s1600/stopped.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See the guy under the van?</td></tr>
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And here's just a long view with some sweet tunes.<br />
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And here is a vocab reminder :)<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880257934588378902noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5320815968828181073.post-29911569306626156372015-02-20T21:56:00.002-08:002015-02-28T13:41:12.138-08:00Part One: Nairobi by Car<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Bay Area traffic is terrible. LA traffic is terrible. I can imagine NYC traffic is terrible. I will do anything to avoid putting myself in its midsts and most of the time, through waiting, avoiding and careful timing I can more or less pretend it doesn't exist. </div>
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When we first arrived, we asked out cab driver about traffic hours. His answer went something like this:</div>
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"Well, it starts around 4pm and goes til 8:30pm."</div>
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"Oh, ok," we say.</div>
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"And in the morning it starts around 6:30am and goes til 10am."</div>
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"Wow, ok," we say.</div>
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"Then it is all day too."</div>
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This has proven itself to be true. So that is the level of congestion we are talking about. Then there is what happens during this congestion:</div>
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Yes, it is everywhere. Why is this happening? I have a slew of theories. Let's start with the facts: the cars are right hand drive. The main roads are paved, most of the side roads are not (even in the middle of the city). There are very few, if any (I can't remember of any), stop lights. There are definitely no road lines. The city is growing incredibly quickly and there is tons of construction going on:</div>
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Then there are the more subtle things, from which you can draw your own conclusions. Relatively few people have access to optometry. There are vast numbers of public buses, matatus (private mini-bus taxis) and Range Rovers on the road. This is definitely not Switzerland, where everything and everyone is expected on time. Anyways, it makes for very slow travel through the city. But that's ok, god knows I'm in no hurry! </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880257934588378902noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5320815968828181073.post-53687140142865369712015-02-15T04:23:00.001-08:002015-02-15T04:23:05.687-08:00I'm sorry this blog looks terrible.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_OcwVFheJz3pXgY5Wd2ikRfu7bZwWuTnQ7rArKToSSnDdGy8-aNEFOQ6zMZrjvuo-8W3xbdUq-m-nqpMwUkzstClVN2etKhFIZ9y2F0kVFRKIR3MM9GK-7Tmg3C9a0HYV7lYLz0zqJxBv/s1600/not+pleased.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_OcwVFheJz3pXgY5Wd2ikRfu7bZwWuTnQ7rArKToSSnDdGy8-aNEFOQ6zMZrjvuo-8W3xbdUq-m-nqpMwUkzstClVN2etKhFIZ9y2F0kVFRKIR3MM9GK-7Tmg3C9a0HYV7lYLz0zqJxBv/s1600/not+pleased.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not pleased.</td></tr>
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I just want to take a moment to express my extreme dissatisfaction with blogger.com. I have tried, for years now actually, and I'm not sure it is possible to make it any better. I spend most of the precious little free time I have trying to get photos to align and pages to load leaving very little for writing. Not to mention the internets here are slow and I have to transfer photos from my phone to my computer. Does anyone know a better blogging platform? </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880257934588378902noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5320815968828181073.post-80956093363127488762015-02-15T03:54:00.003-08:002015-02-16T01:59:03.464-08:00Neighborhoods: its all relative<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-H77fwUBYgHzoIinwLhrbDzlst_oYLnhf5YTDanUjuv9iopONP9CTEz6-tDVMhUgCH-W51HYMA4aw6IN7bcgK6u2Q3QN4NTD69IyrMJBNoHKkhRZQXr7tKvo9aLdY_svl-NDOq-ShPPYD/s1600/map2.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-H77fwUBYgHzoIinwLhrbDzlst_oYLnhf5YTDanUjuv9iopONP9CTEz6-tDVMhUgCH-W51HYMA4aw6IN7bcgK6u2Q3QN4NTD69IyrMJBNoHKkhRZQXr7tKvo9aLdY_svl-NDOq-ShPPYD/s1600/map2.png" height="411" width="640" /></a>Although we are staying in a pretty posh hotel, our days are spent out in Nairobi's neighborhoods, talking with teachers, health workers, babyminders, pastors & other community leaders. The PC name for these particular areas is informal settlement, the common name is slum. Both names seem offensive to me and they are really just neighborhoods. They are all totally different and mostly not what I was expecting.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZnivsQXwnoBpb2yF8ZPD_0skbD-zZPkFVSwtfmL-yQNRjB1UKXv78M3OeQKj6k0Z78BKnweU5n59q1d4QTJ1u2LwQVGnDX67fFg3AV_Bwgq6sRFg5y2KOZi4aliP0iN2uF3K9nybP1ShR/s1600/mukuru+map.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZnivsQXwnoBpb2yF8ZPD_0skbD-zZPkFVSwtfmL-yQNRjB1UKXv78M3OeQKj6k0Z78BKnweU5n59q1d4QTJ1u2LwQVGnDX67fFg3AV_Bwgq6sRFg5y2KOZi4aliP0iN2uF3K9nybP1ShR/s1600/mukuru+map.png" height="408" width="640" /></a></div>
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As you can see Google isn't afraid to take pictures from above, but they aren't cruising the hoods to figure out what is in there. There is plenty though! Tons and tons! If you search for images you will find all sorts of heartbreaking stuff, but I think its pretty one-sided and sensationalist. I'm not saying I know much about slums or I have seen what its really like. But I have met a whole bunch of amazing people who are trying to make life better for the children of their communities - a problem everyone, everywhere faces. This is one of the meetings Kidogo held where we are discussing what childcare providers need and how to go about getting it.</div>
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In one of the interviews before I left, a Kenyan woman living in SF said to remember: You know what? Safety, cleanliness, these things are relative. You may feel unsafe, but this is my home. I know there is better, but I'm doing ok.</div>
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This has had a profound effect on me. It has freed me from feeling guilty for my own life or sorry for anyone else's. Who am I to judge? For one very simple example, in San Francisco we have by far way more homeless people, not to mention people are substantially less friendly to their fellow humans. I'm happy I live where I live and I'm sure many would love to visit, but they would certainly miss a lot if they left their homes here, whether their floors are dirt or marble. </div>
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<b>Mukuru</b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3QD0sjvHGlKQjO9DGJD3K6r3Ip0xtlfHxbD23vuIooNkojTqHibggE4XOvAtRaPTgC6QWRDb9lbVkheOP_Z3SSH_pDBm85Bwj1z2qQa6Q_8ieJlpG03Z3s7vEiFhfRTadq4rbtGps_XmP/s1600/2015-02-12+11.22.27.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3QD0sjvHGlKQjO9DGJD3K6r3Ip0xtlfHxbD23vuIooNkojTqHibggE4XOvAtRaPTgC6QWRDb9lbVkheOP_Z3SSH_pDBm85Bwj1z2qQa6Q_8ieJlpG03Z3s7vEiFhfRTadq4rbtGps_XmP/s1600/2015-02-12+11.22.27.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a><br />
