Merry Christmas, This One's On Me

“The main reason Santa is so jolly is because he knows where all the bad girls live.” ~~George Carlin

Who knew you could find love in a little budget hotel in Hsinchu, Taiwan? I didn’t know either. But apparently the patrons of East City Hotel at least want to ensure that their guests are prepared to have safe sex. 

Toward the second half of my travels, I felt like I was hitting a low point. Not really sure why, I pondered this constantly as I left the quaint village of Lukang. 

Lukang proved to be one of my favorite stops thus far on my journey. Very traditional, historic architect all thru the village, amazing local food, and ridiculously friendly people. I didn’t want to leave, but I had to. So I packed my backpack and caught a bus out of there, my spirit heavy as I headed north to my next destination, Hsinchu. 

I knew exactly why I was feeling the way I was. It was Christmas and I was by myself in a foreign country. Taiwan is primarily Buddhist, so Christmas shouldn’t have been a big deal. But there was enough foreign influence in the country that the holiday was exploited about as badly as it is in the states. Every store I walked into blasted annoyingly cheery tunes of “I’ll be home for Christmas,” and “All I Want for Christmas is You!”

I thought I could do it. Travel solo during the holidays, explore a foreign country on my own. I mean, I was doing it. So I could do it. But I was constantly having to answer the incredulous question everywhere I went. “You’re traveling alone!? During Christmas!?” 

Why were people making such a big deal? I traveled by myself all the time. But I had never traveled internationally by myself and the last time I was home for Christmas was 2010. 

And that was exactly it. 

It was three years since I was in the homeland, Afton, NY, with family. Three years since I really celebrated this holiday. And for the last two years, I at least had been surrounded by people who knew and cared about my well-being. 2011, a once in a lifetime experience in Antarctica surrounded by my Shuttle family. 2012, a once in a life time experience on Komodo Island stalking Komodo dragons with one of my best friends. And here I was, 2013, touring a fascinating country…by myself. 

I had no one to share my newfound knowledge with. To discuss all the questions I found I had. I had been in silence for nearly ten days, simply speaking a greeting here and there, a yes or no when I needed to. It sucked.

Granted, it was my choice to embark on this journey solo. I didn’t really know what I was after, and ten days in, I still hadn’t figured it out. But traveling alone did indeed, suck. I’d figured that much out. At least during Christmas it did.

Either way, my steam for exploration was dwindling. I was running on reserve. I made it to Hsinchu on Christmas Eve, two days after leaving Lukang. I arrived to driving rain and whipping wind. Apparently Hsinchu means “windy city.” It was Taiwan’s very own Chicago. They weren’t joking, it was windy. And cold. 

Coming to Hsinchu was the second mistake I had made so far. Going to Taichung being the first. Dirty, loud, sprawling, and very industrial, Taichung was where the slogan, “Made in Taiwan” originates from. Hsinchu was a mini version of the same. I had left behind the land of quant cities overflowing with warm, welcoming hostels. Hsinchu didn’t have a single hostel that I knew of. 

Depressed by the weather and alone on Christmas, I decided to treat myself. I splurged and got a hotel room for two nights. I was planning on exploring this mountain region filled with temples called Shitoushan for Christmas, and I was going to use Hsinchu as my base. 

Lonely Planet recommended a decent budget hotel so I tracked it down and checked in. After a few tense minutes of trying to communicate to the woman behind the desk that I wanted two nights’ accommodations, I was finally sorted and shown my room.

The room was a step up from my night’s resting spot in Taichung the day before. I felt my enthusiasm slowly returning. Getting a hotel room for myself is a luxury I am not used to. The room had a big TV with several stations in English, and a massive bathtub with extremely hot water. I could have a bath! 

This was a luxury!

I poked around. This was home for the next two days. Fluffy towels, shampoo, shower gel, complimentary tooth brush. I was momentarily excited when I saw a cabinet labeled “Mini Bar.” Maybe I could get toasted on Christmas and cry myself to sleep, using the fact that I was all alone as my excuse. I was quite willing to wallow in my own self-pity at this point. Behind the cabinet however, was just an empty mini fridge. I should have known better. 

I turned to examine the bed. Queen size mattress, four pillows and a plush comforter. I was in heaven considering I slept on a creaky cot back in Hong Kong. 

I flung myself on the bed, spread eagled, reveling in the freedom the massive mattress gave. I rolled over on my stomach and saw from the corner of my eye a small blue square packet by the phone on the nightstand to my right. Thinking it was a complimentary wet wipe for my face, as Asia loves their wet wipes, I picked it up.

It was a condom.

KW-Condom the packet read. One ultra-thin lubricated ribbed condom. For your night’s pleasure. 

My hotel room was ready for love. 

I stared at the foiled condom, flipping it over. I looked around the room. What kind of “budget” hotel was this?

I wasn’t ignorant. I had seen several night club entrances, lit up, their neon lights blazing; seductive snapshots of beautiful Asian women posing provocatively on massive bill boards over the entrance. Exotic sirens ready to tempt the weary male traveler. They were everywhere in Taiwan. Was this a hotel catering to the underworld of pleasure escorts? The first one free on East City Hotel? One complimentary jimmie and wham-bam thank you ma’am?

I tossed the condom to the nightstand. 

Well, it certainly wasn’t going to be put to good use in my room. One more reminder of my lonely, single status on one of the biggest holidays of the year. Thanks East City Hotel. Thanks for the reminder.

I considered walking out to the street and giving it to the first passer-by I met. After all, isn’t Christmas about giving?

Merry Christmas, this one’s on me, I’d say. God bless.

An Island of Spirituality

"No one saves us but ourselves. No one can and no one may. We ourselves must walk the path." ~~Buddha

You’ve seen one and you’ve seen’em all. That’s a feeling Taiwan could give you with its temple happy countryside. Taiwan is riddled with temples. Temple mania is what I kept thinking. And yes, from a distance, they all look quite similar, but if you take the time to really look at them and learn, you’ll find that no two temples are alike. 

I’ll be the first to admit I know nothing of these temples or Taiwan’s complex religious followings. But, I’ve been trying to learn because they fascinated me. They are an amazing splash of color standing out from the industrial feel of Taiwan’s cities. Bright colors of red, yellow, green, blue, and orange. Statues of dragons, tigers, lions, elephants and birds guarding doorways and rooftops. The elegant Bodhisattva around the corner inviting you to visit a wishing well. And of course, fat, jolly looking Buddhas everywhere. 

Taiwan is temple happy because the spirituality runneth over in this country. There is Buddhism, Taoism, Confucianism, and then Folk faith, I have learned. 

Taoist temples are the most exotic looking of the temples with their flashy colors and statues. They tend to be loud, very social places. Buddhist temples are a little more subdued and Confucius temples are very plain, simple. And quiet. Resembling a place you may sit and read a book in silence. Or say, philosophize, since the temple is dedicated to Confucius, one of our great philosophers and scholars. 

