The Impact

Much of our conversations these days have centered upon a theme of “impact.” In fact, this also may be true of most of our blog postings to date. Impacts of tourism on culture and landscapes; impact of making eco-educated decisions on the future of the planet and of our time here; impact of our blog on readers; impact of disasters on local and global community; impact of western ideals on non-western societies and vice versa; impact of two American backpackers and hitchhikers traveling the world on their honeymoon. Any way you look at it, the simplest of our actions have an impact. Positive or negative, they are never neutral.

But isn’t it self-righteous and arrogant and absurd to decide that your impact is positive? Can you truly see the situation from all angles? Are you being honest in your observations and viewpoint? Absolutely not. How can a person be absolutely objective; isn’t true objectivity a concept that we may understand but cannot actually possess? It is one of these sci-fi terms that might be applicable to robots and aliens, but really hasn’t a place in the human brain.

I drive N crazy with my barrage of suggested options and solutions and ‘what-ifs’ and possibilities; they come forth no matter what the situation, as long as I have time to think. I always like to play the devils advocate, to try to see the situation from the other side, to weigh both (or all three or four) sides. It exhausts me, but I can’t stop…it’s who I am. My actions oftentimes prompt N into a decision-making role, otherwise nothing would ever be decided. I have always struggled with definitive and succinct answers: the world is constructed of shades of grey, rarely do you find black and white in nature, only in human-made places.

But how to decide on your impact? For although there is never a choice as to whether an impact will be made, a choice does exist as to the type of impact. We have the power within ourselves and within our actions to give our impact direction and definition. When you stop to think about it, it is truly a weighty responsibility. It can become all-consuming; it can burden you. Finding a balance between living a normal and average life, and being conscious and aware of your impact on the world and on others can be difficult to achieve. Because everywhere you look, there is another impact, emanating from you and spreading out into the world.

We happen to think that abstaining from guided tours and expected tourist protocol sends a positive message about respect and personal perspective, but doesn’t it also hurt people whose livelihood depends on their job as a tour guide? Haggling with shopkeepers for the correct price will perhaps help future foreigners avoid gouging, but does this action give a negative impression of Americans?

There are always two sides to the coin, and all we can do it try as best as is humanly possible to make decisions that are more positive than negative, while keeping in mind healthy global values of consideration, respect, graciousness, kindness, care, and honesty.  

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Italy

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The Westernized Blues

The last few weeks, I’ve had the blues. Whirlwind traveling has certainly been a contributor, as has this sickness/allergy that just won’t quit.

Here in the lovely home of dear friends, we are surrounded by old mossy garden terraces, fig trees, lilac bushes, creeping ivy, and endless meadows of lavender. The place where we are staying is on the road to the Bibémus quarry where Cézanne became fixated on the warm afternoon light that glances off of the angular cliffs of the mountain Sainte-Victoire. It’s paradise and my blues have dissipated, a distance of a few days from bruise-hued thoughts allows me to reflect on the cause.

I realize that my blues are caused by the angst and discomfort of culture shock.

I know, it’s laughable. Here we are in Provence, with grocery stores and crusty baguettes and a culture that is so similar to one that we both were raised within and around.

Culture Shock.

N and I talked had about the concept, but in a lighthearted way. We meandered through the markets of Ghana, laughing about how weird it would be to be back in the Western world. We anticipated that the shift would occur when we arrived in Italia. We considered and planned for some of the basic changes as we traveled through Turkey and the Balkans: the cost of raisins and bananas would increase, internet would become more accessible, hitchhiking would be a more mainstream traveling possibility, the euro was shifting marginally, and our efforts to lessen plastic use might become more difficult. But, it turns out that I was completely unprepared, that I had absolutely forgotten about so many of the things that define our Western world. They are aspects of a Westernized life that usually feel quite ordinary and normal and expected. But after a five month break, these ordinary and normal things feel strange and disconcerting and sometimes just plain wrong.

Last week, after much preparation (thanks for your help E!), we sent a package of fun things home from Venice. We scored a cardboard box from a delightful storeowner in Valvasone, and had the package ready to go as soon as we disembarked from the train. But when we arrived at the post office, we were told that our box was no good: images of olives were visible on the outside and this was ‘not permissible.’ Oh jeez, give me a break! We really have to go buy brown tape for 4 euros and cover up all of the pictures of olives? Hello Western world, I forgot how obsessed with bureaucracy and red (err…brown) tape you are!

We took the fancy ferry from Bandirma to Istanbul a few weeks ago, and the only seats available were located in the business class section. Not quite our style, but we jumped aboard. Business class was essentially identical to the standard class tickets; the only difference seemed to be that the ticket price (or perhaps just unspoken societal mandates) eliminated the riff-raff. Instead of normal people who smile and make conversation, careful families walked their children around the second floor business class ferry section, the children treated as pets kept leashed to a human hand, and picked up at regular intervals. The people sitting at our table were vaguely horrified when we pulled out our slightly stinky salami, bread, and cheese to make sandwiches. They silently slurped on their coca-colas and absentmindedly picked at the fancy tiramisu from the ferry café. Such a far cry from the laid-back scenes of children in Africa: proud of their responsibilities in taking care of younger siblings, making games of seed pods fallen from a tree, and exhibiting confidence in their independence.

