Photo: smokeonit

For me, going abroad – admittedly with a bit of trepidation and fear – my junior year of college was something I decided to do in part because several good friends had already done the same thing. And they loved it.

Tons of wine, endless pasta, bread, and cheese, and gorgeous surroundings in Florence? This did not sound like a problem.

But, as Nomadic Matt recently noted, I find myself in the minority. He questions why Americans still aren’t traveling overseas, a subject he first tackled in a post last year.

Yes, 21% of Americans have their passports now as compared to 15% a few years ago (obviously, still a pathetically low number). But travel off of the North American, and higher areas of the South American, continents has actually decreased. According to Matt, more people have passports because you need them to get to Canada, Mexico and the Caribbean, where travel has increased.

Less About Money, More About Ignorance

Photo: Capture Queen ™

His reasoning? It’s not so much that people don’t have the money to travel, even in these hard economic times, but it has more to do with cultural ignorance, as in “not knowing about other cultures” and not “Americans are ignorant buffoons.”

Other factors include fear, priorities around work, and lack of awareness – especially politically.

Despite the rise of China, Brazil, and India, our politicians tell us everything in America is the best (yet #38 in healthcare). Countries will always do what we want. America is the leader. We are the city upon a hill. An when you are the best, why go to “godforsaken” countries where they hate you for being American and might rob you?

Last year, Julie Schwietert asked if Americans are afraid of travel after the not-so-excited reaction to Obama’s Middle East and Europe trip in July 2008. She noted, “It’s a trip that should make America proud (particularly given the geographic and diplomatic gaps in the current president’s consciousness), but Americans’ response to Obama’s trip has been curiously tepid.”

And we all know how media loves to stir up our fears of the “other.” As Sarah Menkedick wrote in response to the media shitstorm blaming the three Americans held in Iran, “There are two themes here. One is that travel (outside of the U.S and perhaps Western Europe) is dangerous, reckless, and stupid. The other is that only starry-eyed, pot-smoking hippie backpackers are dumb enough to try it, and they get what they deserve.”

The Flip Side

On the other side of the argument, you have a few people noting that “Americans are still traveling abroad,” despite the economic downturn. Not sure if this Forbes Traveler piece makes a good argument, though; yes, travel only slipped less than 1% from 2007 to 2008, but the 2009 numbers up until May showed a 7.7% decrease compared to the same time last year.

Or, as Katy Steinmetz stated in a piece she wrote last year, Behind the myth that few Americans have passports, not only is the accepted statistic wrong (the number is really more around 30%), but that economics and poverty really are at play. On top of the high cost of passports, taking care of your family, buying food, and paying for that healthcare plan, people are left with few dollars to go anywhere, even with a good deal on Orbitz.

Do you think Americans don’t travel abroad because of ignorance and politics, or does it have more to do with money? Share your thoughts below.

Photo: King Chimp

The original plan for today was to find and write about something funny making it’s way around the internet, it being Friday and all.

Or maybe something about Halloween, its origins as All Hallows Eve, the day before the beautiful celebration of the Day of the Dead.

But instead, I feel a bit overwhelmed. Overwhelmed with being a woman, living today, in the world in which we live.

That might come as a surprise, what with me being a white gal living in America, and though far from rich, just as far from destitute.

Yet, I can’t turn off what happens to my sisters throughout the world, both abroad and right down the street. From death threats to a doctor who performs reconstructive surgery on women ripped to shreds through female genital mutilation, to the gang rape of a 15-year-old high school student by up to ten 16-25 year-olds in the town next to where I used to live, we are not safe.

We are mothers, we are sisters, we are friends. We give the gift of life to those who wish to keep us down or take our lives.

I can’t help but recount the number of women I’ve known that have been sexually abused, assaulted, or raped repeatedly. There are many more that have than not. I also can’t help but struggle with my own “maybe” and all the implications it has had for my life. Who would I be now if it, whatever “it” was, hadn’t happened?

The Power of a Single Moment

Think, for just a moment, what effect we have on each other in our passing interactions every single day. Bridges are built or destroyed by single words or sentences, intentions are paramount to success or failure, and whether we choose to scream out in anger or somehow engage in dialogue can impact us for hours, days, weeks and months to come.

Photo: Ingorrr

Now think about the long term impact of an unwanted, and as is often the case for young girls, a misunderstood advance. The repercussions are a life of mistrust of themselves just as much as others, and acting out in ways in can take a long time to process or come to terms with.

Further down the line, you have women that will never, ever, EVER experience sexual pleasure in their lives – and in a way, what it means to be a woman – because all that is left “down there” is scar tissue.

What about the ever present “rape as war tactic” that is valued by military (and apparently, peacekeepers) the world over, despite the recent UN resolution classifying it as a weapon of war? What exactly does that resolution do to change anything?

And maybe, worst of all (is this even an area for comparisons?), are those girls and women, living in “free” Western countries, who are sexual slaves. Look no further than the Houston Maria Bonita Cantina or the Asian massage parlors in San Francisco to contemplate the complete ravage of life this $8 billion international industry promotes. I’d honestly rather be dead than in their place.

The End of Oppression?

As I write, I wonder if this world will ever exist without the oppression of women. Even that word, oppression, hardly scratches the surface of what these tactics do to women; they rob part of our soul. There has got to be a word that when said, strikes at the heart of men who commit acts against women – something that implores them to feel what tremendous pain and anguish their actions cause.

At the very least, I’m amazed again and again at the resilience I see in the many beautiful women that surround me near and far. There is a small part of me that understands that even if they rob a bit of your soul, it’s regenerative, like a starfish. We have the power to heal ourselves.

But what can also help it to regenerate are the men who understand it’s not about protecting the women you love – it’s about changing the mindset of the men who don’t love women.

Please share your thoughts on this subject below.

Cover of Nov’s Wired magazine.

Chances are, you may know someone that has contracted swine flu. There’s also a good chance that they got sick, were laid out for a few days, and then got better (just like the regular flu season).

So why the global hysteria around getting the flu vaccine?

Everytime I turn on the news, the reporters are citing a new study that says H1N1 is even more potent than ever; in fact, it affects YOUNG HEALTHY ADULTS the worst! Public areas are plastered with signs shouting foreboding messages like “Take your life into your own hands. WASH THEM.”

Now, with the “second wave” of the flu season upon us, Obama declares H1N1 a national emergency.

It’s enough to scare everyone into being first in line for the flu vaccine. And that’s exactly what some people have done.

On Saturday, Oct 24, the Omaha News reported that:

Hundreds of people [stood] out in the cold, trying to avoid getting a cold. So many people showed up to get their shots, the clinic was forced to turn dozens away.

And yet…not everyone is buying into the flu shot. In fact, some polls say 48% of Canadians will not get the shot. In the USA, that number has climbed to 60%.

The Culture Of Fear

I’m one of the those Canadians who is suspicious of the flu shot. While I have nothing against vaccination, I find myself at odds with the H1N1 vaccine, likely stemming from a number of factors:

• the vaccine felt rushed out the door, and in fact, had been approved with no testing by Health Canada.
• the severity of the flu seems vastly over-hyped;
• and perhaps most importantly: why has the media been so eager to whip up a culture of fear?

Sure, scary headlines sell newspapers and help their ailing bottom line. But even so, I’m suspicious of a hidden agenda when I see not one, but TWO cover stories on prominent magazines telling me I HAVE to get the flu shot or HUMANITY WILL PERISH.

Take the Wired issue this month. The cover features an innocent child with the word FEAR emblazoned above its head. The lead story is titled: An Epidemic of Fear: How Panicked Parents Skipping Shots Endangers Us All.

Likewise, Maclean’s (Canada’s Time magazine), ran a blood red cover story this week: SWINE FLU FIASCO: Everyone needs the H1N1 vaccine. Says the article:

People are being bombarded by “on the one hand” and “on the other hand” studies and recommendations. “There is confusion,” says Dr. Sarah Kredentser, president of the College of Family Physicians of Canada. “And I think it’s warranted confusion, because the messages keep changing.”

Killing The Shot

I don’t consider myself a conspiracy theorist – which is why I’m not bothering to attribute the vaccine to some nefarious Illuminati plan to initiate a mass die-off before ushering in of the new world order.

Yet everytime I consider changing my mind and getting the shot, I’m hit with another demand to get the vaccine or face CERTAIN DEATH. And so, ironically, my resistance to rolling up my sleeve stems mainly from the frenzy created by public health officials and the media.

This is a huge blunder on their part, explains a Washington Post article from 2005, when the news was all about Avian Flu (remember that one?):

To promote vaccine use, many in the public health community have overstated the risk of flu-related death and the effectiveness of the vaccine in preventing it. While the flu vaccine may have some important benefit (less flu-related illness), we really do not know whether it reduces the risk of death.

The dangers of hyping fear are serious:

Public health officials should not exaggerate risks or benefits to promote vaccination. Exaggeration carries a price: Not only do some people get scared and engage in behaviors that increase their risk (like waiting in a crowded clinic for a flu shot). They may also grow cynical and end up ignoring health messages that really matter.

What do you think? Do you plan on getting the flu shot? Share your thoughts in the comments!

Photo: mfajardo

I know that there are quite a few of us out there that try to stay local when traveling. And by “stay local,” I don’t mean literally staying smack in the middle of town (though that may be part of the agenda).

Rather, I’m saying that many of us like to experience the place we are visiting by eating the local foods, shopping at the local stores, and frequenting local coffee shops and bars.

Enter “Localwashing” – coming soon to a town near you.

Yep, corporations have taken notice of the “shop local” movements happening in countries throughout the world. In a recent post at Utne.com, author Stacy Mitchell notes that HSBC, one of the world’s largest banks, has a new tagline: “the world’s local bank.” Ah.

It gets better, though. Probably a few of you have heard about Starbucks closing shops in Seattle in order to reopen them under the local-sounding name, “15th Avenue Coffee and Tea” (sorry, Starbucks, cat’s out of the bag). And the good ole’ southern US grocery chain, Winn-Dixie, just launched a new ad campaign that states: “Local flavor since 1956.”

Here’s my absolute favorite:

The International Council of Shopping Centers, a consortium of mall owners and developers, has poured millions of dollars into television ads urging people to “Shop Local”—at their nearest mall.

Alright, with the growth of ad campaigns that implore us to “shop local” including both the independent local grocery store and the Wal-Mart that carries some local, organic produce, some may wonder what the true difference is for the town in which they are located.

Well, shop at a chain store, and only $13 out of every $100 stays locally, even when they have some local produce, crafts, or clothes. Shop at a local store (which may still have corporate products on their shelves) and $45 out of $100 goes back into the community.

The Traveler’s Conundrum

Photo: Jason Langlois

In the past, we’ve looked at secrets for eating like a local when traveling to a new destination, and the importance of local self-reliance in the “creation of a local economy for food and other essential goods…relying upon traditional knowledge of medicinal plants, herbs, barks, roots, and ferments in health care.”

But what does Localwashing mean to travelers? Sure, this ‘revolution’ is starting out in American cities and suburbs, but as we all know, corporations reach their grubby little hands all over the world. So watch out for those Maharaja Macs at a local Mumbai eatery – you might just have walked into the golden arches cleverly disguised trap.

What do you think about the “Localwashing” movement? Share your thoughts below.

Blowing bubbles / Photo: taiger808

One of my earliest memories is of listening to my sister read aloud the entire series of Little House on the Prairie books, a set of texts that has, weirdly, begun to come back to me in vivid detail ever since I came to Cambodia.

(The maple candies they made in the snow, the leeches clinging to Laura’s legs in the creek bed, the way her aunt and uncle looked at each other at the Christmas dance, and even the bookmark of red and green braided yarn that Dawn placed between the pages.)

Back then, I lived for the local library, the explosion of possibility that was the children’s room—endless shelves of Encyclopedia Brown and Boxcar Children, and I would read them all, I was certain, because even at six, seven, eight, I valued intellect above all else.

For most of life, my affair with books has seemed a gift. But I regret to report that here, in Cambodia, reading is more problematic. It highlights all my eccentricities, draws out my hermit-like qualities.

Is it possible that books, my old friends, are responsible for turning me into a social misfit?

Enter The Book Snob

Before I left New York, one of my coworkers asked me which three books I would take to a desert island. This is an impossibly difficult question for any true reader, but he had developed some rules to guide me.

Book exchange / Photo: jeb ro

Rahul had spent a lot of time in Afghanistan, and he insisted that when I packed for Cambodia, at least one volume needed to be one of impressively beautiful and intricate language. “Because let’s face it,” he said. “You’re going to eventually get tired of being around people who can’t speak English very well.”

