Re-post: A Desire to Travel

Today, we in America celebrate the legacy of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. So many blogs today are writing eloquently about the importance of this day, and I could not hope to add to what has been said in any significant way. So I thought a good way to note the day is to rerun a post I wrote in May 2006 concerning some of the important formative events of my life in regard to understanding prejudice that can so easily creep into our thinking without our even realizing it. And I hope that I can, in whatever small ways from day to day, be a part of the solution rather than the problem: by cultivating respect and dignity for all people, whether they are close and familiar to me or distant and perplexing; by recognizing that different is not inferior, but that beauty is found in all cultures and peoples; and by humbly realizing that I can learn from every person I meet if I will take the time to look past the shallowness of externals, cross the line of cultural discomfort, and celebrate rather than denigrate those things which make each of us unique.

From May 24, 2006:

Tonight I got my photos taken for my new passport. My first passport expires on June 4. It's hard to believe that just 10 years ago I was preparing for my first trip ever out of the country, but now I have traveled extensively through nearly 20 countries on 3 continents. That even increased my desire to travel in my own country, and I have been to 43 of the US States, 40 of those within the past 10 years.

I hope I can cultivate respect and dignity for all people, recognize that different is not inferior, and realize that I can learn from every person by looking past externals, crossing the line of cultural discomfort, and celebrating those things which make each of us unique.If you were to ask me what have been the most significant forces in my life in a positive sense to make me who I am today, there are a couple things that would quickly come to mind. First would be parents and a grandmother who showed me by example what it means to learn and change and not assume I know everything, to live by a strong moral code of unselfishness and giving to others, to not be afraid to admit I am wrong, and who, in spite of differences and disagreements (sometimes very sharp) have always loved me unfailingly. But outside of the direct influence of my family, perhaps no other force in my life has so radically affected my outlook on life than my international traveling.

For travel is not just about getting the snapshot from the top of the Eiffel Tower (spent weeks in Paris and never did that....the Arc de Triomphe view is far better). It's not about bringing back t-shirts and key chains and making family members sit through hours of slides of your trip to Thailand on New Year's Even when they would rather be just about anywhere else besides listening to you drone on and on about the....oh, sorry, I think some bitterness against my uncle just came out there.

Traveling internationally will give you a perspective on life and culture and politics and belonging that you cannot get any other way, I am convinced. This is something that starts from the moment you leave the airport of your home. There's a big difference from a Los Angeles-Chicago flight than a Chicago-Accra, Ghana flight. It took me 24 hours of travel with a layover in Europe to get to Africa, and suddenly, I started to comprehend how big the planet is and how small my little world had been to that point.

I saw my thinking transform from that scourge of Midwestern Mentality and American superiority to understanding how much I could learn from other cultures and peoples. I began to understand the subtle undercurrent of prejudice that ran through my beliefs and opinions. During the six months I lived in Africa (in the country of Togo), I experienced something that very few American-born white guys have the privilege of experiencing, and that is to get a glimpse of what it is like truly to live as a minority. For there were times in Africa when I would go days without seeing another person with white skin. Admittedly, the Togolese people are very kind and welcoming to the "yovos" (white-skinned people), but just the feeling of being on the "outside" has never left me. And I think (and hope) it has helped me to be more sensitive and understanding since I have been back in the States.

One of the coolest things I have noticed which shows me that perhaps something fundamental changed in my mind from traveling is this: 10 years ago, without exception, every one of my close friends was a white American of western-European descent. Today, however, through no conscious choice or intention to make it this way, I have been blessed to have one of the most international group of friends of anyone I know. And stop chuckling, they are not all from Asia!

So, I am thankful for several things tonight. First, I am thankful for the privilege I have had to travel--simply for the amazing places I have seen and things I have experienced...