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I spent only half a day here, but walked around and went into a couple of homes, so I have a better sense of it than the others. It was much more what I was expecting, with people engaging in much of life on the street, where there is more space than in the homes, most of which are made of tin without any windows so they are hot and dark. I saw some cats here and got to pet one who was sleeping in the babycare center we visited.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIoe6T4Mm9C5U_1pRob6OfqewpkJBKZk1OAXy5Zs_1-ck6VSWleECFWMkPZw9AFmt1-te9GZqPAZRWjQ2Jxu_N7phjO3clqOWyJL-GIt36Vhb1_O6oV7CJ-fZkAbZDnIDXLB5Cvt42CpkZ/s1600/2015-02-12+11.18.06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIoe6T4Mm9C5U_1pRob6OfqewpkJBKZk1OAXy5Zs_1-ck6VSWleECFWMkPZw9AFmt1-te9GZqPAZRWjQ2Jxu_N7phjO3clqOWyJL-GIt36Vhb1_O6oV7CJ-fZkAbZDnIDXLB5Cvt42CpkZ/s1600/2015-02-12+11.18.06.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtpwIIoYDYNjcq9f6E8Go23xdmGjAfaXAXMIhBe4YLFWsyyFMEk7ldtHVot8unj7gh2doYlxXe-6b_4bXQJ9lsdPog8oj65Sr5qKgM7Diy4TL9IRRnVn3eOwJNGvhf3Y9g6Zmw8lqYLBpN/s1600/IMG_0138.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtpwIIoYDYNjcq9f6E8Go23xdmGjAfaXAXMIhBe4YLFWsyyFMEk7ldtHVot8unj7gh2doYlxXe-6b_4bXQJ9lsdPog8oj65Sr5qKgM7Diy4TL9IRRnVn3eOwJNGvhf3Y9g6Zmw8lqYLBpN/s1600/IMG_0138.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtpwIIoYDYNjcq9f6E8Go23xdmGjAfaXAXMIhBe4YLFWsyyFMEk7ldtHVot8unj7gh2doYlxXe-6b_4bXQJ9lsdPog8oj65Sr5qKgM7Diy4TL9IRRnVn3eOwJNGvhf3Y9g6Zmw8lqYLBpN/s1600/IMG_0138.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a><b><br /></b>
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<b>Kangemi</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimDDelD4lHpPgsrjafR3mCTyZOrXIXxWrVzCNtj0k0XEMZ7r2UflU-MZpajmSWPCT-PC4uIxnSMNlX_5Pr6fCNQTcnAuiPqmehmx_fKuhPPsdun10sScMuwczFOLfI79UN6P4DDcSOpEOk/s1600/4T3B6217.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimDDelD4lHpPgsrjafR3mCTyZOrXIXxWrVzCNtj0k0XEMZ7r2UflU-MZpajmSWPCT-PC4uIxnSMNlX_5Pr6fCNQTcnAuiPqmehmx_fKuhPPsdun10sScMuwczFOLfI79UN6P4DDcSOpEOk/s1600/4T3B6217.JPG" height="133" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAL42xio86lPfFfjtacwg-Qq7zsYyewLx-GeG1ArJpwmqmj9OFwL1LMOZjUTdQxWb-15vzYmRjabHF5ehYDl7bk56Zio9M0IjSTes2opix-KvoYK2M4AryRCxL5Dxayov-_ZYAUXZt7KS_/s1600/IMG_0136.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAL42xio86lPfFfjtacwg-Qq7zsYyewLx-GeG1ArJpwmqmj9OFwL1LMOZjUTdQxWb-15vzYmRjabHF5ehYDl7bk56Zio9M0IjSTes2opix-KvoYK2M4AryRCxL5Dxayov-_ZYAUXZt7KS_/s1600/IMG_0136.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a>I have spent the most time here so far so I know the most people here. It is very different from what I was expecting, it feels much more like a rural village than an urban slum. There is a lot of space around, no open sewers in the streets and the building Kidogo has its babycare in is made of stone. I was told this is one of the newer settlements, so perhaps they built more infrastructure for it than the others. Everyone we talked with lived around the area and many worked outside of it, as taxi drivers, teachers and professionals (like a telcom operator). </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSl5YEXeY6O9McpDTeAl2rgtahpCpbVyBQwR3no2g4y5kSP3G1Un-8PcNzK-WjZMUoHcLs3CwiAuANlGSfZxi3nPuh875ZYDSJrrHNHA9Jke6v29f41CYmL7mRX2DUP0jiOtpe49dKplBM/s1600/2015-02-10+10.56.54.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSl5YEXeY6O9McpDTeAl2rgtahpCpbVyBQwR3no2g4y5kSP3G1Un-8PcNzK-WjZMUoHcLs3CwiAuANlGSfZxi3nPuh875ZYDSJrrHNHA9Jke6v29f41CYmL7mRX2DUP0jiOtpe49dKplBM/s1600/2015-02-10+10.56.54.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a><b>Kibera</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEXx021NaEDvtccKs6IJ5vwnmmycrcjnJeow-QXB2HBLCdraJOlnOdIydzDVHzQGDC-Tsz3GQmSlI7oRTs10Uor4abjzOS-xo7xtK0st9OOFS0xi9I274JfpUDI2H1CGHOO1gvaiLx91bH/s1600/2015-02-10+10.46.56.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEXx021NaEDvtccKs6IJ5vwnmmycrcjnJeow-QXB2HBLCdraJOlnOdIydzDVHzQGDC-Tsz3GQmSlI7oRTs10Uor4abjzOS-xo7xtK0st9OOFS0xi9I274JfpUDI2H1CGHOO1gvaiLx91bH/s1600/2015-02-10+10.46.56.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a>This is the famous one I was telling you about in the last post. I only saw the edges and it was was surprisingly mellow to me. One of the nicest things about these neighborhoods is how few cars are around, that and the general high level of energy because so many people are outside makes them my favorite places to walk. Kibera had few cars but not the high energy part. I will be back there tomorrow, and further in, so perhaps I will have a better update.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGFDl16SxWGnqut61WQmUBHWwgw5QuxZNxS9fjhyNwLXfaFaHu6IYDxh5SYyX3A757BdT2aumcNZIeoDokEjyAuDHSXOlRFMoFZsK2Xf7H7jwDjaubxzYvBtaqwz8jQD59EaZXkuDv5t0M/s1600/2015-02-10+15.20.18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGFDl16SxWGnqut61WQmUBHWwgw5QuxZNxS9fjhyNwLXfaFaHu6IYDxh5SYyX3A757BdT2aumcNZIeoDokEjyAuDHSXOlRFMoFZsK2Xf7H7jwDjaubxzYvBtaqwz8jQD59EaZXkuDv5t0M/s1600/2015-02-10+15.20.18.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a><b>Mlolongo</b><br />
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This neighborhood is further on the outskirts of town along a truck route, so its a bit rougher and more spacious than the others. As with all of the areas I can't take photos unless I'm either in a car or in someone's home and have asked them for permission, so I don't have much to show here either. Can you tell a little bit how different they are though?</div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOTq_jVdj3dunJsBdReU69vvs29OzzGmrZlmGGCQTjnn9u6hXslrM6MKnLtxRdly_Di5gmkJcuImiUTo6g2cnET10fxgT7rH8UD1uhdJ-F3-h1iQ3gK3Fnp6x5-G29sWzWRJH4i7e9DhJs/s1600/2015-02-10+14.59.02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOTq_jVdj3dunJsBdReU69vvs29OzzGmrZlmGGCQTjnn9u6hXslrM6MKnLtxRdly_Di5gmkJcuImiUTo6g2cnET10fxgT7rH8UD1uhdJ-F3-h1iQ3gK3Fnp6x5-G29sWzWRJH4i7e9DhJs/s1600/2015-02-10+14.59.02.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a> </div>
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At breakfast I was kinda cranky. I was annoyed that I had to get my own cups and silverware to sit outside. I was pissed the internet was not working, even after I found out it was a country-wide outage. I was impatient with the chef who kept not making me an an omelet, even after I got it and was already full anyways. I was mad that the waitress took my drink off my table, even after I found my drink at the buffet, where I had forgotten it. Yes, this was an extra special level of crankiness. Something was wrong. I slept fine, did my morning rituals, wasn't particularly stressed about the upcoming day or anything else for that matter. I also felt profoundly full after eating less than I had the day before...but who knows maybe it was just the stars.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX0N96qSFeUBgCdHiNn1wcdLvtoo9IKjOaYIQPu1yYpxKajz8JjrYH35cNG8jI5M82i2ojMBQ9wsXlddyvCHoCFngAa3Cjeii4PoRUEX3X-9MvpMr6itD_whFeVeBl6Eiz3NMVCUzutqXm/s1600/naomi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX0N96qSFeUBgCdHiNn1wcdLvtoo9IKjOaYIQPu1yYpxKajz8JjrYH35cNG8jI5M82i2ojMBQ9wsXlddyvCHoCFngAa3Cjeii4PoRUEX3X-9MvpMr6itD_whFeVeBl6Eiz3NMVCUzutqXm/s1600/naomi.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Interviewing Naomi, a local elder and pastor</td></tr>
