Last night, I celebrated my first new year's abroad by eating cake on the roof of our dorm and watching a couple of Palestinian international students attempted traditional dancing. As we listened to famous Bollywood tunes and laughed at the pigs rummaging in the garbage behind the building, we kept an eye on our watches. 11:54, 11:55, 11:56...
At midnight, the whole campus began cheering to usher in a new decade - our dorm, the dorms around us, and the cleaning staff downstairs all joined in spontaneous, simultaneous celebration. From where I was standing, I could see fireworks erupt in six different locations throughout the city of Hyderabad, while hanging laundry dried in the night breeze.
I only hope 2010 can be as wonderful as '09!
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Au revoir, Senegal!
On one of my last few days in Dakar, I took a long walk home from a friend's house, spending about an hour shaking sand from my shoes and observing the street vendors. I realized it was moments like these, where I find myself at peace with my surroundings, that I am going to miss the most. To my right, a woman was almost done peeling a green orange, with one long chartreuse and white ribbon trailing from the end of her dull knife. Across the road, a man waved a long, red watering hose over a field of cinder blocks, as if by watering them a house would grow.
On this walk, the sights and smells of Dakar were their most vivid, the air teeming with the mixed aromas of baking croissants, bus fumes and body sweat. Meanwhile, a shop selling used windows stared at me, each and worn, as if sharing a tiny glimpse into the life of some old colonial house. Beside them, a series of broken refrigerators clustered into a small dirty corner, hopeless, brown, and empty.
On this walk, I saw dozens of women with infants strapped to their backs as they balanced enormous buckets of peanuts and sweatshirts and fresh fish on their heads, while men gathered around a three-legged foosball table to determine a new neighborhood champion. Taxis honked continuously and Wolof words were thrown haphazardly across the road in a desperate attempt to grab anyone's attention. Meanwhile, Akon competed against the Muslim call to prayer. I'm still not sure which is more influential.
I spent this time thinking about the beauty that manifests itself along these roads. It's an awkward beauty, a graceless happenstance of noise and stench that combined creates this personable country full of generous people. I thought going to Senegal would be hard, but it turns out leaving it was.
On this walk, the sights and smells of Dakar were their most vivid, the air teeming with the mixed aromas of baking croissants, bus fumes and body sweat. Meanwhile, a shop selling used windows stared at me, each and worn, as if sharing a tiny glimpse into the life of some old colonial house. Beside them, a series of broken refrigerators clustered into a small dirty corner, hopeless, brown, and empty.
On this walk, I saw dozens of women with infants strapped to their backs as they balanced enormous buckets of peanuts and sweatshirts and fresh fish on their heads, while men gathered around a three-legged foosball table to determine a new neighborhood champion. Taxis honked continuously and Wolof words were thrown haphazardly across the road in a desperate attempt to grab anyone's attention. Meanwhile, Akon competed against the Muslim call to prayer. I'm still not sure which is more influential.
I spent this time thinking about the beauty that manifests itself along these roads. It's an awkward beauty, a graceless happenstance of noise and stench that combined creates this personable country full of generous people. I thought going to Senegal would be hard, but it turns out leaving it was.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Sandaga
"Hello my sistah!" I hear a Senegalese man shout at me from across the street. "Howareyoufine?" This phrase comes across in one quick breath as the man attempts to gain my attention. From there, he hurries across, shakes my hand, and demands to know what I'm looking for. Friday I made my last trip to Market Sandaga (alxamdulilaay!). Numerous men like this approached me, offering a tour around the market, to help find whatever goods I was searching for or simply share ataaya. From past experiences I've learned never to take them up on the offer, because this will inevitably end in an extended tour of all their relatives' stores that consumes the entire afternoon and results in no successful purchases.
In the heart of downtown, Sandaga, a triangular, dirty market, is the epitome of disorganized, chaotic waxale (bargaining). The winding, dusty side streets are full of colorful stalls of scarves and socks and bath towels and bootleg mbalax CDs, and tables fill the broken sidewalks displaying tissues and toothpaste and roasted peanuts. Meanwhile women balance enormous buckets full of fish and bananas atop their heads while sidestepping bags of garbage and food waste left in the road, while men offer "special promotions" for phone credits and clog the small open spaces of sidewalk to discuter. The mixture of vehicle exhaust, sand and dust, and sweat leaves me with a grimy feeling in no time. However, anything can be found at Sandaga, provided one has the time and patience to give a good search.
The pre-purchase waxale is culturally appreciated; in fact, many vendors take offense if a buyer agrees to the first suggested price, instead insisting on some witty Wolof banter, several expressions of how kind the other participant is, and a gradual convergence of prices. Usually, I have to pretend to walk away before I can reach the ideal price, but again, this is expected and received lightheartedly. Although fun, each time this is an exhausting performance. Fortunately, I have finished buying all the necessary souvenirs...
In the heart of downtown, Sandaga, a triangular, dirty market, is the epitome of disorganized, chaotic waxale (bargaining). The winding, dusty side streets are full of colorful stalls of scarves and socks and bath towels and bootleg mbalax CDs, and tables fill the broken sidewalks displaying tissues and toothpaste and roasted peanuts. Meanwhile women balance enormous buckets full of fish and bananas atop their heads while sidestepping bags of garbage and food waste left in the road, while men offer "special promotions" for phone credits and clog the small open spaces of sidewalk to discuter. The mixture of vehicle exhaust, sand and dust, and sweat leaves me with a grimy feeling in no time. However, anything can be found at Sandaga, provided one has the time and patience to give a good search.