• from the historic grandeur of the Coliseum in Rome
  
• to the happily-endured heartburn from the little greasy fajita stand in Mexico
  
• to the silent awe at the breathtaking Cliffs of Moher in Ireland (where I did the most insane thing I have ever done in my entire life)
  
• to the ingenuity, beauty, and hospitality shown to us at the mud castles of the Tam Berma people in Togo.
  

Second, I am thankful for the way traveling has changed my perspective on the world, trusting it has made me into a better person. And finally, I'm so thankful that it's time for me to get a new passport so I can get rid of that picture with those huge glasses. What was I thinking?

Rested, Relaxed, and Refreshed

In case anyone out there is slightly alarmed that my blogs have fizzled out, allow me to put your mind at ease. I have just returned from a much-needed vacation in Cancun, Mexico, thus my lack of posting during the past number of days. However, I'm back now, fresh and ready to go. My posting might be a bit sporadic over the next couple days as I get back into my routine, but I am eager to continue working on these blogs and, hopefully, making them places that you will be glad to visit frequently!

But now, as tribute to the beautiful beaches of the Caribbean....

Cancun!

I am ashamed to admit this, but it has been slightly more than four years since the last time I traveled internationally. This may not seem to be particularly earth-shattering to many, but I am going through severe travel withdrawal. In contrast, during the six years prior to my last trip, I flew to Europe five times and to Africa three times. So, as you can imagine, it has taken some effort for me to be content with my current life circumstances that have prevented me from traveling as often as I would like.

Well, I've had enough with being patient, so in September, I have decided to head to Cancun for a few days of much-needed vacation, away from a job that has become so stressful that it is no longer any fun. So, have any of you out there been to Cancun? Do you have any suggestions for me? Must see places? Great local cuisine? Pitfalls to avoid? Best places to see scantily-clad muscular latino men? I would appreciate any feedback that could help me have a more, um.... "meaningful" experience! Thus far, I am tentatively planning to visit Chichen Itza, Congo Bongo, and Senor Frogs. Other than that, my plans are wide open. I can't wait!



And, in gratitude for your wise travel counsel and in celebration of gorgeous latino men everywhere, here are the pictures for today....

Contraband

So, even though Italy was kind enough to do their best to help out the US Soccer team by defeating the Czech Republic today 2-0 (necessary to ensure the US advance into the round of 16), the US went down in humiliating defeat in their final World Cup 2006 game, bested and eliminated from the tournament by 30th-seed Ghana 2-1 (albeit on a dubiously-called penalty kick). And, to add insult to injury, the stupid ESPN cameras zoomed in so we could only see Brian McBride's face rather than his whole body during the shirt exchange at the end of the game. So, all the way around it was a bad day for US soccer.

Watching the game did bring back some memories for me personally, though, as I had the opportunity to spend a week in Ghana during my first trip to Africa in 1996. In fact, my flight was on Ghana Airways non-stop from New York City to Accra, Ghana, making that the first African country I ever visited. It was obvious from television coverage today, though, that few people know much about Ghana, even though it is a beautiful country with wonderful people.


At the conclusion of my week in Ghana (which was spent primarily in region between Lake Volta and the country of Togo, we drove to the border of Ghana and Togo to spend a week in the village of Kpalime, Togo. At the border, we had the first of several border-crossing experiences I would go through in Africa--always an interesting process.

On that trip, which was "back in the day" before iPods, I had a fairly good-sized case with me in which I kept my CDs and Discman to listen to on our trips through the bush (wasn't quite ready to go all African at that point, obviously). Well, as the border guard was looking through my bags, he pulled out the CD case and asked me what was in it. Cheerfully, I answered "CD's."

Immediately, the guard's eyes got big, and he called over his commanding officer and several others who stood around me warily. They opened the case, and of course saw the CDs just as I had said. However, they still did not seem to know exactly what they were, and they seemed awfully tense. Perhaps they didn't like my musical selections? Trying to be helpful, I demonstrated to the officer by removing one of the CDs, putting it in my discman, and allowing him to listen. He was fascinated by the device, and let me go after searching the case thoroughly.