Now that we are back in the Western world, everywhere we go we are pressured to buy, buy, buy. At first, we struggled. We found it hard to resist: “it’s just one euro! Why not?” That is a cute little bag of spices, and that lip gloss does sound tasty. But when I think back to our weeks in India, I remember that the same items were available, but for a tenth of the price. Yet, in India, I didn’t have an urge to possess, to purchase. Why is this? The answers are commercialism, consumerism, marketing. A strong and successful industry has been built upon these tactics and strategies; they are a true art, one of manipulation, deceit, and creative talent.

So much in this Westernized world has to do with who or what you want to become, rather than who or what you already are. Most every product for sale advertises change: change in your body, change in your hair, change in your income, change in your penis size, change in your mood, change in your health, change in your level of attraction, change in your income, change in your economic status, change in your weight. But the change all directs you towards the mainstream, towards the same current than everyone is swept into.

We are back in the land where women are body conscious, where advertisements are inundated with magical cures for cellulite, large pores, flab, under-eye circles, and parts of the body that fall victim to gravity. Gone are the round, strong, cherished bodies of women that exude heath and wellness. Enter the waif, but she is wearing these hideous balloon/arabian-style pants that look like a diaper. Sometimes I wonder if mainstream fashion is truly created to make women feel worse about themselves!

Now, in Aix, France, billboards around the town advertise lacy thong underwear, modeled on computer-generated female figures. No skin is that smooth, that unblemished, that perfect; commercialism has come a long way since the days of airbrushing, now the models are just computer composites. Lancome would like you think otherwise, but there isn’t a chance in the world that the $50 face cream is going to make you look like the girl in the commercial.

Perspective gained from traveling is such a gift and can be so life-changing. But what happens when you can’t go back to the way things are, when you realize that you have changed and the ordinary isn’t ordinary any longer? What if you don’t want it to be?

I guess that I will re-assimilate, I just hope that I don’t forget the joys I found in a non-Western World.

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New Ideas and Debate on Public Art: Reflections on Legal & Illegal Art Europe

I did not know it, that Europe would be the most graffitied place I had ever been. It is too much!

It is everywhere. Sometimes it is a masterpiece of enormous proportions; or, maybe it is a tiny image, politically understated yet provocative, hidden among graffiti tags on a slender alley's wall. Other times, it is debatable whether there is anything 'artistic' at all; if what you are seeing is plain ignorance; a teenage angst brought to life; or, the worst we have seen, desiccation of another, much more historically important or beautiful piece of art.

We have seen thousand year old ruins and statues spray painted. We have seen beautiful modern art sculptures covered with globs of paint or wax or worse.

So we continue a debate - what is Public Art: What is damage?; What is political?; What is juvenile?

In the Balkans, in Italy, and in France the lines of officialdom begin to blur.

Art is so useful here, so expressive, so 'cutting edge' and/or deconstructive. But, one has to ask - where would a modern open-minded society dare to put restraints on production, placement, or culpability of displaying public art?

Reticently, we have had a debate about how to use better, more temporary public art displays as environmental art. Our debate centers both in the sense of art display and in terms of its social and environmental impacts.

We are seeing some types of art, especially grafitti, causingdamage, social stress, and reinforcement of negative values. How can this negative become a positive, we ask ourselves? After seeing so much damage and vandalism to property by 'artists' we were happy to find that some artists were looking for compromise and solutions. One art exhibit in particular really seemed very well thought out in Marseilles.

In this exhibit, a photography group has produced large paper prints of two separate expositions. The first group of photographs takes up the concepts of spirituality and public spiritual displays in India. This was a terrific exhibit which stretched over several blocks in the historic foothills surrounding the Vieux Port area.

The second exhibit was apparently produced by either the same photography exhibition group or very kindredly inspired artistic spirits. This exhibit collects recent and historic photographs from the neighborhood where it is exhibited.

What impressed us and drew te fire together for our debate on producing meaningful, and harmless art in the form of intentionally temporary exhibits.

What are some of the benefits of producing temporary public art exhibits?

Our debate about basic questions concerning placement, quality, temporality, and nature of Public Art is one that we give more thought to now than before we reached Europe. The Who, What, When, Where, Why, and How - of whether art and its display in public space should continue to exist is, to us, now unquestionable. That more art on public display produces more thought, insight, debate, camaraderie, and a more sociable urban aesthetic is, to us, obvious.


But... are there ways for all 'public' art artists to improve their art. Can it be made more green? Can we put moral or critical restraints on ourselves in order to not offend or to reach different audiences? Are some lines too important not to be crossed? How do we distinguish between art and vandalism? How can art collectives strengthen social fabric and explanation of art?

In temporary photography exhibits we see in Europe (and those described above in France) there is specificity.

Here, we found in two exhibitions a melding of Marseillaise social history, of green arts technologies and recycling, of bridge-building, of mosaic collage, of spirituality, of international ambassadorship, of much to make neighborhoods and cities humane. These were progressive, thoughtful, for everyone.