The pre-purchase waxale is culturally appreciated; in fact, many vendors take offense if a buyer agrees to the first suggested price, instead insisting on some witty Wolof banter, several expressions of how kind the other participant is, and a gradual convergence of prices. Usually, I have to pretend to walk away before I can reach the ideal price, but again, this is expected and received lightheartedly. Although fun, each time this is an exhausting performance. Fortunately, I have finished buying all the necessary souvenirs...
Sunday, December 13, 2009
With Waves Like the Ocean
Last weekend, I went to a small pocket of desert hidden in along the coast of Senegal just south of St. Louis. From the village of Lompoul, our group of seven - the magic travel number here - traversed the scraggly, rolling hills in bouncy four-wheel drive jeeps to reach our final, sandy destination. The enormous, barren, orange dunes greeted us with perfect weather and a series of pristine, white, Mauritanian-style tents that could only be entered at a crawl. After an exhausting day of camel riding, drumming and dancing, sunset watching, and frolicking - yes, frolicking - atop the dunes, we donned (light) jackets for the first time this semester to lie in the sand and stargaze.
I'm still amazed by how peaceful it was to search beyond the clouds while sprawled across the cool sand. Because of the rolling landscape of the dunes, gusts of wind tunneled at us with the rippling force of the ocean before a storm. It was like listening to a conch shell and hearing home, although we were at least twenty miles from the nearest beach. Atop this mountain, we talked for nearly three hours about life and love and purpose, because the stars always inspire such conversations. This conversation of good friends and relaxing scenery led me to a tranquil, satisfied state. It's moments like these when a fresh breeze wraps around me and a shooting star passes overhead that I am reminded of the expansiveness of the world in which we live.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Social Butterfly
Just a short note...
Lately, the open hallways and courtyards of campus have been filled with hundreds of fragile white butterflies. The area around the buvette, or the little sandwich cafe, has been inundated with these gentle fluttering beings. Sometimes, the area will be empty of all life and suddenly, as if to coincide with the lunchtime rush of students, they appear. There are so many that it seems to be snowing despite the 80 degree F weather, except this snow can defy gravity and appear despite perfectly clear blue skies. I suppose Senegal is also entitled to a white Christmas. Since I enjoy an omelette sandwich from the buvette frequently, I often watch these delicate butterflies coming in and out of the courtyard. Because Senegal is so warm, it is a final destination for many migratory creatures.
Lately, the open hallways and courtyards of campus have been filled with hundreds of fragile white butterflies. The area around the buvette, or the little sandwich cafe, has been inundated with these gentle fluttering beings. Sometimes, the area will be empty of all life and suddenly, as if to coincide with the lunchtime rush of students, they appear. There are so many that it seems to be snowing despite the 80 degree F weather, except this snow can defy gravity and appear despite perfectly clear blue skies. I suppose Senegal is also entitled to a white Christmas. Since I enjoy an omelette sandwich from the buvette frequently, I often watch these delicate butterflies coming in and out of the courtyard. Because Senegal is so warm, it is a final destination for many migratory creatures.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Car Rapide?
Every day, when I leave school and head for home, I take a car rapide, a colorful, hectic, reckless bus that careens down Avenue Cheikh Anta Diop at a whopping 30 miles per hour (when there's no traffic). Though this might seem slow, the potholes and sandy ditches transform each ride into a miniature roller coaster, constantly bumping and sliding and jerking back and forth. They're known to stop without notice, and more than once I've seen one car rapide nudge another to get it going again. (Everyone knows the worst seats are in the front, where you have full exposure to the dangers of each ride.)
These small buses are always crammed full of about 30 people, with five or six standing in the middle holding on to a rusty, filthy metal bar and at least three stuffed into a one-person seat up front. There's no personal space once aboard, and frequently strangers who are standing will hand whoever is seated a bag, a water bottle, or a baby to hold for a while. I suppose this fosters the spirit of community upon which Senegal prides itself.
Occasionally, I'll happen upon a fancy car rapide that's been decorated with colorful cardboard slides covering the cagey metal ceiling and sporting a freshly painted exterior. The front of every good car rapide screams "Alhamdoulilaahi" in bold letters, the borrowed-from-Arabic Wolof word for "thank God". The dashboard is often bejeweled with gris-gris, or marabout sanctioned protection amulets and beads to provide for safe passage, along with a framed photograph of Ahmadou Bamba, the founder of Senegal's much celebrated Mouride Islamic brotherhood. The back of the driver's seat is usually also covered with photographic paraphernalia, either more images of Ahmadou Bamba or photos of famous Senegalese mud wrestlers - super buff men wearing skimpy jeweled wrestling uniforms, vicious scowls, and fancy flip-flops. Car rapides have open windows that allow for a nice breeze, providing a much more comfortable ride than the American-style Dakar Dem Dikk buses. During the rainy season, an easily accessible tarp is dropped to keep passengers (mostly) dry. The apprenti, or money collector, is always a young teenage boy who carelessly hangs off the back, ushering people into the bus, taking fare (a mere 75 CFA, the equivalent of about 15 cents!), and anouncing necessary stops to the driver by banging a coin or a knuckle against the metal frame. If you're lucky, you get to hang off the back with him and reap the full benefits of a breeze. Of course as a female foreigner, this is never awarded to me; instead I get cozy with the locals.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Friends who became family
For the first time ever, I spent Thanksgiving away from my family. On Thanksgiving day, I had eight hours of class followed by a typical Senegalese meal (french fries, fried fish, and onion sauce) instead of a day full of cooking and turkey. To compensate for this, over thirty students came together on Friday for a potluck Thanksgiving meal full of traditional foods, such as pie and sweet potatoes and green beans and stuffing. Together we had a feast, celebrating our flexibility in preparation (for example, instead of stoves, we have large Bunsen burner apparatus, etc.), a delicious American style meal, and good company.