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No. It was not the stars. It was totally normal, though. By 1:30 or so it became very, very clear that these were all the signs that was my body was about to attempt to adjust to the food here by ridding itself of all that I consumed. Regardless of the rather extreme discomfort I was in, I felt just as extreme in my gratitude that it was today. Not yesterday stuck in a two hour (fifteen mile) car ride and not tomorrow out touring in the (minimally developed) field. My body was even kind enough to wait until after we finished an important interview and presenting ourselves at a community center staff meeting. My sweet, thoughtful body waited til lunch, when I was free to completely zone out and just try to hold it together while eating the same thing I had for breakfast, but at least I had a Stoney's ginger ale.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So many notes.</td></tr>
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This leads me to the most interesting aspect of Kenyan cuisine. Not that you get to eat it with your hands, which everyone knows is my favorite. Not that it tastes great, as you would expect for exciting new equitorial foods. It is rather shockingly unvaried! I think I have tried everything already: nyama choma, sukuma wiki and ugali. Otherwise known as burnt animal, kale & onions and very dense grits. (Remind me that I owe you a photo.) Of course there are plenty of other things, but in the three Kenyan meals I have had, I was served some variation of these three things each time. This gives me some apprehension about my appetite levels for upcoming meals, post 'settling in'. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880257934588378902noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5320815968828181073.post-46464551613319868292015-02-10T08:00:00.002-08:002015-02-11T11:08:35.502-08:00Teach a man to fish<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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We did a LOT of research the week before we came. Interviewing Kenyans in the SF office, collecting every document about low-cost private early childcare centers & microfranchising (the planned business model for Kidogo), reading a couple of books on Kenyan culture and sifting through all of the information Kidogo has collected since they started last year. But come Friday, I was feeling like there wasn't much more I could learn without getting out in the field: I really needed to verify everything I was reading and hearing before I could start asking deeper questions.</div>
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First thing this morning we went to Kidogo's first babycare center in Kibera, which is supposedly one of the world's biggest slums, but it is actually smaller than a few others here in Nairobi. So I suppose it should be called one of the world's most famous slums: it gets more aid per capita than anywhere else in the world. You may know it from the movie & book The Constant Gardner. This causes some problems for a company like Kidogo, who is trying to build a model based on the realities of the economy. At first I was a bit confused: how can it be a bad thing to have more high-quality services? It is rather subtle: another babycare center is opening across the street from Kidogo's Kibera site and is planning to charge less because they will rely on donations from abroad to cover the operating costs not met by the fees charged to parents. It makes it virtually impossible to start a business as a local because the market is so distorted that parents have all sorts of free and heavily subsidized donor-supported centers - and this is not just in childcare, but health, technology and I'm sure all sorts of other sectors. Anyways, Kidogo is setting out to solve this problem.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880257934588378902noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5320815968828181073.post-13939789101287569872015-02-10T08:00:00.001-08:002015-02-10T08:00:58.908-08:00A bit of background<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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We are here for 16 days total, 15 of which we have packed with interviews, field visits and prototyping sessions. The last is one of the team members' birthdays and he wants to visit giraffes. I suppose I should back up a bit to give some context for the trip....<br />
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IDEO.org teamed up with a couple of other groups on a project called Amplify, which is a five year project with ten challenges aimed at improving the lives of those living in extreme poverty. For each challenge, anyone with an idea can submit it, they are voted on and five are chosen for design support from IDEO.org and funding from the Amplify consortium. The first challenge is explained here:<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="281" mozallowfullscreen="" src="//player.vimeo.com/video/86388557" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="500"></iframe> <br />
<a href="http://vimeo.com/86388557">Introducing OpenIDEO's Women's Safety Challenge</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/ideo">IDEO</a> on <a href="https://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.<br />
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One of the winners selected for this challenge is <a href="http://kidogo.co/" target="_blank">Kidogo</a>, a start-up social enterprise which aims to improve the quality of babycare for residents of informal settlements in Nairobi, Kenya.<br />
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I was brought on by IDEO.org as one of four designers to help develop a self-sustainable business that provides real value to two groups: babycare providers and parents. We are here in Nairobi to do research in the field about what that real value might be, then we will have three weeks in SF to bring our research together to formulate a plan.<br />
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As you can imagine I am crazy excited to be working on this - it is a perfect cross-section of my own interests & skills. I am also thrilled to be bringing strategy, marketing and finance know-how to an organization that taking social welfare out of the donor model and putting it into a self-sustainable, local and human-centered business. And, I've never been to Kenya before!<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880257934588378902noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5320815968828181073.post-44837203073328753572015-02-09T20:22:00.001-08:002015-02-09T20:33:11.941-08:00Touchdown Nairobi<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Hi there. I'm going to use this old blog from my trip last year to Paraguay to keep some records of my current trip to Kenya. This one is very different from the last I wrote about on this blog, but I think the title 'Follow the Signs' is universally and eternally relevant.<br />
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I had a long but easy trip from SF to Newark to Zurich to Nairobi. I have gotten good enough at this long-haul travel stuff to know how to make sure I am warm, comfortable, fed and well-rested although moving across time and space at a far faster pace than seems natural.<br />
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We got to the hotel around 9pm, which is perfect because I have a rule when I fly overnight with more than 10 hours time difference that on my first day I try to stay up til at least 9 so I can get a full night sleep and be reset to the new time zone. I unpacked and did some yoga - my feet were so swollen I can't believe it - and was asleep by 11.<br />
