Thursday, May 7
the Cleveland half-marathon
I’m not quite done with TBB, though: I registered today for the Cleveland half-marathon, where TBB has planned its second big fundraising event. I haven’t been training specifically, but I am going to do it. For me, it’s important to continue involvement in TBB and make the same opportunities I had available for other students.
All of the money raised for the Cleveland marathon goes directly towards scholarships. One of the most striking things about visiting high schools in the past couple weeks was how many students asked about the cost of the program. At first it was downright awkward to have to tell them that this was by no means a cheap trip, with a price tag equivalent to a year’s tuition at a private college. I spoke with a couple of incredibly enthusiastic students whose faces fell upon hearing the cost. TBB was able to offer scholarships last year, and creating a diverse group is important. The economy is hitting hard, of course, and more and more families need support to make a trip like this possible.
Having had this fantastic opportunity over the past year, I would love to be able to see more qualified students share the chance to partake. If you have been reading my blog, if you think the trip has been interesting, I am asking you to please pledge towards my run. The philosophy behind Thinking Beyond Borders is not just about a travel tour of the world; it’s about educating a future generation of leaders to think in a dynamic and engaging way about the world in ways that a freshman year of college doesn’t offer. I know it’s a tough time all around, and even a little money could help make this accessible to potential students. Many, many thanks … and I’ll let you know how I feel around mile 11!
secure Fundraising site: http://www.active.com/donate/TBB2009/lizkuenstner
Road Trip Presentations
My presentation focused on our experience in South Africa, stressing the importance of interacting with the individuals behind the large global issues. Getting to know the people, I argued, does two things: first, it gives you a personal and tangible relationship to an issue, like AIDS, that can be overwhelming and vague judged by vast statistics alone. Secondly, it gives you a more nuanced understanding of complex issues; I learned just how deeply-rooted cultural stigmas are against AIDS in ways I could not have by merely studying the facts of the epidemic.
I wanted to relate this lesson to any community-based efforts, not just so far as another continent, but within your own community. To really bring my message home to students and peers, I made a really clear connection to our every-day lives. Thanks to Photoshop, I created a mock-Facebook profile of Sharon, an AIDS patient I met in South Africa.
For those of you not drawn into the Facebook craze, let me preface by saying that every single one of the 65 girls I graduated from high school with has a Facebook profile. Many log in multiple times each day, and pore over minute details of their friends’ lives. I’ve had my own Facebook for years, but coming back to the US, I was particularly struck by how deeply interested we are in our own little networks, while our awareness of someone like Sharon is near-zero. To highlight this paradox, and to perhaps urge those in my generation to invest a bit of their Facebook energy into global consciousness, I showed my audiences the profile.
Receptions were varied; some were quite curious about TBB and our experiences, and others less so. But the Facebook hook definitely drew the attention of people my age. It was undoubtedly valuable to go through the process of figuring out how to articulate what we’ve seen abroad and how to bring that back home. It was also fascinating to see a range of different high schools, my own all-girls experience being a very atypical one. We saw everything from an inner-city Chicago school to an all-boys’ Catholic sports powerhouse, as well as a middle school and a University. I also enjoyed the experience of seeing a part of the country I haven’t visited much.
Tuesday, April 21
This I Believe
The group just spent two weeks in Douthat State Park in western Virginia. We spent the time reflecting on the trip and processing our experiences to create individual presentations of learning. One group activity that we did early on to begin thinking about our travels was listening to NPR's This I Believe series and try writing our own. Here's mine...
I believe in the power of a smile to a stranger.
I have never been the type to strike up a conversation in an elevator or linger at the coffee shop, chatting to the barista about the weather. I’m not naturally at ease with people I don’t know. But spending six months traveling abroad has given me confidence in the ability of this casual gesture to forge inherently human connections.
As if I didn’t already stand out enough as a foreigner in rural villages in Ecuador, industrial cities in China, remote communities in Thailand, and townships in South Africa, I determined to go on daily runs. The habit inevitably drew curious stares; in most of these places, exercise for the sake of exercise is unfamiliar. Furthermore, many of these areas never saw visitors, no less white ones, and there I was, a real live blond in the flesh.
