From here on out...

For information about Jared and Mattie's trip to SE Asia, go to www.makingadifferance.blogspot.com . Also, a paypal account has been set up to handle online donations, just send them to makingadifferance@hotmail.com . You can still check out this site to see what I am writing, thinking, doing, etc, but from now on all trip related news will be on the new site, to save sponsors and others from having to sift through all the randomness on this site.

Social Atavism

Went to a party at an friends house last night. It started at a bar the night before, I saw a girl I recognized, though I didn't know where from. This, as you may know, is one of the terrible traits I am possesed of, an inability to remember names. Anyway, she remembered me, and I being well practised in faking remembrance until actual recollection, was able to pull off the conversation in good style until I could recall her aquaintence. Seems she took a shine to my buddy Nic, and she invited the pair of us to her friends party, which included a jacuzzi. So the next night we show up, case of beer in hand to the directed address at the appointed time, and walk in only to recognize no one. Jessica, the one who had invited us was busy in the kitchen and took little notice of us. I had it in the back of my mind that she was getting back at me for forgeting her name and had given a glance to the back door and was wondering if I would have to hop a fence to reach my car if I were to bolt out the rear when no one was looking. In the end Nic managed to make enough conversation to get us all integrated into the party, of it turned out mostly biology grad students. So we spent the night discussing bacteria that poduce free electrons in the course of digesting food compost and the genetic variations of bark beetles, among other things. By midnight we were all in the hot tub or rolling in the snow, variously. But for Nic, I would have sacraficed the 12-pack and been out the back door in a flash and at home watching the "Beverly Hillbillies" DVD set. Which might have made for a nearly entertaining, if shorter story.

Excerpts from the trip journal #2

8 Dec, 2004. Plaza de la Revolucion. Bayamo, Granma Province, Cuba.

...sitting in the plaza all afternoon writing and eating peso ice cream, I had time to reflect and consider, and nearly as important, to write it down. I thought about how no one in Cuba paid on a mortgage, either the family owned the dwelling and had for generations, or the state did and provided practically free housing. With the shelter situation taken care of, and utilities thrown in as part of the deal, and as we already know school and medical care state subsidized, there are very few substantial costs left to the masses. So it is that people can afford to earn their living selling pan con biztec for 4 pesos each on a street corner. There is much to think about with regards to the potential fusion of certain traditionally socalist elements with the mobility and reward for innovation and effeciancy that capitolism inspires. Because for all the idealism in the world, the housing situation in Cuba is substandard and unequal, and trying to live soley on a ration book leaves the body chronically malnourished. But the feverent adherance to a soley capitol based economy has given way to something nearly as subversive in this country, that dedication to consumption that pulls more and more families into debt and the future of our society into question. Long bus rides across the island interspersed with the piercing viasage of Che Guevera lent themselves to long thoughts about the nature of governments and economies.

After reaching the summit of Pico Turquino, the highest point in Cuba high amongst the mountains of the Sierra Maestra (birthplace and stronghold of revolutionary fighters in the 50's), my guide and I began the long descent down and back into the valley below. My guides shoe had been giving him trouble for awile on the descent, so upon reaching the lower slopes of the mountains and the hut of one of those who still live a subsistence lifestyle within the boundaries of the national park, he stopped out march to call on this friend and borrow a machete and hammer with which to fix his shoe. I was invited in and took a seat on the chair across from that which my guide took. The resident of the place stood, visiting with the guide and handing him the tools he needed. The hut was sparce, to say the least. The two wobbly chairs constituted the only furniture; a straw mattress upon a cot in a corner was the bed for husband and wife. A barrel cut lengthwise and mounted on a frame held the open flames of the cooking fire, and a book hung on the wall next to a couple of mugs and a few plates, the only decoration to speak of. The floor was rough poured concrete, seemnly without benifit of trowel or mason and the walls a sort of localy rough hewn lumber. The roof was palm thatch, woven over a skeleton of thin branches. No windows looked out and no door covered the entrance, where baby chickens walked in and out of the house with indifferance. In the yard a few pigs, chickens and the odd goat foraged and lounged in the shade. We stayed for only a few minuted, my guide fixing his shoe and chatting amicably with the host and I, sitting still, listening as best I could to the rapid cuban dialect of spanish and trying to soak up what for me was a subtle yet profound cultural experiance without giving away too much my degree of awe with all that I had seen this day, not because I was embarrassed by my own sense of discovery, but because I subconsiously feared the recognition of such might hinder the natural flow of events and circumstances I was now witnessing.

