Happy Happy!!

With all the holidays converging together this December/January/School Vacation/Family Recognition etc. etc. etc. I will be postponing the January scheduled post until Tuesday the 16th (because even that Monday is a holiday in some places).  Please stay tuned, and in the mean time enjoy this picture that I borrowed from the internet: 

 from:  http://creagrus.home.montereybay.com/vultures.html

September in December

This month’s post will focus a little more specifically on my travels and local interactions.  I’ve been in Belize for a few months now and had the pleasure of being a part of some fun traditions and celebrations.  I’ve even successfully made some tortillas – still not well enough that anyone from Belize would be proud to admit they made them, but well enough that my host mom was proud of me, and sometimes that’s just good enough. 

As you may or may not have noticed, I tend to delay my posts a little.  This month is no exception.  I do this for many reasons, but just a heads up this whole post will be about events that took place in Belize this past September. 

September celebrations are a string of well observed holidays here in Belize.  The one I was most involved with was Independence Day which occurs on the 21^st of September.  The days surrounding the holiday have local parades in which kids decorate their bikes, and even the preschool makes floats to parade through town.  There are fireworks, and there’s food and general jubilation.  The culmination of the festivities is a parade in each of the regional town centers, the biggest and most famous of which happens in Orange Walk Town. 

There are floats and spectacles involving the whole family.  From children who are part of the drum squads, police cadet force, and a program called GREAT, which I imagine is something like the anti-drug campaign DARE in the United States in the 90s, only more focused on gangs than drugs, to adults passing out adult beverages (more on that in a bit).

Here is a video of a particularly energetic and talented youth:

It might be because of our position at the end of the parade route, but there also seemed to be a very wide range of enthusiasm for their part in this spectacle.

Alcohol also plays a big part in the celebrations.  Right at the beginning of the parade, before any of the floats had come through, what I assume were either members of the Belizean Defense Force or Customs officials walked the parade route.

The area is close enough to Mexico that contraband is a problem for the local authorities.  The officials surveyed the crowds and when they saw a group with Mexican beer still in the original containers, they dumped all of it ….

… all that was visible.

Beyond the contraband though, there were many floats which were sponsored by local brewers and distillers.  Many of them even passed out drinks to the crowd as they rode by:

Belikin – arguably the most well known Belizean beer – not only sponsored a float, but they even had the forethought to provide a porta-potty for the revelers on the float.  #thoughtful

Caribbean Rum was a little more low key.  Instead of going all out with a big float, enormous speakers and a DJ, they focused on what they know.  A vat of rum and two guys to hand out drinks was enough to keep the crowd happy.

You needn’t worry though.  The floats that followed provided plenty of beats.  New Wave Soundz packed so many speakers on their float that their DJ had to duck under the parade banner which was hung 3 stories off the ground.

It was a beautiful display of sounds and colors and I look forward to going again next year and seeing what new attractions they can provide.  Bring on year 37!

Housing and Other Oddities in Gratitude

Just about 2 years ago I quit my job, packed up my things and changed countries.  It’s been an amazing adventure.  In the intervening time I have created and sometimes simply experienced some interesting housing situations.  As I have had to navigate voter registration, tax filing, and renewal of my driver’s license it is not lost on me just how transient I’ve become.  One day, about a year ago, I got a call from a social worker from my health insurance company.  When I signed up for coverage they had asked me to complete a survey.  Ever mindful that my professional life often requires data from such surveys, I dutifully complied and in doing so flagged myself as homeless.

I had very mixed feelings about this phone call.  On the one hand, I was thoroughly impressed at the program which my health insurance had to help assist the homeless population in their care.  Should such services be more ubiquitous, I wonder how we could reduce the number of people who fall into that category.  I was unimpressed by the fact that a full year had passed between the time when I filled out the survey and when the social worker called.  Were I to be more traditionally homeless, I wonder whether the phone number at enrollment would be reliable a year later.  A year on the streets, seems to me, is a much longer measure of time.  I did inform my social worker and then quickly ended the call to ensure that her time was spent with other individuals whose transient housing situations were driven more by circumstance than personal choice and non-traditional career paths.

