Month: August 2014

  • A Vagabond’s Manifesto

    I believe in coincidence. Happenstance. Chance. It has been responsible for so many of my experiences—too real to ignore—creating connections where I expected none, and repeatedly linking past interactions to present ones. I recently picked up Milan Kundera’s “The Unbearable Lightness of Being,” and he believes in coincidences too. He writes, “Only chance can speak to us. We read its message much as gypsies read the images made by coffee grounds at the bottom of a cup.” I believe that meaning pools in the cracks between our expectations.
    Only this kind of meaning-full coincidence could explain how often the word “vagabond” crossed my path during my travels through Asia and Europe.
    I saw it painted across the front of buses in Nepal. Printed on a license plate in Thailand. Written on a Guest House sign in Cambodia. On graffiti. On T-shirts. Everywhere. I took its recurrence as an endorsement of my wandering activities by the world of signs.
    “Be Happy. Be Free. Vagabond,” became my motto for that year. I carved it into trees, painted it on walls, and tucked it into emails and postcards.
    In most every religious tradition, words themselves are understood to have power. That is why we are encouraged to repeat mantras or prayers even when we don’t understand them. I had long been drawn to words like “gypsy,” “wander,” “journey,” “nomad,” “wayfaring,” and, of course, “vagabond,” not only for their meanings and the images they conjured, but also for their taste in my mouth, rich and piquant. Their sensual, abstract power touched me deeply. I wrote essays on wanderlust, papers on nomads, and blog posts on wandering. These words cast a spell on me, saturating my dreams, and my waking life too.
    According to the Merriam Webster dictionary, a vagabond is, “a person who travels from place to place and doesn’t have a home or much money.” It can also refer to “leading an unsettled, irresponsible, or disreputable life.” Well, yes. The word “vagabond” often does, admittedly, hold negative connotations. Vagabonds are gypsies, tramps, and vagrants too. Our society often stigmatizes and demonizes these titles and the people who hold them. There is an implied element of disreputability, unsavoriness, or indolence.
    Such definitions have merit, too, and yet, I never lost my love—idealistic though it may be— for the vivid flavor of these words and what they describe. One word, “vagabond,” through chance or predestination, came to inspire my actions, beliefs and perspectives over the course of that year-long journey, and it continues to do so.
    For me, a vagabond is indeed one “who travels from place to place and [maybe] doesn’t have a home or much money,” but he or she is also one who is content with little, open to the world, and ever curious and optimistic. A vagabond defies society’s rules, certainly, but is by no means immoral; we need rule-breakers, (well-meaning) trouble-makers and chance-takers in the world. Vagabonds defy what is expected of them and read signs in the coffee grounds of coincidence. By this definition, I am proud to assign myself such a title.
    In sharing this accumulated list of a vagabond’s guiding principles, garnered from my experiences, I hope to highlight the beauty of this word and its impact on me and my travels. Maybe I will succeed in redefining it for you as I did for myself.
    A Vagabond’s Manifesto:
    • Always expect the absolute best of others, but have the resourcefulness and resiliency to recover when you encounter the worst.
    • Be fluid, open and expansive.
    • Carry little on your back, much in your mind.
    • Embrace spontaneity. Have contingency plans.
    • Never turn down free food.
    • Turn theory into action. Learn courage and fearlessness by doing things that are courageous and fearless.
    • Trust your instincts. Your intuition. Your belly.
    • Never say no to an adventure.
    • When unsure how to proceed, laugh.
    • Play often.
    • Walk everywhere. (Or bike. Or hitchhike. Or scooter. Or swim.)
    • Don’t believe anything everyone tells you. Believe everything anyone tells you.
    • Love and live like your train is leaving tomorrow.
    • Find joy in movement. Find joy in stillness.
    • Wander. Seek. Pursue. In body, mind and soul.
    • Be Happy. Be Free. Vagabond.

    ~

  • Animals Who Think They Are People

    I can’t believe I never got around to posting these. I spent a good chunk of my 2012-2013 travels photographing animals who seemed to really believe they were people. One part photos of animals standing on things in entertaining ways; one part dogs being dogs, goats being goats, etc; these photos never fail to make me chuckle.

    Something about this rooster standing on a motorcycle is so delightful. These roosters really want to go for a joy ride, but they can’t find their keys!

    “I could have sworn I tucked them in here somewhere.” “Dammit Bob, it’s always something with you!”

    Dogs are notorious for thinking they are people.

    “Who? Me? I’m not a dog. Nope, no dogs here.”

    This dog really wants to go to school, but they won’t let him in.

    And this dog is still waiting for his meal to be served.
    “Um, excuse me? I think you forgot something.”

    This monkey may or may not think he is a person, but he knows he is pulling one over on that silly lion.

    “I sit on your head, lion!”
    And last but not least, my favorite travel photo, which I have definitely posted before, deserves to join this list: a goat riding a cow.
    I hope you enjoy these moments of classic animal behavior as much as I do!
    ~

  • An Ode to Small Towns

    In the spirit of Buzzfeed and the general ethos of blogging at present, I would like to begin this post with a list.

    You know you live in a small town when…

    1. Your customers for lunch show up at your other restaurant for dinner.

    2. You run into your “regulars” all over town. They always seem surprised to see you.
    3. Going grocery shopping consists of 2 parts socializing and 1 part buying food.