Art can be fun. It can be interactive. It is something which we can identify with, be critical of, and be proud of (sometimes, all of these we can find at one and the same time)...

Public art is a tradition as old as humanity. Let's support it!

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Visiting a Mosaic School outside Venice

Our energies and aspirations to ‘know’ a portion of Italy in too short a window of time was luckily informed and bolstered by our experiences in the region of small hamlets north of Venice.Thanks to our wonderful host and the lovely countryside surrounding Pordenone.



The region is a historic wonderland. It is a place to see villages almost entirely intact dating back a thousand years. There are towns filled with frescoes covering insides of churches and outsides of normal buildings. These are public art murals dating back 400-600 years!! People will be warm to your visit. In many places, they only get some regional tourists, maybe an Austrian bus tour or two, but not very much in terms of distant travelers (these people rarely leave Venice).



Our best find was one of the only two Mosaic schools in Italy. At the School Mosaicisti del Friuli, Spilimbergo, Italy, Students come from around the world to spend three years studying the Mosaic arts. The school itself is basically a museum of sculpture and mosaic arts right down to floors and walls which were created, designed, installed by students and staff. Types of Mosaics on display range from historic reconstruction, to portraiture, to abstract and contemporary arts. A visit to this venerable institution will likely broaden your appreciation for craft arts and sculpture, for trades and guilds, for public art, and for a general respect which the arts are given in Europe.

Try and visit while classes are in session to meet some of the students. Their dedication, craft, and work ethic will amaze you. It is a place of living history supporting the crafting of art - modern, contemporary, restorative, public.

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Creating and implementing service programs

Creating and implementing service programs that are sustainable at home and abroad...

When we travel, we want to be at our best; and, we want to have our eyes wide open. To be sponges of interest and dynamism, to represent with confidence, humility, and genteel ambassadorship the best of the places we are from. We want to take in new cultures, habits, and customs; while not being unduly harsh and/or not accepting of the quirks and contrasts which are new to us.

But, if we are traveling with a sense of service, exchange, and equitability of economy or position, we may also want to use our skill sets, our interests, our profession, our social skills and ambitions for the benefit of the people we are visiting (and, thus, in turn, for ourselves). As experienced and ostensibly benevolent minded travelers, Brittany and I set off for our 10 month ’honey service year’ with the ambition of service right smack in the middle of our highest aspirations. We made a point in our wedding registry to include an option of donations to go towards projects we would find of the highest merit as we traveled.

The truth is, we have found some wonderful organizations - some formal, some informal - doing work in different arenas range. As anyone who knows us might suspect, we also build more informed critiques of NGO’s in general; mainly from perspectives of provenance, utility and sustainability.

Setting up sustainable programs that are sensible and beneficial to the community we come from, to the community we are exchanging with and/or to ourselves as individuals depends on many factors. How long do we plan to work or collaborate on the project. Is our local partner informed and willing to participate as needed. What is the long term ownership management potential for comprehensive oversight and growth. How necessary is the project? What are expected or unpredictable mitigation issues for damages and challenges of the project? How will financing be sustained and initiated? Is this a highest best use project for limited resources? How can our project partner, collaborate, exchange and reproduce in other ways?

There are infinite good program development possibilities brought on by cultural and multinational exchange. New ones arise daily. While possibilities are endless, fine tuning projects to match the culture sensibilities, timeliness, and appropriateness of countries we visit is equally confounding and inexact. Oftentimes, due to our backgrounds, we see project possibilities in government/civic collaborations, NGO/Non-profit, and community participation and engagement. Those with different backgrounds and expectations will have other challenges, dreams, and possibilities. We all have a responsibility to act.

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Fast-Track Traveling

Our blogging has really taken a nose dive in the last few weeks. We have been traveling so fast that my head is spinning. Can I give you a tour through the Balkans? I must warn you, our experiences are brief and incomplete, but hopefully will give you a taste.

May 28, 2010: Arrive in Taşucu, Turkey, by way of Cyprus. What a wonderful change from Cyprus: normal prices, normal people, and although the tourism infrastructure is very apparent, it isn't all-consuming. The truth is that we very much enjoyed the "occupied" northern side of Cyprus, but cared little for the high fashion, high priced southern end of Cyprus. I think that, had we to choose again, we might not choose to travel from Egypt to Turkey by way of Cyprus. The flight seemed fairly cheap, but then we paid $100 each for the 2 hour ferry from Cyprus to Turkey. We spent two nights in Taşucu, dealing with a computer crisis and enjoying the permeating smell of peppermint drying on tables throughout our little hotel.

June 1, 2010: We left Taşucu by way of hitchhiking and scored a series of two friendly drivers who managed to get us 260 kilometers down the Turkish coastline in a single afternoon. We spent most of the day in the car, except for various stops along the way for çay (tea) and fresh seasonal fruit. Many thanks to two new Turkish friends! We disembarked early evening and camped in a beach park just west of Alanya. We spent a while cleaning the beach in the dimming light and then feasted on bananas, carob, and bread with tomatoes, cucumbers, salami, and cheese.