This experience has demonstrated how easy it would be to fall off the grid, or perhaps alternatively, how difficult it is to keep from falling through the cracks of society.  Even answering the simple question of, “what is your address?” becomes complicated.  I’ve never been without a roof over my head, but my legal address, mailing address, permanent address, where I’m registered to vote, and home address have at times all been separate addresses based on the definition required by each system.  I commend the driver’s license bureaucracy for acknowledging homelessness and providing the option of having a shelter as your address, but even this requires certification from a shelter and ignores individuals who are living in their cars or avoid shelters for health and/or safety reasons. 

This is the point at which I pause and thank my wide safety net of friends and family who regularly allow me to crash in their spare bedrooms, couches, and air mattresses on spare sections of the floor.  These people also deserve a shout out because of their utter offense at the notion that I am homeless or somehow outside of society.  I am also grateful for Airbnb.  As much as I recognize that the disruption in housing markets has caused inflated prices and potentially resulted in more transience, there is no other way in which I could imagine living 2 weeks in one location, and 6 more in another.  No way in which I could have afforded to chase the opportunities that I have had. 

I am grateful because I am fortunate. Because of this new perspective on my own fortunes I hope I am also more cognizant of the fortunes of others.

Gratitude – an unnumbered series of posts

I’ve been wanting to write and reflect on how grateful I am but felt like no matter how I wrote it, the end result would be a humble brag.  So let me start this exposé by saying I am grateful to have so much to humbly brag about and I am also grateful to have those around me who remind me that my reality is not typical and worthy of extra thanks and recognition.

This series was written while “stranded” in an airport.  I had woken up at ridiculous o’clock in the morning, had a lovely conversation with a gentleman on the bus who was dreading the coming day and his 16 hour shift.  Flew through security to arrive barely on time to receive a text from the airline informing me that my flight – which was scheduled to board in 5 minutes – was unceremoniously cancelled without explanation.  I spent the next 2 hours on the phone and in-line being sent always to the next customer service representative because whoever I was currently speaking with had some kind of “view only” software capability and hadn’t actually been trusted to serve customers.

Finally, at the end of the two hours, I resigned myself to my fated airport limbo, despite the fact that I knew I could rent a car and drive to my destination arriving two hours before my newly scheduled departure time.

Expecting a short flight without connections, I was woefully unprepared to spend 8 hours in the airport waiting for my next departure.  Frustrated with my predicament, I went in search of entertainment.  I needed a new notebook anyway so I decided to search one out and indulge in writing some of the backlogged blogposts that have been floating around in my brain.  3 stores later, I was approached by the sales woman.  It was a tiny store and her question, “Can I help you find something?” had more concern and confusion which put the emphasis on the fact that she clearly believed I needed help of some kind, but probably not of the shopping assistance variety. 

Knowing that I was clearly in the wrong store, I asked, “Do you know of anywhere in the terminal where I could buy paper?”  [Pause of confusion on both sides.] “… of any kind, but preferably of the notebook variety.”  Her face lit up!  “We have TWO notebooks!”  She’d clearly expected that they would never sell.

Exhibit A and evidence that I chose wisely (hint: check out the name of this Blogovel)

I brought the notebook to the cashier and handed him a 20 dollar bill.  The cashier’s eyes shot from my hand to the credit card machine, back to the cash in my hand.  Eventually something clicked and he took the money laughing at my excessively analogue interaction.  

Walking out of the store I was struck by the triviality of my frustrations.  Yes.  My trip was off-schedule and would take longer than expected.  Yes.  The delay cut into time with family.  Yes, this delay would also cost money for entertainment and food costs in the crazy economy that is an American airport.  

All-in-all though, I was stepping onto a modern marvel which would transport me hundreds of miles in a matter of minutes.  I had a plethora of things that have caloric value and resemble food at my disposal, safe drinking water, and the means to purchase additional supplies as needed.  Top all of this off with literacy, time, and space to write and the ability to interact in this environment as an unaccompanied woman, with relative safety and I had reasons to be grateful.  So there you have it.  This begins my series on gratitude.  As I start yet another transition and accumulate stories for future posts, I will leave you with some gratitude to keep you thinking and reflecting.  Thank you for being part of my community of readers, writers, and observers.

*Epilogue*

In the days that followed the writing of this blog post, I was subject to 4 flight cancelations, spent over 48 hours stranded in various airports and only about 8 hours flying.  When Murphy’s Law takes hold, find something to hold onto … apparently my something is airport security screened.