Initially, I ran as I always had, in my own world of pounding feet, pulsing muscles, and rousing music: alone, in my zone. Still, I noticed locals gawking at this strange and unusual sight. It was in no way unfriendly, but it made me uncomfortable to merely ignore it or pretend I didn’t notice. I quickly assumed the habit of smiling at those I passed, raising my hand in greeting. Some people found my wave even more baffling, but by and large, this acknowledgment completely changed the way I was perceived. I was a stranger, yes, a foreigner, and what I was doing seemed a little bizarre, but I was being friendly.
Some folks cheered my progress, others jogged alongside me for a dozen paces. In smaller communities, they came to recognize me and expect my regular passes. Even though these interactions were fleeting, they stand out to me as moments of genuine, cross-cultural engagement. There was nothing more gratifying than a smile returned, acceptance of my presence. For two strangers to hold each other’s attention for just a moment is to recognize someone else’s humanity. We may not know each other. We may be different. But we can connect through this universal gesture.
After six months abroad, acknowledging others in this way had become second nature, not just on runs, but as I walked anywhere. It wasn’t until I returned to the United States that I realized how precious it had been. I understood it during my first run back in New York City. In some ways, I was home. But in others, I was alone. Anonymous. I could no longer smile at strangers – not only would they think me peculiar, but they often didn’t even offer eye contact. I resolved to try, but the only responses I got were a whistle and a bewildered glower.
I despaired, a little, of the culture I had returned to. I missed the smiles and even the stares of locals in foreign places, because they, at least, had acknowledged seeing me. But I’ve persuaded myself our society is not completely devoid of casual friendliness between strangers: people offer up their subway seat, hold the elevator, prop open a door. Thank them. Linger over this brief interaction. People want to connect to each other. It’s human nature. So smile at a stranger. It feels good.
Washington DC
Sunday, April 5
Back in the US of A
After six and a half months abroad, we are indeed back in the United States of America! On the afternoon of March 22nd, we arrived in New York City, a far cry from our last stop abroad – Addo national park in South Africa. I wouldn’t say I was necessarily looking forward to returning from abroad, but the rest of our trip should be good. The TBB program is not over yet; six weeks remain in our schedule.
We’ll spend a week each in New York City and Washington DC meeting with NGOs and larger organizations that relate to what we’ve been learning abroad. Then the group will retreat to an isolated center in Virginia to process everything we’ve seen and create individual “presentations of learning”. We’ll split into groups and present these projects to schools, interest groups, and philanthropy organizations around the country. My group will be traveling to Chicago, Cleveland, Cincinnati, and Louisville. Our program will culminate with graduation in Boston on May 2nd and 3rd.
Our schedule in New York included various meetings with the New York State Department of Environmental Protection, the United Nations, Sustainable South Bronx, Michael Pollan – author of The Omnivore’s Dilemma – Gay Men’s Health Crisis, Just Food, UNICEF, and the Clinton Foundation. Many of the visits turned out to be briefings with Q&A.
One of our more frustrating days was our trip to the UN; I think most of the group came away from it with a sense that this huge organization didn’t have the ability to enforce it’s recommendations and was laden with bureaucratic processes. It actually put me in a pretty aggressive mood because nearly all of the questions we asked were met with defensive, prescribed and evasive responses.
We saw some more enlightening things, too. Michael Pollan’s speech was wildly entertaining; our visit to Just Food included a visit to a tiny, acre-large community farm in the Bronx; at the Gay Men’s Health Crisis we volunteered by preparing – I kid you not – “pussy packs” of condoms for distribution. Other highlights included mastering the subway system, seeing Bill Clinton’s office, and receiving an abundance of printed material about each of the organizations we visited.
I feel like I ought to have more culture shock, but beyond the first jet-lagged afternoon, I’ve mostly returned to life as normal. Having experienced only summer weather since the trip began, almost the most shocking part was the bitter chill of lingering winter. It’s nice to have access to the New York Times, to speak to anyone in English, and have cell phones; on the other hand, we’ve never spent more on food and the city is overwhelming.