Cambodia and its pidgin English has not turned me into a book snob; I have always been one. But it is true that the list of people here who can carry on a conversation about a book is very short, resulting in the double wallop of both superiority and guilt that I feel when I am, say, reading an E.L Doctorow book on the porch while a crowd of people follow a garbage truck up the street to pick through my neighbors’ trash.

No matter how many strides Cambodia makes in the next fifty years, those people will never be reading Doctorow, and who knows how many generations will pass until they get his equal who writes novels in Khmer. That was the first ominous sign—the inevitable gap that reading puts between me and the culture I currently live in.

The Promise Of The Unknown

But there is more. The sight of our rickety rattan book shelves has begun to fill me with despair, not because of what’s there, but because of what’s not.

Let me be clear—I am nowhere close to running out of things to read. My boyfriend and I agonized over which volumes to bring, and, taking up an inordinate amount of luggage space with our choices, humped many pounds worth of books through the Bangkok airport, down the coast to Sihanoukville, north again to Phnom Penh, and then onward to their current home in Siem Reap.

I have not made it through even half of them yet. Plus, our roommate has a taste for the classics, and I’m sure I could spend much of the remainder of my stay finally reading Don Quixote.

There are also many secondhand bookstores (though these are subject to the dubious tastes of Western backpackers—I typically avoid these shops, afraid that I will not be able to resist the urge to chuck the extensive Jodi Picoult and Robert Patterson collection into the street).

So it is not books that I miss. What I miss is the freedom of not knowing which book I am going to read next. I miss Barnes and Noble, I miss the Strand, I miss having an address that Amazon can actually find. I miss the children’s reading room of the Lexington Local Library.

The Authors Speak

So far I have been talking about things which are merely a shame or an inconvenience, but we are now about to veer into the territory of questionable mental stability, because more than ever before, it seems as though the authors of the books that I read here are speaking directly to me.

Monks / Photo: beggs

I almost wept while reading the preface (the preface, for Heaven’s sake) of Slouching Towards Bethlehem by Joan Didion.

“Yes!” I wanted to tell her. “I am shy, too! I am bad at talking on the telephone, too! I, too, like drinking gin!” For the past five days, Joan has been soothing me, talking to me about my family, my failures, my neuroses, my departure from New York.

That happens to be a book of nonfiction, but fiction is even more capable of cutting to the quick. There is something about Cambodia, be it the quantity of time I spend in my own head writing or the primal fragility of the life around me, that seems to strip away artifice and make my psychological simplicity painfully obvious.

I am as transparent as a character in a novel with an omnipotent narrator. It is me that Naeem Murr is describing when Lew needs someone to hurt more than he hurts; it is me that Donna Tartt is describing when Harriet can no longer see life through the windshield, but only through the rearview mirror.

Who but John Steinbeck could understand that I have the repressed anger of Tom Joad, the wounded optimism of Rose of Sharon?

Hiding In The Pages

And all of this, you might say, is not a bad thing, simply a deeper connection to the written artifacts that have always mattered to me. The problem is that it has resulted in a revulsion at the flesh and blood, particularly that of Western origin, that surrounds me.

These authors seem so much more real to me than the hordes of volunteers and tourists I brush elbows with every day. Unlike most Khmer, they could read Wallace Stegner if they wanted to, but most opt for sudoku instead.

Have I always been such a snotty misanthrope? Was it just easier to hide in America? I can’t remember.

All I know is that I want and need to have more in common with Joan Didion (even if it is a version of Joan Didion that only existed thousands of miles and forty years away from the here and now) than I have in common with that German girl at the next table who is dangling a pedicured foot over the back of a chair while she eats breakfast and thumbs through a guide book.

What has my brainy bookishness earned me? E.L Doctorow doesn’t live in Siem Reap, Denis Johnson doesn’t take me out for drinks on Friday nights, not even J.K. Rowling is interested in Khmer karaoke.

No one told me in elementary school that a spot in the highest reading group would come at a price. Because any time you excel, any time you separate yourself from the rest of the pack, you are also learning to isolate yourself.

And yet all of those pages, Little House in the Big Woods to The Grapes of Wrath and everything that came between, are so much a part of me that it is hard to imagine, let alone wish for, any alternative.

Nothing I have said here changes the fact that I need books now more than ever; it is no small feat for printed letters to provide the kind of purpose and beauty that they have for me.

It’s just that it’s lonely out here on the prairie sometimes, and I wish that Laura Ingalls Wilder was around to keep me company.

What do you think? Share your thoughts in the comments!

Small firecrackers play a role in Diwali / Photo: sowri

On Saturday, India celebrates Diwali, their traditional New Year’s, after several days of festivities. It is also known as the ‘Festival of Lights’, because homes are lit with candles, string lights, and clay pots with oil and wicks, which signify the good over evil within an individual.

I was lucky enough to be a part of a big ole’ Diwali celebration three years ago, when Non-Stop Bhangra celebrated their anniversary and this Indian holiday the same night. We danced onto the stage carrying tea lights as an example of the tradition, but I’m sure people were upset we didn’t have any sweets to throw into the audience.

Here’s a clip of that night (minus the bhangra music, unfortunately):

Here are a couple of things worth mentioning that happened to celebrate Diwali this week:

• Seems Dhanteras, which comes right before Diwali, is considered an auspicious time. So Jaspal Singh, along with about 25,000 other people in India, waited until this day in order to buy new cars, since it is the day “considered best to buy metal goods.” I’m guessing those auto dealers are happy.

• Even President Obama got his Hindi-celebration-on, being the first sitting President to observe the holiday by having a pah-ty in the East Wing of the White House. Wonder if he waved his hands in the air, waved ‘em around like he just didn’t care?

• Ok, this wasn’t this week, but who could forget Michael explaining Diwali to us via song on Season 3 of The Office? If you need a little reminder, check out the video.

Light a candle or two on Saturday, the official end of the holiday, to join in the fun.

Happy Diwali!

Community Connection

Check out Shreya Sanghani’s guide to 10 Indian Customs To Know Before Visiting India, and Eva Holland’s review of the popular niche travel book, Wanderlust and Lipstick for Women Traveling to India.

Hijras in Southern New Dehli / Photo: rahuldlucca

The first time I heard the hand claps, I didn’t know what was coming.

Already, the train journey from Chennai to Kolkata was proving to be a challenging one. As we were getting nearer to one of the poorest areas in India, there was a constant procession of beggars. We were four westerners and too many Indian men sitting together in a regular sleeper-class train compartment.

At every stop, children, men, and women dressed in rags and despair would offer food, goods, or entertainment in the hopes of making a few rupees. Their eyes robbed me of any ease I might be feeling about being there and owning what I own.

Still, the most disturbing encounters were yet to come.

The hijras – eunuchs, transsexuals, or transgender men – announced themselves by clapping their hands and making a racket. When they arrived to our compartment, they stood in all their weight and flamboyance, requiring money before allowing us to continue quietly with our travels.

Fear and Intimidation

The first group that came around did not insist much and were relatively easy to ignore, but the next one proved to be a more experienced and robust couple of go-getters. They quickly selected a sweet-looking Indian man in his late twenties as their victim, and baptized him ‘Uncle’ for the occasion.

Photo: Pladys

The bigger of the two hijras got close to him and began to spurt, in an unpleasant tone of voice, what sounded like obscenities in Hindi. Sweet ‘Uncle’ blushed profusely and said nothing.

No one said anything, but everyone was staring. None of the other Indians looked like they wanted to fight this man’s battle. The New-Zealand woman sitting in front of me could not hide the disdain, disbelief and pure horror from her face as the situation escalated.

For myself, I thought it was not a time to appear impressed. Luckily, I had read William Dalrymple’s City of Djinns: A Year in Delhi, in which he tells the stories of a few hijras in Delhi. I knew of their existence, but I did not know they carried out their business in trains, and it was unclear just how far they were willing to go for the money.

As the sweet Indian man was not surrendering any rupees, the big hijra stepped in front of him, lifted his own sari a few times and proceeded to dangle and swing what was left of his “manhood” nearly into the face of the victim. More vulgar sounds ensued and the hijra then bent over to whisper into the man’s ear before slapping him repeatedly on the cheeks.

The intimidation culminated with the two hijras assaulting him, grabbing his wallet and self-serving themselves with the money.

They cursed and left, saying something that might have meant “What is the world coming to, seriously!” It would have made a good scene in a Pedro Almodovar or David Lynch movie – depending on your perspective.

The woman from New Zealand looked like she wanted to call the police or did not understand why security wasn’t there already. Perhaps it was her first day in India. My friend sitting between me and the victim looked on with a stare that had lost some innocence. I figured we were coming out of it all the more learned about the world.

Outside the Norm

Hijras are often referred to as members of the ‘3rd gender’ in India. They themselves will describe their sexual identity as being neither male nor female. Many have undergone castration, or are otherwise of ambiguous sexual status.

They are usually rejected for what they are and the way they live. Still, they are tolerated when they show up uninvited at special ceremonies such as births and weddings where they cash in for performing dances and blessings.

Avoiding confrontation and the curse of the hijras seems to be the priority for Indians in such circumstances.

In any case, they are marginalized and largely left to their own devices to sustain themselves – which include prostitution, dancing, singing and sexual embarrassments of various kinds.

It was not always as such for the hijras. Their presence is recorded far back into India’s history. During the time of the Muslim rule before the British, the hijras had a place at court and were generally valued by society. They did not have to resort as much to the sometimes vulgar means of survival they lend themselves to today.

Yet, as a result of their marginalization, a closely-knit subculture has evolved, and in recent years hijras are slowly emerging on the national stage, standing up for their rights.

No Surrender

A few more groups of hijras came along the train before we reached our final destination, but none were as ferocious as the first group.

Photo: Whitney Lauren

One hijra touched my face at some point so as to provoke me. But without looking at him I simply raised my fist slowly and slightly.

He left without insisting.

I was later told that it was a very bad idea to take on a hijra as they are notoriously aggressive and can come back with reinforcement. Was this simply prejudice or wise advice from a kind Indian man? I was perhaps lucky to not have found out.

What do you think about the hijras approach? Share your thoughts below.

Community Connection

See the beauty that India has to offer in photographer Allison Grossman’s photo essay Window on India. There’s also good reasons to visit India in the summer, as Mariellen Ward outlines in Indian Summer: 11 Reasons to Visit India in the Summertime.

Jamie in India

The first time I saw What About Me? at a Melbourne film festival, I was transfixed. This film that weaves world music together with heady topics on humanity is layered so thick, you can’t help but get lost in it.

It was put together by 1 Giant Leap — Jamie Catto and Duncan Bridgeman — over four years from material gathered from seven months on the road.

A few musicians and thinkers you’ll recognize straight away: Michael Stipe, KD Lang, Carlos Santana, Noam Chomsky, Stephen Fry. Yet there are many more you won’t, but will be touched by just as deeply or more.

It will leave you pondering and hungry to continue the conversation.

The Manifest Of One Giant Leap

“We need to collectively admit that we’re not fine, we’re not confident and balanced and good. We turn up to work every day pretending we’re not neurotic and obsessed and insatiable and full of doubt, and we waste so much energy keeping up this mutual pretense for each other because we think if people saw the truth, if people really knew what was going on in our heads, all the crazy truth of our dark appetites and self loathing, then we’d get rejected.

But in fact, the opposite is true. It’s when we dare to reveal the truth that we unwittingly give everyone else permission to do the same. To stop holding their breath for a moment and actually come into the room. Be here, present, vulnerable and authentic.

We’re on a mission to make self-reflection hip for just a moment, just long enough to save us. If we can all collectively acknowledge our insanity, shrug and roll our eyes at each other at how nuts it is being a human, let alone having to pretend every day that we’re ‘normal’, the amount of energy we’ll inherit that has been wasted on the mask will be enough to creatively solve any global crisis.”

The interview with Jamie Catto

It took some time, but I eventually connected with Jamie Catto over Skype.

While I was already in my PJs in Melbourne, he was busy cooking up a lunch of fish sticks and mashed potatoes for the kids in Spain. So over the din of crashing pots and chopping of food, we conversed about What About Me?

BNT: Jamie, this was quite the ambitious project. What possessed you to do it and how much support did you have?

It didn’t feel like such a huge thing when we decided to do it. The support that we had was everyone in the world, all the individuals in the countries who pointed us in the right directions, who said, “Oh, down there…there’s an amazing pagan ceremony on Sunday,” or, “over here, there’s a guy who plays cello like you wouldn’t believe…my sister knows his number.”