I got sucked into the temple mania of Taiwan. I have seen so many temples in the past two weeks I feel like my eyes could cross. Yet, I could sit for hours simply staring at them. The roof tops adorned with their dragons and tigers all tell a story, but I have no idea what everything represents. That was my mission while in Taiwan, but I soon found out it will take longer than two weeks to even begin to comprehend the complexities of these beliefs.

I am not a religious person, never have been. I don’t know if there is a God. I don’t know if there is a Heaven or Hell. I don’t know if I could or ever would believe in these things. But I do believe in spirituality. Even then, I can’t really put a description to it. I can’t sit and tell you exactly what I think spirituality is, or my role in it. I just feel that my connection with this world is spiritual. I find solace in nature. I have prayed to Mother Earth during times of need. I will sit for hours in the outdoors, in complete silence, until I feel the person who I am come back to me. This to me feels spiritual. Therefore, I believe it to be spirituality. 

I had gone to check out the Longshan temple in Taipei one of my first days in the country. It was easy to find, a short walk from the MRT exit. I walked to the entrance of the temple and hesitated before walking up the steps. I always do this before entering a temple. I’m never quite sure if I should be there. Perhaps I am interrupting some religious gathering by bringing my non-believing body to the premises. Last year in Indonesia some of the temples had restrictions. No revealing clothing, no cameras, must wear a sarong, no speaking, no women menstruating. Yes, that was a restriction. But so far in Hong Kong and now Taiwan, I had not met any such restrictions.

So I walked up the steps and into the front complex of the temple. It was large and beautiful. And it was busy. I had hit it at a time when worshipers were beginning to gather. 

A common thing to see with these temples are people lighting incense to pray to their various deities that the temple houses. A temple can be the home of one god or it can house several. It just depends. 

Longshan was a Buddhist temple and I found myself standing against the wall to watch without even really realizing it. Someone had begun to chant. That chant was spreading throughout the crowd. Devotees began to stand in lines, pulling out red books that I quickly understood to be prayer books. The cadence of the chanting rose as people stepped into formation. Some stood with eyes closed, lips whispered the words floating around the temple. I was in awe standing there. I had no idea what they were saying, but the words streamed around me, the beat pulsing in my blood. I could feel the emphasis of each syllable deep in my chest. It was a profound feeling. I looked around, elders stood or sat behind me, holding their red books, the words leaving their lips with such familiarity. I felt I was interrupting something very sacred. I felt like an intruder, especially since I knew absolutely nothing about Buddhism. 

 I noticed groups of people, perhaps voyeurs like myself, or worshippers, standing conversing with one another. As the chanting grew louder so did their social conversations. Really? Couldn’t they see what was going on around them? It seemed like the rudest thing. How could they be oblivious to this display of devout devotion surging around them? How could they stand there with their backs to the assembled line of bowing worshippers and laugh and carry on the way they were? I felt angry. I had been in Taiwan a mere three hours at that point. What I didn’t know was that temples were places to gather for devotion and for community. I had to go and look it up later because their lack of respect bothered me. 

I pushed away from the column I had been leaning against to explore the back section of the temple. As I walked, the chanting followed. Before I knew it, the melody of the words was in my head. The beat and sounds had become a song that my brain latched onto. Without realizing it, my lips started moving and I was whispering the song as I walked. I hummed the tune they chanted, lost in this world of religion, devotion, spirituality. Whatever you wanted to call it. 

I stopped again and stood watching as a procession of robed monks and nuns circulated the front hall, hands clasped in front of them, lips moving, fingers worrying wooden prayer beads. I felt something lift as I watched. Some weight I had been carrying fell away as their words lifted me up. 

Things are gonna be okay, I thought. 

What? 

I didn’t even know what it was that needed to be okay, but there I was, my inner monologue telling me so. 

So I guess, yeah, things are gonna be alright. 

I wanted more than anything to light a handful of incense and bow, waving the sticks up and then down as I saw the worshippers do. But something held me back. Fear? Maybe. Maybe I was afraid I would do it wrong. Or look silly, a westerner amongst strangers bowing to a God I knew nothing about. But I’d heard somewhere that Buddhism wasn’t strictly Buddhism. It combined facets to create an individual path of spirituality. That was why I was drawn to this experience. There was no one way. Or at least that was my take on it.

But who would I have prayed to? Or to what? And why? I didn’t know. A million things went thru my head. To this Earth? Thankful for the life I’d been given, the opportunities I’d had? For my family? For the unknown ahead of me? They seemed like selfish requests. 

I didn’t believe in the God of Christianity and I was sure He wasn’t anywhere in that temple anyway. The only thing I had ever come close to considering a God, was Mother Nature. And to be honest, we’d kind of been having a love hate relationship over the years. She hadn’t always been forgiving when I needed her to be. But isn’t that what God did? Forced to stand back when life was trying to teach you a lesson? 

Every time Mother Nature kicked me in the ass, I walked away knowing better for next time. No matter how much I found myself swearing at her, I always ended up thanking her in the end anyways.

I didn’t know any of the deities represented there. Some temples house the God of Travel, the God of Wealth, the God of Cities, and the God of War. I didn’t want to accidently pray to the God of Fertility in my ignorance. There was a very good chance She was there as this deity tends to draw a lot of women to pray for the welfare of their children or future offspring. I had noted a high percentage of female devotees bowing away. I avoided that area of the temple. Since my womb is not yearning for the invasion of a fetus, I restrained myself and just took it all in, my lips moving with the rhythm of the chant floating around me.

Crop Dusting My Way Thru Taiwan

"England and America are two countries separated by the same language." ~~George Bernard Shaw

If you ever find yourself in Hualien, a sprawling coastal town located on the eastern side of Taiwan, I highly recommend Amigos. Run by two Taiwanese women who employ amazingly kind, eager to please, English speaking staff. Very clean, efficient, and eco-friendly. 

I waved good-bye to the woman, one of the owners, who was managing the desk the morning I left. She smiled and held up her camera. "I take your picture."

Self-photos not really my thing, I did my best to pose naturally as she snapped a shot. The wall in the main office is splattered with mug shots of fellow travelers. I felt honored to have mine added to the pile. Perhaps in a couple years if I ever come back, it'll be there. My smiling, slightly travel weary face beaming at me, high on the mysteries the world has to offer. 

I was leaving Hualien. Getting ready to make the long train ride down to Kaohsiung. A five hour train ride that would require me to do a transfer in Taitung before arriving in Kaohsiung at 1630pm. I was looking forward to it. 