Tuesday, March 10
Final Days Abroad
During the final week and a half, I took a number of photographs of them for my media project. For this month's project, I decided to work alone and initially intended to use film. I've been toting around fifty rolls of black and white film that I'd wanted to use with my simple SLR camera, which of course broke by China. Though I replaced it with an ancient $20 point-and-shoot, that camera had no controls or zoom whatsoever. Then I learned that I wouldn't be able to process and develop my film here in Plett, so I had to scrap the film idea all together. I set my camera to its black and white setting and decided to use that instead.
My media project is a coffee-table book of a series of portraits I took of the patients I knew best. Before coming to South Africa, all I knew of the AIDS epidemic were the facts, the cold, hard, immense statistics, and I wanted to give the numbers a face, show the stories of a few patients. I coupled their photos with anecdotes about their life and their illness and my interactions with them. I was hesitant at first use my camera, but after I asked, nearly everyone was pleased to have their picture taken. I got to know about a dozen patients really well, visiting them every other day. Some improved, some did not. Most of them will always be patients, suffering from chronic diseases and old age.
We presented our media projects (many podcasts, a collage, and writing pieces) to an open audience which included our host NGO and all the carers we'd been working with. The Kranshoek crew took our two care-workers out to dinner, to their favorite spot in town -- a gaudy grill chain restauranted themed on native-Americans? Good-byes were very sad, both among the patients and with Anthea and Beulah. I gave the patients extra prints of their photos and we gave the carers a framed group shot, which they insist they will sleep with under their pillows.
It's hard to believe, but our time abroad is only a week! We've got a couple days more in Plett, the chance for independent student travel. I'm staying around and volunteering at an orphanage in another township, Kwanokathula. The children's shelter, Masizami, is home to twenty-six kids. Some have been orphaned by AIDS; others have parents, but they may be mentally incapable of raising them. The shelter was pretty empty this weekend, because many of the kids were on a group outing, but we played with six or seven of them. One boy looks about seven years old. He's eleven. He lacked the nutrition early on in life necessary for development. A couple have HIV and are spindly even for little kids. On the whole, though, the kids are brilliant fun and we're having a great time with them.
The TBB group will go on a brief safari in Addo, and within a week, board a plane back to the US. It'll be bizarre to be there after six months abroad, but I'm really looking forward to our schedule. We have a number of really interesting visits in NYC and DC, with NGOs and the UN and senators. The cold weather will be a shock to our system; days here in the sun get up to nearly 100 degrees!
David
Thursday, February 26
Kranshoek
Beulah is a small, serious-looking woman who is extremely dedicated to her patients, some of whom she's been working with since she began the job a year ago. She makes her rounds daily, Monday through Friday, calling on twenty PlettAid's patients once a week to once a day, depending on the severity of their illness. The services she provides are no so much medical as they are supportive; she checks blood pressure and blood sugar levels, but more I think her dependable presence encourages patients to take their medicine and keep their appointments at the clinic. Her patients' diseases include hypertension, diabetes, paralysis, HIV, tuberculosis (including MDR- multi-drug resistant) and stroke victims.
Most of the patients don't speak English; about 90% of the town uses Afrikaans. I still can't comprehend how there are eleven national languages; most people speak many, but how do you know what to use when you approach a stranger? Conveniently for us, all of the major signs are in English. We don't communicate directly with many of the patients we see, but Beulah does a great job of explaining a patient's medical and personal history as we go.
We've already seen some patients many times. Cornelia is eighty-nine years old, and in very good health, save for an enormous boil on her head. It's been there for three years, and doctors can't fix it, so she needs treatment to prevent infection. We see her quite often, and she's always full of quiet smiles. This morning we washed her hair with special shampoo and clipped hair away from the area.