Photo: shyald

The biggest challenge — apart from the 7-month journey around the world to do it — is that you have to be on every single day.

You know, you’ve got three hours with Alanis Morisette, you’ve got 2 hours with Eckhart Tolle the next day, and every single time you’re with someone, especially a musician, you have to arrive, get on well with them, inspire them on one of the bits of music, compose something brilliant, AND get the perfect take before you have to leave.

To do that every single day, for 200 days, is a bit of a headfuck.

Was the end result what you and Duncan had envisioned at the start?

Certainly the idea of weaving together music and the images. When we first set out we had decided to make a thing called 2 Sides to Everything, which was going to be about duality.

But what ended up happening was, it became quite a boring subject after a while. There are only so many different ways you can say, “you can’t have happiness without sadness”. It became a bit of a one-trick pony.

Duncan and I, through the pressure of what was going on, really started having some problems between us. All our shadows started showing through, and so suddenly, the film began to be about that. All the hurdles to happiness, all the collective insanities, all the things that we deny each other.

It suddenly occurred — in post-production — what the film was really about, which was that we are all turning up to work everyday, having to pretend to each other that we’re fine, and everything is good; that we’re a winner and all these things — having to hide the fact that we’re all…total psychos.

So yeah, in that sense, it became very different than what we predicted. It started off as one thing and became…a mutual global acknowledgment of our unhappiness that we hide from each other.

Where did the idea to record artists in various parts of the world and mix them together come from?

When Duncan and I first met, we were talking a lot about world music, or music that wasn’t straight western, and we suddenly realized that we don’t really like many world music albums, but we love the artists on them, and that’s the key to the music of 1 Giant Leap.

We love Baba Maal’s singing, but we don’t often listen to a whole Baba Maal album.

We love this flute player, that drummer, this singer. We love all of them as players and singers, but we don’t really like what they do on their albums and we don’t really like what other world music fusion artists have done, by sampling one and just putting it with their beat.

We wanted to do fresh sections with these people and create something that got the best out of those artists without it being that world music formula.

So we wrote our kinds of backing tracks which are much more like melodic, Pink Floyd meets film music meets whatever…which is slightly more western, and then started having these guys as sessions rather than trying to do a world music fusion collabo.

50 locations in five continents over seven months. How did you decide where you were going to go?

Usually, for the most part, we made our decisions based on the music that we liked. So, like the big — what they call the royal drums — we knew those are in Ghana, so we went there…and Baba Maal is in Senegal…it was pretty much just chosen by who we wanted musically. Either the specific person, or the music type.

In Uganda we knew that they had a thing called…earth drums…we didn’t know what it was but we knew it was some sort of drum that was buried in the earth, and we thought, “well, let’s go and find that”.

It wasn’t until we got to Uganda that we discovered it was actually a marimba. It was an immense xylophone.

You’ve seen places and experienced things that I’m sure most people will never experience in their lives, including travelers. Can you talk a bit about any lessons you learned through dealing with locals and tribes?

There’s a great line in the first 1 Giant Leap film we did — an Indian philosopher said, “I like to talk to people as if I already know them.”

I think that is the key to all traveling. You know, don’t imagine that they’re not just like you. That is almost the point of the whole “one giant leap”, is that there’s so much more that unites us than divides us.

Everyone wants to sit down and give you their food, and everybody wants to introduce you to their kids, and their mum, and everybody wants to have a smile and sing a song.

It’s very easy to not get people’s backs up. If you’re present…just be present…be there…people are pretty much like you.

I’m curious, with a lot of the ideas that you’re mentioning, did they come out of your interviews?

No, I think it just comes from experience, and a lot of early Ram Dass reading. A lot of his work is about the masks that we wear and how dishonest we are with ourselves and others, and how we’re busy putting on the masks to be a somebody, or busy being a boss or policeman or a teacher.

Photo: exfordy

You know, like when you were in school, your favourite teachers were just really cool human beings who happened to be playing the role of teacher. And there were other ones that we didn’t get along with who were busy being a teacher. It really sums it up in all areas of life, from policeman to parents.

There are people who are naturally cool human beings, impeccably doing the role of parenting. There are others who are so busy being parents, and are so attached to that role, that the person gets evaporated and that’s where problems start arising and dishonesty happens.

And that’s when children start rebelling. They don’t rebel against their parents’ authentic qualities, they rebel against their parents’ fakeness. They see it’s not real, and they say, “that’s not for me.”

Thanks so much for your time and candidness, Jamie. One last question: What is 1 Giant Leap up to these days?

Duncan and I are doing a lot of projects separately at the moment, which is really exciting.

I have a new artist that’s coming out in Australia in February called Aluta and the Mystics. The girl that sings with Michael Stipe on the song “I’ve Seen Trouble”, in the Pain chapter, she is called Aluta, from South Africa.

I always thought I’d go back and do something with her…we decided to go with the same label that put 1 Giant Leap out in Australia — One World Music — and it’s coming out in February, called Aluta and the Mystics.

Learn more about the film What About Me? on their site, and view the 6-minute trailer here.

Community Connection

Check out another world music project Playing For Change.

Photo: Source

The picture above is a popular photo that made its way around the internet this week. It was titled, Against All Prejudices.

Cute and happy photo, for sure. But what does the title imply, exactly? That those with mohawks are usually racist? That small children are usually homophobic?

Enjoying the photo for their winning smiles, excitement, and human connection is one thing. But giving it a title that seems to say, “Look, we can all get along if the punk and the black kid can!” is another.

The stereotypical generalizations based on appearance here are endless, and most of the people on the “fringe” and kids I’ve known in my life tend to fall on the low-end of bigotry. Give me a photo of Joe Wilson excitedly handing the Nobel Peace Prize over to Obama with that title instead.

But, as usual, there is a sparked debate about the picture over at Reddit. One person notes:

I believe he was making the point that this flies in the face of OTHER people’s prejudices, not necessarily the characters in the picture.

Maybe that is the point. Or maybe both views can be true.

What do you think about the photo’s title? Share your thoughts below.

While some are actually kind of clever, some of them (especially the horrific workplace safety one) are seriously disturbing.

What do you think of these ads? Effective or over the top? Share your thoughts in the comments!

In the spirit of Bill Hicks’ notorious “Go Back To Bed America” sketch, Londoners Charlie and Danny – aka The Love Police – take their cheerful, Orwellian-inspired brand of anti-establishment satire to the streets of London, spreading their philosophies via megaphone to consumers, passers-by, tourists and – more often that not – mortified and bewildered policemen who don’t quite know how to handle them.

Holding up signs like “Question Everything “ and the sardonic “Everything Is OK”, the merry pranksters offer sarcastic messages about the benefits of capitalism (“don’t worry about the millions of Chinese who are starving because of the system – after all, there’s loads of them!”), question concepts of private property and taunt the ever-present police by describing them as “actors in uniforms” who are increasingly part of a “corporate gang.”

Though their approach is light-hearted, their grassroots activism is serious.

Britain in 2009 is a densely media-saturated country and, increasingly, a nanny-state where CCTV and intense policing have become the norm for reasons that are at best ambiguous.

Danny and Charlie mock the constant invocation of the “terrorism” phrase to justify these increasingly ham-fisted attempts at control, while promoting freedom of speech and general goodwill. As you can see from the videos, the boys give a pretty mean hug too – yep, even to the po-faced boys in blue.

And here – including a level-headed but inspiring monologue (set to horribly sentimental music) from Charlie on the duo’s key messages.

What do you think of this type of activism? Is it effective? Share your thoughts in the comments!

Photo: lavalen

Cambodians love the lightest of Lite Rock pop music.

Celine Dion is huge here, and one morning my neighbor across the alley was blasting her from rattling speakers while washing his car in the white-blue of dawn. I happened to be up early and reading on my front porch a book of Joan Didion’s essays from the Sixties.

She referenced Hieronymus Bosch, the Dutch master of ghastly medieval humanity, twice in sixty pages, and this gave me a new lens through which to understand Khmer musical tastes.

My neighbor, like any Khmer over the age of thirty, almost certainly lived through the Boschian horrors of the Khmer Rouge, the terror that has made Cambodia what it is today.

As Celine gave way to the Carpenters singing every sha-la-la-la; every whoa-oh-oh-oh, I thought of how words, which many in the West fear are losing ground to the pulsing image, remain powerful enough in Cambodia to build a bridge to ruin.

And they’re frequently as banal as those Western nonsense syllables.

Lies and Defamation

Photo: Jason Leahey

If you travel around Cambodia, you’ll pass many, many signs over schools, homes, the red-dirt roads, advertising for the Cambodian People’s Party. Every once in a while you’ll come across a similar ad for the opposing Sam Rainsy Party. These signs are inevitably battered by age, their lettering faded to outlines and the color of soured milk.

The SRP is the only party other than the CPP to have any significant representation in parliament, though its 26 seats are dwarfed by the CPP’s 90. Prime Minister Hun Sen and his CPP are waging a war on the SRP. They’ve marginalized it, now they’re going to eradicate it, la-di-da, the same old song and dance.

A few months ago the editor of a pro-SRP paper printed a speech by Rainsy in which he accused the CPP Foreign Minister of being a former Khmer Rouge cadre.

The editor, Dam Sith, was slapped with a two year prison sentence for the spreading of “disinformation” and “defamation.” A lawyer for two SRP Members of Parliament was given a prison sentence as well because he “made a mistake” in defending the MPs, who were also accused of insulting the CPP.

What makes these cases particularly interesting is their vocabulary.

On Sen’s demand, and as the only possibility of avoiding jail time, Editor Dam wrote a groveling apology. “I am asking for the highest permission of [the party] to forgive me,” he wrote. “I promise to discontinue the publication of my paper. I promise to support the ingenious CPP policy in the building of the country’s progress.”

Dam even joined the CPP because disowning one’s dissent, apparently, is not enough.

Meaning Of Words

This stuff isn’t limited to political enemies. The head of the Khmer Civilization Foundation, an organization charged with protecting and promoting Cambodian culture, worried that the heat from a light show staged nightly in Angkor Wat might damage the temple.

He was slapped with a two-year jail sentence for “disinformation.” The sentence was rescinded when he wrote a formal apology.

When the World Wildlife Federation issued a report citing pollution in the Mekong as a major threat to endangered Irrawaddy river dolphins, the government decried the findings as “all lies” and threatened to kick the organization out of the country.

Sitting on my porch while the neighbor boomed his music, songs that I find childish and goofy, I reflected: letters of apology hardly seems worthy of any tyrant worth his salt. An editor or lawyer notes offenses committed, is sentenced to jail, and then is freed, so long as he says sorry? It’s like keeping someone in a headlock and nuggy-ing his scalp until he calls himself gay.

And yet Hun is a seasoned despot; he would not insist on apologies and then let it go unless the security of his position obviated the need for the physical purges of his enemies and unless he had something real to gain by the public shaming of them.

The groveling of that editor, the way he was forced to use his own words to embarrass and attack himself, that was language turned to power. Hun could have let the prison sentences stand and doom his critics to a slow purgatory.

Instead, he chose to impose self-incrimination, to force his adversaries to denounce themselves and then claim the denouncing as honorable. The technique is a classic, but what interests me is the potency it grants to words in an era where many of us fear the loss of that potency.

Control Without Violence

Words like apologize and sorry so often feel benign.

How many times have you used or experienced I’m sorry as a verbal place holder in a fight, a meaningless errrrgh that allows you to catch breath before battling on?

Photo: Jason Leahey

The average American takes it for granted that the words publicly uttered by our leaders are just wisps of cloud; we have steadily divested our vocabulary of meaning. But in Cambodia, words like “corruption” and Khmer Rouge cadre are still potent enough to require official distortion and abuse, and rely on the degradation of words like “honor” and “generosity.”

And that brings me back to Hieronymus Bosch and my Celine Dion-loving neighbor. He surely knows that the Foreign Minister and Hun Sen were both Khmer Rouge. This is something everyone knows.

But there is no ripping out of toenails, no systematic rape, no skewering of babies on bayonets these days. Making a newspaper editor beg for forgiveness is not the same as taking him into the jungle and beating his head in, right?

So in the world of relative experience, living under a tyrant is not so bad, eating one’s own words not so abusive. This is the post-Boschian Cambodia, the post-Khmer Rouge world. Things are more civilized than that now.

And that, I suppose, is worth celebrating with the comfort of a soft rock cheese-puff.