Thanksgiving is a holiday about family and sitting in this room, I realized that over the course of the semester, these other students have been transformed from strangers into CIEE family. As we went around the room sharing what we're thankful for, I was overwhelmed by how fortunate I am to share this day with people I love. And this year, I have so much to be thankful for - the opportunity to come to Senegal (and India next semester), the ability to appreciate this experience while it's happening, my friends and family here and in the US, my health and the health of everyone around me, and all the beauty and wonder in the world that I've been able to observe.
After over three months in Senegal, I've come to realize how fortunate I am to be American, to have my socioeconomic status, to own a passport, to be able to drive, to go to Johns Hopkins, to go to university at all... So often, we get caught up in the daily grind that we forget to step back, take a deep breath, and be mindful.
Thanksgiving was magical this year and reminded me to enjoy being.
Thanksgiving is a holiday about family and sitting in this room, I realized that over the course of the semester, these other students have been transformed from strangers into CIEE family. As we went around the room sharing what we're thankful for, I was overwhelmed by how fortunate I am to share this day with people I love. And this year, I have so much to be thankful for - the opportunity to come to Senegal (and India next semester), the ability to appreciate this experience while it's happening, my friends and family here and in the US, my health and the health of everyone around me, and all the beauty and wonder in the world that I've been able to observe.
After over three months in Senegal, I've come to realize how fortunate I am to be American, to have my socioeconomic status, to own a passport, to be able to drive, to go to Johns Hopkins, to go to university at all... So often, we get caught up in the daily grind that we forget to step back, take a deep breath, and be mindful.
Thanksgiving was magical this year and reminded me to enjoy being.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
The Horse in the Sea
One thing I've noticed this semester is that I see poetry all around me. I'm not sure if this change is internal and suddenly I'm noticing more poetry than before or if Senegal is just a more poetic country with a more poetic people. I'm hoping it's the former, but I'll only know for sure after returning to the States.
A few weeks ago, on a weekend trip to Mbour - 40 km south of Dakar - I saw a man washing his horse in the sea. It was a hot and clear day, and his white(ish) horse was in desperate need of a cool bath. Mbour is a touristy town, and with that comes touristy trash, so the water was filled with soda cans and plastic bags and snack foods, among other dirtier things. While several buff Senegalese men, presumptuously male prostitutes, lined the beach doing push-ups, this young man stood waist deep in the rhythmic silver-gray water wearing swimming trunks and guiding his shy steed into the waves. At this point, I took a pause in my barefooted walk on the beach to watch his laborious process of spilling dirty ocean water over the horse's back and neck and trying to scrub coarse soap into its fur between waves.
To me, this whole ritual seemed metaphorical of Senegal's approach to many of it's internal problems. Cleaning a dirty horse with dirty water is the same as supporting the talibe system as a means to prevent children from being victimized with physical violence. Children swallowed by the Koranic schools and forced to beg on the streets often have daily quotas to meet, else pay a physical price. Instead of initiating a crackdown of some sort, society accepts the practice and advocates giving money to the children. Senegal has the same problem in terms of reforms to the education system, where children are taught in French despite the fact that they've been raised only in Wolof or other dialects. Rather than provide instruction in a language they know, the government has lessened the rigidity of the end of course exams. Often, students can progress all the way through high school without having any deep understanding of the French language materials they're being tested on. And this is just to mention a couple of examples... Instead of instrumenting reforms that actually improve the system, a dirty problem is covered with a dirtier solution.
I wonder how often he washes his horse.
A few weeks ago, on a weekend trip to Mbour - 40 km south of Dakar - I saw a man washing his horse in the sea. It was a hot and clear day, and his white(ish) horse was in desperate need of a cool bath. Mbour is a touristy town, and with that comes touristy trash, so the water was filled with soda cans and plastic bags and snack foods, among other dirtier things. While several buff Senegalese men, presumptuously male prostitutes, lined the beach doing push-ups, this young man stood waist deep in the rhythmic silver-gray water wearing swimming trunks and guiding his shy steed into the waves. At this point, I took a pause in my barefooted walk on the beach to watch his laborious process of spilling dirty ocean water over the horse's back and neck and trying to scrub coarse soap into its fur between waves.