It was my fifth day of travel. I'd been in Hualien for two days, exploring Taroko Gorge, one of the biggest draws to this coastal odyssey. Everything I'd read in my preparation for Taiwan had warned rain in the winter months, and lots of it. I wasn't that bothered by precipitation considering I'd been living in Alaska for the past four years. But when you're moving from hostel to hostel, only one pair of pants to your name, you get to be a bit cautious with battling the elements. My bag was waterproofed to protect my splurge of a camera I'd bought this summer, but I didn't really have a great way to dry drenched gear while on the move so much. 

Kaohsiung is a city located at the southern tip of Taiwan. Word on the street, it's "sunny year round." I'm hoping to really be able to put some roots down there and dig in to see what this country is all about. So far I've been merely dabbling here and there.

Taiwan has been an unbelievably easy country to travel in. So easy it almost feels like cheating. The people are nice, eager to help. Always smiling, bowing to you in greeting. So far I've had fellow hikers smiling and waving at me, glad to see me sharing their trails. A woman approached me in Taroko Gorge offering to give me a ride to where ever I needed to be dropped in the Gorge. Unfortunately I was already where I needed to be, so I had to decline her offer. Most signs have the English equivalent beneath the Chinese characters. If it isn't there, you just have to match up the characters to see where you need to go. The pace of life here isn't as frantic as Hong Kong, so you can take a moment to get your bearings about you without being slammed into by a rushing crowd at your back.

I've had very few difficulties actually. A few friends who traveled in Taiwan this summer, warned me that finding breakfast places early in the a.m. would be challenging. They were right. Since it's been a year that I found out I had a gluten intolerance, it's been difficult keeping it out of my diet here. The only things open are cute little pastry shops offering enticing delicacies that I can't eat. 

But I have. 

Thankfully I don't suffer Celiacs. It'd be a whole different story if I did. So I simply wander around Taiwan, crop dusting in silent gastro-intestinal discomfort, waiting for it to pass.

Speaking the local names of places correctly, however, well...I'm still working on that one. After all, I'm American. We aren't engineered to speak a language involving different tonal changes. As my recently developed British friends from D.F. have so kindly informed me: "We speak English, you speak American English."

So, conscious in my attempt to not completely butcher the names, I've inquired from locals in the proper way to enunciate these places. As I walked to the train station, I chanted it over and over in my head so I wouldn't forget it. Kaohsiung--sounds like Cow-zung, but with a "G" attached to the "C." And an "H" attached to the "Z." Gcow-Zhung. Hualien--sounds like Wall-e-n, but with an "H" attached to the "W." Whall-e-n. Taroko, pretty easy to say, but the faster you say it, the smoother it sounds to the ear. 

Taiwanese speak Mandarin. Hong Kongers speak Cantonese. I didn't think I'd notice much of a difference but it's there. Mandarin isn't as harsh to the ear and so far sounds like it would be easier to learn and speak. A lot of the words for the most part sound like they look with a few exceptions. I have managed to grasp hello and thank you. That's it so far, any other communication has just involved a lot of hand gesturing. Or broken phrases in English on their part and vigorous nodding on mine. So far it's been working. This morning an interaction with the owner of the hostel went as such:

"You go to Kaohsiung?"

"Yes, this morning on the train."

She smiled big and gave me the thumbs up. She then thrust her pointer finger against her chest. "Me Kaohsiung." She said, tapping her chest, right where her heart lay. I took that to mean one of two things. Either she was from Kaohsiung or she loved Kaohsiung. Either way, she approved of Kaohsiung. 

It made me feel good about my decision to go south seeking a dry and warmer clime. 

A Poor Girl in Business Class

“The three great essentials to achieve anything worthwhile are, first, hard work; second, stick-to-itiveness; third, common sense.” ~~Thomas A. Edison

"We're all sold out so I'm going to have to upgrade you to Business Class." I stared at the airline ticketer across the counter. I'm going to have to...He obviously didn't want to...

"Okay...," I hesitated, not quite comprehending. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"Economy is full so I'm upgrading you to Business Class, ma'am," the young man repeated patiently. B.U.S.I.N.E.S.S. C.L.A.S.S...UPGRADE.

"Okay...do I have to pay for this?" I was going on vacation. All I wanted to do was relax. I could feel my hackles rising, preparing to put up a fight if he insisted that he needed my credit card to pay the difference. 

Over my dead body.

"No ma'am. We're just upgrading you for the flight there. When you return, you'll still be economy."

Instantly releived, I nodded and waited as he made the changes on the computer, printed my boarding pass. He showed me my gate and boarding time. 0825am. Don't be late. I nodded, smiled and went on my way. It hadn't registered what being upgraded to business class really meant. 

It didn't sink in until I walked onto the plane. A flight attendant asked me my seat number and she instantly ushered me toward the front of the plane. Interesting...normally they just smile and wave you on down the aisle. This time I was getting a personal escort. 

"3H is right here, ma'am."

I stopped and stared. Wait, what? I looked around, confused. I looked at my ticket. Yep, 3H. I had an aisle seat and it was my own personal compartment. I had a window to myself. A desk with a reading lamp, a very comfortable pillow and a leg rest to go with the extremely large, comfortable bucket seat that was 3H. 

Holy cow, I was in Business Class, as in First Class. I'd never flown business class or first class in my life.

I put my bag down, sliding into the behemoth that was my seat. I stretched my legs out. I rubbed my palm over the plump pillow. I flicked the reading light on to see if it actually worked. Then I spied the remote for the chair. I could move it forward, backward, tilt it, lower it into a bed...turn it on for a massage. 

I froze. I could have my own personal massage? I hit the button to see what it felt like. 

Instantly the cushions at my back started to inflate and deflate as a little engine from somewhere within the seat whirred to life. This was a massage? Apparently I could intensify or de-tensify to whatever setting I preferred. I was poking buttons, checking the chair's capabilities when a flight attendant approached with a very fluffy violet colored comforter.

"Excuse me, would you like a blanket?"

My fingers hovered over the remote's buttons. I felt like a child with their hand caught in the cookie jar. I eyed the heavy blanket. It was 0830am, I was running on four hours of sleep. It was so tempting. But it was also 70 degrees out. Really no need for a blanket. 

But this is business class...my subconscious whispered. 

I smiled. "Sure." I reached for the proffered blanket, but instead of giving it to me, she unfolded it and proceeded to tuck it around me.

I bit my lip to keep from laughing out loud. I just got tucked in like a five year old at bedtime. Was there going to be story time too?

Was this for real? I looked around. The business class section was fairly empty but the attendants were studiously tucking in other passengers. I could tell that they were still loading the plane and I waited nervously for some overweight suit wearing, out of breath puffing, business man to come stand over me with his briefcase and demand that I get out of his seat. 

I was sure I had to be in the wrong section. There had to be some mistake. Someone was playing an ugly joke on me and I would have to be escorted to the back of the plane in front of everyone, castigated for my assumption that I could sit in Business Class.