June 2, 2010: After awaking in our little cozy tent, we took a quick swim and then headed back to the highway for a lift, reaching Antalya by evening. Antalya, as expected, was touristy and filled with material things to buy: evil eyes, handloomed rugs, leather sandals, trinkets and treasures galore. We, of course, didn't add much to our already mountainous backpacks.

June 3, 2010: After failing for 2 hours to find a walkable way out of the city in order to hitchhike, we hopped a bus heading out of town, getting off at the entrance to the Gulluk National Park, which contains the site of the Termessos ruins. After some haggling with the guard, we pitched our tent and ate more bread and cheese and salami.

June 4, 2010: We awoke with the morning light and headed up the mountain, ignoring the taxi drivers to tried to pressure us to hire them for the 9km drive up to the site. "Only 50 euros, one way!" Yeah right. We walked for about an hour, then a park ranger gave us a lift up to the top. We had passed a couple the day before who said that the site could be seen in 2-3 hours. We spent nearly 7 hours wandering through the ruins, picnicking in an ancient amphitheater perched on the mountainside, and marveling at the remnants of this ancient civilization. We finally wandered back down the mountainside and caught a ride to the next town: Korkuteli. Far from the tourist path, Korkuteli felt like our real first taste of Turkey. We bought bulk olives and raisins, nearly three pounds of glossy cherries, gnawed on delicious fresh baguettes, overindulged on kebob plates, and certainly were the talk of the town.

June 5, 2010: Bright and early we started hitching out of town and snagged a ride with two friendly guys. They were enroute to Izmir and tried very hard to convince us to join them. But we had a different route in mind and hopped off in Saraykö. The next two rides carried us as far as Akhisar, a surprisingly expensive college town. We enjoyed wandering around and visiting the local produce market. It was a long day, but we managed to cover 450 kilometers! The Balkans began to speed by too quickly, but we kept going.

June 6, 2010: A nice semi-truck driver picked us up and drove us almost all the way to Bandırma, where we caught a ferry to Istanbul. The ferry ride was okay, but completely enclosed with big televisions and gift shops. We would have preferred a slower, open-air ferry for the experience. But it got us to Istanbul in record time, early enough to explore the city by bus for a few hours. Wow, what a city! We stayed in Istanbul for the next four days, exploring the city mostly by foot, traveling by seabuses, circumventing the major tourist areas as much as possible, and enjoying the company of a wonderful Couchsurfing host. It rained nearly every day of our time in Istanbul, but we persevered and took the deluge as excuses to explore mosques and churches and museusms and lovely covered ferry boats.

June 10, 2010: Bus to Edirne, Turkey, which is the last town before reaching Bulgaria. Twelve days in Turkey was frustratingly short; it was a kind a generous country that formed an appropriate and softened bridge between the third world and the western world. There was a nice balance in Turkey: history is integrated into modern life, the old and young both have strong and valuable places in society, food is plentiful and locally grown or produced, cafe culture is strong and public spaces are well-used. We spent our last night in Turkey enjoying köfte (meat balls) and big tomato salads.

June 11, 2010: Crossing the border and receiving our first EU stamps was easy and accomplished by foot. A series of kind hitchhike rides got us to a couchsurfing spot in Haskovo, Bulgaria, only about 100 kilometers from Edirne. Our hosts were very kind and gracious; we enjoyed rich conversations about travel, hitchhiking, eco-education, and insights about the world. Thanks T and I for such a wonderful experience and for the delicious traditional Bulgarian soups!

June 12, 2010: An exceptional driver picked us up on the edge of Haskovo and carried us all the way to the outskirts of the capital city of Bulgaria: Sofia, about 250 kilometers. Along the way, we stopped at a restaurant for Turkish kebobs and çay and limited spoken conversation and lots of smiling. We arrived in Sofia, tired and unsure as to what our evening situation might be. We headed to a park where a Couchsurfing meeting was taking place, hoping to find a few friend (with a couch) in the mix. We were delighted to make two new friends that evening, and stayed up late chatting. Thanks so much for hosting us T and V!

June 13, 2010: We spent the morning exploring Sofia: parks and museums and churches and art galleries. Then we continued on our way, Serbia here we come! One long and ridiculously hot bus ride later, we arrived in Niš, Serbia, and were met at the station by yet another generous Couchsurfing host. We enjoyed a great CS gathering that evening, and added to the croquette feast with some pizza bites and southern coleslaw. It was a fun group of people that gave us a sense of Niš in a limited period of time. Thanks to the four Ms for their friendship, kindness, and hospitality!

June 14, 2010: In the morning we set out to see some of Niš. Although closed on Monday, we wandered around the grounds of the Crveni Krst concentration camp, thinking to the thousands of persecuted people that passed through this site. Although horrific, we couldn't help but compare the camp to the Cape Coast slave castle that we visited last month in Ghana. So many similarities, yet so many differences. Perhaps I will delve more deeply into this in a later blog. But for now, our fast track continues and we move onwards, to Belgrade! More hitchhiking included a big rig ride, some maple syrup, and a new friend who took us to the Belgrade train station. Thanks!! We spent the night with more couchsurfing hosts, right on the edge of a fantastic daily market.