To me, this whole ritual seemed metaphorical of Senegal's approach to many of it's internal problems. Cleaning a dirty horse with dirty water is the same as supporting the talibe system as a means to prevent children from being victimized with physical violence. Children swallowed by the Koranic schools and forced to beg on the streets often have daily quotas to meet, else pay a physical price. Instead of initiating a crackdown of some sort, society accepts the practice and advocates giving money to the children. Senegal has the same problem in terms of reforms to the education system, where children are taught in French despite the fact that they've been raised only in Wolof or other dialects. Rather than provide instruction in a language they know, the government has lessened the rigidity of the end of course exams. Often, students can progress all the way through high school without having any deep understanding of the French language materials they're being tested on. And this is just to mention a couple of examples... Instead of instrumenting reforms that actually improve the system, a dirty problem is covered with a dirtier solution.
I wonder how often he washes his horse.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Monday, November 23, 2009
Flying with Pelicans
My brief introduction is this: Although I had the intention of keeping a blog the entire semester in Senegal, my first few weeks were so full of excitement and new experiences and so void of internet access that I quickly got overwhelmed and decided to not write a blog at all. However, this past weekend was so inspiring that I guess I've changed my mind...
On Saturday, the entire group of fifty students visited the Djoudj National Bird Park, about 27 km and two hours north of St. Louis. In two motorboats, we cruised through a small corner of the park on the Senegal River, moving slowly so as to absorb the surroundings - tall marsh grasses, morning glories, and not a cloud in the sky. The reedy grasses sang to us as we tried not to disturb the peace. While we rounded a bend, a flock of pale pink pelicans sporting bright yellow and blue bills and intent black eyes flew alongside us, gliding barely above the water in perfect formation. I lost all sense of self in the boat with dozens of pelicans and the occasional cormorant on either side of us and felt as though I was swimming and flying all at once. A heron watched us from the riverbank with a knowing smile, as if he wanted us to fully experience this state of awe.
With every passing minute that we ventured deeper into the park, the smell of raw, rotting fish and bird poop intensified until we turned a corner to see a stretch of marsh filled with birds. This was the town hall meeting of pelicans where I am convinced they were debating the best reforms for Senegalese infrastructure problems and failing education system. Thousands of pelicans were crowded into a tiny space, stepping on one another, squawking, and generally having a good time. It almost felt as though I was overstepping some unspoken boundary to get a glimpse into their intimate lives.
After two hours of magic on the river, we returned back to the dock and back into St. Louis.
On Saturday, the entire group of fifty students visited the Djoudj National Bird Park, about 27 km and two hours north of St. Louis. In two motorboats, we cruised through a small corner of the park on the Senegal River, moving slowly so as to absorb the surroundings - tall marsh grasses, morning glories, and not a cloud in the sky. The reedy grasses sang to us as we tried not to disturb the peace. While we rounded a bend, a flock of pale pink pelicans sporting bright yellow and blue bills and intent black eyes flew alongside us, gliding barely above the water in perfect formation. I lost all sense of self in the boat with dozens of pelicans and the occasional cormorant on either side of us and felt as though I was swimming and flying all at once. A heron watched us from the riverbank with a knowing smile, as if he wanted us to fully experience this state of awe.
With every passing minute that we ventured deeper into the park, the smell of raw, rotting fish and bird poop intensified until we turned a corner to see a stretch of marsh filled with birds. This was the town hall meeting of pelicans where I am convinced they were debating the best reforms for Senegalese infrastructure problems and failing education system. Thousands of pelicans were crowded into a tiny space, stepping on one another, squawking, and generally having a good time. It almost felt as though I was overstepping some unspoken boundary to get a glimpse into their intimate lives.
After two hours of magic on the river, we returned back to the dock and back into St. Louis.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Photos
In order, an image of a grizzly bear... Haystack Falls... Otokomi Lake, frozen... Two Medicine Lake... Upper Saint Mary Lake, about a quarter of a mile from the lodge...Life Lessons
Before I can begin sharing stories of my adventures in Senegal, I have to share a few life lessons learned during my glacial adventure in northern Montana.
1. Always check the expiration date. Without fail, many foods served in the Employee Dining Room (EDR) were leftovers from the lodge's restaurant. Any food that was too old to be served to customers came to us, and more often than not the milk had expired over a week earlier. I couldn't help but notice that after we through out rotten bananas from the grocery store, we had banana pancakes, and after we threw out rotten tomatoes and celery, we had chili. Coincidence? I think not.
2. Be nice to people. Even the slightest gesture of kindness can go a long way. For example, a friend of mine that worked in the coffee shop was not given a dinner break, so in order to eat from the EDR she either had to sneak out of work, run over, and bring back a plate of food, purchase something from the grocery store after her shift, or forego the meal. I offered to bring her a plate whenever I could, and in exchange she frequently provided me with free fudge, hot chocolate, or (my favorite) huckleberry iced soda. It was a pretty sweet deal for both of us - excuse the pun.
3. Appreciate hot showers. It took about ten days to get hot water installed in my cabin. In fact, we didn't even have lukewarm water for a while, but instead it felt like pure glacier water, so cold that it made my head hurt. Instead of suffering through that (or being dirty), I went to the cabin next to me to use their shower every day. Again, refer to lesson number two.
4. Having a work uniform is awesome. Every day, I knew exactly what to wear and didn't waste any time staring at my (small) wardrobe. Everything I had packed comfortably fit into one suitcase. There was no comparison among employees, and my morning routine was very quick and simple. I was even allowed to wear my hiking boots instead of the black shoes required for most positions.