Sharon is so far the most gripping patient. She's an HIV and MDR TB patient, and she had been in the hospital in a city for four months recieving care. Since she's returned to Kranshoek, however, she's simply refused to take her medication. It's been two weeks, and she's missed her appointments at the clinic and avoided Beulah's visits. When we first met her, I didn't realize how sick she was; she was wearing a down jacket and a fleece blanket covered most of her body. Then I saw her legs -- the quintessential image of severe illness, no thicker than my wrist. I might have guessed she was fifteen; she's twenty-nine. Beulah berated her when she discovered the packets of unopened tablets. It's so frustrating because the medication is free for Sharon - she literally had someone coming to her door to remind her. She stopped taking it because the symptoms of TB had disappeared, but since it's MDR, it's residual and highly-contagious and dangerous; the HIV medicine made her vomit. Now she sits nearly immobile, weak and tired, and her lungs hurt to breathe. When she sneezes, thick blood comes out. Still she neglects her tablets, she sullenly deflects Beulah's questions, not meeting her eyes. She lives with her mother, who was cooperative with Beulah but didn't seem to understand the severity of the situation, laughingly calling Sharon stubborn.
We shadow Beulah all morning, for three weeks. Afternoons alternate between TBB seminars discussing public health and volunteering. In Kranshoek, we're working at the local school to sand and re-varnish old one-room classroom buildings. I'm enjoying getting to know the patients and we'll see how the next two weeks go.
Saturday, February 21
Plettenberg Bay, South Africa
We're staying in Plettenberg Bay, a coastal town on the southern shore of the Indian Ocean (!) It was chosen because of it's safety relative to larger cities, and it's this bizarre mixture of different racial and socio-economic groups. Initially, it comes across as a hugely tourist town, attracting affluent visitors during it's summer months (December and January) and Main Street is full of expensive beachy boutiques. But there's also a predominantly black section of town with wholesale discount stores.
We're staying in a hostel - taking it over, really. The boys and the girls each have their own dorm room, and it's already quite crowded for nine girls to share a single toilet and shower. But there's really nice communal space, with couches, a pool table, and a beautiful balcony that overlooks the ocean, where we eat our meals. It will be a welcome change to trade our savory rice breakfasts for yogurt and muesli and fruit! Best of all, we have access to the small kitchen, and the supermarket in town is well-stocked, so we can cook just about anything we've been craving.
Our curriculum focus here in South Africa will be public health. We'll be working with an NGO called PlettAid, a home-based care service for 250 impoverished patients in the townships surrounding Plettenberg Bay. 40% of the patients (as opposed to 27% in the region) are HIV-positive; many have tuberculosis, disabilities, terminal illnesses. In groups of two, we'll be shadowing a care worker on her daily routine for three weeks. PlettAid has asked us to help by giving an evaluation of their organization's services to the patients we meet. Work will start on Monday; I'm partners with Zach.
So far we've spent our days meeting with PlettAid and visiting various townships. They're not at all what I expected, somehow rather than the quintessential images of poverty I pictured, they seem more spread out, and in between different towns lie beautiful green pastures. Also, it finally occured me why the town scene is particularly striking: not a single building exceeds one story, and telephone wires tower high above. It gives the appearance of being vastly flat and expansive.
It's nice to be so close to the beach -- a ten or fifteen minute walk. It's undoubtedly a gorgeous spot, but there's a lot more to be seen. I suspect our perception of Plett will change a lot as we begin to work with the carers.
Tuesday, February 10
Ban Huay Hee
Each of us lived with a family; mine lived on the outskirts of the village, on a peninsula of land that jutted out into a beautiful expansive valley. It's a little hard to describe the setting; half the time I felt as though I could have been in New England during autumn, half the time it seemed like Arizona's dry red dust landscape. But out house was in the middle of it all, overlooking endless mountainside, and it was spectacular at sunset, not to mention the stars at night.
My host-mother, Jipo, was the teacher at the local school, which goes only as far as elementary level. Beyond that, children have to travel into town, Mae Hong Son, which is about two hours by motorcycle. There were fifteen kids at school, in two classes, and she taught the younger group, about 3-5 years old. Most mornings I would follow my host-mother and her 4-year old daughter, Meji, into school, where I learned the Thai script from bossy but well-intentioned five-year-olds, and perfected my crayon abilities.
my host sister, Meji
As a TBB group, we met in the afternoon for Thai language classes. I have to admit that after a couple of days this seemed unnecessary, given that the locals in Ban Huay Hee spoke their own, unrelated language: Pakanyoh, the language that had followed the Karen people from Burma. The first word to learn is the multi-purpose da-bluu, which is appropriate for hello, thank you, and good-bye -- pretty much the fundamentals in a home-stay situation!