As we drove away, I mentioned to my host that they had been very tense when I told them I was taking CD's with me. Immediately the host laughed heartily and reminded me that the currency of Ghana is "Cedis" (pronounced just like I was saying). So, the border patrols thought I was smuggling currency out of the country, a significant crime! Next to telling my 55-year-old French professor that I was in love with her when I was attempting to say I enjoyed ice cream, that was certainly my most amusing language confusion experience.

It Was Simply a Desire to Travel....

I love the quote from Thomas Mann's Death in Venice:

It was simply a desire to travel; but it had presented itself as nothing less than a seizure, with intensely passionate and indeed hallucinatory force, turning craving into vision. His imagination, still not at rest from the morning's hours of work, shaped for itself a paradigm of all the wonders and terrors of the manifold earth, of all that it was now suddenly striving to envisage....Very well then--he would travel. Not all that far, not quite to where the tigers were. A night in the wagon-lit and a siesta of three or four weeks at some popular holiday resort in the charming south....

Tonight I got my photos taken for my new passport. My first passport expires on June 4. It's hard to believe that just 10 years ago I was preparing for my first trip ever out of the country, but now I have traveled extensively through nearly 20 countries on 3 continents. That even increased my desire to travel in my own country, and I have been to 43 of the US States, 40 of those within the past 10 years.

If you were to ask me what have been the most significant forces in my life in a positive sense to make me who I am today, there are a couple things that would quickly come to mind. First would be parents and a grandmother who showed me by example what it means to learn and change and not assume I know everything, to live by a strong moral code of unselfishness and giving to others, to not be afraid to admit I am wrong, and who, in spite of differences and disagreements (sometimes very sharp) have always loved me unfailingly. But outside of the direct influence of my family, perhaps no other force in my life has so radically affected my outlook on life than my international traveling.

For travel is not just about getting the snapshot from the top of the Eiffel Tower (spent weeks in Paris and never did that....the Arc de Triomphe view is far better). It's not about bringing back t-shirts and key chains and making family members sit through hours of slides of your trip to Thailand on New Year's Even when they would rather be just about anywhere else besides listening to you drone on and on about the....oh, sorry, I think some bitterness against my uncle just came out there.

Traveling internationally will give you a perspective on life and culture and politics and belonging that you cannot get any other way, I am convinced. This is something that starts from the moment you leave the airport of your home. There's a big difference from a Los Angeles-Chicago flight than a Chicago-Accra, Ghana flight. It took me 24 hours of travel with a layover in Europe to get to Africa, and suddenly, I started to comprehend how big the planet is and how small my little world had been to that point.

I saw my thinking transform from that scourge of Midwestern Mentality and American superiority to understanding how much I could learn from other cultures and peoples. I began to understand the subtle undercurrent of prejudice that ran through my beliefs and opinions. In Africa, I experienced something that very few American-born white guys have the privilege of experiencing, and that is to get a glimpse of what it is like to truly live as a minority. For there were times in Africa when I would go days without seeing another person with white skin. Admittedly, the Togolese people are very kind and welcoming to the "yovos" (white-skinned people), but just the feeling of being on the "outside" has never left me. And I think (and hope) it has helped me to be more sensitive and understanding since I have been back in the States.

One of the coolest things I have noticed which shows me that perhaps something fundamental changed in my mind from traveling is this: 10 years ago, without exception, every one of my close friends was a white American of western-European descent. Today, however, through no conscious choice or intention to make it this way, I have been blessed to have one of the most international group of friends of anyone I know. And stop chuckling, they are not all from Asia!