"Would you like water or guava juice ma'am?" a woman asked, holding out a tray of both. The water and juice had been poured into delicate long stemmed drinking glasses.

"Uh...juice," I stammered. She smiled and placed the juice on the desk. "Here's a damp cloth for you," she said, placing a tray holding a neatly rolled white hand cloth next to my juice. I frowned at the cloth, what was that for?

I looked around again, searching for the security guard...someone...to come and fetch me. I had to be in the wrong seat. I mean, couldn't they tell I didn't belong there? My hair was greasy and tangled, I hadn't had a hair cut in months. Let alone a shower in a couple of days. I was wearing a plaid western style pearl button down with my sleeves rolled up (not classy at all), my pant legs too were rolled up, and I had kicked off my sandals to enjoy the freedom of leg space. Ashamed of my dirty, cracking bare feet, I hid them beneath the violet comforter. I didn't know if going barefoot in Business Class was a big no-no.

No one ever came to remove me. Instead, they shut the doors and prepared for takeoff. I reclined comfortably in my chair and stared out the window, listening to the pilot over the loud speaker. 

"Good morning ladies and gentlemen. Welcome aboard Hong Kong Airlines. Your flight to TaiPei will be roughly one hour and forty-five minutes. We are expected to be touching down around 1045am. Enjoy the flight."

Only one hour and forty-five minutes? I stretched out my legs, plopping them on the leg rest, wiggling my toes. Why couldn't I have been upgraded to this when I flew to Hong Kong in September? Or when I flew to New Zealand two years ago? Thirteen to sixteen hours in the air in Economy, hat was when that upgrade needed to kick in. 

Another attendant arrived, popping open a menu in front of me. "What would you like for breakfast? Noodles, cereal, or an omelet?"

Knowing most flights provided food at an exorbitant cost, I frantically scanned the menu, searching for a dollar sign. I had come prepared with a meager snack since it was such a short flight. 

"Well?" Her patient smile reminded me that I needed to be quicker. Biting the bullet, I went for the omelet, deciding that since I was on vacation I'd consider it a splurge if I did have to pay for it. 

The plate she set before me was like no other airfare I had had. Not only did it not come with a price tag, it actually looked like a meal someone had just prepared, instead of the normal microwave smell and texture of cardboard. 

My mouth watered. Yogurt, fruit, golden brown potatoes lathered in butter and rosemary, and an omelet perfectly cooked and folded to contain cheese and cherry tomatoes. Delicious. I dug in. If I had to pay for it, so be it. 

As I munched away, another attendant arrived to ask if I would like another delicately stemmed glass of water. I nodded and reached for the glass she held. She took a step back, holding it away from me. "Let me rearrange your plate for you, ma'am," she said, instantly all business like. I felt my eyebrows shoot up as I quickly snatched my hands away, apologizing. That apparently was a big no-no.

I watched as she neatly lined up the other glasses I had acquired on my tray before setting the other one down. "And here is a new damp cloth for you," she said, replacing the one I had never used.

I stared at the three neatly lined glasses, my tucked in comforter, the tightly rolled damp cloth. I reached out and touched it, yep, it was warm. So this was Business Class? 

What a revelation. 

I'd always wondered what went on behind those closed curtains. What I was missing. It seemed strange that there had to be such a division. That pulled curtain was an obvious barrier to the economy class. Segregation of the working order. 

Granted, people paid a lot of money for the seat I was lounging in like it was my job. It all came with a price, everything does. Nothing is FREE. And they definitely made it a desirable thing to have. The leg room, your every need and want catered to. But at the same time, it felt ridiculous. I was perfectly capable of lifting my hand to pick up a glass of water from the platter she held, but that was overstepping some hidden line. She was there to serve me. I knew that by having this designated section on the plane, she had a job. But I didn't need all that she was giving me. I don't think any of us do. 

I thought about all the places I had been and how I got myself there. I worked and scraped together pennies to travel. In fact, I was flying to explore Taiwan for two weeks and I only had about $4,000 US dollars to my name. My budget for that trip was limited to $1,000 of that money and really I shouldn't have been going to Taiwan in the first place. I should have been hunkered down in Hong Kong working to make more money because I had a lot more than $4,000 in debt that I needed to pay off.

But when it came down to it, I wanted to live my life as well as pay off debt. I didn't want to turn away amazing opportunities to see the world because of debt. If I was careful and wise about my money, I could do both I figured. So that was why I was on that plane. It was a risk, knowing that if something drastic were to happen to me, I would be hosed, my finances wiped clean. I had no health insurance, no backup funds to dip into. This wasn't anything new. I'd been living this way for a while. It was a risk I was willing to take. After all, isn't life one big risk? 

I was enjoying the comforts of that chair, don't get me wrong. But I knew that I would never pay for Business Class just to have those comforts. The money it would cost for that seat could have easily paid for half of my trip to Taiwan. A life time of experiences was worth more than any reclining, back massaging chair would ever be. I didn't belong there and I was okay with that. I felt like a fish out of water. I'd rather be bumping elbows in the back row in economy any day.

Hot Pot Hong Kong

"I'm trying to lead a good Christian life, so there ain't too much spicy to tell about me."

~~:Loretta Lynn

I joined all the logicians (the field coordinators that work here at DF--they are all local Cantonese) for my first hot pot experience in Mong Kok the other night. As most Asian things go, it was a very social event. Extremely crowded restaurant. Everyone sits down to this big pot heating on an iso-butane burner. There's a liquid broth in the pot. Probably chicken stock. You order a platter of food that is eventually cooked in the steaming pot. You toss whatever you want in and it boils the heck out of it. It's a smorgasbord, a virtual witches cauldron. 

The things you can order to cook range from the obscure to the mundane. Tripe (intestine, typically pig), chicken feet, chicken heads split in half, beef balls, fish balls, chicken testicles, chicken wings, pork strips, pork fat, beef strips, ground up fish, octopus tentacles, clams, bok choy, lettuce, turnips, corn...you name it. It all goes in. You can spice it to how you like and all the flavors of the food eventually mingle together as it boils. It's a glutton's heaven. Eat your heart out baby. And that is exactly what everyone does. 

Hot pots are typically held at an all you can eat buffet style restaurant. We paid $148 HK dollars a person (this is $21 US dollars), and we each were given two hours to stuff our faces. All food and drinks were at our disposal during those two hours. Once the allotted time was up, they kicked us out. 

So, everyone scoots up to the table and a hodgepodge of edible items get thrown into the pot. While they wait, they entertain one another with loud, animated conversation. Chinese style. High speed Cantonese. It's quite the experience. 

Due to the fact that I was a bit late arriving for the start of the evening, I showed up as things were already getting down to a boil. I pulled up a chair to the table. I examined the roiling pot which definitely looked like something I should have been stirring with a long stick, a witch's hat perched on my head, cackling evil spells to knock off my worst enemy. Next thing I knew, a brown, juicy looking chicken's foot was plopped into my bowl by a co-worker. Apparently this was my penance for arriving late. Eat the dreaded chicken's foot. Something I had managed to avoid so far.