Our curriculum focus was sustainable agriculture. Ban Huay Hee was certainly an agrarian community; nearly all the food consumed there is produced on their own land (picture overgrowth on a mountainside, agroforestry, rather than the quintessential southeast Asian rice paddy fields I was imagining). However, January is the dry season, and there's not much labor to be done. The seasonal farming was in the burning stage, when trees are hacked down and left to dry before being burned to restore nutrients to the ground.
Admirably, the community didn't adopt the industrial farming techniques that were popularized in the Green Revolution, but later proved to be environmentally damaging. They use the same methods they've been practicing for hundreds of years, and by any measure, they're self-sustaining. Seeing what it takes to be sustainable on this level, however, raises questions about how feasible it is to apply sustainable agriculture on a large, world-wide scale. This community devotes so much of its daily life to cultivation and food preparation, not to mention the land needed -- it's hard to imagine being able to feed 6 million people this way.
Food in Ban Huay Hee was, if anything, predictable. It was pretty much a sure bet that any meal, breakfast, lunch, or dinner, would be based on a large bowl of rice. In addition, there would be two or three side dishes that everyone shared, generally vegetables or egg, sometimes with small bits of meat. I was lucky that my host-family ate with me, rather than feed me alone, as other families did. The four of us ate together on the floor, and as I learned early on, you don't help yourself to more than a bite of the communal dishes at a time.
Other highlights of living in Ban Huay Hee -- a day hike to Doi Pui, the highest mountain in the area, where, at the summit, we encountered thirty or forty soldiers of the Thai army, who were in town as security for the queen's tour of duty through Mae Hong Son. They were by far the friendliest bunch of militia I've ever seen; they cheerfully insisted that we all take a group photo. The irony was that with one arm cradling their giant guns, they flashed peace signs at the camera with their other hand.
In the middle of our stay, we had a weekend trip to Mae Hong Son for independent student travel. Zach and I went camping on a nearby river bank, complete with a campfire and a chorus of tree frogs, all night long.
Back in the village, we continued to study agriculture, and went on short trips to the fields to see the various stages in the cycle of burning fields, leaving them fallow, and re-cultivating them. We had a go at chopping trees, the head of the village showed us how to blacksmith machettes, and we worked on media projects.
The farewell celebration was a nice night of singing, thank-you's, and presentations of our media.
with Jipo & Meji
Saturday, January 17
Upland Holistic Development Project
Saturday, January 10
Sun & Surf in Thailand
According to the 2005 version of Lonely Planet, Koh Tao is a gem precisely because locals don’t spend their time catering to tourists, and even electricity hasn’t reached the island. It’s amazing how much a place can change in just four years: now, I’d say 95% of the island’s economy is tourism-based, the place is covered in resorts, restaurants, and adventure sports outfitters. And as for the electricity – it’s everywhere.
The scuba course was four days long, and began with a number of boring instructional videos. The first two days we also did foolish bubble-blowing activities in shallow water. So when it came to day three, I was numbed into expecting very little from diving, and it came as a pleasant surprise when all of a sudden I found myself at the bottom of a beautiful coral reef, freed from gravity’s constraint, and able to navigate a National Geographic setting myself. We made it on four dives, each about forty minutes, to a maximum of fifteen meters. What I never realized about diving is that you have to pretty consciously control your buoyancy – each inhalation and exhalation changes the volume of your lungs, and sends you up or down. After a couple of minutes with the bizarre sensation, you get used to it and buoyancy maneuvering becomes second-nature. It truly was the coolest experience – we got up-close and personal with the most bizarre neon fish, did back-flips on the sandy bottom, and had an underwater dance party. We saw stingrays and barracudas, not to mention sea cucumbers galore.