5. Stay flexible. My experience in Montana was not what I expected. Instead of working at the front desk, I enjoyed the grocery store. Instead of hiking daily, I went on long and grueling thrice weekly hikes. And instead of feeling very secure, I met the most eclectic and eccentric assortment of people of my life. While the experience did not carry through the entire summer as expected, I made the most of it and will always remember some of the great (and crazy) people and hiking trails.
6. Look for the good things! This is directly related to lesson number five. As Padre always says, if you look for the good, you'll find the good, and if you look for the bad, you'll find the bad. On a bad day, I stopped to think about how many timeless stories I was accumulating, how beautiful the bear grass looked in bloom, and how much I enjoyed having a philosophical conversation with my new Kazakh friends. Suddenly, any kind of day just isn't that bad...
6. Look at the sky every now and then. Since I was in Big Sky country, I took a few moments every day to enjoy the sky and appreciate being in this beautiful corner of the world. One night, after working the late shift, I walked back up to the EV in the dark, lit only by a full moon. I was impressed by how bright my path still was and had the opportunity to admire the light's reflection in the pond alongside the road, the crisp breeze, and the peacefulness of a still night.
1. Always check the expiration date. Without fail, many foods served in the Employee Dining Room (EDR) were leftovers from the lodge's restaurant. Any food that was too old to be served to customers came to us, and more often than not the milk had expired over a week earlier. I couldn't help but notice that after we through out rotten bananas from the grocery store, we had banana pancakes, and after we threw out rotten tomatoes and celery, we had chili. Coincidence? I think not.
2. Be nice to people. Even the slightest gesture of kindness can go a long way. For example, a friend of mine that worked in the coffee shop was not given a dinner break, so in order to eat from the EDR she either had to sneak out of work, run over, and bring back a plate of food, purchase something from the grocery store after her shift, or forego the meal. I offered to bring her a plate whenever I could, and in exchange she frequently provided me with free fudge, hot chocolate, or (my favorite) huckleberry iced soda. It was a pretty sweet deal for both of us - excuse the pun.
3. Appreciate hot showers. It took about ten days to get hot water installed in my cabin. In fact, we didn't even have lukewarm water for a while, but instead it felt like pure glacier water, so cold that it made my head hurt. Instead of suffering through that (or being dirty), I went to the cabin next to me to use their shower every day. Again, refer to lesson number two.
4. Having a work uniform is awesome. Every day, I knew exactly what to wear and didn't waste any time staring at my (small) wardrobe. Everything I had packed comfortably fit into one suitcase. There was no comparison among employees, and my morning routine was very quick and simple. I was even allowed to wear my hiking boots instead of the black shoes required for most positions.
5. Stay flexible. My experience in Montana was not what I expected. Instead of working at the front desk, I enjoyed the grocery store. Instead of hiking daily, I went on long and grueling thrice weekly hikes. And instead of feeling very secure, I met the most eclectic and eccentric assortment of people of my life. While the experience did not carry through the entire summer as expected, I made the most of it and will always remember some of the great (and crazy) people and hiking trails.
6. Look for the good things! This is directly related to lesson number five. As Padre always says, if you look for the good, you'll find the good, and if you look for the bad, you'll find the bad. On a bad day, I stopped to think about how many timeless stories I was accumulating, how beautiful the bear grass looked in bloom, and how much I enjoyed having a philosophical conversation with my new Kazakh friends. Suddenly, any kind of day just isn't that bad...
6. Look at the sky every now and then. Since I was in Big Sky country, I took a few moments every day to enjoy the sky and appreciate being in this beautiful corner of the world. One night, after working the late shift, I walked back up to the EV in the dark, lit only by a full moon. I was impressed by how bright my path still was and had the opportunity to admire the light's reflection in the pond alongside the road, the crisp breeze, and the peacefulness of a still night.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Hitchhiking
Today, I had my first experience hitchhiking. Another employee and I decided to go hiking, but we couldn't find anyone with a car that had the day off and an interest in a long hike. Since all the nearby trailheads lead to boring trails that we'd both already done, we opted instead to hitchhike about five miles into the park to the Rising Sun campground. The first car to pass us picked us up - a middle aged couple from Southern California on their way to do some photography and a mild hike of their own. They dropped us off near the trailhead and we set off. This five mile trail had a 2000 foot elevation climb - most off which happened in miles one and four. The trail itself was incredible and varied - we started in a woody area surrounded by mossy spruce trees, opened inot a meadow bordered with yellow, purple, and orange wildflowers, climbed across rocks and snow in an open stretch of mountainside void of all plant life, and ended in an ice-coated lake in a basin between several snow-capped mountains. Although we didn't see any animals, the landscape was incredible, the hiking was tough, and the final destination was picture perfect. The hike out took about two and a half hours, but with a half-job, the return trip was under an hour and forty-five minutes.