A boiled, or steamed rather, chicken's foot is no big deal to an Asian. They eat everything in Hong Kong. It's a crime to waste. To a Westerner however, it's a whole different story. Some are brave, many are not. I have watched fellow Westerner's squirm at the sight of chickens' feet in a Cantonese restaurant. I, myself, have shuddered at the sight of the bony, skin covered amputated legs of some unfortunate poultry. They've never looked appetizing and I don't quite understand why they are regularly on the menu list around here. 

Now don't get me wrong, I have quite the iron stomach for the most part. I grew up on a dairy farm. I have been splattered in the face with cow manure and urine. I have ate things like squirrel pot pie (which is one of my favorite dishes back home). I've ate raccoon, deer heart and liver. Dishes that are not necessarily that common in the every day household. But, they don't quite equate to chicken's feet. 

I also grew up raising chickens. That's how I was able to get a little spending money as a kid, by selling eggs to friends and neighbors from my chickens. So, I know how dirty chickens are. 

Chickens are absolutely dirty, filthy birds. Disgusting. I grew up watching my chickens stroll through their own chicken droppings as they pecked away at insects and other treasures they found on the ground. Watched as they marched thru clumps of chicken shit (mind my french) that would stick on their feet, traces of it jammed beneath the nails that protrude from each long,bony digit. Chickens don't exactly have the ability to wash their feel like say a cat, or we do, for that matter. So that grime and build up of God knows what pretty much stays there, creating its own form of toe jam. Pretty gross right? 

So, as I sat there staring at this chicken foot in my bowl, that is the image I kept seeing in my head, playing over and over. One of my chickens raising its shit encrusted foot to scratch at a wayward itch on its head. 

How did they know they got all that shit out from beneath the chicken's nails? How much chicken shit was still ground into the minuscule creases of the skin covering the palm of the foot? That's all a chicken's foot is, skin covering cartilage and bone. No meat whatsoever. That's why I wondered why they served it in restaurants. There is no nutritional value to a chicken's foot. Except for maybe lovely chicken shit flavored broth? 

I felt my stomach do a somersault as I eyed the foot. It looked exactly like it did when attached to the bird. There was no difference, even after being boiled. It was just sans the bird. I vaguely wondered what became of the rest of the bird? Was there a one legged fowl hopping around? 

I finally shrugged. It was either now or never. I grabbed my chopsticks and took a healthy bite into that juicy spicy chicken foot.

Yum...?

And that was my first hot pot experience. 

Signing off from Taiwan

Purpose

“The best things in life make you sweaty.” ~~Edgar Allan Poe

In a little over three months I will be thirty-three years old. I find myself a bit shocked by it when the number “33” flashes before my brain’s eye. Like a red strobe light, the numbers flash, a danger siren screeching its warning signal, “WEEEOOO! WEEEOOO! WEEEOOO!”

Damn, thirty-three in three months. I look around and feel a little disoriented. How did I get here? How did I become thirty-two…let alone nearly thirty-three? What am I doing with my life? 

I’m currently living abroad in Hong Kong teaching outdoor education to ex-pat students. I make about $1,500 U.S. a month. My living space consists of a little corner in a large room. One side of my corner is a cold white tiled wall, the other side is made up of glass windows overlooking the front of the flat. The space entails about a 3ft by 9ft dimension. Just large enough for a cot to fit in and space beneath for me to store my meager belongings. I’ve hung a tapestry across the windows to provide a little privacy after I realized that the neighbor enjoyed a bit of peeking tom on his nightly dog walks. 

There’s nothing like sitting in bed typing away on your lap top, your face illuminated by the screen, to look out the window and see your neighbor standing outside staring up at you. Since the hanging of the tapestry, I’ve made eye contact with my neighbor once and he’s quickly looked the other way. I think he got the message. I even put some thought into the design and color of the tapestry when I purchased it. I wanted to make sure the next time he looked up, he at least got something pretty to look at. 

Around the corner of my nest, is the rest of the room which also houses six other ladies. Seven of us on one floor. What privacy we get is provided by curtains hung over our bunks to shut out the rest of the world. I’ve been assigned a small locker space that I can shove my valuables in. My valuables consist of a crappy little laptop, my passport, a water purifier run on lithium batteries that cost $60 U.S dollars, a couple of dog eared travel beaten books, a lightweight one man tent designed by Big Agnes that is probably my most valued possession since I have spent more days living out of that tent than I have any other place, and a pair of climbing shoes that I’ve owned since 2005. 

It’s the little things that matter. 

In a way, the living situation here reminds me of a time when I lived in a one bedroom apartment with seven other adults in Tucson, AZ. 

I was working for a non-profit conservation corps leading a backcountry trail crew of young adults. We lived the twelve days on, two days off schedule for the duration of a four month contract. Twelve days in the backcountry, and two days back in civilization. I was one of about ten other Crew Leaders living this same life style. Since we were in town for about six days out of the month, and housing was not provided, seven of us decided to put a lease down on a one bedroom apartment. 

The apartment was unfurnished but that didn’t bother us. We each claimed a small bit of floor space and proceeded to live off of fast food or meals made with our camp pots over the stove top in the kitchen. We paid about $60-$70 a month in rent a person, and in turn, had a place to wash up and call home. 

We conveniently ignored the fact that we were blatantly breaking all health codes. I always wondered what our neighbors thought when the seven of us; dirty, smelly, hauling heavy backpacks staggered in after twelve days on the trail, only to disappear two days later. Either way, no one ever ratted on us and I proceeded to live in this style for the three winter seasons that I worked there. 

That was when I was in my mid-twenties. A time when in some ways, you could get away with something like that. But here I am, nearing my mid-thirties and my life style hasn’t really changed. The only difference being that I’m getting paid about $1,000 less than I did then.

Have I progressed or regressed? Shouldn’t my standard of living be a bit improved compared to six years ago? Isn’t that the goal here? This isn’t the first time I’ve berated myself with these questions. Phases like this usually occur a few times a year when I find myself questioning what the heck I’m doing with my life. And then I easily forget all about it when the next adventure materializes and I find myself on some amazing life altering experience. It’s been a constant cycle over the last decade. Adventure, reality, adventure…reality. 

And here I sit, doing exactly that, wondering, what am I doing with my life? Why did I come back to Hong Kong?

In June or July, whenever it was that I had to weigh the decision of working in Antarctica or back to Hong Kong, I made the decision based on the need for having a purpose in life. My drive in Antarctica would have been to continue to support science, not a bad resolution really. But the guarantee of a position was an unreliable one at best. I have a lot of debt to pay off and there was no 100% guarantee of making it down there until the last minute. I have always struggled with the spontaneity of things. I’ve never been good at taking chances. So I backed out. 