So, I am thankful for several things tonight. First, I am thankful for the privilege I have had to travel--simply for the amazing places I have seen and things I have experienced, from the historic grandeur of the Coliseum in Rome to the happily-endured heartburn from the little greasy fajita stand in Mexico to the silent awe at the breathtaking Cliffs of Moher in Ireland to the ingenuity, beauty, and hospitality shown to us at the mud castles of the Tam Berma people in Togo. Second, I am thankful for the way traveling has changed my perspective on the world, trusting it has made me into a better person. And finally, I'm so thankful that it's time for me to get a new passport so I can get rid of that picture with those huge glasses. What was I thinking?

One of My Fondest Memories

Four years ago today, on March 22, 2002, I began one of the greatest experiences of my life. My grandmother and I have always had a special bond. Although a grandmother is not supposed to pick favorites among her grandchildren (and though I know she wouldn't call me her "favorite"), I have had a closeness to her that is something I treasure. My cousin Susannna was born 3 weeks before me, so she was my grandmother's first grandchild. However, Susanna's family lived in Philadelphia, and my grandmother lived near my family in Los Angeles, so after flying out to Philadelphia for Susanna's birth, my grandmother returned home in time for mine. So, for the first 2 or 3 years of my life, I was the only grandchild nearby my grandmother, and she and I spent lots of time together. This bond has continued throughout my life, and at times I have felt closer to her than even to my parents (particularly during my anti-parent teenage years).

My grandmother had dreamed since she was a young girl of visiting Ireland. I remember, while I was growing up, asking her if she could visit anywhere in the world, where would she like to go, and she said Ireland without hesitation. However, as she began to grow older and had never left the United States, that dream began to fade, and she said she had given up on it completely years ago.

Then, in November 2000, I moved to Europe to study French. Once I became familiar with the continent and was comfortable traveling around from place to place, I began to try to convince my grandmother to come for a visit. I promised to make all the arrangements and do all the driving and make sure she was ok; all she had to do was come along and enjoy herself.

So, in March of 2002, my 82-year-old grandmother who had never left the United States beyond Tiajuana, Mexico, and Niagara Falls, Canada, flew with my cousin Nathan and met me in Brussels, Belgium. The three of us spent the next 10 days in Belgium, Netherlands, France, Germany, Luxembourg, and of course, Ireland. Seeing my grandmother's face as we stood near the Blasket Islands on the Dingle Peninsula (where the picture above was taken) and hearing her comment in amazement that she never thought she would make it there, was one of the most fulfilling and wonderful moments of my life. My grandmother had given me so much in my life, and now I was able to help her make her dream come true. It doesn't get much better than that.

Postscript- I spoke to my grandmother this morning. She is now 86 years old, in wonderful health, lives in her own place, keeps a garden in the summer, and walks several miles for exercise each week. Aside from having to wear a hearing aid now, you'd never know she was within shooting distance of 90. Today we reminisced about our trip and once again I was reminded how true it is that we so often get things switched around in our minds. I will often be so focused on the plans I have for bringing myself pleasure and fun, but those fun times can often be fleeting and unsatisfying. How much more lasting is the satisfaction of befriending a neglected child, of visiting and cooking dinner for a sick friend, or of making a wonderful lady's dream come true. This is about as serious as I have ever been on this blog, but maybe this thought can encourage someone to look a little bit beyond your routine and responsibilities and look for an opportunity to do something for someone else in your life. All in all, I don't think that would be a bad thing.

Lambert's Cafe

Today I was talking to a friend of mine who lives in Springfield, Missouri, and our conversation turned to a wonderful place that I love to visit whenever I'm near Springfield-- Lambert's Cafe in Ozark. Lambert's actually has 3 locations, the other two being in Sikeston, Missouri, and Foley, Alabama. I first visited Lambert's Cafe in Sikeston in 1988 at the suggestion of a family friend when we were on our way to vacation in Branson, Missouri.

Pretty much anything I have had at Lambert's is delicious, but there are a couple things that make it noteworthy and worth a visit if you're ever nearby. First, the restaurant's nickname is "Home of the Throwed Rolls." This is because, during your meal, a waiter will come out of the kitchen with freshly-baked hot delicious rolls and call out to the customers asking if anyone wants a roll. If you want one, rather than handing it to you, he will actually throw the roll across the room to you. He will then be followed up by someone offering delicious sorghum molasses to put on the rolls. You have to be careful lest you fill up on the rolls alone!