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Now I'm having a nice breakfast buffet, complete with Tree Tomato juice and beef bacon. More once I actually leave the hotel!<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">I obviously need to figure out my image capturing system here....</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880257934588378902noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5320815968828181073.post-52854372974030635732013-07-31T14:54:00.002-07:002013-07-31T14:57:14.598-07:00A little on signs from Rob Brezney<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br /><br />Astrologer <a href="http://freewillastrology.com/">Rob Brezsney</a> posted the below on his Facebook today, he and Tarnas echo my feelings on the topic of reading signs. <br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">"In his book "Cosmos and Psyche," Richard Tarnas says the planets don't emit invisible forces that shape our destinies as if we were puppets. Rather, they are symbols of the unfolding evolutionary pattern. Just as clocks tell time but don't create it, the heavenly bodies show us the big picture but don't cause it. </span><div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Quoting Greek philosopher Plotinus, Tarnas writes, "The stars are like letters that inscribe themselves at every moment in the sky. Everything in the world is full of signs. All events are coordinated. All things depend on each other. Everything breathes together." So it's not just the distant globes whose movements and relationships serve as divinatory clues. If you're sufficiently attuned to the gestalt of creation and pay close enough attention to its unfolding details, you can read the current mood of the universe in the arrangement of red onions in the grocery store bin or the fluttering of sunlight and shadow on the mimosa tree or the scatter of soap suds in your sink after you've finished washing the dishes. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Can you do it? Discern the signature of creation at this or any other perfect moment? Peer into the secret heart of the collective unconscious? Guess what the Goddess is thinking? Hint: You will have to switch on a dormant capacity, transforming your imagination from a mere fantasy-generator into an organ of perception."</span><br /><br /><br /><br />Although Matthew and I made many serendipitous and interesting connections during the trip, I didn't broach the subject of signs directly on many occasions. Its not something that comes up in the first few conversations one has with a new acquaintance! However, I read many signs of our own making, ranging from those which are new to me (<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Augurs">birds flying</a>), spontaneous (the presence of a puppy in a tarot reader's room) or my tried and true favorites (gusts of wind upon arriving at a place, direct manifestations of previously stated desires, coincidences). Its still such a new thing for me though, that sometimes I forget to pay attention to them, and I'm a ways off from being able to call upon them rather than just hope they happen. <br /><br /><br />Traveling definitely provides an accelerated stream of critical decisions, so I had a lot more opportunity to test theories with omens than I would in 'normal' life. There are a two main questions, but essentially the format is the following:<br /><br /><br />- the timing that make the sign relevant to the action in question<br /><br /><br />- what the sign consists of and how it guides optimal action<br /><br /><br />I have found that signs tend not to be 'good' or 'bad' but they say 'yes' or 'no' to an action. For example, a small boy presenting me with a puppy named Doggy when I entered the Tarot reader's shop was a sign (to me, perhaps not to anyone else :) that I should indeed speak with the reader and have a reading done. It turned out to be a rather dark reading, so although the sign was friendly and the said 'yes', the outcome was more of an important lesson than some great success. In other words, if I had been able to see the future, I might have said no to the reading, which would have meant I missed out on some useful, yet difficult, information. <br /><br /><br />I suppose the important part to clarify is that reading omens is essentially asking the universe for its opinion on your plans. The opinions of the universe can be totally unrelated to one's own opinion of the outcome of the action - but at least we can rest assured that it will be the most useful possible outcome according to a neutral third party.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880257934588378902noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5320815968828181073.post-87029396419426112912013-07-31T11:00:00.001-07:002013-07-31T11:00:43.727-07:00cadenced shared an Instagram video with you <div style="padding: 20px; -webkit-border-radius: 5px; -moz-border-radius: 5px; border-radius:5px; width:550; margin:0px auto; font-size:18px; font-family:'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial"> Hi there, <p><span style="font-weight:bold">cadenced</span> just shared an <a style="text-decoration:none; color: #2f79c2" href="http://instagram.com/">Instagram</a> video with you:</p> <div style='margin:0px auto; width: 480px; text-align:center'> <a style="color:#2f79c2; text-decoration:none; font-style:italic; font-size:0.6em" href="http://instagram.com/p/ccHwEDLuy6/?autoplay=true"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVlsw317UFEF7tkaV9kAxdoGypeTk5cLsgKL42QCt5SGIl8sLqKTGbcyzXnbVvOqp1mPKykOr78q44jiGr2TXmKYqga04gXUNbAAlt7pvcaedWTtign-CiUM8iuVBzm5QQn9dBNBxtaU0/s1600/bm-image-743727.jpeg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVlsw317UFEF7tkaV9kAxdoGypeTk5cLsgKL42QCt5SGIl8sLqKTGbcyzXnbVvOqp1mPKykOr78q44jiGr2TXmKYqga04gXUNbAAlt7pvcaedWTtign-CiUM8iuVBzm5QQn9dBNBxtaU0/s320/bm-image-743727.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5906841225274661714" /></a><br/>play video</a> <p style="font-size:0.8em">(taken at Barrio De Retiro)</p> </div> Thanks,<br/> The Instagram Team </div> Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5320815968828181073.post-2201045196185149802013-07-29T16:08:00.001-07:002013-07-30T17:47:56.848-07:00subte placa<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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"subte plaque" <br />
(taken at Estación Avenida de Mayo [Línea C])<br />
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This is sitting in a subway station in Buenos Aires. It's a union's wish that bad shit doesn't happen again to its members.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5320815968828181073.post-82642215606958974162013-07-27T02:49:00.001-07:002013-07-27T02:49:10.268-07:00tiffy giffy<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tiff flew out last night. Matt stays for another week.</td></tr>
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We went to Buenos Aires for a few days and then Tiff flew home. Matt's off to Tigre for the week! Turns out we found a tiger after all.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5320815968828181073.post-37444057675690728532013-07-23T19:00:00.002-07:002013-07-23T19:00:41.224-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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clouds over TrinidadUnknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5320815968828181073.post-14836560811031545092013-07-23T08:41:00.001-07:002013-07-23T08:45:43.308-07:00Al Campo<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Although Matthew didn't think it was all that important, I really wanted to see the village he stayed at when he was in Paraguay in 2001. I liked the idea of being in a rural farm town (el campo), of seeing a place that was familiar (at least to one of us) and the adventure of trying to find place and people who were off the map.<br />