Once we had reached the road, we obviously had no interest in hiking another five miles to get back to the lodge, so we attempted hitchhiking again. This time, our luck was much worse and over twenty cars passed us before a white van pulled over. I have to describe this van for you... There were no seats in the back, but instead they had three lawn chairs (one already occupied by a South Dakota-born woman with long, twiggy hair in a pony-tail, very crooked, yellow teeth, glasses that magnified her eyes to the size of Professor Trelawney's, and a crackly man-voice). On the right side of the van's interior, the entire wall was covered in makeshift shelves, on which sat all the fishing gear. On the floor, a basketball rolled around knocking down several coffee mugs, a potted daisy, and assorted hunting equipment (although I didn't see any guns). The van smelled strongly of propane, and the floor was carpeted in a thick camouflage blanket. The woman told us about their road trip from SD and showed us pictures of a bison alongside the road, Mount Rushmore, and Crazy Horse. The driver spoke very little, and the man in the passneger seat was silent. The woman explained to us that he was her friend from Iceland visiting, and so they were showing him the US. After a stop in East Glacier, they had no plans as far as where to go next. So they dropped us off at the lodge and continued on their bizarre road trip, and we laughed about our good fortune in getting a ride in the most unusual lawn-chair-van ever.
Once we had reached the road, we obviously had no interest in hiking another five miles to get back to the lodge, so we attempted hitchhiking again. This time, our luck was much worse and over twenty cars passed us before a white van pulled over. I have to describe this van for you... There were no seats in the back, but instead they had three lawn chairs (one already occupied by a South Dakota-born woman with long, twiggy hair in a pony-tail, very crooked, yellow teeth, glasses that magnified her eyes to the size of Professor Trelawney's, and a crackly man-voice). On the right side of the van's interior, the entire wall was covered in makeshift shelves, on which sat all the fishing gear. On the floor, a basketball rolled around knocking down several coffee mugs, a potted daisy, and assorted hunting equipment (although I didn't see any guns). The van smelled strongly of propane, and the floor was carpeted in a thick camouflage blanket. The woman told us about their road trip from SD and showed us pictures of a bison alongside the road, Mount Rushmore, and Crazy Horse. The driver spoke very little, and the man in the passneger seat was silent. The woman explained to us that he was her friend from Iceland visiting, and so they were showing him the US. After a stop in East Glacier, they had no plans as far as where to go next. So they dropped us off at the lodge and continued on their bizarre road trip, and we laughed about our good fortune in getting a ride in the most unusual lawn-chair-van ever.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
The "Real World"
I spent some time today thinking about the mythical "real world" that happens after college. I really hope this isn't it. I've decided to compare and contrast my idea of the Real World and this experience.
Real World: People get up in the morning and go to work. They come back in the evenings, relax, and go to bed.
Montana: People get up whenever they do and might go to work. Just because they're on the schedule does NOT mean they feel an obligation to be there on time, or at all for that matter. They get back approximately whenever their shift ends (assuming they went), eat, go out and get in a fist fight, drink some more, wobble back in at some awful hour, and collapse (hopefully into their bed).
Real World: Newspapers tell news. Magazines spread either gossip about celebrities or more news.
Montana: Newspapers have a headline article about a local cancer survivor who participated in a Walk-a-thon, a list of short bios of all that year's high school graduates, and a heartwarming store about a man mauled by a bear and his park ranger savior reuniting five years later. Magazines with tips on hunting, fishing, and "how to find the perfect ATV" are the most popular.
Real World: At the grocery store, people buy milk, eggs, bread, vegetables, meat, and other assorted food products.
Montana: At the grocery store, people buy beer and cigarettes.
Real World: People gravitate toward family life - marriage, children, settling down.
Montana: People run away from family life. Instead, men have multiple girlfriends and/or wives and/or friends with benefits. And women the opposite. Well, except for some women... This is until they reach a certain age, approximately 55, when they decide to marry or enjoy bachelor(ette)hood permanently.
Real World: Radio features advertisements for All State Insurance and McDonalds. Radio contests give away concert tickets.
Montana: Radio features advertisements for crop hail insurance and bear spray. Radio contests give away tickets to the next rodeo. Each radio station features a weekly talk show with a local fishing expert who gives advice on when and where to go fishing that week.
Real World: Shopping involves a choice of which store to go to and often involves malls, outlet stores, or other shopping centers.
Montana: Shopping involves a choice between JC Penny's and Norman's Western Wear. And most people choose the latter.
in other news, the animal count is now: deer (5), red fox (6), mountain goats (22), snakes (1), moose (0), bears (3)
Miles hiked so far (approx): 71
One last entertaining tidbit: The lodge is currently hosting about 30 German tourists in the middle of a cross-country motorcycle voyage. They're a boisterous bunch all identically clad in black, leather Harley Davidson gear, shouting German phrases across the parking lot, and (of course) buying a lot of beer. Also, I saw an SUV earlier this week with enormous bison horns.
Real World: People get up in the morning and go to work. They come back in the evenings, relax, and go to bed.
Montana: People get up whenever they do and might go to work. Just because they're on the schedule does NOT mean they feel an obligation to be there on time, or at all for that matter. They get back approximately whenever their shift ends (assuming they went), eat, go out and get in a fist fight, drink some more, wobble back in at some awful hour, and collapse (hopefully into their bed).
Real World: Newspapers tell news. Magazines spread either gossip about celebrities or more news.
Montana: Newspapers have a headline article about a local cancer survivor who participated in a Walk-a-thon, a list of short bios of all that year's high school graduates, and a heartwarming store about a man mauled by a bear and his park ranger savior reuniting five years later. Magazines with tips on hunting, fishing, and "how to find the perfect ATV" are the most popular.
Real World: At the grocery store, people buy milk, eggs, bread, vegetables, meat, and other assorted food products.
Montana: At the grocery store, people buy beer and cigarettes.