What do you think of the political power of words? Share your thoughts in the comments!

Photo: smoothmasterflex

The quest for happiness, like that for love, is one of the most common shared human experiences. When we travel, we often consider potential destinations based on historical sites, culture, sightseeing, activities and location.

But what about happiness? Can we learn something from people who live longer and more satisfying lives? Or can our own happiness be increased simply by being around them?

An organization called The Happy Planet Index recently released the first ever index to combine environmental impact with well-being to measure the length and contentment of life in world countries.

The index doesn’t claim that all citizens of its top-rated countries are happier than everyone else, but it does show how nations can produce high well-being without excessive consumption of the Earth’s resources.

The Happy Planet Index combines life expectancy, satisfaction, and ecological footprint to process its ratings – when all three components are good, the country’s overall well-being and happiness is rated high.

Nine of the top ten countries are in Latin America – a finding that might be surprising, until you consider the mindset of Latin American culture and what values are given importance. “Latin Americans report being much less concerned with material issues than, for example, they are with their friends and family,” states the HPI data. “Civil society is very active, from religious groups to workers’ groups to environmental groups.”

The takeaway? Having a close network of family and friends, forming intimate bonds, being social and involved in your community may lead to longer and happier lives that almost any other factor.

Countless research has told us for years that being married and having close friendships – even pets – increases longevity and lowers stress. The Happy Planet findings seem to be one more corroboration of this.

According to the HPI, here’s more insight we can learn by examining the Top 5 countries:

Photo: wagnert.cassimiro

#1 – Costa Rica (Score: 76.1 out of 100)

Costa Ricans report the highest life satisfaction in the world, and enjoy the second-highest average life expectancy of the West (only behind Canada). Costa Ricans live slightly longer than Americans while reporting much higher levels of contentment – all with an environmental footprint less than a quarter the size.

A haven of democracy and peace in turbulent Central America, Costa Rica has taken deliberate steps to reduce its environmental impact; with a footprint of 2.3 global hectares, it just narrowly fails to achieve the goal of “one-planet living”: consuming a fair share of natural resources.

It also has the fifth-lowest human poverty index in the developing world, with clean water and adult literacy almost universal. But Costa Rica’s biggest secret may be found in the country’s motto, pura vida. Literally meaning “pure life,” citizens base their fulfillment on spending time with loved ones, doing what they most enjoy in life, and protecting their beautiful natural resources.

Photo: Ulises Jorge

#2 – Dominican Republic (Score: 71.5)

The Dominican Republic’s condition is similar to many other countries in the region – a medium Human Development Index score, high levels of inequality and dependence on the USA for trade – yet it manages to achieve a life expectancy of over 70 years with a very small footprint.

The country has led the way in environmental conservation in Latin America since the 1970s; 32% of its land is covered by national parks and reserves, the highest proportion in the Americas.

As politics in the Dominican Republic have become more democratic, local NGOs have begun to flourish. Whereas most environmental NGOs in many developing countries tend to be imports from the rich world, here local groups dominate – again demonstrating the idea that when citizens engage in their communities together, they tend to live happier and longer lives.

Photo: Bruno Henrique

#3 – Jamaica (Score: 70.1)

Jamaica’s appearance in the top three of the HPI table comes somewhat as a surprise. It is fair to say that the country has been in some economic trouble for over 30 years, resulting in high levels of inequality and unemployment, and some of the highest homicide rates in the world.

Yet despite these problems, the island is able to maintain some of the best levels of health in the developing world, as indicated by its high average life expectancy. 97% of babies are born with the assistance of skilled health professionals, with only 4% underweight – a figure comparable to richer nations such as Argentina.

Most Jamaicans have access to clean water, unusual in a county with a GDP per capita one-tenth that of the USA. Together with its extremely family-oriented populace and small ecological footprint – approximately 5% of its energy is renewable – is what puts Jamaica towards the top of the HPI table.

Photo: themikeless

#4 – Guatemala (Score: 68.4)

Life expectancy is where Guatemala ranks lowest, with an estimate between 60–75 years. This falls in the middling range, and is what brings the country’s score below Costa Rica.

When it comes to life satisfaction, however, Guatemalans are right there at the top, reporting 7.4 on a scale of 1-10 for being “satisfied with their life.” The nation also comes in under the minimums for one-planet living, consuming resources at a rate of less than one planet’s worth.

Photo: etrendard

#5 – Vietnam (Score: 66.5)

The only Eastern nation to crack the top ten, Vietnam racked up 8.5 in the satisfaction index and has an average life-span of 73.7 years. The country’s ecological footprint only narrowly misses the one-planet goal. Sociologist Andrea Fonseca says that Vietnam’s high happiness rating “has a lot to do with social imagination.”

The bottom ten HPI scores were all suffered by sub-Saharan African countries, with Zimbabwe bottom of the table with an HPI score of 16.6. And how does the United States fare? Below the middle, with a score of 30.7 at 114th place and consuming resources as if we had four planets to live from.

The highest-placed Western nation is the Netherlands at 43rd, and the UK ranks midway down the table at 74th, behind Germany, Italy and France.

Perhaps the European and North American focus on consumerism is actually making us less happy. In fact, while most countries’ scores increased between 1990 and 2005, the three largest countries in the world (China, India and the USA) have all seen their scores drop during that time, suggesting they are indeed less happy now than twenty years ago.

The Happy Planet Index begs us to ask how many resources are we wasting – both as individuals and as a culture – on things that don’t even improve our lives?

If we made a rule of targeting resources only at things that delivered quality of life, we would end up automatically saving the planet – and at least according to the Happy Planet Index, living happier lives as well.

What do you think – any other lessons we can learn from these happy countries? Share in the comments!

Community Connection

Check out Carlo’s 5 Key Ingredients in the Search For Happiness. And for a laugh, read The Hunt For Happiness comic.

Watch a recent Time report on the wisdom of Burning Man:

Here are the 5 things stated in the film:

1. get rid of cars
2. encourage self-reliance
3. rethink commerce
4. foster virtue (with shame)
5. encourage art

And perhaps the most important message spoken by Larry Harvey: “What good is this unless it’s about how to live the rest of your life?”

What do you think of the lessons cities can learn from Burning Man? Share in the comments!

Community Connection:

Check out my ode to future friends in Burn Baby Burn: Heading Into The Black Rock Desert. And my post-burn roundup of Burning Man links.

Painting: iamcootis

Everyone has one opinion or another about nudity in public places.

There are nudist beaches, there are nudist saunas, and there are life-drawing classes, where models pose naked.

My own opinion about public nudity was rather controversial until recently. I come from a family where modesty was a virtue, and was shocked when I moved to the Netherlands and found an open approach to public nudity. (I once saw a naked man in Amsterdam, riding his bike to work).

I felt outraged and insulted.

“Never, never in my life will I be naked in public,” I told myself. However, since then, some things have changed.

I became a nudist. My current boyfriend happens to be a nudist and on our first holiday he introduced me to the joy of being naked on the beach.

And I rather liked it.

Being naked on the beach gives you the feeling of being free and in union with nature. And it is rather natural, considering that humans only started to wear clothes 72,000 years ago. For more than half of our existence we have been nudists.

However, being natural with nature is not that easy nowadays. It is still a controversial issue. Some regard public nudity as exhibitionism. Others say that nudity sets a bad example for the children. In most states of the US, for a woman to be topless can result in a fine.

Woman are paradoxically bombarded by glossy magazines with pictures which depict thin, beautiful and mostly naked women. Even if you would like to be a nudist, you might avoid going to a nudist beach for the reason that your body doesn’t correspond to the beauty standard.

But curiously enough, what I noticed at the nudist beaches is that people there in all shapes and forms, and rarely do they resemble Kate Moss. It can be indeed a liberating experience, especially if you have some confidence issues.

I started my nudist experience when I considered myself slightly overweight, and it helped me to realize that human body is beautiful as it is. And I certainly recommend everyone try it at least once.

Here are some tips, which could come quite handy if you are ready to try it yourself.

Photo courtesy the author

Tip #1 – Lather Up

Don’t forget to put sun cream on those parts of your body about which you might otherwise forget. It’s really not pleasant to get sun burn on some vital parts of your body!

Tip #2 – Watch the bend

Don’t bend over when adjusting your towel or picking something up from the sand (unless you’re Brad Pitt, of course).

Tip #3 – Eyes to yourself

Don’t stare at other naked people!

Tip #4 – Incognito

In case you do want to stare, two best ways to do it is: (a) wearing sunglasses, (b) pretending to read a book (but then, don’t forget to turn the pages!)

Tip #5 – Ditch the camera

Be respectful to other people when you take our your camera to make some pictures of the beach. It really does make all naked people suddenly very nervous.

Tip #6 – Cold water syndrome

If you are a man, be aware that even if you are lucky to possess a giant male organ, it will shrink to tiny proportions when you emerge from the sea. Don’t feel bad about it…

Tip #7 – To shave or not to shave?

This is a difficult question, since enjoying a nudist beach is all about being very natural. However, think twice, as it’s nice to be well groomed.

Tip #8 – Avoid philosophy

Try to avoid deep philosophical conversations with you naked neighbours. It does sound (and look) rather weird, when a naked person talks about Foucault.

Tip #9 – Keep your suit handy

Take your swimming suit with you just in case. For instance, when all other nudists decide to leave the beach and you are the only naked person remaining.

Tip #10 – Top of the morning

What to do in case of erection? Quickly lie face down on the sand, but don’t forget to fill in the imprint when you stand up!

Hopefully, these tips will help you enjoy your next nudist beach with wild abandon, setting your body and your mind free.

Do you have any tips for nudist beaches or settings? Share your tips/stories in the comments!

Cambodian child / Photo: subliminati

This morning, I was making tea, and I read the name on the tea canister—the Thai company Phuc Long—and I didn’t even smirk, didn’t even think about making a joke about it.

And that’s one indication that perhaps I have been living here too long.

Here’s another:

Yesterday, I was walking down the street, and the guy with no arms who sells books out of a box hanging around his neck asked me for some money. I wasn’t carrying my moto helmet under my arm (as I usually do, marking me as an expat rather than a tourist), and he didn’t recognize me at first.

And then he remembered me from around town, and gave a sort of shrug and a not unfriendly smile, as if to say, “Sorry! You’re a regular here. Of course you’re not going to give me anything.”

And then we both sort of chuckled and walked past each other, and it wasn’t until I was about half a block away that I got a sickening chill at my own indifference.

Tea and Indifference

Has living in Cambodia made me less capable of sympathy? Even after close to a year here, it’s hard to know the “right” way to behave in the face of other people’s poverty and trauma. Feel it too much and you’ll be incapacitated; feel it too little and you’ll be some sort of Marie Antoinette (”Let them drink Angkor Beer if they have no potable drinking water!”)

Photo: Jason Leahey

To feel as if you belong here at all, you have to become a little inured to the realities of landmine victims and grubby children, and to act otherwise is to be viewed as a sap by both Khmer and expats.

Once, I went into the local Mexican restaurant and two expat women were sitting with a little Khmer boy for whom they had purchased dinner.

They seemed a little sheepish though, because after they had ordered, they noticed that, unlike most of the kids hanging around Pub Street at night, this guy had new tennis shoes, went to a government school reserved for the solidly middle class, and had a mother who was keeping an eye on him while chatting with her friends across the street.

Of course, there are far worse things than buying a child, any child, a Coke and a quesadilla, but they felt as if they’d been duped, giving help to someone who might not need it the most. It was such a tourist thing to do.

And we roll our eyes at tourists, the people who swoop in for a week or two and throw money at the first problem they see, regardless of whether it will do any lasting good. Then again, at least they’re doing something.

Judging The Other

What am I doing? Has anyone in Cambodia benefited from my writing so far?

And if I’m sometimes less sympathetic than I should be toward Khmer, you should hear my internal monologue about Westerners and their problems. Woe to the person whom I overhear complaining about heat, insects, potential bacteria in the water or uncomfortable bus seats; they will be silently excoriated by me.

Firstly, haven’t they ever opened a guidebook about any Southeast Asian country?

And there’s another level to my reaction, the part of me that has always considered myself sort of a wimp. “If I can handle this,” this part of myself says disdainfully, “then you must be the lowliest of pansies.”

What’s worse, I actually like this tougher side of myself sometimes. It makes me feel hearty and resilient and less likely to feel sorry for myself. It’s not as if I’ve forgotten about the fact that, should I fall into penury tomorrow and die a slow death of starvation, that I still will have lived a more comfortable life than 99% of Cambodian citizens.