I reasoned that Hong Kong was to provide outdoor education to children in a place being consumed by materialism and escalators. To fight the urban jungle so to speak. But since I’ve been here, I feel like I’ve been beating my head against a brick wall. I felt this way a bit last year, but it’s more persistent this time around. I’ve found myself wondering, do I have a purpose here? Am I gaining any ground? What’s supposed to be outdoor education instead feels like glorified baby-sitting in the realm of outdoor recreation. There’s minimal education.

Yes, I’ve gotten my wish to be living somewhere international. To satisfy that selfish urge I’ve had since I got my first taste of cultural immersion two years ago. But I’m starting to realize that that isn’t enough for me. I want to continue to explore and see the world, but I need a purpose. To just go, isn’t enough right now. Why, I don’t know, but that’s what’s been going thru my head. 

For the first time since 2009, my summer is unplanned. I don’t know where I’m headed or what I will be doing. In a way, it’s terrifying and at the same time, exciting. I feel as if I am facing a lot of doors right now and it’s a test to see if I’ll open the right one. And I’m praying to God that I do chose right. Again, I’ve never been good at taking chances. They terrify me.

I feel I need a change in my life. The last time I felt like I had that, was Antarctica. I’ll admit, it was purely selfish, but it was what I needed to do at that point in my life. I’ve never been so sure of something before, so confident that it was the right thing.

Now, I’ve realized that whatever move I make next, it needs to have drive. I want to keep growing as a person, but more so, I want to help others. I’ve had two years to be selfish and just live for me. To re-build the bond I used to have with myself. To think of no one else. 

I think I’m ready for the outside world. Maybe turning thirty-three means I’m finally starting to grow up? I’ll let you know what I find when that time comes :). 

Diu Nei! And Losing Face

“While you're saving your face, you're losing your ass.” 

~~Lyndon B. Johnson

"Diu nei!” the cutest little old man I had ever seen said with a polite smile, gesturing at us from his speed boat as he rattled off a long list of Cantonese words that I could not understand. The only reason we caught “Diu nei!” was because the students’ reactions were enough to make us pause and try to interpret what he was saying. 

“Ohhhh!!!” the students shouted, their eyes growing wide and a shocked look on their faces as they looked at the four of us trying to communicate with this old fisherman. 

It was our last day of a five day program. We were at Bluff Island, an area known for emerald crisp water, red hued cliffs. A beautiful location in Hong Kong. Paradise to be exact. 

We were planning to hike the students up to the top of this saddle overlooking the South China Sea and then jump off the junk boats into the water for a fun swim. We had two junk boats since there were about 60 of us total. We were planning to do it all in rotations. One boat to the island while the other boat jumped and then vice versa. We wanted the fisherman to take his speed boat to the other junk boat since they were going to the island first. But this little old man that DF contracts out for transportation back and forth from the island to the big boat, seemed to have an agenda all his own. 

The view of emerald crisp water from atop Bluff Island

The cliff sides.

The cute little old fisherman. These photos were taken during training last fall, but it is the same man that we worked with last year.

Finally after much gesturing and with the aid of the students and our boat captain who also did not speak English, we were able to communicate what we needed and things were once again in order. Normally the students love to help us out if there is a language barrier. It’s an opportunity for many of them to speak their native language and to show off in front of their instructors. This time however, there was a bit of hesitation. 

“What did he say?” we asked, looking between the giggling twelve year old girls and the old man who was finally motoring away to the other boat.

“No, no, we can’t say it. It’s bad,” the girls said, shaking their heads. 

“Come on! What did he say?” we begged, now intrigued.

“He swore at you! We can’t say it!”

“Please! Just tell us, we won’t get you in trouble.”

“He said, ‘Fuck you! Why’d you tell me to come here in the first place?’”

Silence. 

The four of us in our red DF staff shirts stared at one another, dumbfounded. Really? That calm, smiling face had just swore at us? We tried to contain our grins but it was fruitless, they burst forth despite our best efforts.

“Well, uh…thanks,” one of my co-workers said. “Didn’t think that was gonna happen in Hong Kong.” 

I smiled as I watched the fisherman’s green speed boat motoring toward the junk boat loaded down with eager kids. “Huh,” I said to myself. “Did we just lose face or did we just make him lose face?” I asked myself. Was that why he was smiling thru the whole thing? I never once thought he was angry just from his facial expressions. He seemed so peaceful. 

What, might you ask, does “losing face” mean? Well, it’s a bit complex and I’m not quite sure if I understand it completely myself. It’s a phrase I’ve heard since living in Asia for the past two falls, but I had never experienced a “losing face” situation until now.

The concept of face doesn’t refer to someone’s actual face, instead, it’s an abstract or metaphoric notion. It represents the idea of social standing, a person’s reputation, dignity or honor. To make someone “lose face” lowers their standing in the eyes of others and saving or “building face” raises their self-worth in the eyes of others.

What we as westerners understand as “Face Building” is plastic surgery, but here in Asia it’s an ancient cultural concept, although it has a similar outcome as plastic surgery…in a way? The goal for both is to make something come out for the better. At least that’s how I see it. In Western culture, we tend to be blunt and straight to the point. Does the phrase, “stop beating around the bush and let’s get to the point,” ring a bell? Mm, yes, it’s one of my favorite go to phrases and philosophies on communication. I hate beating around the bush. This doesn’t really fly here in Asia. There is a lot of complimenting and building up a person’s dignity before getting to the point. Or “building face,” as they like to call it. Because of this, some things take quite a while before a decision is made. It has been teaching me patience. It’s not entirely a bad thing.

So, how do you save face? The number one rule is to not lose your cool in public. Shouting, and arguing are frowned upon. I can only assume that that was why this cute elderly Chinese gentleman was smiling politely even as he went up one side of us and down the other in Cantonese. He didn’t want to lose face by losing his cool. Or he was simply enjoying the fact that he knew we had absolutely no idea what he was saying. Probably the latter of the two. 

If you do lose your cool, this can contribute to “losing face” to one or both parties involved depending on the situation. If you have a valid reason for losing your temper, you don’t lose face. If you don’t have a valid reason, then you lose face. This is embarrassing to bystanders and therefore it is considered that those bystanders affected by the altercation have lost face as well as the person doing the arguing. 

I had no idea this concept was so complex until I asked a friend who has lived in Hong Kong her entire life to shed a little light on this. I asked her if she could explain the idea of “saving face,” to me. 

She said, “Well, it depends on the situation. What happened?”

I told her the story of the fisherman with the filthy sailor mouth. “So did he lose face because we made him lose his cool?” I asked.

“Not necessarily. If anything, you guys lost face because you were in the wrong and made him frustrated for a valid reason.”

“But isn’t it wrong to swear and lose your cool in public?”