Where I'm From and Where I'm Going

Outside there is a thunder storm raging unlike any I have ever heard.  To compare the boom of thunder to Thor’s Hammer would be to greatly underestimate the power of the explosion outside my window.  In a vast contrast, the rain trickles in a serene consistency beckoning the unsuspecting toward the land of nod – only to be violently awoken by the next cacophonous blast. Even in these surroundings, it is not about my new home that I write, but about the one I left behind.

I’ve been doing this travel writing thing for a while now.  The hardest articles to write are the ones about places that you leave behind.  While the destinations are exciting and hold a vast treasure trove of unexpected observations, it is sometimes difficult to find just the right words to describe what it is you are moving from, but travelers always have a departure for every arrival. 

In my travels, I sometimes visit small rural communities.  Their quaintness and the tight weave of the network of inhabitants remind me of a home I once left.  It wouldn’t be fair to say that everyone knows everyone. It would be fair to say that you’re no more than one degree of separation from everyone in town.  I recently received some bad news which affects not one, but 5 of those someones.  Unfortunately, I don’t know which 5. 

I will stop there.  While I am sad and this is something that I am dealing with, it isn’t the point of this post.  As some of you know, I have moved on to a new and exciting destination and will spinning new yarns of Central America and gorgeous worlds and lands.  Before I do that though I need pay tribute to the places of yore.  In my new home, I see a small tight knit committee in which neighbors are family and kids are sent next door to play.  Everyone watches out for the kids in the street because they aren’t “their” kids, they are “our” kids.  It is easy to recognize because that is how I grew up.  Kids waited at the bus stop well after their parents left for work because if one kid missed the bus, whichever neighborhood parent was home would bring them.

I am living with a new family who has taken me in as one of their own.  This is also not a first for me.  I am often reminded of another family who sheltered within their community and called me one of their own.  I will forever be connected to both of these families. 

It is in part because of the places that I come from that I can see the love and community in the places where I will go.  Because I have been fortunate enough to be connected to so many places, it is also inevitable that pain and misfortune will reach communities that I am a part of. 

Tonight I am missing home, and worried about the people there, but I am grateful to have so many places to call home and so many people that I am connected to.

….

Life is very hectic at the moment and does not include much internet access.  That said, I am still writing.  As a temporary measure to keep the content flowing, I will begin a series of posts that I’ve been working on, but which have very little to do with my current travels.  Please enjoy my thoughts on gratitude over the coming months.  

Group Travel

I’ve mentioned here before that I am often a solo traveler.  I would estimate that my travel for the past decade has fallen almost entirely in 3 categories.  

1. Solo travel
2. Visiting someone in my friend or family base.
3. Travel for work/education - often venturing alone. 

This spring though I deviated from my typical pattern and traveled 3,000 miles from my current home to spend time with people who live very close to me … and in one case, I was traveling a quarter of the way around the world to spend time with my upstairs neighbor.  The experience was entirely foreign to me.  In fact, I think the first thing I said when I got off the plane and saw my three friends waiting for me at the end of the gangway was something like, “This is so weird.  I shouldn’t know you people.  This is a layover. I should be alone.”  

Traveling with other people creates a whole new set of experiences in addition to those provided by the venue that you’re visiting.  Want to get coffee?  Cool.  

Solo traveler:  Stop at the next acceptable shop and buy yourself a coffee according to your needs and whims. 

Group traveler:  Check in with the group.  Do we also want food?  Coffee to go or sitting preferable?  When you say coffee, do you mean pour-over or espresso/latte drink?  Oh sure, iced coffee …. ummmm that may take some more work.  20 minutes later 75% of your group may have what they were looking for.

Reading through that it seems so much harder, but it’s also a great challenge.  During past layovers my greatest challenge was to find a place where I could either sleep in relative security, or figure out a way to stay awake until my boarding time.  With a group that’s not really an issue.  If we’d wanted to, we could have cordoned off an area and slept with security in numbers.  In reality our greatest concern was not spending so much time joking and making fun of each other that we ended up leaving a trail of belongings behind us. 

Things in jeopardy of being left behind: one fitbit, two wallets, an entire carry-on bag, and one passport.  

It is possible that jetlag played a part in this as well.  

The beauty of traveling with friends is that you see a side of them that you otherwise might not.  It’s not like these new traits are wholly unexpected or in any way out of character, but everyone is out of their element and does not have access to typical coping mechanisms.  