The second notable and fun element of the Lambert's experience is the "pass arounds." As soon as you sit down at your table, servers come by carrying pots of various side dishes that you can eat while waiting for your meal to arrive. In fact, you can actually order an empty plate and make the pass arounds your entire meal. The pass arounds include fried okra (my favorite), delicious fried potatoes with onions, macaroni & tomatoes, and black-eyed peas.

If you have not filled up on all the extras, you can get great main entrees as well. I recommend the meatloaf. It's all "down home" cooking, one of the only things I like about the South. So, if you're ever in Missouri or Alabama, skip lunch and plan a big dinner at Lambert's!

Mardi Gras Origins

In celebration of Mardi Gras eve, I thought I would share one of my favorite and most interesting cultural experiences of my time living in Europe.

THE CARNAVAL DE BINCHE

One of the most fascinating European experiences I have had is attending the Carnaval de Binche in February of 2002. Have you ever wondered where Mardi Gras began? Well, though it can't be confirmed, it is very possible that it began (or at least developed into a major celebration) in the small Belgian town of Binche, between Mons and Charleroi. Even if it didn't start there, you won't find many places where the people are prouder of their carnaval traditions. What Binche does is copied by carnavals throughout Europe.

Mardi Gras (French for "Fat Tuesday" or "Plentiful Tuesday") is the final day of a 3-day, very structured celebration. Each day from Sunday through Tuesday, the people in Binche follow traditions that have lasted for at least 450 years. I only attended the Tuesday celebration, which is the climax and certainly the most interesting part of the carnaval.

As I arrived in the morning, the town was already filling with people. The Grand Place (town center) would become the terminal point of the great cortege (parade) later in the afternoon. Just beyond the Grand Place is a museum honoring the traditions of the Binche carnaval and a statue of a "gille," the central figure of the day.

Even before the parade got going, people were getting into the spirit of the day. I have never seen so many cans of silly string, spray snow, and confetti in my entire life. Just standing there minding my own business, I was sprayed several times with various party substances. Walking along the parade route, I saw that all the windows of the buildings had barricades in front of them (this to protect them from flying projectiles during the parade - see below).

About 3:30 p.m., the parade began. The basic element of the parade is a special orange that is grown in southern France and in Spain. Literally hundreds of thousands of these oranges were shipped into town a week ahead for this parade. Each parade participant would walk down the parade route with a container full of oranges and throw them to the crowd. According to tradition (as told by the Binchois lady who stood next to me during the parade), the oranges are representative of gold coins that were thrown to onlookers during the original parade in 1549, thrown by Marie of Hungary in order to impress her brother. I guess coins got expensive, so they just throw oranges now.

The key thing to remember while watching the parade is, don't look down. I did once, and was pelted in the head by an orange. By the end of the parade, even though I spent most of my time videotaping and taking pictures, I walked away with a couple dozen oranges. The people next to me walked off with at least a bushel of oranges (no exaggeration!). Multiply that by thousands of people along the parade route, and you get an idea of how many oranges were being thrown. The entire place smelled like citrus by the end of the parade.

The parade begins with groups of children, each group dressed in beautiful matching outfits. I was told that each of the outfits is hand-made by the mothers and wives of the parade participants, so the amount of work that goes into this is amazing.

After the children's section of the parade comes the Gilles. The origin of the gille character goes back to 1549, the first parade, when townsfolk dressed up like the "newly-discovered" South American Incas. Over the years, the outfit of the gille developed into what is now a very-specific and meticulously-followed costume (which often includes beautiful headpieces made of ostrich feathers).