But sometimes it is an asset to be able to witness the misfortunes of others and, instead of feeling crushing depression at the state of the world, feel sort of…well, lucky. And yet…

Cultivating Non-attachment

I was talking to my monk friend Savuth about how, in the Buddhist view of things, human love is a kind of suffering, just like hate is. It is hard, having been raised amidst Western ideas, to wrap my head around this.

Photo: Ian MacKenzie

To a Westerner, the Buddhist ideal of “detachment” sounds suspiciously like indifference. But I think what Savuth was speaking about was achieving a philosophical equanimity—you should feel sympathy and pity for wealthy crooks and beggar children alike, because they are both suffering as part of the human condition.

My friend Elizabeth long ago told me something similar in a different way—”Just because root canals exist, doesn’t mean that getting a papercut isn’t painful.”

But isn’t that just like me, to look at a problem cerebrally instead of dealing with the sticky business of how to feel?

The last time I was in New York, I found myself telling a friend about the Big-Headed Baby, the monstrously deformed infant whose mother takes him to all large festivals, where she begs for money, a container for change placed on the corner of his dirty blanket.

Who wouldn’t feel sympathy for the child? But I have a hard time feeling pity for the mother, when she must be aware of the glut of nonprofit organizations in Cambodia who could possibly help her child—it is simply more immediately profitable to parade him around like a circus act.

Even so, my friend looked a little taken aback by my callousness. And maybe he should have been. I cannot conflate my own attitude with Savuth’s universal sympathy—nothing proves this more than my very disparate feelings toward the Big-Headed Baby and his mother.

So where does this leave me? Vainly hoping that I can force myself to feel for both the root canal patient and the papercut victim? Cambodia never provides any easy answers; it only makes it harder to ignore the questions.

Perhaps that means that I have not lived here long enough.

What are your thoughts on compassion versus detachment? Share your thoughts in the comments!

The Aztec Calendar / Photo: Jungle Boy

“Black gold,” as chocolate has been called, has a control over a majority of Westerners.

It’s always in the back of one’s mind, or in the front of one’s mind when obtaining some becomes more acute. Everyone has a specific craving, whether it be pure, refined, mixed, primed, or blended, but we all have experiences of one kind or another with the stuff.

I, for one, enjoy my chocolate mixed with nuts or berries, and I’m more partial to dark than milk, but I can’t recall ever refusing chocolate.

Given my enjoyment, I was surprised to learn that chocolate’s current form is far removed from its origins as a drink of the gods, a nectar in the literal sense, of the Aztecs called xoxocatl.

Award-winning professor Michael D. Coe of Yale University writes in his book, The True History of Chocolate that the first tangible evidence of chocolate consumption originates in mid-fifth century CE.

Yet emerging linguistic evidence suggests that the Olmec, a Central American civilization that predates the Aztec and the Maya before them, were not unaccustomed to the plant and its possibility for creating a beverage.

Food of the Gods

The origin of chocolate, according to Aztec legend, states that Quetzalcoatl brought the plant to Earth from heaven, not unlike Promentheus bringing fire to man, after man and woman, in a sacred garden not unlike Eden, attempted to steal the knowledge and power of the gods.

Photo: jubilohaku

Because Quetzalcoatl considered their banishment from the garden too harsh a punishment, he gifted them chocolate.

Carl Linnaeus, founder of the modern classification system of all living things (taxonomy), clearly had this legend in mind when he named the plant Theobroma cacao, meaning ‘food of the gods’.

As is so often the case with something reported to have come from the gods, royalty was interested in its consumption.

Aztec king Montezuma was reported to have drank the beverage from golden goblets that were only holy enough for chocolate to be used once. The fact is opulent enough, but it was reported that for him to drink more than twenty-five glasses per diem was not uncommon.

Aztecs often used cocoa beans as a currency. During a 1514 voyage to the New World Hernando de Oviedo y Valdez, a member of Pedro Arias Dávila massive 1500-men expedition, wrote in his journal claiming that four beans could buy a rabbit dinner, ten was standard price for a night with a prostitute, and he himself bought a slave for the price of one hundred cocoa beans.

Arrival In The West

From the Age of Exploration, chocolate entered into Western culture. While exact etymology is moot, it is clear that Europeans first came into contact with chocolate, or rather the cacao bean, via the Spanish, via the Mexico, via the Aztec, at the dawn of the sixteenth century.

Chocolate was again the drink the of elite, the delight of the plebeians, the bitterest of potables, the most saccharine of sweets, the iconic symbol of Mesoamerica.

In A Tale of Two Cities Dicken’s shows the transitional period of chocolate, between Mesoamerican luxury to the European commoners’ pleasure, when he explains with great detail Monseigneur’s elaborate consumption of chocolate in his Paris hotel room.

In Europe—during the time of the novel, and even before—the price of chocolate was a luxury because it had to be brought across the Atlantic ocean before it could be consumed.

The ceremonial aspect of the drink was, in some convoluted way, preserved when it entered into the Catholic Church. Whilst electing a new Pope, the College of Cardinals meeting in Concalve used to sip the beverage. And European royalty enjoyed the beverage as Aztec royalty had before them.

A New Renaissance

It was not until 1828 when chocolate changed from a sacred drink to a solid bar we know today, through the addition of cocoa butter.

Photo: mynameisharsha

Not only did chemist Coenraad Johannes van Houten of the Netherlands create the process of manufacturing cocoa butter, but he also discovered how to treat chocolate with alkalis to remove the bitter taste that had until that point been characteristic of chocolate.

While the addition of chilli had long since been dropped from the recipes by Europeans, vanilla was often retained, along with milk and sugar, the latter being unavailable to the Aztecs.

Thus, chocolate as we know and love came into existence after several thousand years of being consumed in liquid form with a pungent, bitter taste.

It’s interesting to note that producers of chocolate are experimenting even further, by adding not just sugar and milk but chilli, lavender, mint, and other flavours.

Some producers are even selling it with bitterness intact, giving all who love chocolate something to look forward to: new forms, new uses, new tastes, all continually inspired by its divine origins.

Further Reading:

• Chocolate: A Bittersweet Saga of Dark and Light by Mort Rosenblum – an anecdotal exploration of chocolate and the world of professional chocolatiers
• Chocolate: Pathway to the Gods by Meredith L. Dreiss and Sharon Edgar Greenhill – both photo book and history guide the book explains the origins of the foodstuff and delves into the symbolic nature of chocolate as the Mesoamericans saw it
• The True History of Chocolate, Second Edition by Sophie D. Coe and Michael D. Coe – a definitive guide to the history of chocolate ranging from its ceremonial origins to modern day consumption
• Chocolate: A Global History (Edible) (Edible) by Sarah Moss and Alexander Badenoch – a history of chocolate, from the Edible series, dealing with the usages of chocolate by the Maya as a stand-in for blood during ceremonies through to the modern age of mass-production in Europe and America

What do you think of the cultural history of chocolate? Share your stories in the comments!

Holy man / Photo: lylevincent

During my recent solo trip to India, I found myself thinking about the darker side of traveling – the sense of distrust, alienation, and confusion that can result from negative or disturbing experiences with another culture or traveler.

These thoughts came to me as I walked along the ghats in Varanasi. I’d been in India for less than 48 hours. Already I was joyfully immersed, but I’d also never felt so unsure of who to trust.

It wasn’t long before a male Sadhu (holy man) accosted me and made grotesque sexual advances. Without realizing it, I’d decided Sadhus were not to be trusted.

Later, a female Sadhu with an unflinching stare and a wide smile walked with me along the ghats. I grew uneasy in her presence and turned down an invitation (made with hand gestures) to go to her temple. At the last minute, I changed my mind. I ended up participating in a puja (worship), which now stands out amongst my most interesting experiences in Varanasi.

I realized that my fears had been unfounded – she’d had good intentions. But how was I to know how to distinguish between the false and the friendly?

The Threat Of Uncertainty

When frequent and intense interactions with strangers are combined with a lack of stable social support, our sense of safety can be challenged. The exhilaration of endless possibility can morph into threatening uncertainty.

Of course these challenges aren’t always related to travel. Our species is a social one, and thus we are forced to learn and re-learn about social trust and safety in our everyday lives. For these critical moments of uncertainty can determine whether or not we withdraw and cling rigidly to our perceptions or plunge forward into new territory despite our fears.

In the development of these skills, travel presents particularly difficult challenges – but the rewards can be vast.

What exactly tries our sense of trust and openness while we’re traveling? First, being in a new culture forces us to work harder to establish an initial sense of trust with local people.

Unable to understand cultural nuances, we must rely on facial expressions and body language, and recall abstract information we’ve absorbed from a book or a person. Local con-artists are quick to exploit this with false smiles which can fool even the most experienced travelers.

The Shock Of Deceit

Whatever the case, negative experiences can drain a person of their energy and enthusiasm for a place or culture. We may become bitter, withdraw, and experience feelings of anger and disappointment.

Begging woman / Photo: gregor_y

No matter how many people tell you beforehand to watch out for the tuk-tuk drivers in Bangkok or warn you of the false friendliness of the store owners in Varanasi, many of us have found ourselves in precisely the situations we were warned of.

We are duped, and if we imagine it happening again and again, this tends to fuel our feelings.

In the midst of navigating through strange physical and cultural territory, we often turn to other travelers or expats for relief.

One of the great joys of traveling is the opportunity to meet and share experiences with people from all over the world. Conversations flourish as we meet other excited travelers, opening ourselves up in ways that we might never do at home.

I’ve had unforgettable conversations and intense adventures with people I hardly knew, simply because of the open heart and spirit of adventure that so many travelers have.

But what happens when things go wrong? When you open up to someone who turns out to have ulterior motives, is dishonest or disrespectful? The sense of community, bonding, and intimacy is jeopardized. Feeling naive, we begin to question our ability to sense other people’s motivations.

A Woman’s Challenge

Women are bound to encounter more difficulty in establishing straightforward relationships with both locals and expats.

In India, I found that it just was not possible to be “friends” with an Indian man – even saying hello and making eye contact was seen as an invitation for sexual attention. In other places, such as South America, it can be outright dangerous to make eye contact, let alone speak with a man.

In some ways, this makes interactions simpler, but it also belies a sadness. As female guests in certain cultures, we are aware that any interaction with a local man may lead to a negative experience. Our only option, then, is to ignore them.

I’ve seen and heard of women who do meet the exceptions. I wonder what barriers these women came up against in establishing that rapport.

For much of my time spent in Varanasi, I felt quite raw – I’d had some negative experiences with locals, and had found that a new male expat friend was not someone to be trusted or respected.

I often had to withdraw and rest – I found that my continuous suspicion of people, my feelings of powerlessness and insecurity, were draining. Yet I kept on going – I continued to meet new people, reminded myself to keep an open heart, and reconciled myself with the culture and other travelers.

The Payoff

I won’t lie and say that this was easy. But it was worth it.

Looking back on my time spent in Varanasi, I realize how much I learned about myself and about our species. As humans, we take risks every day when we open ourselves up to other people. Unfortunately, many people who are willing to take advantage of that, whether consciously or unconsciously.

Our greatest task is to learn how we relate to others, why we relate to them in a certain way, and how our ways of relating affect not only ourselves and our intimates, but the entire world.

What do you think of the challenges of trust abroad? Share your thoughts in the comments!

Photo: nyki_m

In the West, are we living in a state of “moral blindness”?

Reading Gilad Atzmon’s recent article on Counter Punch makes me think it’s possible.

Atzmon tackles the idea of two distinct ideologies competing for our beliefs: “liberal” vs. “leftist.”

The first praises individual liberty, while the latter believes in a social science that delineates ‘progressives’ from ‘reactionaries.’

What’s the problem with either of these distinctions? Well, according to Atzmon:

For some reason ‘we’ (the Westerners) tend to believe that ‘our’ technological superiority together with our beloved ‘enlightenment’ equips us with a ‘rational secularist anthropocentric, absolutist ethical system’ of the very highest moral stand.

He continues that westerners tend to think of “secularism is the answer for the world’s ailments,” but in reality, “this very division led also to the rise of some blunt forms of fundamental-secularism that matured into crude anti-religious worldviews that are no different from bigotry.”

In more common language, I take Atzmon’s commentary to imply that our “progressive” western worldview leads us to believe that ‘modern/evolved-is-right,’ and many religious traditions are just ‘backward.’

Many of us travelers tend to think ourselves open-minded and progressive, yet still look down on people and areas that in our eyes, are not just.