The waiting game

I am ready to go. Not logistically, but mentally I am ready to go. This waiting around is killing me and we still have two more weeks before we leave. We aren't even concrete where we are going, and I want to be gone.

It is looking more like Sri Lanka than Thailand at the moment, possibly in a field clinic or refugee camp as an EMT. Mattie has some medical training too, so perhaps we will take that tack. Or in Phuket studying for a certificate in teaching english as a second languge while rebuilding a fishing village.

Part of what is driving me nuts waiting is the uncertainty, what we will do, see, find, and how it may change us. I guess why I am nervous has to do with the fact that prior to desciding to go, I actually had more of a plan for my future than ever before, admitedly not more than a few months or a year, but something. These trips, both to Cuba and now to SE Asia have rocked my universe to some degree and while it has been in a posative way, it is disconcerting to not have some clue what the future holds. But at the same time it is exhilerating in a way I am not accustomed to.

May you live in interesting times

I must thank everyone who has offered to help with this trip to south east asia. And apologize, since I don't even know yet what is needed. Understand, it is not my intent to beg funds to subsidize Jared's adventures, but instead help with long term infrastructure rebuilding. But since I am still learning what is needed, I don't yet know what to ask for.

It has been busy here, not only with trip preparations, but also with search and rescue operations and I have also been teaching a wilderness medicine class at NAU, and while it is exceptionally rewarding, it is also exhausting. Last night we ran a mass casualty senario, simulating a plane crash in the middle of the night with a dozen vicitms, 30 rescuers, a helicopter LZ, incident command, local police, and the whole nine yards. Tommorrow is the students final exams, and it is amazing the progress they make in only 9 days.

A party is in the works, a going away party for Mattie and I. It may involove the butchering and barbqueing of a few farm animals. And drinking homemade beer and whiskey. Updates as they are known.

Shabuku

"A swift spiritual kick to the head that alters your reality and changes your perspective." Or so it was defined for me, though I don't know the proper spelling.

Change of plans. Guatemala is on hold. Instead: Thailand. In light of the recent tsunami in southeast asia, I have descided to alter some plans, put others on hold, and allow the winds of fate a bit o' sail to push me where they will.

Rather than a random adeventure for a few weeks in central america with an equally random dutch lass, I am instead embarking on a journey whose outcome and ulitmate destination is not yet known, with an incredible girl whom I have known for awhile. She knew when she asked me to come with her, that I would go. So did my roomates. It seems the only one with any doubts was me, and those were settled (in a manner of speaking) in about 24 hours.

Of course the doubts were not settled. I am nervous, least of all about going to thailand. You know me, I'll go anywhere for any excuse. I am more nervous, or perhaps excited is the word, about what I will find there and what I will see and learn and what it could mean for my future. The tenative plan is to teach, whatever we can wherever we can, and help with the longer term reconstruction. This is no two week volunteer vacation. It will be months. It could be more.

I will be back, at least in the US, at the end of May. My best friend is getting married and I may be the best man, nothing short of disaster will stop me from being there to see him. So I don't know when I leave, and I don't know when I'll be back. But I am excited, and a bit nervous, in that good way. If you ask me details of my plan, I don't have then. But if you want to help, I would appreciate it.

Jared's liver speaks out

I am back home now, and for the most part refraining from heavy drinking. Partly because I can't afford it. OK, mostly because I can't afford it. But that's alright, because over the holidays it would seem I did enough of that. In particular on a certain trip to Rocky Point, Mex. Sure, I know what you're thinking, another sordid tale of debauchery in Little Arizona, but this one is differant. This one involves the whole family.

We descided to do something differant for Christmas this year. We fled the country. Upon arriving in Puerto Penasco and checking in to our hotel, (around 3pm) we set out on a mission for food and beer. And by that I mean mostly beer. During the course of that afternoon and evening, my mother, brother, father, and I walk from one end of town to the other, bar hopping along the way, guided by the fuzzy recollections of my younger brother, who despite having logged the most time in RP, also was drunk most of that time. So navigating was fun. By 9pm brother Clay has bought mom several rounds of tequila and dad has made friends with some local fishermen and bought a big blanket with a half naked indian woman on it. But he got us a ride back to the hotel out of the deal in the fisherman's truck, so that was nice.