She shrugged. “You can swear as long as there is a good reason for it. If you are being an idiot and in the wrong, then you deserve to have someone angry at you. They are not losing face by being angry at you if there is a good reason. The only way they would lose face is if they are making a scene of themselves and they are in the wrong. Then they lose face and they are making those near them lose face because they are party to it.”

“So we lost face then because we didn’t communicate to him clearly where we wanted him to go? So we were in the wrong?”

“Yeah, you lost face if you believe in the idea of face.”

When she said we lost face only if we believed in the idea of it, I found myself wondering if I did believe in this metaphor of face. I didn’t know if I did, but I found myself agreeing that maybe we had been in the wrong and the fisherman had the right to be angry at us.

We are visitors in this country, yet we demand so much from the locals who live here. It’s rare that we stop and think about the impact we are having on the lives they have been living before we arrived. I am quite familiar with Hong Kong at this point, but I am still very much a visitor in this country. I would like to be able to respect and honor their beliefs and social customs. So if saving face is one of them, then saving face I shall.

Home Away from Home

“Never make your home in a place. Make a home for yourself inside your own head. You'll find what you need to furnish it - memory, friends you can trust, love of learning, and other such things. That way it will go with you wherever you journey.” 

~~Tad Williams

I had a thought to myself today. I was sitting on the local green mini bus that runs between the village of Hoi Ha and Sai Kung. It’s Sunday, the one day we get off to explore and relax from the work week. I had to stand in line to wait for the bus for a good fifteen minutes due to the bottle neck of people ahead of me waiting to do the same. Why should a little village such as Hoi Ha, which only boasts about 30 homes total, have such a long waiting time for the bus? 

I stood there impatiently watching all the Hong Kongers chatting away in Cantonese to one another, dressed in their Sunday best: brand new hiking gear straight off the shelf from some store in downtown Central. Gear that many of them would use once and then retire because it was “dirty” and purchase new for their next outdoor adventure. That’s how it’s done here. These people weren’t from the village of Hoi Ha. They had migrated down from Central or mainland China to the New Territories area to recreate since it was the weekend. That was the “in” thing to do in Hong Kong. Escape to the country parks when there is a public holiday or a weekend. 

I, however, did live in Hoi Ha. I was not there to recreate for once. I just wanted to go to town to get a good lunch and pick up a few groceries since I had been on program all week. I was looking to walk around town for a few minutes and loose myself to the peace and quiet of a good book over a steaming plate of good Indian food at one of the restaurants in Sai Kung. But…I was forced to wait because of the huge line of people ahead of me.

Granted, fifteen minutes was not very long for a weekend day. There has been days in the past where it’s well over a thirty minute wait to get on a bus because of the crowds. If you had hopes of getting anywhere on a schedule, don’t expect to on the weekend. 

During the week, there is rarely a soul in line to get on the bus and they only run one bus at 25 and 55 after the hour. But on public holidays and the weekend, they run two buses and if you’re standing there in line when the bus shows up, you just might get on. The last bus to pick up is at 1855pm so everyone scrambles to be in line in time to get a ride out of there. 

Hong Kong is known for its surplus of a population. Just over 7 million. The only place where you can escape the crowds is usually in the little villages. I am thankful to have the opportunity to live in such a tiny village as Hoi Ha, but on the weekends, it’s frustrating. It’s annoying because the crowds I strive to avoid, instead find me in this hidden little paradise. 

These crowds on the weekend make it hard for those that live in this village, especially if you have to rely on the public transport. Taxis rarely drive down to Hoi Ha since it is about thirty minutes out of their way from Sai Kung and they’d rather stay in the vicinity of the city to make more money. If a taxi does make it down to Hoi Ha, it costs nearly $12 U.S. dollar when the bus is a mere $1.30 U.S. Not really that big of a deal, but when you’re income is based on the Hong Kong dollar and not the U.S. dollar, it starts to matter. 

So, once I finally was on the bus, I found myself staring out the window thinking, “I live here. This is my home. I shouldn’t have to wait in line behind a bunch of tourists who don’t live here. I should have priority.” Granted, it was a bit of a selfish thought, but what surprised me more, was that I called Hoi Ha home. And I guess it is. For now.

The view from the roof top of our flat in Hoi Ha. Photo from last fall.

I’ve been back in Hong Kong since September 30th. I didn’t quite expect to return to Asia after last fall. That is another story that has lost its opportunity to be shared. Needless to say, as I have said before, sometime our lives just take us where we are supposed to go. You can’t really fight it. I am back teaching outdoor education and living in the same little village I lived in last fall. It was easy to return. 

I flew in, knew which bus to get on to take me to the New Territories. Caught a taxi to Hoi Ha and walked into the flat as if I had never left. I even have the same bed I slept in last fall. Since arriving, I’ve been out and about, navigating my way around Hong Kong as if I’ve been doing it forever. The fear I once felt about venturing out on my own is gone. I have no qualms about exploring. I simply grab my guide book and go. The few Cantonese phrases I had learned last fall roll off my tongue as if I had been saying them all these months since I left in December. Chopsticks feel more comfortable in my fingers than a fork or spoon does. The aroma of traditional Chinese food is like the beckoning of an old friend. 

So, I guess this is home. As close as it’s going to get for a while anyways. I’m here until the beginning of June. If you’d like to send some snail mail my address is: 

Fran Haynes

#36 Hoi Ha Village

Sai Kung, N.T. Hong Kong

Until next time :). The aventura escrita continues…

Happy Birthday Papa Earth!

"I believe in God, only I spell it Nature."

                                                         ~~Frank Lloyd Wright

It’s April 22, 2013 1550pm in the afternoon. I’m sitting in a comfy antique wooden chair in my friend’s home in Golden, CO. I’ve been here all afternoon, slaving away over the computer as I prep lesson plans for our upcoming guide training that starts on May 1st in Alaska. I should still be prepping lessons, but I needed a break, and after staring out the window for the last fifteen minutes, I was inspired to jot down a few thoughts. 

The little house I am currently sitting in resides not far from the historic downtown district of the town of Golden. Golden is just shy of 6,000ft in elevation and is located on the valley floor along the eastern edge of what is called the Front Range. To the northeast is Denver, to the south is Colorado Springs, and to the west are the Rocky Mountains that make up the Continental Divide. I’m surrounded by sagebrush and pinion-juniper woodlands. 

Just a few days ago I drove in from the western slope region of Colorado. Aspen is located in the heart of the Rocky Mountains and sits at 8,000ft in elevation. Aspen, founded on the glitter of silver, has a thriving montane ecosystem of Aspens (the town’s namesake), Douglas fir, and pines. 