Examples that come to mind include the continued debate around banning burqas in parts of Europe, being appalled over yoga being questioned by Muslim clerics, and however strongly we debate either side of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.

These situations seem to be inequality-in-action to our eyes. But for the religious cultures they are a part of, our reactions and discussions may just be showing our beliefs of “supremacy” over their way of life.

Do you think that leftists and liberals are after justice-for-all, or simply think they are better than deeply religious people? Share your thoughts below.

Shy / Photo: a hundred visions

When cruising the streets of any hectic Asian city you will see them. You will judge them. You will either respect them and it or you will not.

You might see them walk hand in hand. Maybe he will have an arm around her. Maybe she will cling to him as if there’s no day tomorrow. You will see her dedication to him. And maybe you will see how much he enjoys the attention of a young feisty girl.

It’s all about the love between two people. A young Asian girl and an old grey man that has seen better days.

Can you call this love?

It all depends on the definition of the word “love”. There are many different levels of love and many ways of feeling this “love.”

More or less any poor Asian girl knows that if she lands a Westerner it means security. She needs it and she wants it. Her family is dependent on it and they know if there’s no cash on the table there’s no food in the belly.

Another Perspective

Through her eyes: picture a family of eight and where the youngest sister recently returned home with a new born baby, all living in a one room shed. A hole in the floor functions as a toilet and a bucket provides a cold shower. The kitchen is the fire they start outside their wooden entrance and only door.

You get desperate. You need money. You need security and you do not care how. Desperation for survival eats its way inside you.

Seeing the elderly Westerners who you know are looking for a good time, you start getting ready. Throw on your nicest piece of clothing and whatever make-up you are lucky enough to have and out you go. The bars, the streets, the restaurants even the corner of any highway.

When people look at you, they know. They think their thoughts about you and you feel humiliated, cheap and scared. But what you are most scared of is not being able to feed your sister’s baby and your family.

A man comes up to you and starts a conversation. You feel insecure about what to say. You want to say the right thing. You want him to like you, to take you in, to fall in love with you. To save you.

The Dream

It happens, the greatest thing you ever dreamt of happens. You pinch yourself making sure it’s real, that in this moment, in this time, in this place. It’s real!

Looking back / Photo: i see you

He feeds you, takes you to nice up beat restaurants, you hold his hand. You sleep with him and he treats you well. He’s a good man. An old man but a sincere man. You get to know more about him and him about you. He tells you he’s lonely and lives in a cold country on the other side of the world.

You cling to him; you feel “love” for him. You tell him you “love” him and after a while he says “okay.”

Your family starts to eat better; the baby is safe and healthy. He gives you money twice a month to help you and your family lead a better life.

Then he’s gone, back to his home country and your whole world falls apart. What now? The desperation you felt before meeting this wonder of a man starts burning inside of you again.

Then he calls: “Let’s go open a bank account and I will transfer the money to you while being home”. You feel relieved. You feel calm and most grateful to this God of a man.

A Reason To Live

Is this love? The answer would be yes and no.

She loves him of the fact that he helps her. We, the ones born and raised in a country where hunger is not an issue; far away from the world of poverty. We don’t see things the same way.

What we care about is having the right car, the cool shoes, the modern brands, the fashionable clothes, and the only desperation you feel is being cool enough join the community of the ridiculous materialistic world you live in.

He loves her too. She gives him a reason to live, even at home. He calls her, tells her what he’s been doing and how his side of the world treats him. They share stories, thoughts, smiles, and maybe even secrets.

They do have a relationship; they are together as a couple. Their exist in a world of their own.

What would you think if your father began dating this girl?

What do you think? Share your thoughts in the comments!

Most of us know of two creation myths, or ideas if you will.

In fact, the Big Bang theory and Intelligent Design have been hotly debated in the comments just this week in the BNT article Bizarre Christian Billboard Compares Atheism To Murder?

I thought it best to take it to the next level and break out some of the other, even more “unique” creation myths (yes, there are many more than two) so that the fighting, ahem, gentle discussion of the issue could continue.

So gather around children. Here, in no particular order, are six other ideas of how we all made onto this vast expanse we call Earth (well, some of us call it that anyway).

Hindu Creation Myth: It’s Like Buttah.

The other Hindu Creator, Brahma

Rig Veda, the earliest Vedic text, says it all begin with a big, ole’ monster. Or just a “gigantic being.” Purusha was his name, and he possessed a thousand heads, eyes and feet and enveloped the Earth.

The Gods decided it was time to etgay idray ofway Urushapay, so they sacrificed him. What was left? Clarified butter, but of course.

But this buttah did more than simply be finger licking good; it created the birds and animals. All those crazy body parts became the world’s elements, along with the Hindu Gods Agni, Vayu, and Indra.

Priests, warriors, the “regular” peeps, and servants, i.e. the caste system, also came from his body (so he was classist, I take it?)

Then they decided to go and change the story and make it about Brahma, the creator, Vishnu, the preserver, and Shiva, the destroyer. Vishnu sleeps; Brahma appears in a lotus sprouting from his navel. Once done sprouting, Brahma creates the universe, but only for one of his days…which is 4.32 billion of our years.

Then Shiva’s gotta come in and do her thing, destroying the universe, all so that the universe can begin again. (I think we’re only a bit into a new cycle, so we’re all good.)

Native-American Creation Myth: Dream A Little Dream.

Indian creation mural / Source

Not sure if you can get trippier than the Makiritare myth. It begins with: “The woman and the man dreamed that God was dreaming them.”

The rest involves God singing and shaking his maracas, smoking some tobacco, being happy, but trembling with doubt. The woman and the man, on the other hand, dream that a huge, shining egg appears in God’s dream (still following?), one in which they are singing and dancing and basically causing a ruckus (hey, they were ready to be born, already).

They sang:

I break this egg and the woman is born and the man is born. And together they will live and die. But they will be born again. The will be born and will die again and once more will be born. And they shall never cease to be born, because death is a lie.

I’m guessing they’re a reincarnation bunch.

Chinese Creation Myth: Yet Another Egg?

Pan Gu! Pan Gu!

Heaven and Earth were together at the beginning of time, according to this myth. They were hanging out in a cloud that was, you guessed it, egg shaped.

But chaos was the name of the game for the universe at that time, and a giant named Pan Gu grew in the middle of it. Only took him 18,000 years of sleeping and developing in the egg until one day, he awoke and stretched. Boom, there went the egg.

The lighter egg goo, or elements if you want a nicer word, became the sky and heaven, and the heavier, yolkey- stuff became Earth. Pan Gu was a bit tense that the two might combine again, so he decided to do his part and hold the heavens on his head and the Earth underneath his feet.

Then he continued to grow for a whole other 18,000 years, until finally he felt satisfied when the two were a good 30,000 miles apart. Soon after, he died.

From his death, the Earth was bequeathed some new stuff – his arms and legs became the directions NSEW and the mountains; his blood the rivers; his sweat, the rain and dew. His voice was now thunder, and his minty-free breath, the wind. All elements of land and water came from his body, with his left eye becoming the sun, and his right eye, the moon.

Pretty cool guy, huh?

Scientology Creation Myth: Set Your Thetan Free!

Good times in the streets / Source

Oh, those crazy Scientologists. They sure do get a bad rap, don’t they, what with the Wiki refusing to let their members update their own information and Germany’s attempt to ban the religion.

But have you ever wondered what they believe about the creation of the universe?

According to an undercover article in The Independent, Hubbard stated around 1940 that “writing for a penny a word is ridiculous. If a man really wants to make a million dollars, the best way would be to start his own religion.”

Their equivalent to a soul is called a “thetan,” but beyond that is actually a “disembodied soul of alien beings that existed 75 million years ago.” Stay with me here. Especially if you are into Sci-Fi.

Xenu, an intergalactic ruler, was about to be removed from power, and he wasn’t having any of it. Instead, he got rid of the population that was planning to take him out by paralyzing and taking them to Earth (good old Teegeeack at the time). There, he loaded them into volcanoes, destroying them with hydrogen bombs.

Bodies gone, he gathered the thetans – remember, those are the souls – and implanted misleading data, such as all religions, into their memories.

The thetans began to cluster together and inhabit bodies of aliens that survived the blast (how they survived a hydrogen bomb, one can only guess). Voila! You have the predecessors to modern humans, and these thetans continue to move from body to body and life to life accumulating more misleading data along the way.

Only with “auditing” can you remove this data, and set your thetan free!

Japanese Creation Myth: I Shit You Not.

Watch out! It’s Izanagi and his spear

I really can’t say it any better, so I’m just going to let Cezary Jan Strusiewicz over at Cracked.com tell this Japanese creation myth. Hold on to your seats (and lunch):

What country has the honor to say that part of their homeland is basically godly spunk? Well, Japan does. The story of Japan’s creation is the god Izanagi pushed his “jewel encrusted spear” into “the primal ooze of our planet” and, when pulling out, “spilled a salty substance” that created the Japanese island of Onogoro. If you can’t spot the innuendo there, don’t worry, it only gets less subtle from here.

The story goes that when Izanagi finally decided to stop metaphorically “raping” the underage Earth below, he took his soon-to-be wife Izanami and descended on the huge island of dried ejaculate where they married and settled. After having sex on Spunk Island the woman gave birth to eight more Japanese islands.

Izanami continued to get pregnant and squeezed out more babies into the world. One of them was Homusubi (Kagututi), the incarnation of fire. A literal fireball. Learning first hand that fire is hot, Izanami suffered the worst burning sensation down there… and basically everywhere.

Being horribly burned from the inside she suffered agony for a couple of days, losing complete control of her bodily functions (what kind of gods are they?), vomiting, urinating and shitting uncontrollably. Her dying spasms of bodily functions gave birth to new gods, a pair for each substance that flew out of her body:

The Vomit Gods: Kanayamahiko, Kanayamahime
The Urine Gods: Mitsuha no me, Wakumusubi
The Feces Gods: Haniyasuhiko, Haniyasuhime

And there you go.

Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster Creation Myth: Largest Balls Ever.

The Flying Spaghetti Monster

Without a doubt, this is my favorite creation myth (apologies to the Japanese). This religion “came to light” in 2005 while the Kansas School Board was debating whether or not to teach Intelligent Design in the schools.

In a letter to the Board, Bobby Henderson makes the point that there is not necessarily only one theory of Intelligent Design, that in fact many people throughout the world believe the universe was created by the Flying Spaghetti Monster.

Henderson states, “It was He who created all that we see and all that we feel. We feel strongly that the overwhelming scientific evidence pointing towards evolutionary processes is nothing but a coincidence, put in place by Him.”

Their manifesto:

With millions, if not thousands, of devout worshippers, the Church of the FSM is widely considered a legitimate religion, even by its opponents – mostly fundamentalist Christians, who have accepted that our God has larger balls than theirs.

Now that’s a creation myth I can get behind.

What are some other crazy creation myths? Share your myths below!

He’s thinking about sex in the 1800’s / Photo

I had to chuckle when I came across a recent article in the San Francisco Chronicle that named the top 10 sex scandals in the history of the city.

San Fran, itself birthed from all of the scandal-prone bandits who found their way West, has had some doozies.

As the Chronicle reported:

San Francisco was one wild town in the mid-1800s when it lurched into prominence as a Gold Rush creation of loose pistols, loose wallets and loose women. Brothels proliferated and illegal homosexuality was winked at. Sex wasn’t so much a hush-hush Victorian taboo as it was an open way of life.

But, alas, things have changed a bit, and now the city houses a class of people that have a few reasons to blush.

Relatively recent ones include the “the cable car nymphomaniac” who knocked her head while riding one of the street cars, which unleashed a sexual deviant. She sued the transit system 5 years later, proclaiming the accident had caused her to take over 100 lovers because of her now insatiable need for lovin’.

And of course, the city’s current Mayor had an affair with his appointments secretary. Probably wouldn’t have been that big a deal, but she was the wife of his best friend and campaign manager. Oops. And yeah, he was still re-elected, though with a different campaign manager, I assume.

I decided there are probably even more scandalous scandals out in the rest of the world over the past few 1000 or so years, and it was up to me to research this hard-to-handle subject area.

And boy, were there. Here’s a list of eight ones that stuck out above the others for one reason or another.

1. Queen Hottie

Cleopatra

Cleopatra. She rocked it, first with Julius Caeser and then Mark Antony, causing both of their downfalls. Hot mama? Go figure.