In transit we spent a night on a larger island, Koh Samui, where I had a pretty striking experience walking back to our hotel through the red light district (safely, with Sandy). Tiny little open-air bars lined the main street, competing music blaring from the speakers, and prostitutes blatantly promoting their bars. Thailand had a large stake in the sex-tourism industry, and though it’s illegal, it’s also largely overlooked. I looked up the issue online, and learned that in Koh Samui, a small little beach town, there are more than 10,000 prostitutes. Having just read a book on modern-day slavery (A Crime So Monstrous, by Benjamin Skinner) the walk through the bar neighborhood was particularly unsettling. I have no idea what proportion of those girls were coerced into their positions, but I also sense that women with economic options choose to go into the business. So far we’ve also seen a couple of lady-men, whose presence is proportionally high in Thailand because it’s culturally acceptable for men to transform themselves into women.
We’ve been pretty cloistered away on a touristy island, so it makes sense that I haven’t seen any indication of the recent political unrest. I wonder how much evidence of it we’ll see later on in the trip, when we go north to study sustainable agriculture in rural homestays.
Thursday, January 1
Final Weeks in Vietnam
After celebrating Christmas with the group in Quy Nhon, I visited Nha Trang on independent student travel with Emily and Renee. We spent a couple of nights in the backpacker’s beach town, in a little hostel just five minutes’ walk from the ocean. Of course, it’d been sunny all month while we were stuck in sweaty Ho Chi Minh City, but once we reached the shore, it clouded over and drizzled. We got a couple of hours of sun in, lying on the beach, enough to redden a bit. Other than that, we enjoyed the little town: we had an amazing Indian meal, homemade ice cream, browsed the book exchange shops, played badminton. It was a fun challenge to make our own hostel reservations, secure bus tickets back to Ho Chi Minh, and be in charge of all our own meals.
We celebrated the New Year at a fancy hotel party where there was a buffet, live music and performance, and a balloon cascade at midnight. New Year’s isn’t a very important holiday in Vietnam, but in Ho Chi Minh City it’s celebrated in certain neighborhoods. The entire hotel district was decked out in more lighting than during Christmas, and one street was even named “Times Square”.
Not long afterwards, we were having our last Vietnamese iced coffees and on our way to the airport to head for Thailand ...
Thursday, December 25
Christmas in 'Nam!
It's been warm and sunny all month, but of course it rained Christmas eve and Christmas day. We had a relaxing day to ourselves on Christmas eve, but had a nice group dinner followed by a round of Christmas carols on the walk home. We made a time in our schedule to honor other faiths, too, on Christmas eve; we broke out Becca's supply of gelt, lit the menorah, and learned how to play dreidel.
Then it was time for the Christmas eve night service at a local church. For years, my parents have literally had to drag me to church, but this time, I decided to go on my own accord. Lily, Renee and I went, and it was quite the experience. From two blocks away, you could see something festive going on (Lily even pointed it out, saying "you guys, I think there's a carnival"). But it wasn't a carnival, it was the church, which had been decorated to the point where it looked as if it should be in Las Vegas. Lights were everywhere, strung from the steeple to surrounding third story windows. Illuminated doves flapped their wings, and massive Jesus figures decorated the outside of the chapel. At the center of it all was a giant Nativity scene, with plastic Mary, Jesus, and Joseph, where people crowded around to pose for photos. All around the church, women hawked balloons and Santa costumes and glow-sticks.
We made our way to the entrance, where we encountered a crowd that was more like a mob scene at a rock concert than anything I've ever seen at church before. We were caught up in a crowd of hundreds trying to get through the doors, with people pushing and shoving wildly. Unaccustomed to the aggression it required to move forward, we never made it to the doors before the security guard baricaded the remaining parishoners. We, with many others, were turned away from the house of our Lord. I was disappointed not to witness the service itself, though it'd have been in Vietnamese, but just being at the church was an experience in itself. Locals asked to take pictures of us, we bought glow-sticks, and we enjoyed the hubbub.
Back at the guesthouse, much of the group gathered around a laptop to watch a Muppet's Christmas carol. At midnight, we broke out milk and cookies for Santa. Those of us who missed the northeast weather made it snow with styofoam packing peanuts from the ceiling fan.