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We hopped on a bus out of Encarnación to Yaguarón ('big dog' in Guaraní), the closest town to the turn off for Curupayty, see our map below:<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880257934588378902noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5320815968828181073.post-50147147717291869812013-07-22T20:25:00.000-07:002013-07-22T20:25:03.920-07:00TripAdvisor & Kiva<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
We made friends with the families who owned the <a href="http://www.tripadvisor.com/Hotel_Review-g298437-d3935695-Reviews-Casa_Alta_Hostel-Ciudad_Del_Este_Alto_Parana_Department.html" target="_blank">hostel</a>/<a href="http://www.tripadvisor.com/Hotel_Review-g298437-d3435403-Reviews-Hotel_Miraflores-Ciudad_Del_Este_Alto_Parana_Department.html" target="_blank">hotel</a> we stayed at in CdE, so we agreed to write them reviews on TripAdvisor. For some reason I had never thought to do this before, but I had a great time making a little TripAdvisor <a href="http://www.tripadvisor.com/members/teahop" target="_blank">profile</a> and writing up some short reviews. Then I got the coolest present ever: a $25 Kiva gift card to give to an entrepreneur in Paraguay. ¡Que fabuloso!<br />
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I chose <a href="http://www.kiva.org/invitedby/tiffany2526/for/583664" target="_blank">Juan</a>, who is using the funds for his poultry farm in Caaguazú, where we happened to have tried to get to today. We ended up in nearby San Pedro, but whatevs.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880257934588378902noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5320815968828181073.post-73212083992751417872013-07-22T06:35:00.001-07:002013-07-22T06:35:25.153-07:00winter. whoda thought?<br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT0bdo3mex-ooGzNeBGxy-2ode5wHe5dkbmlm1uOh_KuPfC2bnzF7OpNkYqukCSJYH5aiw5Bf0hsde54sxYIF4sEZdhtVM37GZVUalc5oQKliQ9ZBSA_Sa2q87T7E0VZUQfAmZWdB0fAI/s640/blogger-image--1403643498.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT0bdo3mex-ooGzNeBGxy-2ode5wHe5dkbmlm1uOh_KuPfC2bnzF7OpNkYqukCSJYH5aiw5Bf0hsde54sxYIF4sEZdhtVM37GZVUalc5oQKliQ9ZBSA_Sa2q87T7E0VZUQfAmZWdB0fAI/s640/blogger-image--1403643498.jpg"></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5320815968828181073.post-52417785694772982732013-07-20T23:19:00.001-07:002013-07-23T07:43:46.000-07:00tarot in Paraguarí<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5320815968828181073.post-19442610486685916312013-07-20T02:09:00.000-07:002013-07-20T08:12:30.928-07:00On the bus to Encarnación<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<object width="320" height="266" class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://i1.ytimg.com/vi/4_Yi3o9LagY/0.jpg"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/4_Yi3o9LagY?version=3&f=user_uploads&c=google-webdrive-0&app=youtube_gdata"><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><embed width="320" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/4_Yi3o9LagY?version=3&f=user_uploads&c=google-webdrive-0&app=youtube_gdata" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true"></object></div>
this is en ruta a EncarnaciónUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5320815968828181073.post-988795737622966182013-07-11T16:25:00.000-07:002013-07-19T09:08:26.104-07:00Asuncion<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="text-align: justify;">Jumping on an westbound red-eye Nuestra Señora bus from CdE para recoger a Tiffany was a whole bunch of things, but it also seemed like the only thing to do. I had been comforted that Tiffany's first trip into Paraguay would be with a good friend (la </span><a href="http://putitinthepocket.blogspot.com/" style="text-align: justify;" target="_blank">Nina</a><span style="text-align: justify;">) who had been living in South America for the past year. But, as things go, the Andean pass a Mendoza had a snow storm, forcing the aforementioned sitch. Up until the last minute we weighed the pros of me staying in Ciudad del Este to continue whatever it was I was doing...</span><span style="text-align: justify;"> </span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=5320815968828181073" id="fn1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhszsqf1bu7CwMMcrQbAS2C8Bn07nQKXgDl5TYZSbS6O50T42og4kydWR0TgwwI_GnFAaan2eZG88oq43nA4L-d-WylxCQIo72NXug8no8vykuO4BaAOItpFYxrbnIqEraoUJJC_8-GSLA/s320/100_0074.JPG" title="Tereré with Juan my very first day in CdE" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: justify;">(probably drinking <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Terer%C3%A9" target="_blank">tereré</a> </span><span style="font-size: small; text-align: justify;">)</span></td></tr>
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<span style="text-align: justify;">to the pros of seeing each other as soon as possible and, you know, the national capital and all. The latter one won out, por supuesto.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTP7_ckOL2wFfPirZhlHQuVidp0e9hsBfvubFRehKBVW9-anQjUMENe3FmZFUXgky17lCW4XMhrXbERmaJYbV8xsXjNzoAj8RYnYT1i-aU0NcXZxqhyphenhyphenYVbq3mSW9FgpLP6w3Zg8Ew0vXI/s1600/IMG_4627.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTP7_ckOL2wFfPirZhlHQuVidp0e9hsBfvubFRehKBVW9-anQjUMENe3FmZFUXgky17lCW4XMhrXbERmaJYbV8xsXjNzoAj8RYnYT1i-aU0NcXZxqhyphenhyphenYVbq3mSW9FgpLP6w3Zg8Ew0vXI/s320/IMG_4627.jpg" width="240" /></a>
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Asunción's "tourist train," revived after much consternation, is apparently again defunct.<br />
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Paraguay has many quirks, but this route between its two biggest cities is largely free of them. I arrived in a somnolent, Sunday Asunción; agreed bleary-eyed to the first offer of a taxi, but felt potent in my Spanish and bus-setter status as I was ferried across the suburbs to the airport. When I arrived, the previous day's arrivals were still on the screen, so I took advantage of the cellular companies much-touted free wi-fi, the airport's one bank of padded seats, and a little bit of <a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=5320815968828181073#fn1">tereré</a> and settled in to wait for Tiffany while the airport woke up. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdspVj59Qy3Mdqcrga92C408nXzhlZJyQAqakdTWR16FppmK12KXjQbUn3WZ0HeEFrNn47-74b5mHDUuYtgr1CxxDpPnqqxYOrJQwNMDElDBPQELULw6rkb6ngRGX5b5eF0e8kMu01eP0/s1600/IMG_3490.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdspVj59Qy3Mdqcrga92C408nXzhlZJyQAqakdTWR16FppmK12KXjQbUn3WZ0HeEFrNn47-74b5mHDUuYtgr1CxxDpPnqqxYOrJQwNMDElDBPQELULw6rkb6ngRGX5b5eF0e8kMu01eP0/s320/IMG_3490.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We tested out the camera Tiffany had brought when we got to our hotel</td></tr>
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We soon were walking though the ghostlike Sunday streets in search of food. Although Tiffany had her doubts, my choice was clear, the regular reunion point for author John Gimlette during his time in Asunción: Lido Bar. He mused historical one day while sitting under the sidewalk umbrellas in his book<i> At the Tomb of the Inflatable Pig,</i></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;"><i>It had occurred to me, whilst we were sitting in The Lido, that there was another figure on the Paraguayan landscape. He was everywhere. He was clustered at every crossroads. He was at the airport and on the bridge that led to Brazil. He nuzzled into his clones, making his bubble-gum pink rubber body squeak obscenely: the inflatable pig. He'd come from overseas and the citizens had received him, joylessly and yet, it seemed with fervour. </i></span></blockquote>