Real World: People gravitate toward family life - marriage, children, settling down.
Montana: People run away from family life. Instead, men have multiple girlfriends and/or wives and/or friends with benefits. And women the opposite. Well, except for some women... This is until they reach a certain age, approximately 55, when they decide to marry or enjoy bachelor(ette)hood permanently.
Real World: Radio features advertisements for All State Insurance and McDonalds. Radio contests give away concert tickets.
Montana: Radio features advertisements for crop hail insurance and bear spray. Radio contests give away tickets to the next rodeo. Each radio station features a weekly talk show with a local fishing expert who gives advice on when and where to go fishing that week.
Real World: Shopping involves a choice of which store to go to and often involves malls, outlet stores, or other shopping centers.
Montana: Shopping involves a choice between JC Penny's and Norman's Western Wear. And most people choose the latter.
in other news, the animal count is now: deer (5), red fox (6), mountain goats (22), snakes (1), moose (0), bears (3)
Miles hiked so far (approx): 71
One last entertaining tidbit: The lodge is currently hosting about 30 German tourists in the middle of a cross-country motorcycle voyage. They're a boisterous bunch all identically clad in black, leather Harley Davidson gear, shouting German phrases across the parking lot, and (of course) buying a lot of beer. Also, I saw an SUV earlier this week with enormous bison horns.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
florence
I went for a really great hike today with a few other employees here. Six of us total, we set off in search of some waterfalls. There was one trail that caught our interest because none of us had been on it before, so we parked and set off. After about two miles nearly straight down, we hit the first falls - a two-tiered bubbling stretch of the river that gracefully cascaded over the rocks. Because the water here is so clear, you could see deep into the pool at all the patriotically colored stones (red, white, and blue). From there we continued another 3 miles to reach the Florence Falls, our ultimate destination. This was by far the most spectacular waterfall I've ever seen. It began several hundred feet up the mountain and fell in a stepping stone manner, spraying mist everywhere and roaring so loudly I couldn't hear the person next to me. We rested there for a while before turning around and attacking the five mile hike up to the road. On our way, we saw a young doe who was much more curious than frightened. Since we all froze in our tracks, she walked very close to us before heading off the trail to snack. This brings the wildlife sightings to: deer (3), red fox (1), moose (0), bears (0), and assorted other critters (many).
In other news, the experience of living and working here continues to become more ridiculous every day. Let me introduce you to another character. Athena, as in the Greek goddess, runs the gift shop for the lodge. On a typical day, Athena wears a track suit of all one color - white, black, lime green - whatever suits her fancy - with an enormous, color-contrasting scrunchie to tie her artificially blonde hair. I don't think she knows yet that scrunchies went out of style in the early 1990s. She's not an enormous woman, but she's also certainly not a pixie. While she could stand to lose a few dozen pounds, she will proudly tell you that she is an exceptional athlete with focus on her sports 24/7. Athena is a truly accomplished woman, as she will tell you in no uncertain terms. She is an ordained minister, an acupuncturist excellent at working out knots, usuing your pressure points, and getting rid of inner demons, a world-class athlete, a heartbreaker, an aura-reader... Not only this, but she can accurately predict your future based of the flows and dips and curls of your handwriting! A direct quote: "Basically, I can do everything." Truly, Athena is a Greek goddess descended to our lowly, mortal level. I am honored to know this woman. Fortunately, my roommate works in the gift shop, so she is able to share all these hilarious stories with me...
In other news, the experience of living and working here continues to become more ridiculous every day. Let me introduce you to another character. Athena, as in the Greek goddess, runs the gift shop for the lodge. On a typical day, Athena wears a track suit of all one color - white, black, lime green - whatever suits her fancy - with an enormous, color-contrasting scrunchie to tie her artificially blonde hair. I don't think she knows yet that scrunchies went out of style in the early 1990s. She's not an enormous woman, but she's also certainly not a pixie. While she could stand to lose a few dozen pounds, she will proudly tell you that she is an exceptional athlete with focus on her sports 24/7. Athena is a truly accomplished woman, as she will tell you in no uncertain terms. She is an ordained minister, an acupuncturist excellent at working out knots, usuing your pressure points, and getting rid of inner demons, a world-class athlete, a heartbreaker, an aura-reader... Not only this, but she can accurately predict your future based of the flows and dips and curls of your handwriting! A direct quote: "Basically, I can do everything." Truly, Athena is a Greek goddess descended to our lowly, mortal level. I am honored to know this woman. Fortunately, my roommate works in the gift shop, so she is able to share all these hilarious stories with me...