When we woke up the next morning, Christmas, it was still gray and dreary, but we cheerfully piled onto the bus for a short ride to a beach resort where we spent the day. It was a fancy hotel, nestled in a rocky cove right on the ocean. It was festively decorated, but not too tacky, and given the drizzling weather, felt quite cozy inside. We were treated to the most amazing brunch buffet ever -- having had nothing but noodle soup for breakfasts lately, the fresh croissants, waffles, omelet station, etc were absolute heaven. Once we'd gourged ourselves, we exchanged final secret santa gifts; Lily gave me the spiffiest suspenders ever. We lazed around the rest of the day, playing volleyball, pool, and Boggle. We had an amazing meal for dinner, then made our way back home.
It was the most unusual Christmas I've had, but quite nice considering we're all away from home. Merry Christmas, I hope you've all had lovely holidays, and Happy New Year!
Quy Nhon
We took a day trip to visit the My Lai massacre site, a museum commemorating the brutal attack on the Son My village by the US army in '68 in which 504 innocent villagers were murdered. The village itself is no longer much to see, since the US bombed it a year after the fact to hide evidence. The massacre was awful -- in itself it was a catalyst for the anti-war sentiment and protests back home -- but some powerful stories came out of it: one US pilot threatened to shoot his own men in order to save a dozen local people; one soldier shot himself in the foot to avoid carrying out orders.
Another difficult trip was a visit to a local organization that works with children disabled by remnants of Agent Orange. 40 years after the war, there are 4 million people still affected by the chemical that the US sprayed to thin forests and seek out Vietcong troops. These children were severely physically and mentally retarded, with cleft lips and contorted limbs. Their parents were unimagineably patient in caring for them. Sadly, most of those affected by Agent Orange are already impoverished but must face the additional burden of serious incapacitation. This organization has tried to petition the US government to support medical bills, as they do for US veterans ailing from Agent Orange, but to no avail.
We also visited what was essentially a local projects: within the past two years, the government exercised eminent domain and forcibly relocated all the poor residents living on the oceanside (I assume to make way for more profitable hotel industries). The residents we visited seemed fairly content with their new homes, since the government provides them free, temporarily, but since they were fishermen, they’re finding it more difficult to access the ocean.
Quy Nhon is a nice change of pace from Ho Chi Minh City. Outside our guesthouse, if you turn left, you're in the heart of the town, with bustling shops and streetside restaurants and a produce market. If you take a right instead, you're just a block from the ocean, which is quiet and full of fishermen. I'm not sure what the swimming would be like, but it's a great place to run or simply sit on the shore.
Wednesday, December 17
Remnants of the Vietnam War
Saturday, December 13
Environmental Issues in Vietnam: Waste Management
Thursday, December 4
Ho Chi Minh City
Ho Chi Minh is an unbelievably busy city; no matter what time of day, you've got to dodge thousands of motorcycles to cross a street -- and even if it's marked as one way, don't expect it to work that way. Christmast is already everywhere, even in early December; all the shops are heavily adorned with gaudy decorations, and horrible techno versions of Christmas songs blare out of every door. But it's great; I'm glad we'll be spending the holiday somewhere withs lots of Christmas cheer, even if somewhat peculiar.
We're living in a dorm-style guesthouse; the girls in two large rooms, and the boys in doubles. We're working closely with CET, a study abroad program, and their office is fairly near the guesthouse. We've spent the last couple of days at the office, having lectures on Vietnam's history and economy, taking crash courses in Vietnamese (which, believe it or not, seems more difficult than Chinese), and having TBB seminars.
Tomorrow we'll start our work with our local NGO, Enda, Environmental Development Action. Our focus is waste management, and we'll know more about it once we start.
The best part of Ho Chi Minh so far? The iced coffee -- a local favorite, served usually with thick condensed milk. Easily found not only in cafes and restaurants, but also on stools on the sidewalk, it is more abundant even than Starbucks and Dunkin Donuts, a blessing after its scarcity in China.