    4. “Downtown” is Main Street.

    5. Your yoga students show up for dinner, and your dinner customers show up for yoga.

    6. When you walk into the local coffee shop, it takes 30 minutes to get to work, because you have to stop and greet everyone already there.

    7. When you throw a party and invite people from various parts of your life, there is no need to make introductions.

    8. Going to the “City” (Burlington) is an excursion you indulge in about once a month.

    9. You expect greetings from strangers, and find it odd when people don’t say hello.

    10. At least a couple times a week, someone you know drives past you as you’re walking to work and offers you a ride.

    11. Everyone talks about their garden like most people talk about the weather.

    12. No one calls you a hipster when they see you a. fermenting things, b. knitting or crocheting, c. baking, d. biking, or e. wearing flannel.

    Soon-to-be homemade sauerkraut.
    Above all, it is a small, small world when you live in a small town. I have mixed feelings about the whole thing. On the one hand, I live for those coincidences and connections. On the other, I hate gossip, nosy neighbors and unattainable anonymity. For better, for worse, or for bizarre, I currently reside in Middlebury, Vermont, and that deserves a poetic tribute…

    An Ode to Small Towns

    Oh, small towns,
    I can’t decide if I love or hate you.
    You are full of people who compulsively read Front Porch Forum,
    Scanning for nuggets of gossip to purloin,
    or petty arguments to join.
    Still, your characters rival those of the Big City—
    Where else will my neighbor ride his tractor down the road,
    Wearing a cowboy hat and white Santa beard as he goes?
    Oh, small towns,
    I can’t spend a day on your streets without running across a friend, or twenty-two.
    If I have news in the morning,
    They’ve all heard it by noon.
    If I see Main Street I’ve seen all there is to see,
    That is, everything but the dump, the gym, and the local brewery.
    A night out with friends often ends with drinking tea.
    Oh, small towns,
    By your community I feel supported-
    Strangers offer rides into town
    When the rain is pouring.
    Yet at the end of the day
    When I look around,
    I see all the same faces,
    Hear all the same sounds.
    What you lack in variety you make up for in warmth,
    But even so, small towns,
    I think my time with you must be short.
    ~

  • And How Is Your Family?

    A recent conversation with the lovely Alec MacMillen (Arabic speaker and traveler on his way to Jordan on a Fulbright at the end of this month) reminded me of this topic…

    And How is Your Family? Making Connections Abroad

    In the first unit of my Tibetan language class, we learned words for family members and how to ask about them. “Do you have any brothers or sisters? Where are your children? What do they do?” Beyond “how are you?” these were the first questions I learned how to ask the Tibetan residents of my neighborhood in Boudha, Kathmandu, Nepal.
    My friend, a novice monk. We could converse only at a very basic level, but he knew that I had one brother who lived in Canada.
    When I traveled to Senegal on a High School summer exchange program, I learned much the same phrases in Wolof. “Where is your family?” “They are here,” was a classic exchange between strangers or friends. What I didn’t quite understand at age 16, I began to see more clearly while studying in Nepal: In almost any corner of the globe, family is literally the foundation of every relationship. If you want to form a friendship, begin by asking about someone’s parents, sisters, brothers, children. If you wish to grow closer to your host family, ask about children, cousins or siblings abroad.
    In most beginning language courses, vocabulary for family members and questions about family almost always show up in the very first unit. In 6th grade French, I remember finding this awkward and a little bit silly. Many college language students feel much the same way.
    In the U.S., these are not the first questions we are taught to ask. At least, these were not the questions I was taught to ask. For many Americans I know, inquiring about family members is intimate, almost invasive for acquaintances or strangers. Here, if you want to form a friendship, begin by talking about shared interests, food, school… Family comes later.
    In that Tibetan language class, my teachers stressed the importance of asking about family first, before anything else. This was crucial to respectfully initiating conversations and friendships; omitting to ask about family could be perceived as inconsiderate or even offensive.
    Istanbul, where I probably sat down to drink tea in every candy shop over the course of my week-long visit.
    Once learned, this was a lesson I would carry with me. In Turkey, I made friends with every shopkeeper I met, exclusively by asking about family. In Italy, I remembered to ask new friends the same. Regardless of country or age, new acquaintances responded with warmth and enthusiasm to my queries. Do you have children? Where are they? What do they do? Do you have any brothers or sisters? What do they do? Where are they? Are you married? Where is your husband? Your wife? What are their names? Detailed, personal questions repeatedly forged an immediate intimacy and connection that flippant conversations about the weather or school could never produce.
    I became more comfortable in the asking as I saw how people opened to my questions. When I returned home and began conducting interviews for my senior thesis work, I employed the same technique, with surprisingly similar results.
    There exists in the U.S. an individualism that de-emphasizes the role of family. We are individuals. We are not where or who we come from. As I traveled and made friends, however, I found that most people do not agree. Questions about family are so crucial to forming relationships because family is crucial to forming individuals. No matter how much we pretend, we do not exist independently of it.
    While hitchhiking, I bonded quickly with strangers by asking about siblings, children, parents, etc.
    At least, that is the belief that drove my experience of connecting with strangers. Whether or not I believed it didn’t even matter so much; my new friends did.

    So, if you are traveling and you want to make friends, after you ask “how are you?” remember to go on with, “And how is your family?” See what happens.