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Tiffany was freshly reading the book and exclaimed excitedly that the tomb of Francisco Solano Lopez (and several other significant leaders) was right across the street. We took out our <i>chanchito (</i>the only thing I had bought so far in the sprawling mall of CdE)<i> </i>and celebrated with a fotosesh. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1B5EAMHVRCmbOPaDzeirAlK68nqk2pLIf4HRgMXss5nyQtLFwmDNQvsiq3k6yaBXIkflYTToKeH5XzhmKnXgG6XypxJVCnaALOxZoVNmPNrVNzJDaAXsCFEWTcT9lSjTEXGD5ViKcHmQ/s1600/IMG_4641.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1B5EAMHVRCmbOPaDzeirAlK68nqk2pLIf4HRgMXss5nyQtLFwmDNQvsiq3k6yaBXIkflYTToKeH5XzhmKnXgG6XypxJVCnaALOxZoVNmPNrVNzJDaAXsCFEWTcT9lSjTEXGD5ViKcHmQ/s320/IMG_4641.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nuestra chancita enfrente de la tomba de los "heroes"</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEXvaeSOSXL7Ip-xvmFg6J-hTyna0iT5EbTjPuF2hYLqpH0ynmVwWIIeb375M-FuGAkogS_gAyEDakl5OwVIvNKjNcPjqLHTp-hADGpbUPWA-SZ8n-qc7o1-GhsyI1UJgLA3sp5vekPuc/s1600/IMG_4639.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEXvaeSOSXL7Ip-xvmFg6J-hTyna0iT5EbTjPuF2hYLqpH0ynmVwWIIeb375M-FuGAkogS_gAyEDakl5OwVIvNKjNcPjqLHTp-hADGpbUPWA-SZ8n-qc7o1-GhsyI1UJgLA3sp5vekPuc/s320/IMG_4639.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chanchito y Lopez Jr.</td></tr>
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We're obviously not a fan of this asshat. Lopez Jr. was probably the worst thing to ever happen to Paraguay. But it felt like we had come full circle being able to view his tomb, as <i>At the Tomb of the Inflatable Pig</i> (given to me by the aforementioned Nina, por casualidad). The catastrophic destruction and loss of life Paraguay suffered under his reign can still be felt palpably today. More on that later.</div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCx0FqjF-0v0JPAKSGPP0-x8oFfHRdyKVlpN_Jdmzd5I6n3He79NE23vKBaTRv8lywfhCl-HPBGJk8JQ3XcE1ZnMKqy1hb6K176XE09daDGPixFqXVIDHENUFRSOtzzu0nCLs9aavL_PQ/s1600/IMG_3527.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCx0FqjF-0v0JPAKSGPP0-x8oFfHRdyKVlpN_Jdmzd5I6n3He79NE23vKBaTRv8lywfhCl-HPBGJk8JQ3XcE1ZnMKqy1hb6K176XE09daDGPixFqXVIDHENUFRSOtzzu0nCLs9aavL_PQ/s320/IMG_3527.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">"Ahora podemos decir que hemos comido y aprechado de Lido Bar."</td></tr>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5320815968828181073.post-53959997058287850492013-07-08T09:39:00.000-07:002013-07-17T16:18:40.615-07:00Touchdown Miami<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Ok, so this post is just the rambling story, old school style, of my layover in Miami. However, I wanted to get something up here and this is what I got at the moment...<br />
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I was awakened by an excited squeak from one of the junior
stewards:<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Flight attendants, prepare for landing!”<o:p></o:p></div>
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It seemed improbable that we could be so close so soon after
I had curled up into my odd, unattached bulkhead seat at the front of economy
class. However, I have come to blindly trust the announcements of the flight
crew. Do they ever joke? It must be interesting to have such a serious job
while buzzing through the skies and doing improbable things like pushing archaic,
narrow metal carts through carpeted, light-rimmed channels only millimeters
less narrow or pushing bags bursting at their seams into bins that permit
absolutely no bursting. It all seems rather comical to me, but perhaps I am
alone in that sentiment.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The airport was rather uneventful, but quite pleasant.
Another crew announcement reminded me of the Admiral’s Club, its
appropriateness for the fifteen hour layover I was about to enjoy, and that
although I no longer had the fancy platinum status that permits entry, I had
somehow ‘earned’ a voucher for a day pass from a social network I did nothing
for except give up vast amounts of personal data. I slept for a few hours, took
advantage of their complimentary beverages and headed out to town.</div>
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Just waiting for the bus seemed very Miami. There was a
skylight in the bus stand so you could see shining blue sky and soft fluffy
clouds even while tolerating the throes of American public transportation.</div>
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I hopped off the bus at the first signs of South Beach.
Everything was bright: bright white art deco hotels, bright green gently
swaying palm trees, bright bikinis, bright tiny shirts and shorts covering up
bright bikinis, that bright shining blue sky with its soft fluffy companions. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5-ylOICUAyo8nGKgBgkJtAWXb1KbsnZpNa_QjnIr0S08CVFoaQobiAdIbafDtZhcscMhVUKjz_5FBz03cHVzTPoJGVGFaCU8fvHpnyW9gVp5Rv6-Iy9mtNivGmnV45TD7bgaWn2zXYrR4/s1600/IMG_2794.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5-ylOICUAyo8nGKgBgkJtAWXb1KbsnZpNa_QjnIr0S08CVFoaQobiAdIbafDtZhcscMhVUKjz_5FBz03cHVzTPoJGVGFaCU8fvHpnyW9gVp5Rv6-Iy9mtNivGmnV45TD7bgaWn2zXYrR4/s320/IMG_2794.JPG" width="320" /></a><o:p> </o:p></div>
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Within a block I saw a big sign atop one of the bright white
art deco hotels: Maxine. It just begged for that sunshine to go away so it
could show off its neon brightness. It looked abandoned to me, but I suppose
that is just what neon looks like during the day because when I got closer I
discovered this was an open-air diner of sorts. Having consumed approximately
five glasses of ice tea and one cliff bar, with the hour approaching 2pm, I
decided this was the place for me. <o:p></o:p></div>
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To my surprise the waitress was not surprised I was alone. I
got a perfect seat on a large cabana with a trio of young (but not too young to
be loud) men to my right and a couple surprisingly hands-on for being engaged
in talk of their parents’ career paths to my left. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Oh man, that looks good!” I cooed when the youngish men’s
abundant meal of eggs in various croissant and benedict vessels arrived. “I
didn’t even see the breakfast menu.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Yeah, this is the stuff right here.” They all nodded,
proudly, as if I had offered that ultimate confirmation every restaurant
orderer dreams of. They were polite enough to say mine looked good too, once it
arrived. But it didn’t. It was a double cheeseburger with no bun and anyone who
has seen any form of burger without a bun and not otherwise shielded by
lettuce, knows it is like mistakenly seeing an aging aunt in the nude. Burgers
are NOT meant to be nude.<o:p></o:p></div>
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To my dismay the youngish men asked the server for
instructions on using the bus. All that work was in vain – they would not be
able to take me out on their boat or show me the secret beach of spectacular beauty.