June 15, 2010: A visit to the United States embassy ensures that we have enough pages in our passports to travel the world again in the next 10 years, and we spent the whole day exploring the great city of Belgrade. We visited the botanical gardens, the bohemian distict, the museum of Applied Art, nd many many markets. At 9:30PM we boarded a train heading north, next stop Zagreb, Croatia! Because of the low-cost European flights, trains in the Balkans seem to usually be mostly empty. Our private (we weren't sharing!) compartment was reminescent of a Hogwarts train, with banks of three seats on either side, a door + curtain to block vouyers from the hallway, and chairs that slid down to meet in the middle a form a bed. The window even opened and we slept deeply in cool Balkan breezes.

June 16, 2010: Whoops! There went Croatia, speeding by in the early morning light. We continued onwards to Ljubljana, the capital of Slovenia. It was chilly and rainy when we arrived, but we stowed our backpacks in a locker and set out to explore the city. We hiked to the uppermost point, a medieval castle atop Castle Hill. It was a bizarre and surprising combination of ancient castle and modern renovations. Very little of the castle was educational, the majority of the space was taken up by a very modern bar, a cafe, a gift shop, and elaborate corridors of glass and metal. Perhaps the photos will do a better job of explaining.

After hours of walking, we hopped aboard a local train heading for the Italian border, with plans to arrive in Trieste that evening. Thinking that we required a border stamp when crossing into Italia, we opted to walk from the local Slovenian train to the highway, hoping for a ride there. It was a depressing and entirely fruitless venture: we found the highway, and had no ride offers for the entire hour that it took us to reach the border. And when we arrived at the border, we realized that not only were stamps not required, but that there wasn't even a border control, just some random polizia watching cars zoom past. So, we tried hitching on the other side of the "border," still no luck. Until a very sweet couple gave us a lift to the tram that runs to Trieste. And there we were arriving at our first point in Italia, happy to be there! We found a great Albergo right in the downtown and enjoyed a romantic Italian meal close to the harbor. Needless to say, we slept profoundly that night.

June 17, 2010: As per the usual scene, we spent the morning wandering through Trieste, reveling in the beautiful architecture and Italian culture, and tentitively trying our Italian phrases. My memory was continually jogged by reminders of a wonderful trip that I took to Italia with my family eleven years ago. What a special gift it was for a 17 year old, thanks Mom and Dad! Early afternoon, we caught a train to Casarsa, to meet a friend in Valvasone. What a wonderous opportunity to spend a few days without backpacks on, reveling in the kindness of a new friend, and enjoying the epic countryside of small-town Italia. We bicycled around the village, indulged in local wine, ate enormous amounts of speck and proccuito and cheese, visited an incredible mosaic school, and readied a 5 kilo package of to send stateside. Special and specific blogs will be dedicated to this special visit. Thank you so much E for such a special visit, we are so lucky to have a friend in you!

June 19, 2010: With deep regret, we departed from Valvasone on an early morning train, next stop: Venice. We sent our package with minor complications and set off to explore the great city. I wanted to revisit this special place, and I thought it important for my husband, who is also from a city that resides at/below sea level, to visit. Venice is incredible. It is beatiful and delightful and perfect for explorers like us. The city planning is exceptional, the churches are staggeringly awe-inspiring, and the people surprisingly friendly considering the annual tourism traffic. The day was cloudy with intermittent rain, which far from dampened our spirits. We wandered for the day, getting lost, avoiding the 100-person line to enter the S. Marco Cathedral, and snacking on Italian proccuito with cheese on steps leading into a canal. It was a wonderful day, but by evening, we went back to the train station to collect our considerable-lightened backpacks, and caught a train heading towards France. We had a date to meet a friend in Marseilles on the 22nd, so onward we pushed. In our rush to make the departing train towards Milano, we neglected to look carefully at our itinerary to Ventimiglia, on the border between Italia and Francia. By midnight, we had passed through Milano and were half an hour from Genoa. Upon arriving in Genoa, we groggily moved towards the train door exit; I made it, Nathan didn't. There is something insane about standing in the chilly wind on a train platform at 12:30AM wearing a backpack and watching your husband speed away into the darkness, destination unknown, return unlikely. But, amazingly enough, he did return about an hour later, after catching the last local bus back to Genoa, since the next train wasn't scheduled to pass until 4:30AM. He found me, snuggled up on the marble floor, covered in the rain fly of our tent, keeping a wary eye on the other strangers waiting in a cold train station for early morning trains. I was delighted to see him and we unrolled our sleeping bags, huddling down for the six hour layover, waiting for our connection to Ventimiglia.