Easily distracted?  Well, there’s no normal routine to keep you mostly on track.  

At one point, we were on our way to dinner, wandering through a section of a city where I used to live.  Two of the people in our group were a little bit ahead of the other two.  I was part of the group in back.  When we passed an alley that led to where I used to live, I got distracted and led the two of us in the back off on  a parallel street to check out my old home.  Of course, after venturing off, it DID occur to me that the remaining companions may miss us, but I also knew that at the end of the block the two streets converged again.  Worst case scenario, we were all headed to the same restaurant and would meet up there. By the time we met up again at the restaurant, there were stories of searching for lost travel mates, meeting points set and plans for how long to wait before calling the police (only about 20 minutes had passed).  

There were also several instances involving people who are exceptionally prone to losing things.  The assumption was always that if you couldn't immediately locate an item it MUST have been left behind.  This assumption wasn't without merit, however large amounts of time ended up being spent to locate phones, wallets, fit bits and an errant parking ticket that was usually in the person’s pocket the whole time.

The best part of all of this is the stories.  We have a huge list of inside jokes which only we will ever understand, but an equally long list of stories that are entirely relatable to anyone who’s ever been away from home and outside of their usual surroundings.  

It was such a good experience that I’ve decided to do it again in June.  Next stop:  Island life!

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Blizzard Bliss

 Today seems like a good day to announce that this blog-o-vel will soon be approaching the equator.  Today is the best day, because so far today I’ve spent 2 hours shoveling snow.  By the end of my last round of shoveling, my clothes were soaked through and I was frozen to the bone.

It was wonderful.  I haven’t been that thoroughly cold, wet, and entertained by the snow for a very long time.  As much as I’ll be pleased if this is the last big storm I have to shovel, I was glad to have one more big day this year.  

Hot Cocoa is 20% more enjoyable on days when you're cold*. 

I’m reminded of a time approximately 10 years ago when I was traveling with a very good friend of mine.  She and I had been living in a desert climate where temperatures often soared above 100 °F (37 °C).  I can’t tell you for certain what the temperature was; it was so hot that all of the thermometers being sold in the local bazaars had broken because the climate exceeded their heat tolerance.  Community members told stories boasting temperatures over 50 °C, which seemed a tad hyperbolic.  Later, I scoured internet records and find at least one day there was a recording of 55 °C (131 °F).  That’s hot.  My little temperate brain never learned words that adequately describe that kind of heat.

She and I had dreamt of cooler temperatures.  We’d been in the heat so long that we couldn’t even imagine anymore what it would feel like to be cool.  We wished for it.  We dreamt of it without really being able to conceptualize it anymore.  Then we crossed a border. 

We had left the desert and it happened to be monsoon season in one of our destinations.  Neither of us had fully researched the local weather patterns and - it only being the first storm - we decided to push on through the rain.  In a mad dash we raced through the mud and the torrent of water and arrived sopping wet, covered in red clay at the border crossing just as the rain petered out.  It had stopped raining 30 minutes after it had begun.  Apparently that was the norm.  Clear all day.  30 minute cloud burst in the afternoon.  Clear or cloudy in the evening.  Brave tourists that we were, we carried on despite the monsoon and arrived 5 minutes before the rest of the border crossers, just that we arrived a hot mess.

Once we got to the other side, we found a cab and paid our fare to head back to the capitol. That’s where we encountered it.  Glorious.  Idyllic.  Air Conditioning.  It had been so long since either of us had been cool.  It was a marvel.  For a solid 15 minutes in the back of the cab we celebrated.  For the next 15 minutes we relaxed and enjoyed, and for the following 3.5 hours we froze. 

When we finally arrived at our destination, I couldn’t stop shivering and remember being so cold that my muscles ached, and it was hard to get out of the car.  She and I talked after the car ride and there were two things keeping us miserable for those 3.5 hours.  One was a very real language barrier.  The cab driver imagined himself a fluent English speaker, but neither of us was able to understand him nor he us.  That was really only a half excuse though as she and I are both adept at communicating even when we do not share a common language with the other person. The real reason we both sat in pain in that car, with very real physical responses to the cold, was that we knew it could be a very long time before we experienced such a marvelous chill again.

It is with this story in mind, that I try not to wish away the last remaining chill before heading to 2+ years of equatorial bliss.  

 *not a real statistic