They were only tourists. Oh well, at least now my belly will stick out
painfully and help make me feel at home on the not secret beach of normal
people.<o:p></o:p></div>
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As I walked I became increasingly aware of my inappropriate
dress. Not only was I wearing muted blue, ivory and heather grey (no neon or
gold to be seen), but I had multiple layers on both top and bottom (which kept
my entire body fully insulated against the breeze in the 95 degree heat / 85%
humidity) and, probably most offensively, except for my arms, all my skin was
covered. Given that I was actually wearing a slip under my long dress, I
managed to be probably the only female, of any age, within a hundred miles,
whose upper thighs (or at least their outline) were not on display. Little did
the public know, I was actually saving them from viewing my exceptionally pale
skin, which, in large quantities, has a blinding quality. Although come to
think of it, I would have blended into the art deco buildings perfectly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfDQJ51_G8Xg4aA6ZG98gtL37s_FYFchmKte2DdCfrmB72GlYjCM5KmHsvNVZtTHp51EcQum97BC5kvo8WG7fStmxF58ALq-kkXck-rgke-rYpMXsV3qUPGXa6B2TtgfBYdfGt8-kEdrmV/s1600/IMG_2795.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfDQJ51_G8Xg4aA6ZG98gtL37s_FYFchmKte2DdCfrmB72GlYjCM5KmHsvNVZtTHp51EcQum97BC5kvo8WG7fStmxF58ALq-kkXck-rgke-rYpMXsV3qUPGXa6B2TtgfBYdfGt8-kEdrmV/s320/IMG_2795.JPG" width="320" /></a><o:p> </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wandered through shops of stringy neon clothing and
throngs of people wearing them towards the beach for what seemed like forever. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Excuse me, miss, would you like a sample of face cream?” An
eastern European girl with blonde dreads tied onto the top of her head shoved a
small diamond-shaped packet into my hand.)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Um…sure. Which way is the beach?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She almost undiscernibly pointed back the way I came. “What
do you use for your sunspots?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Slightly offended, “I don’t know. Are you sure its that
way?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Come inside, I want to show you something.” She started
walking to the door of her shop, the Crystal Cream shop or something similarly
Miami/bizarre.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh, no, I need to get to the beach. Are you sure it’s that
way?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now it was her turn to be offended. Her eyes said, no wonder
you have so many sunspots and her mouth said, “Of course<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m sure.” Both valid answers. Both not what
I wanted to hear. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Thanks.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1uFub2PFyiWUF2jWeRkmqfvs_Y8Xwy_qVjWmtnP8j24t64ggrABDhZlULHSotaaJl9-HRB4a4Kh97JXXIiPeIaAQc_xo8sF5lirQR7tnKq8A0JXyc1kUXwe_DOMuDqRySTHaU5bDBcn1h/s1600/IMG_2798.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1uFub2PFyiWUF2jWeRkmqfvs_Y8Xwy_qVjWmtnP8j24t64ggrABDhZlULHSotaaJl9-HRB4a4Kh97JXXIiPeIaAQc_xo8sF5lirQR7tnKq8A0JXyc1kUXwe_DOMuDqRySTHaU5bDBcn1h/s320/IMG_2798.JPG" width="320" /></a>When I finally found it (within eyesight of my first, wrong,
turn off the main drag), it was far more beautiful than I had imagined. Most
definitely the most beautiful beach I had been to in the US (I have not been to
Hawaii). I found a little spot nestled next to a group of beautiful Brazilian
teenagers, an extremely tan aging couple and a trio of pale Spaniards. I had a
few minutes of quiet before I was startled, “You getting a tan there?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Before I could see who was speaking I was already laughing.
“Obviously not. I don’t really get tans.” It was the old, possibly homeless man
who I left out of my earlier beach surrounds description. He had a pink plastic
cup from a nearby hotel. It was filled with slices of an unidentifiable citrus
fruit, a watery brown liquid and about a half inch of that silky fine Miami
beach sand. He slurped at it occasionally, trudging back to his crumpled, yellowing
yellow towel to refill it when our conversation lulled. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Where are you from?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“California.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“When did you get here?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“6 O’clock this morning.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh, so you came straight here?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“More or less, yes.” I was grinning.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“When do you leave?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“At 11 o’clock tonight.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Well, that’s a short trip.” He almost slurred when he
spoke, but it was tempered by the accent of someone long speaking a language,
but never really caring much how it sounded.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What’s your name?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Tiffany.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh, like New York.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I was born there.” He nodded knowingly. “What’s yours?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Eugene.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That’s my grandfather’s name.” He nodded approvingly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not sure why, but I really liked making him laugh. It
was a roaring hoot that recruited his whole body to join in; he almost spilled
his cup of orange (or lemon) sandbeer every time. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So we kept talking.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I told him what I did and he said I should talk to Steve
Jobs about saving Africa. He told me what he did and I finally understood why
his hands were covered in flat, dark blisters and most fingers were losing
their covers in sheets. He was a chemical engineer who seemed to have an
eventful career, each of his stories was prefaced by, “I had gotten into the
(fill in the blank) industry…” This was his intro for living in Simi Valley for
a year, when the filler was nuclear, spending time in Texas, when the filler
was oil, and landing in the Oakland airport once, when the filler was perfume.
Now he had settled into cosmetics and explained that because I was good
looking, I could start using anti-aging cream now and it would make sure I was
beautiful for the rest of my life. This is as opposed to if I already had
wrinkles, the creams can’t make those go away. “It’s all about prevention,” we
agreed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As we got into politics, his Southerness became achingly
apparent. I had always thought it was just my family in Georgia who thought
Obama was anti-American, but Eugene felt the same way. He said Dick Nixon was a
good president, and Reagan. I asked about the Bushes. “Well they thought they
could go into Iraq and do what they did in Afghanistan, but they messed it all
up. They spent a lot of money on that, it wasn’t good for the country either.”