June 20, 2010: I can't say that I awoke refreshed from my night on the floor of the Genoa Train Station, but I was surprised to feel slighly rested. From Ventimiglia we continued on, emerging in Monaco and walking through some beautiful gardens before catching a bus to Nice. Nice was nice, but expensive and not receptive to hitchhikers. We traveled on. The downtown of Cannes was beautiful and filled with references to cinema, but we can return there some day. Back on the train. Finally we arrived in Marseille. And here we are still. Our friend is unable to meet us, but we are staying with some wonderful new friends right downtown. I love this city!! Yesterday we walked to "little Morocco" to shop for ingredients for dinner, walked along the port, and up to Puget Marseille to see a statue of Louis Braille. Last night we attended a outdoor classical concert with our new friend C and enjoyed pastis at a street bar afterwards.

It's been a crazy few weeks. The fast pace has us neither here, nor there, but always in motion. Feelings and images and observations are so fleeting; there is hardly time to grasp the feeling before it is left in the distance. It is certainly a different way of traveling, perhaps not the method that I prefer, but does give me greater appreciation for the luxury of the slower travels of the beginning months of our journey. And I keep telling myself that we will come back to this part of the world, that we will again someday take trains through the Balkans and explore more of Italy, that we can visit all the places that we couldn't include on this trip ont he next go-round. And we will.

But for now, I am delighted to have landed in Marseille. Keep tuned, I feel some more writing coming on.

xoxoxo

brittany

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Learning by Design

In Sofia Bulgaria we had the good fortune to stumble upon a 2nd annual week of artistic celebration entitled, “More or Less: Sofia Design Week.” Happening across Sofia, Bulgaria the international event organized by “One Magazine,” an Independent Bulgarian Bilingual Publication, gathers some of the most avant-garde names in contemporary product, communication, interactive, and graphic design. The 2010 themes reflected much of our own recent thinking and themes which have emerged from our blog.

As organizers wrote in exhibit introductions this year, “More or Less? That is the question this year. But what is the answer if we ask this question in terms of design? Under inevitable influence of long, difficult words such as ‘financial crisis’ and ‘global changes’,” in the second edition of Sofia Design week organizers aimed to ponder that broad question with the following list of short but not very easy questions:

More or Less?
Low-cost or long-lasting?
Practical or beautiful?
Simple or elaborate?
Less or more?

“Of course,” they concluded, “the more we argue, the less likely we are to find a real answer. But still, what about getting together?”

Before viewing or studying the background of their work, the organizers and participating designers were onto something significant. What does the simple question ’More or Less?’ mean in today’s world; in conditions of emerging or real international concern We found the whole project a success.

Several exhibits we saw deserve mention per relations to themes already discussed in our blog. The ideas grabbed our attention We spent time inspecting and discussing workshops vs. their provocative outcomes.

First off, there was an interactive workshop which we had missed; but, which we were able to enjoy the results of, entitled: “Do More with a Plastic Bag.” This workshop formulated by an outrageous ad agency KesselsKramer was based on their “do” initiative. It was created to be a reaction against passive consumerism. KesselsKramer asks in the workshop that each “do” product asks for greater involvement from its maker. So the “Do More with a Plastic Bag” asked all its participants for greater involvement by way of sticking, painting, cutting, weaving etc.

Do More with a Plastic Bag - Design Workshop

The work had taken place. We saw was the display of the workshop’s results. We saw products of different people’s interpretation of this “do” initiative. “Do More with a Plastic Bag.” workshop had already produced plastic bag clothes, costumes, reusable shopping bags, cups and plates, vases, shoes, and sculptural items of every different possible consideration. One of the designers of the workshop from KesselsKramer, Jennifer Skupin, developed a knitting kit which encourages making new, more durable plastic bags from your old ones. In most of our ’developed’ countries use of plastic bags is not even an afterthought to our consumption. Plastic bags accumulate under sinks and in cupboards. Do more: Reuse.

A different designer, Thomas Mailaender from France, took on the subject of tourism. His exhibit consisted of staging every possible tourist pose in front of an erupting volcano. His design project asked questions both about what we seek as tourists and what we do our tourism for. While his pictures were humorous, they showed lengths which people will go to with no clear goal of what is likely to be achieved.

Thomas Mailaender: Extreme Tourism

The exhibit gathered together various design specialties from professionals at varying levels of experience or notoriety in their craft. It appeared a very democratic and inclusive event. If you are going to be in Sofia late spring 2011 or beyond look for this interesting and far-thinking event. To see examples or read about this year’s event visit their website.

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Children’s blog update - Just added Pinky, Big, and the three toes

Children’s blog update

There are some new children’s’ stories up today including:

Pinky, Big, and the three other toes

Go to: http://honeyserviceyear.blogspot.com/p/blogs-for-kids.html

We hope all of you can really relate these stories about a basic mode of travel and its first actors. Scroll to bottom of page with new headlines in bold type for our latest stories.



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If you like the blog format and what we are doing - give a cheer to Brittany who tirelessly wades through the googly swamps of middle cyberspace and pulls together ingredients to organize chaos. Not everyone can learn and speak html to make your life here richer.

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We also are always collecting more photos and images for the kids’ in all our readers. We hope to unveil soon a new images cache which will b especially associated with this part of our blog.