This morning I woke up to what skiers like to call a blue bird day. Not a cloud in sight, just the gleam of the sun and the bright blue sky overhead. I walked down the street to run a few errands and by the time I walked out of the store, my blue bird day had turned into a glowering gray mass of threatening weather. The wind was howling and the clouds screamed precipitation. I walked into the grocery store to pick up a new tooth brush and walked out to spitting snow. 

Thanks Mother Nature. 

Now, as I sit here, thinking and attempting to write, it is snowing a nice fine dusting of white crystals that have been falling since mid morning. It’s April 22nd, but when you’re in the mountains anything’s possible during the shoulder seasons. 

I fly for Alaska in two days for my summer gig, kayak guiding. For the next four and a half months I will be surrounded by the ebb and flow of the Pacific Ocean, the gurgling of fresh water melting from ancient glaciers, smells of Sitka spruce, western hemlocks, alders, and sphagnum moss dangling from old growth forest. I will be at sea level, but the jagged mountains jutting up into the sky on either side of Resurrection Bay have fooled many innocent tourists into thinking otherwise. 

I have just described three different ecosystems: Foothills, montane, and coastal. And that is only a glimpse into the plethora existing within this globe we trod on. Everywhere we go in the world we are exposed to various types of environs based on regions that they occupy. We change elevation and thus so do our ecosystem. Some locations, it’s a subtle transformation from one to the next; others it’s so obvious that you’d have to be blind to not notice it. 

It’s one of the aspects that I love about the industry I work in. It’s seasonal employment so we migrate where the labor is, based on the time of year. With it comes exposure to various ecological communities. It broadens our knowledge and experience as an outdoor educator. I love being in the elements for a long enough period of time that I can visibly notice the subtle changes as the seasons alter from one to the next. 

It allows me the opportunity to feel “one” with Mother Nature. 

Today is Earth Day, a global celebration of Papa Earth. Online news articles say this year’s theme is “The Face of Climate Change.” Seems fitting, and perhaps about time? 

If it weren’t for this planet and the various bio-regions that comprise it, I would not be able to do what I do. I would be out a job. When I was younger, I never really thought about the impact I had on our planet. But the more I became exposed, the more I became aware of my ecological footprint. Granted, my footprint is less than most. I don’t own a house; my material consumption is minimal at best. My use of fossil fuels is reduced to a few months here and there when I make the move from one work location to the next. Otherwise, I am often simply self powered via foot or water craft. 

However, it could still be improved. A thing can always benefit from betterment. And this is what I find myself pondering, as I sit here staring out the window, watching the snow fall. We shouldn’t have to be reminded to think about how we can reduce our footprint on a specific day once a year. Every day should be Earth Day. Heck, every day is Earth Day. 

I have had the opportunity to work in two Polar Regions where fragile ecosystems function and thrive. There are a lot of people out there in the world that scoff at the idea of climate change. It’s all malarkey or a bunch of hogwash. I’m sorry to say, but that ain’t the case. 

I’ll be honest, I am not a scientist. Growing up, my dad always said there were two kinds of smart. Book smart and common sense smart. I’d say my genes were filled with more of the latter than the former. You spend enough time in the elements, an adequate amount of time being battered by Mother Nature, and you begin to see trends. You read historical accounts of these very regions and these trends didn’t exist a hundred years ago. 

Once you’ve stared a glacier in the face and watched massive chunks of ice fall, the sound of rolling thunder echoing thru your head, as the ice hits the water; you begin to wonder about the effect of climate change. I’ve had the opportunity to paddle in water where a thick wall of thousands of year old ice once sat a mere forty years ago. A mere forty years ago! If the Earth isn’t warming due to increased greenhouse gas emissions, then can someone tell me where that ice went? 

I’ve driven on the permanent ice shelf covering a section of Ross Island of Antarctica. The year before I arrived to work for the National Science Foundation, a massive chunk of the ice shelf broke off into the water due to extreme warm temperatures. I say extreme, because for Antarctica it was an extreme change. The subtlest of alterations in the ph level of the water, or the surface temperature, in an environment like Antarctica can have drastic affects on the ecosystem there. This break-off resulted in having to establish a new section of ice road to be able to service the airport the research station based on the ice shelf each season. 

The ice that covered a portion of McMurdo Sound on the southern edge of the island becomes open water later in the summer season. During the 2011-2012 austral season this ice was only about six to nine feet thick when I was there. I had nothing to compare it to, but apparently this was thin compared to seasons past. It was due to the warm temperatures that had also allowed for the large chunk of the ice shelf to break off the season before. 

It was climate change glaring us in the face is what it was\is. 

I think as a whole we’ve come a long way in just a short time to spread the awareness of climate change. Plastic bags are being banned from grocery stores. Recycled plastic is used more and more. User friendly recycling programs are becoming the norm in many communities. Young adults are studying climate change in school. And so on and so on. But we can always do more. 

Today is Earth Day. Celebrate. Hug a tree. Smile up at the sky. Say thank you, Papa Earth. Thank you. 

Then sit down and see what you can do to reduce your ecological footprint. I dare you. You’ll be surprised at what simple changes you can make. It starts with you, us. 

**Below is a piece of writing I did a few years back that I stumbled across today. 

A Personal Reflection of the Earth 

Fran Haynes—4/22/2006 

It's Earth Day—Saturday, a day off, yet it’s another day of work, in celebration of our planet. Don't I work every day for this round globe we trod on? Why so different, on this day of all days? Isn't that why I spend nearly all my waking moments outside—because it's for this oval basket ball rotating on its titled axis. Or is it for myself, my own personal gain? 

This is the first time I've worked somewhere where people have taken the time to recognize the Earth and why we are here doing what we do. I've been working in the outdoor field for four years, alongside dedicated outdoor professionals, but Earth Day has never been a day for celebration until now. So, am I really doing all this for myself or for Papa Earth? This is my job, and now my life; I get paid to sleep outside, to ride bikes, to paddle rivers, and to take scenic pictures of all that I see. What do I love more? The bike that gets me down the road? The expensive boat that flows with the current of the river? Or do I love more the soil my bike’s tires touch, and the water that carries me down these rivers I enjoy so much? Any more, I think it's this ground I walk upon, all the rest are merely mechanisms to help myself in my enjoyment. 

I'm sitting outside against the base of a large pine writing this, the sun shining on my face. The moment could almost be perfect, almost. As all things go, nothing is ever perfect. A large, fist sized pine cone falls from the sky; it lands two feet away. Any closer it would have hit me on the head. I eye the cone where it lies. Now, do I love the pine cone because it didn't hit me on the head? I shrug; I think I would have still enjoyed it either way. If struck, it would have brought forth a curse or two, but how ironic to be walloped by a pine cone on Earth Day, of all days. 

All I can say: I'm working for you buddy, and that is how you express your gratitude? 

An Earth Day Celebration in which the above excerpt was written: AmeriCorps 2006

Working for Papa Earth and Mother Nature to make them look beautiful. Circa: 2006