2. Lost Heads

Henry VIII. Has anyone had more movies made and books written about him (well, at least the Tudors)? He became bored with a wife, or needed a new one for political purposes, and well, you know what happened (to be fair, only two were beheaded). Not sure I personally would have stepped up to the plate, say after number two…

3. Horsing Around

Catherine the Great. Yeah, you’ve heard the death rumors, maybe even in your 7th grade World History class. A woman with a penchant for horses between her legs (I’m just talking about her love for riding horses astride), along with a healthy sexual appetite. Did it lead to her death?

This one is a rumor that according to Robert Wilde came about because “her voracious sexual appetite – while modest by modern standards – meant that the rumours [of her death] had to be even wilder.”

4. Brotherly Love

JFK – gets migraines without sex.

JFK. Not sure where to begin with him, so I’ll just focus on the whole pass-Marilyn-off-to-my-brother-when-I’m-done situation.

Well, that about does it.

Ok, here’s a bit more: in a short written history of the President, the author noted Kennedy once told a friend “you know, I get a migraine headache if I don’t get a strange piece of ass every day” (though one book claims it was Jack who had the problems in bed).

For a longer list of political scandals, check out Forbes’ A World Of Sex Scandals or Time’s Top 10 Political Sex Scandals.

5. Slick Willy

Bill Clinton. Sorry, had to do it. Although the ridiculousness of the focus on this one (”I did NOT have sexual relations with that woman”) made the US the laughing stock of the world, who didn’t (other than Hillary) wish we could go back to the days of Monica and the impeachment during Bush’s tour de force?

It’s been said many times before and I’ll say it again: When Clinton lied, nobody died. Well, at least no one who was a part of the sex scandal.

6. Slicker Willie

Willlie Knuckles. Haven’t heard of him? Well, he was the Chief of Staff in Liberia until February 2007…until photographs of him fully nude with two women other than his wife surfaced in the papers. He served under President Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf, a longtime campaigner for women’s rights.

Although his behavior was not deemed “illegal,” the whole wife-and-kids package made it just a bit, well, immoral.

7. Teeny Bopper

Edison Chen, playboy no more?

This list has to include some scandalous movie stars, considering the industry and scandal are one-in-the-same.

Edison Chen. Hong Kong’s movie star (he was in the award winning The Grudge 2, apparently) Chen liked to use his status to have some sexy time with the (younger) ladies. This included Gillian Chung, a teeny-bop pop star who’s been in ads for Disneyland; Cecilia Cheung and Bobo Chan, two other actresses; and several other lesser stars, with some regular girls thrown in for good measure.

Though it might have been a light affair in say, the UK, when pictures of Chen and his lady friends hit the newspapers in Hong Kong in 2008, the country was in an uproar. Check out some “edited” pictures of the obviously virile Chen at Gawker.com.

8. Amateur Filmmaker

Hayden Kho. A cosmetic surgeon in the Philippines recently rocked the devoutly Catholic country to its core.

Seems he enjoyed going beyond the friendly doctor-patient relationship into the steamy arena of sexual home-movie land. With young actresses. Four of them.

While in the US, these types of videos would guarantee unfounded fame and money been thrown at you for the next ten years for party appearances (ok, sorry, I had to reference Paris. I just HAD to), in the Philippines, it pretty much means these actresses’ lives are over.

Now they’re straight to DVD, as hawkers sell the videos on street corners of Manila.

When it comes to sex, it seems we never learn.

What other sex scandals should make the list? Share your thoughts below.

A group of kids, Ethiopia / Photo Dave Bouskill

“You, You, You, give me money, give me money.”

After cycling through the East African Nation of Ethiopia, these phrases will forever be ingrained in my brain.

Brought to the Worlds attention through Live Aid in the 1980’s, Ethiopia is largely remembered in the West for its drought and famine.

Today it is a lush and vibrant country filled with lakes, jungles and mountainous vistas cutting through the Rift Valley. The Nile runs south to its source at Lake Tana and it houses the incredibly beautiful Blue Nile Gorge.

It is exactly these features that make it one of the most difficult countries in Africa to cycle through.

The roads are rocky and sometimes non-existent, the mountain climbs are treacherous and the extreme heat and altitude can take its toll on anyone. It is a serious challenge, but with enough training and preparation, one can handle the elements.

There is no way however, to prepare for the thousands of children that will use you for target practice as you make your way down the country.

Terms of Endearment

Biking hard, avoiding rocks / Photo Dave Bouskill

Throughout my 23 days in Ethiopia, I was whipped with a bullwhip, slashed at with a machete, had gravel thrown in my face, and rocks of various sizes hurled at me from all directions.

Maybe it was a term of endearment. Maybe it was their way of saying I like you… the way a little boy pulls a girl’s hair to show he has a crush on her.

Whatever it was, there was no escaping their wrath, no reasoning with the little boys who were up to no good – and no way of knowing when the next pack was going to strike.

But how can you blame them – they must have thought we were nuts. In Ethiopia, bikes are ridden for necessity and work. It gets them from point A to point B.

“Why are these crazy foreigners torturing themselves riding through unbearable heat and climbing insane mountains dressed in their silly spandex and bike helmets?”

I had to admire the kids’ talent and perfect aim. They could make a rock zip through the air with great distance and precision. Forget going to the Dominican Republic or Japan. Major League Baseball scouts need to go to Ethiopia for their next draft season.

There is a star pitcher in every village we passed through.

Craving Relief

Ethiopia’s mountains can reach over 4000 meters in altitude. For hours on end, I struggled at a mere 6km per hour up steep inclines.

The dreaded staff / Photo Dave Bouskill

Children would run beside me, never seeming to tire. I was frustrated, but even more embarrassed. Here I was on a high tech machine and these kids could run backwards faster than I could turn my pedals.

I craved silence to wallow alone in my misery, but instead the group of children yelled their infamous chant. “You, you, you, give me money, give me money.” They grabbed at my pack, pulled on my wheel and tried to hop on for a ride.

They slapped my butt numerous times before I realized it was their way of figuring out the material of my cycling shorts.

Even finishing a climb couldn’t bring relief.

In Ethiopia, the descents are more punishing than the climb itself. The rough roads would shake my body like a jackhammer… and always, I had to be on guard for more children.

It seemed that every child carried a staff to control their herds of cattle. They didn’t hesitate to try to stick their weapon of choice through the spokes of my tires.

Little girls would jump out in front of me as I careened in at top speed, forcing me to swerve wildly to avoid a collision. They didn’t understand the danger that they were putting themselves in. They would just laugh and run away.

Friendship In Many Forms

With great relief I made it to the Kenyan border in one piece. I can’t say that I will miss cycling in Ethiopia, but I would like to go back and travel it by local transport and stay in the villages.

I would stop and take the time to get to know the people better. Racing through on a bicycle didn’t give me a chance to really connect with anyone. I was too busy trying to make it to camp before the sun went down.

I never did figure out why the children would throw rocks at us.

Maybe they wanted us to stop and say hello…or maybe they were just bored. Maybe they wanted to be a part of what we were doing.

I just wish their friendship wasn’t so painful.

Have you had painful, or unsusual, experiences with local children? Share your stories in the comments!

Photo: The Tech Herald

From the, “Wow, this whole thing is really sad” file:

For those who don’t know, Alina Percea, a Romanian teenage girl living in Germany, recently auctioned off her virginity to an Italian businessman for 8,800 pounds.

Her reasoning was to pay for school.

What smacks of a horrible Hollywood movie plot has gone beyond a moral issue to one of economics: the German government is demanding she pay taxes on her earned income. And that could mean over half of her earnings will be taken by the government.

According to a German official:

It is not a moral standpoint but a fiscal one. Prostitution is not an illegal act in Germany, but not paying tax on earned money is.

Apparently, after the tryst, the 18-year-old discussed how she got along well with the 45-year-old businessman, having “unprotected sex at a luxury Venetian hotel.” Not exactly the poster child for safe-sex; shocking, I know.

Previously, we’ve covered when to draw the line when defending cultural norms, but this feels like it’s gone too far.

It gets worse: Alina had also gone through two medical examinations to prove her virginity. What year are we living in exactly?

Wonder if she still is so keen on him now that she has to part with that much of the money. Kinda makes you wonder if it’s worth it.

What do you think – was the government right to tax her virgin-earnings? Or should they have stopped the transaction in the first place? Share your thoughts below.

A boy in Nepal / Photo: nromagna

Nepal has always seemed exotic for many travelers — not only for its litany of climates, which range from sea level jungles to the ice-caped apexes of the world called the Himalaya.

Despite the bevy of diversity amongst flora and fauna, its culture too has held sway over the imaginations of travelers from around the world.

I was fortunate enough to have had a teaching post in its capital Kathmandu. The duties were minimal and I was able to feed a few sportive passions like trekking and climbing, as well as a few more cerebral ones, including the odd bit of volunteer work and some personally relevant cultural research.

As an atheist with avid interest in religion I was keen to explore the culture that (for me) was tantamount to zealous and devout observance of Hinduism and Buddhism.

My first shock when I realized Sundays are normal work and school days in Nepal; a fact that started me thinking not so much about the role religion played in conditioning the Nepalese and Nepali societies, but rather, the role of religion on a global level.

God Bless You

NYC crowd / Photo: cwbuecheler

In the West, whence secularism arose, we are tempted to conclude that we live in a place devoid of religious dominance.

Of course, most people cognisant of history will acknowledge that bank holidays such as Christmas, Good Friday, or Easter Monday come directly from Christianity. Aside from these obvious examples, the prevalence of religion, and not only Christian, is woven throughout the experience of Westerners.

“God bless you,” one might say after sneezing, a statement with overtly religious origins. The phrase is thought to have originated during the reign of Pope Gregory I (aka Gregory the Great or Gregory the Dialogist) when sneezing was considered a sign of having plague. Blessing one another, as per the recommendation of Gregory I, was meant to provide alleviation.

In Law and Loss

In modern law, the phrase Acts of God can be readily found. What was once intended likely for reverence – now the mentioned ‘God’ is no longer inherent, yet the phrase remains intact, exemplifying the role of religion in even secular societies.

Perhaps the most prevalent of places to find religious connotation in daily life is in the bevy of exclamations people employ whilst expressing themselves on matters of relief, stupefaction, indignation, anger, and any other heightened emotion state.

“For heaven’s sake”, “Devil take the hindmost”, and “Thank God” might be heard on any given day, and all have religious suggestions even if the users are non-believers.

Tthe phrase “by Jove” conjures the head of the Roman pantheon by name directly, Jove, sometimes known as Jupiter, or in Greek, Zeus.

Eat, Pray, Eat

Hot (Jesus) Cross Buns / Photo: tico24

Many people also indirectly observe religion by way of eating. Or maybe it is more apt to say that what many people put—and do not put—into their mouths is dictated or at least influenced by religious observance.

Taboo foodstuffs are the easiest to consider, such as pork in Islam, which is forbidden a la Mohammed (owing to how quickly the meat spoils in the warm climate in which Islam was first founded). The sacred status of cattle in Hinduism that lead to the prohibition of beef amongst Hindus is another well-known example of the interplay between food and belief.

Vegetarianism on religious grounds is certainly not limited to Hinduism. During the Christian time of Lent, red meat is forbidden. This excludes beaver, which was declared a fish in the 17th century by the Catholic Church and is therefore not taboo throughout Lent.

In many English-speaking cultures, one of the ways in which the end of Lent is celebrated is with the pastry hot-crossed buns.

These sweet breads are decorated with a cross, commensurate to the Christian religion and evocative of resurrection of Jesus Christ. There is also evidence suggesting these specific breads having been part of an early Anglo-Saxon tradition celebrating spring.

Regardless of one’s own beliefs, country of origin, and country of residence — whether Nepal and India, or Europe and North America — the fortitude of religion has been secured through celebration, custom, food, and even colloquialism.

What examples of of religion influencing culture have you noticed in your travels? Share your thoughts in the comments!

A Navajo Girl in the Mexican desert / Photo: Wolfgang Staudt

Stephanie Elizondo Griest aptly describes herself as a “globe-trotting nomad,” having traveled through more than 30 countries and 47 of the United States.

Her extensive travels have included stints hanging with the Russian Mafiya in Moscow and editing the English language propaganda of the Chinese Communist Party in Beijing.

Until recently, Griest was unfamiliar with the language, country, and culture of her ancesters, Mexico.

She documented her experience moving to Mexico to study Spanish and explore the country she had long overlooked in her book Mexican Enough: My Life between the Borderlines and speaks with Valerie Ng about the importance of motherland travel.