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Straying from the Asphalt

We have now passed through many tourist destinations of the world: The National Gallery in Washington D.C., USA; The Lucy Museum in Changsha, China; elaborate temples and parks in Bankok, Thailand; rock hewn churches and ancient lakes in Ethiopia; a slave fort museum in Cape Coast, Ghana; the Pyramids and Egyptian Museum in Cairo, Egypt; and ancient Roman ruins in Turkey.

We are tourists, oh yes we are.

Much as we like to put ourselves in a different category and call our travels “off the beaten path,” you will sometimes find us alongside the masses. It is fairly difficult for us to place ourselves so fully and intentionally on a path shared by so many people. But we go, for there is something to be said for a site or object that attracts tourists from all of the world: it is most likely remarkable and exciting and absolutely worth seeing.

There are extreme differences between travelers, and visiting tourist destinations highlights and defines these differences in new ways. We see tour groups and independent tourists, guides and translators, drivers and hotel touts, tour packages and buses. We see all different nationalities and hear all varieties of language being spoken.

And to be honest, we are terribly critical of tour groups. We poke unnecessary fun as the accessories of tour groups. Whether matching water bottles or baseball hats or t-shirts or stickers, they bear the club insignia with some sense of pride. I guess that in a foreign land, it feels good to belong to something.

I was stunned by the silent tour groups shuffling through the Egyptian Museum in Cairo. Each member of the tour had a headset through which they could hear the voice of their tour guide, standing tens of heads away. Arms folded, faces dour, they all looked bored to death. It was easy to avoid these groups for they all moved as a great amoeba; stragglers were nonexistent.

A few days ago, caught in the tentacles of the tourist-driven Grand Bazaar in Istanbul, we burst (rather frantically) out into the normalness of a city street. There we saw the member of a tour group, a bright number 3 blazing on her shirt, obviously separated from her herd. We were delighted to see that her split was unquestionably intentional as she wandered the street with ease and comfort and interest.

In Ethiopia we saw tour buses speeding through the scorching desert sun of Ethiopia, the windows filled with pasty tourists cloaked in heavy sweaters to combat the icy bus air-conditioning. Tourism in Ethiopia was usually a packaged deal: tour and guide and hotel and shopping were all wrapped together, with comfortable shuttle buses ferrying to and fro.

While in Egypt, we visited the pyramids at Giza. We took the Cairo metro out to Giza Station, then caught a local bus, and walked the rest of the way. Our early morning efforts were rewarded when we arrived as the gates were being opened. However, the tour buses moved quickly through the site and soon left us in the dust. I was frantically urging Nathan along, “come on! We have to get ahead of all of these people!” I probably would have been running had he not been with me. But in fact, we were surprised not to have much interference from the tour groups at all. You might have been amazed by the lack of other people in our photos from the Pyramids. Want to know our trick? We strayed from the asphalt. Most other visitors to the pyramids drive from site to site in the tour bus, briefly alighting at each stop. We trucked through the entire place in flipflops, though heat and wind and dust. And it was magnificent; we felt like explorers.

While pausing at the ancient theater at Termessos, Turkey, we were joined at the space by a group of ten or so middle-aged American tourists. They were boisterous in their excitement, exclaiming with joy and amazement. We watched them, eating our bread and cheese and tomato sandwiches, comfortable in our distance. Though many members of the group departed after a few minutes, a trio of three woman dismissed the urgings of their guide and steadfastly refused to leave. “You can go ahead, we aren’t leaving yet. We have some chanting to do.“ The tour guide, slightly bemused, left them to their presumed insanity, urging them to catch up soon. The ladies sat together, chatting and laughing for a short while. Then they collected themselves and uttered harmonic chants into the acoustical vastness of the ancient theater placed high up on a mountain. I truly respected their intentions and appreciations of the space and the moment.

The truth is, while I criticize tourists and tour groups, there are always anomalies. And isn’t going to the Egyptian Museum with a tour better than never going at all? I think so. And I must give credit to all travelers, regardless of their style. For it takes work and effort and bravery to embark out into the world, outside of your comfort zone, regardless of the path.

So cheers to the travelers of the world, even though my path takes me off the asphalt.

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Service in Parks - or anywhere you go

We have found ourselves with an abundance of service projects everywhere we go. We love to look back down a beach, to gaze across a park or campground, or, look at the flowers of a roadside and enjoy a view without trash and plastics. There is something different about being in places where you can make a public difference; something about finding a space that is of a human scale which can be seen as approachable, conquerable, measurable. We have found these spaces in parks and beaches: essentially in the places which we decide ‘ought‘ to be clean.

While traveling, I myself stress that I would prefer not to let my own moral code define the interactions I have. (This has come in handy lately in lands where even wealthy, educated, business owners have not given a thought to tossing plastic bags and bottles out their windows onto the precious landscapes all around us.) In fact, though I am blogging about public clean-ups as service projects - one of there best qualities is that they are an invisible good. When done correctly, no one should have to know that we have done a service project at all. Leaving a place cleaner makes it more enjoyable without seeking recognition or reward.