The Gilles come in groups according to their associations. As they march (or dance?) slowly down the parade route, each group is followed by a small band generally consisting of a clarinet, several brass instruments, and a few drums. The bands play fun, lively tunes as the gilles throw oranges to the crowds. To be a gille, one must qualify according to some strict guidelines. First, as per the rules of tradition, no women may be gilles. Second, the gille must be Belgian and must be from Binche (exactly what it means to be "from Binche" is laid out in very specific guidelines). Third, once a person has qualified as a gille, he must not do anything that would be disreputable or dishonoring to his position, nor may he march in any other town's carnaval parade. Finally, he may not wear the gille costume except when functioning in his official role in the carnaval.

The age limit for being a gille is apparently about 3 years old on up. In some groups, you can see a young child, his father, and grandfather all participating as gilles, proudly carrying on the tradition of the town. According to the Binchois people, any other carnaval parade you see is only a cheap imitation of their own. And, having seen a couple others, I would concur that no other town I have seen takes such care and pride in the carnaval tradition. If you ever happen to be in Belgium on Mardi Gras day, you would have an unforgettable experience to visit Binche and watch their parade of gilles!

More Blatant Self-Promotion (with just a dash of self-defense)

This is my other big website. What is it? Allow me to explain, lest you think I am seriously twisted. I am fascinated by presidential history. In my travels after college, I began to try to visit the gravesites of each of the deceased presidents. As I did this, I thought it would also be interesting to visit the gravesites of each of the deceased vice-presidents.

Doing the research to find out where these men are buried, I began to notice that many of them were buried in cemeteries where other famous people are also buried. For instance, President Grover Cleveland is buried in Princeton Cemetery in Princeton, New Jersey. Also in that cemetery are Jonathan Edwards (famous theologian and former president of Princeton Seminary), John Witherspoon (signer of the Declaration of Independence), George Gallup (of Gallup poll fame), Charles Hodge (another famous theologian), and Paul Tulane (founder of Tulane University in New Orleans).

Another example, Presidents James Monroe and John Tyler are both buried in Hollywood Cemetery in Richmond, Virginia. Also in that cemetery are buried Jefferson Davis (Confederate President), George Pickett (Confederate General), and a number of other notable people.
So, as I have traveled, I have tried to locate the graves of as many famous people as possible. Currently, I have visited approximately 1,223 famous dead people in 386 cemeteries located in 33 U.S. States (plus Washington D.C.) and 11 other countries.

Why such a morbid hobby, you ask? Well, let me tell you several benefits I have seen personally:

(1) It's a very inexpensive hobby. Since I have a digital camera, I can take many pictures of the places I visit, and my only cost is driving to the place and purchasing CDs to store the pictures. With very few exceptions, cemeteries don't charge you an entrance fee (though they may be very unhelpful at times in assisting your attempt to locate a famous person).

(2) It's a fascinating way to learn about history. Some very famous people have very unnoticed grave markers. On the other hand, some people get bigger markers than they deserve, in my ever-so-humble opinion. Really, though, visiting these gravesites has motivated me to learn much about my own country's history, particularly the Civil War and World War II.

(3) Cemeteries (and this is true more in America than in foreign countries) are some of the most beautiful places you can visit. The cemetery staff is trying to make the place a quiet, serene location for people to say goodbye to their loved ones, so the cemetery will often have beautiful landscaping, ponds, and the like. Even in downtown New York City, you can find a quiet place by visiting a cemetery (and you can also visit Walter Hunt's gravesite while you're at it! - he's the guy who invented the safety pin).

Blatant Self-Promotion

In case it slipped by you when reading the title of my blog, I like to think of myself as half-bilingual. I know enough French to sound pretentious to Anglophones, but my accent and gramamar are something akin to sharp nails on a chalkboard to native French speakers. I did, however, spend nearly 2 years in Europe studying French, and on the off chance that my friends who read this blog are not already aware of my fabulous Travel Journal website, I wanted to point it out here. Stay tuned for an excellent related Mardi Gras post coming up shortly!