Back in the hotel bar a few more drinks and some supper to soak it all up (as well as a coffee and liquor combo served on fire!) and teh folks headed off to bed. Brother and I, invited by the bartended, go out to some club or another and have a beer, where I head home. But not brother Clay, he goes with the bartender to a strip joint down the street, where mom and dad find him getting a lap dance some time later when he doesn't come home with me.

The next day we find ourselves out at Cholla Bay searching for a marina that doesn't exist, instead finding a little ex-patriat bar showing the highlight reel from Superbowl 32, that epic battle in which the Broncos beat the Packers. So we sit don and relive that glorious game drinking mexican beer and eating fish tacos. Did I mention it was 11 am? And that we more or less did not stop drinking for any appreciable amount of time whilest in Mexico? That night at dinner in the hotel the bartender greets Clay with a holler and a free drink. Later we go out to give the folks some time alone on thier anniversary and at a random strip joint some of the dancers recognize Clay and come over to say hi. Dang, this kid has been back in the country for like 24 hours and he already is getting the VIP treatment.

Anyway, a fairly relaxed vacation, we returned to the states on Christmas day, having missed the last few frantic days of "BUY BUY BUY" bombarding the populace back home.

But nothing like getting shitfaced together for family bonding though, right?

Excerpts from trip journal #1

Dec 16th. Mid-deck of the "Lady Emerald" Somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean, south of Rum Cay.

Today I threw up on the Tropic of Cancer. The voyage from New Providence to San Salvador has been mostly smooth, save for a few hours late this morning, when I found myself chumming for sharks from the starboard rail. We spent all day in port yesterday, waiting on a fire truck. It seems there is a Club Med on San Sal, and they are having a grand re-opening and are flying in a bunch of VIP's from Paris. But to do this, they need a fire truck at the airstrip. This is why we waited 27 hours past our departure time in port. Really, the island of New Providence is only about 21 miles long at its widest; I could have walked across it in the time it took to get the truck on board. In the meantime we took aboard more cargo; in addition to the pallets of beer, booze, canned foods, mail parcels, and shipping containers, we added to it one christmas tree (how this poor fir tree found its way to the eastern caribbean I don't know), one casket (occupied), and several dozen potted shrubs. And then the mulch. In order (we thought) to get underway faster, the other passengers and I were pressed into helping load 1600 bags of red bark mulch from the delivery trucks onto the ship. Not that I minded, I wasn't doing anything else pressing at the time.

The fellow doing the cooking has managed to serve every meal as some sort of mash, mush, gruel, or stew, usually incorporating what I presume to be pigs feet. No wonder there was an ad posted on the fridge for a new cook. But at least I am being fed. I was afraid the can of sardines and two pieces of white bread I recieved shortly after boarding might be my only ration.

Post script: I would end up spending three and a half days aboard the "Lady Emerald", during which time I was provided a bunk, food, and passage from New Providence to San Salvador and on to Cat Island, where I disembarked to seek the highest point in the Bahamas. What was supposed to be a 14 hour voyage took instead 84 hours. What made it more neboulus was the fact that I had quiered the dock master, the master's mate, the deck hands, the capitan, and the cook about where the ship was headed, which islands it called on, and when it might arrive. Of the multitude of responses each gave, it was not the master or the mate or even the capitan who knew where we were going and when, but the cook. Should have known the guy with the food would know better than the rest.

Reflections and resolutions

Four years ago today I woke up in a hospital bed in central Mexico, not entirely sure how I got there. A few days ago I met the bride-to-be of the man responsible for getting me to that hospital and greeted his family, who helped me break out of the same. So for reasons that have nothing to do with the New Year, it is a reason of reflection for me.

As for the resolutions, here goes:
1: Talk to more strangers. This applies both at home and abroad. To be more approachable and to be willing to approach others.

2: Visit at least 2 new countries. Should be no problem, I have a plane ticket for Guatemela booked to leave in 2 weeks, and close to it are of course Belize, Honduras, El Salvador, and more.

3: Write more. On my most recent trip, I managed to write almost every day. But in the new year, I resolve to write and submit at least 3 articles to various publications.

So, there it is. May be more to follow, after all self improvment is a sort of all the time thing. But by telling others it helps to keep one honest.