We both laughed when he said ‘a lot of money’.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Good presidents are hard to find,” we agreed. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After a while I began to fatigue. Actually I just really
needed to use the bathroom and didn’t want to leave my things alone or even
with Eugene. While he was kind and smart and up-to-date, he was also quite
drunk, which nullifies any other abilities a potentially homeless stuff-minder
candidate might have.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We shook hands,
blisters and all, and he disappeared. I guessed into the ocean, as he left his
stuff behind, no stuff-minder needed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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I meandered back to the airport, showered in the lounge and
somehow managed to almost miss my flight talking to Matthew and trying to set
up this blog to accept comments (which I still haven’t succeeded in doing). I
heard them paging me from what seemed like miles down a huge, concrete
passageway. Airports are so weird. I ran up and onto the flight – noting missionaries,
Mennonites and ‘business’ men filling up the seats.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880257934588378902noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5320815968828181073.post-80836543659777793552013-07-06T19:45:00.001-07:002013-07-06T19:45:05.744-07:00Omens & Borders<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
For most of you, this won't be the first time your eyeballs have graced one of Tiffany's travel blogs. I use the word 'blog' loosely...in reality I have been spewing rambling words onto blogger templates since <a href="http://imchile.blogspot.com/">my first trip to Chile & Argentina</a> in 2007 and through all of my wanderings in the <a href="http://enlacamina.blogspot.com/">UK</a>, <a href="http://switzaporeadventurecamp.blogspot.com/">Europe</a> on multiple <a href="http://happiestofholidays.blogspot.com/">occasions</a>, <a href="http://beeleafit.blogspot.com/">India</a> and the US (which I wrote and never published). I generally spill out a few hundred hurried, excited, nearly incoherent words for each location during the first half or so of the trip, forget to write the rest of the time and fail to reread or edit any of it.<br />
<br />
Underlying my writing 'technique', a set of fairly engrained, heavily front-loaded travel pattens that are really to blame for this lack of structure or completion. I like to dream up some place to go based on a trail of wispy recommendations and coincidences, buy a flight and first night of lodging, pack lightly, and wing it. I can say with almost complete confidence that I have never stayed more than three nights in one place on any of my trips, even when I was deathly ill (Argentina and India) or in a place I was utterly in love with (hah, almost everywhere). I generally fuse together daily needs (eating, sleeping), curiosity (grown out of preconceived notions and fueled by my discoveries on the ground) and serendipities (chance encounters, loose introductions, unexpected events like the <a href="http://beeleafit.blogspot.com/2010/07/mountain-air.html">Dalai Lama's birthday</a> or a <a href="http://imchile.blogspot.com/2006/07/rain.html">flood</a>) to move me from one place to the next. I have honed my technique and it has yet to fail me.<br />
<br />
Nonetheless, I hope this trip will be a little different. There are a few reasons, all of which were planted in me over the years and just sprouted thanks to my travel companion, the heart and soul behind this trip, Matthew (who may be writing some blogs on here himself).<br />
<br />
<b>Declaring an intention</b><br />
I realize my travels have had no purpose outside of fulfilling my hunger, curiosity and need for serendipity. This is a shame - I have seen and done some interesting things and have done a terrible job (see above links) documenting it so that anyone other than myself can enjoy these experiences. So my first task on this trip is to attempt to make something out of my time. I don't really know what that something may be, but I would guess it will lay along the lines of a slightly more organized and pleasant to read blog.<br />
<br />
<b>Staying in one place</b><br />
In my advanced age I have come to see the value of staying in one place (not that I have done it yet). Of diving into something and really getting to know it. Of being still, and possibly even quiet. My second task is then to stay (at least somewhat) stationary and learn a place for more than the amount of time it takes to eat, sleep, get oneself into some trouble, take some pictures and then upload them (aka 72 hours).<br />
<br />
<b>Choosing a focus</b><br />
Third, while curiosity has been the driving force behind all of my trips, it has only been present in the abstract. I have never gone somewhere with the explicit task of learning or discovering something (other than food, which is unavoidable anyways). As I started to read about Paraguay, mostly just out of interest in Matthew's trip planning, I couldn't help but make those far-reaching connections that have so many times led me to far-reaching places. I have been studying the ways of Earth-based cultures since January of this year, mostly Yavapai and Hopi from Arizona, and Q'ero (an Incan community), and to my great delight Paraguay is the only country in the Americas that has a native tongue, Guarani, as an official language. Combined with a cursory knowledge of the history from <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0091530/">The Mission</a> (caution: heartbreak) and <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2004/02/29/books/you-don-t-want-to-live-there.html">At The Tomb of the Inflatable Pig</a>, I have the probably ridiculous idea that the native people here have a more intact culture than in most of the rest of our fair continent. For this task, I'm going to look into that.<br />
<br />
<b>Creating an outcome</b><br />
In all areas of my life I am in a process of culling. This involves figuring out what I am good at, what I like and what I value - three paramount aspects of life that I spent too little time thinking about in the past. Next I focus on these things and begin to merge them. This includes starting a <a href="http://nobox.us/">company</a> to (not coincidentally) help people do the same thing in their professional lives, carefully choosing my social companions, location, food, activities, media, etc. with intention and heart. Because travel is one of those things I truly love (and am good at), I need to find a sustainable way to integrate it into my life, especially financially and philosophically. This task includes having a purpose to the trip - one that supports all other areas of my life and extends past the experience itself.<br />
<br />
Now, to really understand how this all comes together, I need to explain Matthew's plans. He has manifested this trip and graciously invited me to join. So his structure, on which I am working, is as follows:<br />
<br />
1. Intention: scouting. This is a trip to make connections with a place and its people.<br />
2. Staying: the location of interest is <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ciudad_del_Este">Ciudad del Este, Paraguay</a> (CdE), where we will stay for a month, unless otherwise directed by the people we meet.<br />
3. Focus: the unique aspect of CdE is its borders - physical, social, political. He will study how they affect people, commerce and community.<br />
4. Goal: to someday make a documentary on the subject.<br />
<br />
As Matthew shared his plans with me, a series of interesting events occurred The more I leaned towards going, the more frequent and more clear the signs were. I began to use them explicitly to make decisions, something I have learned about in my cultural studies this year. Given their role in my presence on the trip I have made them my focus for the trip. Bringing my four points together with Matthew's plans, I have the following mission: to learn about how people in Paraguay use omens and then to teach you about it via this blog.<br />
<br />
So, there you have the full backstory. This is no spur of the moment vacation my friends! We have purpose. We have motive. We have intention. I hope you will join us, however digitally, on our journey. At least I know my mom will! Cue comment from Molly:</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880257934588378902noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5320815968828181073.post-76991090299173679922013-07-04T09:18:00.001-07:002013-07-06T20:05:26.485-07:00A Rough Itinerary<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
- 7/5 8pm leave SFO<br />
- 7/7 8am arrive Asuncion, Paraguay and meeting Nina<br />
- 7/8 am travel to Ciudad del Este, Paraguay to meet Matthew<br />
(exciting things happen)<br />
- 7/25 1pm leave Iguazu Falls and arrive in Buenos Aires, Argentina<br />
- 7/26 9pm leave Buenos Aires<br />
- 7/27 9am arrive San Jose
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00880257934588378902noreply@blogger.com