Monday, June 8, 2009
mountain folk
Many of the employees here, especially repeaters, are an unusual breed of mountain folk. A full set of teeth is hard to come by, although nearly everyone has a complete working knowledge of shotguns, chewing tobacco, beer, and beef jerky. The older men who work here all walk with a heavy swagger, cowboy boots and a cowboy hat, and the biggest silver belt buckles - usually featuring some type of wildlife (eagles, moose) and turquoise. The women, on the other hand, all have the most sun-damaged wrinkly skin and tend to sport jeans and a denim jacket. It seems the ideal is to find a set where the exact hue of blue is identical, but really any denim jacket will do. From afar, it's hard to distinguish the men from the women... Most conversations I've observed between the mountain folk include a lot of laughing, screaming, and "hey"s. I don't really understand "hey" because it seems to have several different meanings out here. First, it serves as a greeting, just like in real civilization (ex: "Hey! How are you?"). Second, you can just interject it anywhere in a story with a little upswing of the tone and everyone will repeat it back to you. (ex: "So I was walking down the road - hey! -" "Hey!" "- when I saw the bear.") Maybe it's a way to make sure everyone's paying attention to what you're saying...? And third, it seems to provide emphasis to pretty much anything else. (ex: She had really put on a lot of weight. Hey.") Most converssations are dominated by "hey". I suppose I should view this experience as a solid reminder to me of how colorful and diverse the US population really is, and how isolated my circle can be. There is definitely a biased range of students at Hopkins, but this is also unusual by less-academic standards. My roommate from middle-of-nowhere-Ohio even mentioned that this does not resemble real civilization. Her town has 1400 people.
Today, Carole, a real Montana woman born and bred, and I had a little chat. She's the head property gardener who grew up just down the road - 62 years ago. She doesn't look a day under 75. Carole is the epitome of a mountain woman - the swagger, the denim, the muddy boots. She's always cheery and ready to share her life story (which I've now heard), smiling with her one tooth and waving at everyone. I have to mention this little story because our chat took place at the grocery store while I was ringing up her goods - including a tiny tube of toothpaste. (Gotta keep that last tooth healthy!) I'd hate to tell her it's too late.
A few notes on the character of MT: At the store yesterday, we tried to find a radio station to help pass the time. All three of the stations reachable from here were varieties of extra-twangy country music, so instead we popped in a twangy Kentucky bluegrass CD. Fortunately, one of the managers brought us a few mixed CDs to play - mixes of different country artists, that is. Yay.... The only two newspapers available here are the Great Falls Tribune of Great Falls, MT and the Glacier Review...no New York Times or Washington Post, nor any demand for them. Pickup trucks are the clear majority, sedans dating back to pre-1995 the large minority, and cars from the most recent decade are extremely rare, at least until tourist season really starts. The only place with internet is by the bar, which nobody seems to find strange, and one particularly popular type of locally brewed beer is called "Moose Drool"...appetizing... Being "vegetarian" just means you'll have lettuce and tomatoes (vegetables) on your cheeseburger. Tabasco tastes good on everything.
That's it for now, but more to come...
Today, Carole, a real Montana woman born and bred, and I had a little chat. She's the head property gardener who grew up just down the road - 62 years ago. She doesn't look a day under 75. Carole is the epitome of a mountain woman - the swagger, the denim, the muddy boots. She's always cheery and ready to share her life story (which I've now heard), smiling with her one tooth and waving at everyone. I have to mention this little story because our chat took place at the grocery store while I was ringing up her goods - including a tiny tube of toothpaste. (Gotta keep that last tooth healthy!) I'd hate to tell her it's too late.
A few notes on the character of MT: At the store yesterday, we tried to find a radio station to help pass the time. All three of the stations reachable from here were varieties of extra-twangy country music, so instead we popped in a twangy Kentucky bluegrass CD. Fortunately, one of the managers brought us a few mixed CDs to play - mixes of different country artists, that is. Yay.... The only two newspapers available here are the Great Falls Tribune of Great Falls, MT and the Glacier Review...no New York Times or Washington Post, nor any demand for them. Pickup trucks are the clear majority, sedans dating back to pre-1995 the large minority, and cars from the most recent decade are extremely rare, at least until tourist season really starts. The only place with internet is by the bar, which nobody seems to find strange, and one particularly popular type of locally brewed beer is called "Moose Drool"...appetizing... Being "vegetarian" just means you'll have lettuce and tomatoes (vegetables) on your cheeseburger. Tabasco tastes good on everything.
That's it for now, but more to come...
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
welcome to montana
So, I made it. I'm in Montana.
My first day, I met with the H.R. lady and found out that I am actually working in the grocery store, at least for the first week or so. From there, I had a brief - very brief - training as I began my eight hour shift.
I ended up walking back to the cabins (ha!) after dark and the path was lit purely by moonlight. It was amazing how well I could see - not only the road in front of me but also both the big and little dippers. It's about 3/4 of a mile up the hill to the Employee Village (EV from here on out), but so far I've enjoyed the walk.
This morning, my roommate and I went for a short hike in the park where I bought my pass. We walked right along the lakeside and couldn't have happened upon better weather. The sky was completely cloudless, and the lakes held a clear reflection of the surrounding snow-capped mountains. It was truly breathtaking.
As for now, I'm exhausted and off to bed. More later...
My first day, I met with the H.R. lady and found out that I am actually working in the grocery store, at least for the first week or so. From there, I had a brief - very brief - training as I began my eight hour shift.
I ended up walking back to the cabins (ha!) after dark and the path was lit purely by moonlight. It was amazing how well I could see - not only the road in front of me but also both the big and little dippers. It's about 3/4 of a mile up the hill to the Employee Village (EV from here on out), but so far I've enjoyed the walk.
This morning, my roommate and I went for a short hike in the park where I bought my pass. We walked right along the lakeside and couldn't have happened upon better weather. The sky was completely cloudless, and the lakes held a clear reflection of the surrounding snow-capped mountains. It was truly breathtaking.
As for now, I'm exhausted and off to bed. More later...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)