BNT: You concluded your first book, “Around the Bloc,” by mentioning that you had neglected to learn Spanish and acquaint yourself with Mexico, the country of your ancestors, despite having made your way through so many other countries around the world. Was “Mexican Enough” a continuation of that book?

Stephanie Elizondo Griest

SEG: Absolutely, it was very much a continuation. It was like a prequel, and it would be good to read “Around the Bloc” before “Mexican Enough,” as I took the long road (to the motherland).

By going to those other places I realized how much I wanted to go to Mexico.

I had met so many incredible individuals in Russia and China who had made sacrifices for their culture, like risking imprisonment for printing newspapers in their native languages, and even met some people whose parents had been sent to the gulag.

I also realized that some of the things that had happened in the Soviet Union had happened here (in the United States). South Texas used to be a part of Mexico not so long ago, and my mom, aunts, and uncles suffered discrimination for speaking Spanish.

By being there it was easy to look at another nation’s policies and think that what they did could only happen in a faraway place, and then you look at the policies of your own nation, and realize that some of those things happened in the U.S., and that was a big eye-opening experience for me.

It took a few years for me to work up the courage to get to Mexico, which began in 2005.

You were born and raised a biracial, third-generation Mexican American in South Texas. Were you exposed to much Mexican or Spanish-speaking culture while you were growing up?

I grew up close to the border (in Corpus Christi), and I remember eating tortillas at the huge gatherings that my family had. But I didn’t grow up speaking Spanish.

I think this is changing today, but when my generation was growing up in the 80s in Texas, which is a really big, really proud state, Mexico was considered the enemy in my Texas history class.

We were taught that the Mexicans had to get out of the land so that the explorers could take over, to carry out their Manifest Destiny as true blue patriots. But the Mexicans wanted to take over the colony that was their country to begin with, and our history class portrayed the opposite of that.

Destinations

Community Connection to Mexico

If I hadn’t gone to college, taken Chicano politics classes, and read Howard Zinn, I would never have known the real story of the Alamo and Davy Crockett.

That inspired me to join an organization called The Odyssey from 2000 to 2001, a diverse group of people that spent a year traveling around the United States covering U.S. history that’s generally left untold.

We followed Howard Zinn’s “A People’s History of the United States,” and had an audience of 500,000 students all over the world that read along.

We wrote about history from the perspectives that are generally not taught in the classroom, which I did not grow up learning, and we were able to reach students who might not see those perspectives of history.

What were your experiences traveling in Mexico with your family? Did you appreciate those early visits and did they make you want to see more of the country?

When I was little we would travel to border towns. I had never seen poverty until I saw it in Mexico, and I would hand out money to everyone I could. But bordertowns are not really Mexico.

If you ask Mexicans, they will say they are too American, and Americans will think they are too Mexican. Plus, violence is a problem there, but it is U.S. and Mexican policies that make the border so dangerous.

The border is very fascinating from an anthropological perspective, with coyotes, drug tracking, and prostitution, but it’s also scary.

But Mexico is a very rich country. 10% of Mexico’s population is indigenous, and within that 60 distinct ethnic groups, with some being the modern day counterparts of the Mayans, some are Aztecs, some are Zapotecs, and all have their own dialects, languages, customs, and religious practices, that are incredibly distinct from each other.

I have now traveled to over 30 countries, and Mexico is hands-down my favorite.

What was the final impetus that led you to quit your job and move to Mexico, or was it a long-term goal you had had? How did you know it was the right time to go?

It was a long-term goal I had thought about doing since 2000, but first I had to publish Around the Bloc, which took a few years, and then I did a massive book tour.

A huge number of places I was invited to speak were for Latino cultural groups, where people came up to me and started speaking Spanish, and I couldn’t respond.

Also, I was approaching my 30th birthday and I was talking about things I did when I was 21, and I didn’t want to be known only for things I did when I was 21.

I am also a big believer in signs, and that you have to be receptive to them.

My birthday was coming up, and I needed new goals. When I was wondering about what to do, I encountered a group of Mexican border crossers. Then in New York, I got off at the wrong subway stop, and saw an ad for trips to Mexico.

But I didn’t have the money to go. I was living in New York with roommates and working as an activist. I quit my job, and even though I only had a few thousand dollars I knew I had to do it.

On Christmas Day I was with my family opening presents, and when I opened mine I got a check for $5000. Tia (my mom’s aunt who raised her) had died earlier that year and had given her money to all of the kids, and that was my portion.

That was another sign. I thought what better way to spend that gift than to go to Mexico and learn the language.

How did you prepare for this experience?

Not a lot. I was working and had a bad transitioning period. I had a friend from junior high who had been living there for a year and was about to leave, and he had me take over his place. The only thing I did to prepare was buy a plane ticket. I didn’t have a chance to brush up on my Spanish or do any reading.

When you first arrived in Mexico, did it feel different from your arrival in Moscow or Beijing? How was the overall experience different from your previous travels?

I prepared 4 years for Moscow, studying the language, the history, and the literature. I prepared for a summer for China, studying Mandarin and reading about the history. For Mexico, I didn’t prepare at all, or had prepared for my entire life.

In Mexico, I can pass for Mexican, but some people thought I was Chilean or Spanish, rather than American, and I had an accent that wasn’t necessarily American. There, a lot of things looked familiar because I was racially Mexican myself. I was more culturally sensitive in Moscow and China, really on edge and observant.

My Mexican housemates were cleaning fanatics, and they expected me to be the same way, but I didn’t want to. They wanted me to get down on my hands and knees and clean as well, but I was thinking, you’re just like me.

If that had been the case in China I would have, because it was a different culture. I realized that even though the Mexican culture seemed similar it was really just as foreign.

You were leery of traveling to Mexico for many years, associating it with kidnappings, narco-traffickers, and murders. How did your perceptions of Mexico start to change?

Before I was fearful that these things would happen to me personally, but then after a while I was no longer afraid for my personal safety. The people I met that had bad things happen to them was because they were indigenous or activists.

Mexico in 2005 to 2006 was an extraordinary time, when schoolteachers were shot at with rubber bullets, and indigenous activists activists were kidnapped and tortured.

You had your hangups about being a “bad Mexican,” not having spent much time learning the language or culture. Do you feel that you became “Mexican enough” through this experience? How did you come to terms with your Mexican-American identity?

The main thing I’ve learned is that part of what means to be Latino is to be culturally schizophrenic, culturally reflecting, unsure of who they are, what they are, and when you get down to it, am I enough. This affects every American Latino that has reached a level of economic stability.

On a good day, Mexican enough is the best I can possibly be. On the worst days, you think you’re not enough of this, not enough of that. I get letters every day from people worried about the same thing.

You are certainly not the only person who has had reservations about visiting the Motherland. Did you feel that the Mexicans you met accepted you as being at least part Mexican?

No. Whenever I referred to myself as Mexican in Mexico, they laughed. To them, I was just as gringo as everyone else.

But when I explained that I had Mexican blood, that I cared about them, that I was interested in the culture, and wanted to learn the language, they appreciated it. I was there to find a connection, not to drink tequila and never saw a body of water.

In the United States, I refer to myself as Mexican-American, Chicana, or Latina. Chicana is my favorite because a friend of mine refers to it as a “pissed-off Mexican who is a politically engaged, active Mexican.” It has a bite to it, referring to someone who is politically conscious of their identity.

In your second book “100 Places Every Woman Should Go,” you included a section on Motherlands, describing it as the most meaningful of all travel destinations. What advice do you have for anyone who would like to embark on a journey to their motherland?

Lose your fear an just go, just go, just go. It can be intimidating, you may have your hangups but just go for it. It can seem very challenging, but it’s very rewarding.

Even though I am a huge advocate of traveling alone, but it can be more powerful to travel with your mother, father, sister, brother, child, grandparent, or great-grandparent.

Try to learn as much of the language as possible, interview your family, and look through photo albums. Travel as close to your ancestors’ home as possible, although in some cases it can be a whole continent.

This is truly a trip to prepare for, it can’t be spur of the moment.

Learn more about Stephanie Elizondo Griest on her website. And read her interview with Rolf Potts on travel writing.

Photo: hqhuyanh

While London has become hostile toward tourists, a British couple decided it was time to show the queen their randy side…on the front lawn of Windsor Castle.

Perhaps they need a refresher course in proper sex etiquette, and therefore should join the Vietnamese youth who are getting sex education while on holiday.

Yes, rather than teach their kids about the fine art of reproduction themselves, some Vietnamese parents are sending them on tour with the Viet Da Travel Company, who has teamed up with the Da Nang City Youth Union to provide culturally specific sex education.

According to the news source:

Sex education remains an awkward subject for both parents and teachers in Vietnam because of the conservative attitude towards things considered “sensitive.”

The tour hits spots like the Cham Museum in Da Nang, central Vietnam. This particular museum holds many artifacts from the Champa Kingdom era, including quite a few lingams, which represent a phallus, and yonis, the symbol of the vulva.

Both are Hindu symbols associated with Lord Shiva, emblemizing the union of male and female and generative power.

After the Cham, the tour continues to the Son Tra Peninsula and makes it way onto the My Khe Beach. There, the teenagers play outdoor games focused on sex education.

It’s hard to gather from the article what types of games are played, or what exactly a college student means when he commented, “We gain soft skills and knowledge of sex more easily through these outdoor activities.”

But toward the end of the piece, the author notes: “The tour manages to provide youngsters basic knowledge of sex and puberty without promoting sexual experimentation.”

Definitely sounds more exciting than girls and boys being separated in the fifth grade to watch their own gender’s video on puberty. And I have to say I was pretty impressed a travel company and youth group has put this educational tour together in a mostly traditional culture, where it is customary to not touch a member of the opposite sex in public.

And according to the article, “many schools in the city are eyeing it as an interesting extracurricular activity.”

Hmmm. In a culture where four students, who received suspended jail sentences for posting a clip online of a famous soap opera star having sex with her boyfriend, it’s hard to believe all Vietnamese would jump on the bandwagon.

Do you think these sex education tours would be effective? Should they be offered elsewhere in the world? Share your thoughts below!

Feature photo: Nick Nguyen

Photo: Tina Keller

I’m pretty much as white as you can get if you take a look at me from afar.

My mom is 100% German, and my dad’s side of the family is half Irish, half German (yeah, that’s a lot of German…and whiteness).

Yet I tend to appreciate the wisdom of Ayurveda and Traditional Chinese Medicine over western medicine, I’ve been trying to figure out how to find my way to an authentic Native American sweat lodge for years, and I’ll take some coconut curry over steak and potatoes any day of the week, thank you very much.

And when I dress up to perform Bhangra, a traditional Indian folk dance, I’ve been mistaken for being Indian on more than one occassion.

I’ve felt embarrassed at times for being the white girl walking down the street with a bindi on her forehead (and I’ve certainly overheard a few comments). I sometimes want to turn around and explain I’m dressed this way for a performance, that I’m part of a multi-cultural dance troupe, etc., but then I realize I’m just fishing for justifications.

So when I happened upon Macon D.’s Stuff White People Do blog about romanticizing Indigenous people, I began to contemplate the idea that more and more white people (especially of my generation) need to identify with and take part, some say culturally appropriate, other cultures’ traditions:

So often, white people who want to reach out beyond the boundaries of “normal” life end up reaching too much into the lives of others. Actually, and oddly enough, when they think they’re reaching out to something authentically non-white, what they’re actually doing is conjuring up a fantasized, stereotypical, and romanticized version of something that’s only supposedly non-white.

Macon D. was commenting on an explosive situation that occurred between a Burning Man (BM) group and several Oakland, CA Native American tribes. The BM group had planned a party with a “Go Native!” theme, prompting the Native American activists to demand a cancellation of the event.

A Hopi woman had this to say:

I’m trying to articulate my feelings as best I can without completely losing it. What we do is not an artistic expression. And you don’t have artistic license to take little pieces here and there and do what you want with it. That’s something you people don’t understand, probably never will understand.

Following this thought process, how do we contextualize those white people who choose religions that are traditionally tied to another culture? Star.com recently ran an article, White by Birth, Sikh by Choice about a white man raised in the United Church who became a practicing Sikh in 1972.

According to the article, he still gets many looks when he walks down the street, dressed in a turban, flowing pants and shirt with a long beard. But the looks don’t bother him at this point, and he knew at a very young age that he didn’t fit in with those that surrounded him.

I’m all for people being able to choose, whether it be the way they dress, the groups they affiliate with, or their religion, considering I have personally gone down different cultural paths in all of these areas.

But, I wonder, are some white people (including myself) going too far in trying to be something different than they really are? Share your thoughts below.