So, I find service cleaning beaches, trails, parks, campsites, and roadways. And, while I wish that in many parts of the world people were more than jut beginning to get a grasp on the non-disposability of plastic (meaning: it does not go away); I do not take on this service with negativity or discontent. Instead, I mostly enjoy therapeutic and fast rewards of the calming exercise and my immediate betterment of the space. I love the feeling of improving a space which I was already enjoying..

As any passionate dishwasher, car washer, grass cutter, or vacuum maven will tell you, there is a meditative value in organizing and cleaning our environment. While it may not all be our mess, stewarding its utility and preservation is a kindness we do for both ourselves and others.

What I call the greatness of service in cleaning public places is the silence and invisibility of the act. While it would cause some discomfort to pick up trash (coming from my own society, the USA, where cleaning of public parks and roadways is often the purveyance of non-violent incarcerated offenders). It is my hope that people who see someone cleaning pubic places will choose one of two principle actions for their own life: (1) to not litter; and, (2) to leave our public (and private) places cleaner than we find them. If you question your ability to clean up a public mess, start smaller, clean a remote trail, clean a community garden, or the public ways of residence of someone you know infirm. Enjoy that small satisfaction; then let that small success motivate you towards other, more public places.

My theory behind why public places should be clean is a simple one: If the lands and special places which we all enjoy together are kept to a high standard, we will all expect the same in our own home lands.

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Turkey to the Balkans

We are traveling today through Thracian Turkey (Thrace) into the Balkans. Tomorrow we will be in Bulgaria, (Haskovo then Sofia) and we will try and use our blog and LP blogsherpa to keep in touch. Our bus has wireless. It turns out the 'otobus' in Turkey, which is a serious upgrade over the train (at $6 US for three hours of comfortable travel a real steal) - is luxurious. We got cakes, coffee tea, personalized TV monitors A/C etc.

But, we will go back to hitchhiking and trains ASAP. We just enjoy the experience and meeting people and going to the unexpected places between the bus stations and city urban centers. Istanbul was huge. It would have taken many rides to probably get into and out of the urban center from the Asian side where we have been couchsurfing. So, sometimes, a bus is a comfortable and certain option.

We have been having trouble finding internet in Turkey. It turns out wifi is everywhere, it is on this bus, but the networks are all secured. A certain paranoia; or, perhaps, a leftover guild feeling to the provincial use of internet. The scenery even from the highway is superb. Beautiful forests, seasides, castles, and urban cores mean that while we are leaving feeling very satisfied with our visit to Turkey, there is mucch more to come back to and recommend.

We are editing and publishing our blogs, our computer is pieced back together (thanks Brittany and youtube for the tutorial on computer operations without any tools beyond a knife!). We hope to find enough respite in the few days we will travel to publish what we have been encoutering, learning, writing etc.

Until then, we are wlell, in good spirits, excited for Europe and more of North Africa in the months ahead!

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Plastic Feet

In the last month, efforts to reduce our plastic footprint have increased. We try to be conscious, and it’s a fun new way of problem solving. We encourage each other and work together to reduce our imprint. The message gained from “Addicted to Plastic” and some of the topics covered in our earlier blog about plastic are impacting our actions more and more each day. The more we think, the more responsible we feel. The greater our efforts, the greater our motivation to strengthen these efforts.

We have about nine plastic bags that we reuse: a few are used to organize our clothes, one to keep my conditioner from exploding over the contents of my bag, and we carry several to use while shopping. Of the plastic bags that we carry and reuse, one is from the delicious Zam Zam bakery in Mumbai, India, where we bought boxes of cookies back in March. Another toughie was acquired at the Gaylord Hotel, dating from December of 2009. We also have the Gaylord to thank for two disposable (but actually incredibly strong and durable) plastic cups that we continue to carry and use with frequency.

When we left the United States, I packed two forks and two spoons with us, so we can refrain from accepting plastic utensils with to-go food. But I kick myself for not hanging onto a set of wooden chopsticks.

Now that we are in more westernized regions of the world, we have discontinued our bottled water purchases. We drink tap water from our Nalgene bottle, which we carry everywhere. This is made much easier in Turkey, for roadside water coolers are abundant, and many businesses also set public water coolers out on the sidewalks. The water is clean and completely safe for consumption.

My flip flops keep breaking, but I am obsessed with trying to find a replacement that is more eco-friendly: leather or wood or a combination. Soon I shall be barefoot. Cyprus had plenty of gorgeous Roman-style sandals, but I couldn’t justify the 80+ Euro price tags. I am a humble backpacker, after all!

Whenever possible, an easier feat in this part of the world, we try to purchase food in bulk and shop for homemade goods that are less likely to be wrapped in plastic. Yesterday we bought the most delicious cheese, a sour mozzarella that cuts like butter. We asked for 2 Turkish lira worth of this decadent cheese, and had the shopkeeper put the cheese in a Tupperware container that we carry with us. He barely batted an eye, but tried to put the plastic container inside of a plastic bag. Sorta defeats the purpose!

A jar that once had homemade peanut butter from Ghana is now filled with a homemade spicy tomato paste purchased here in Turkey, perfect for dressing up cheese and cucumber sandwiches.

Nathan has cut himself off from buying packaged ice cream from the cooler and now only indulges when hand-scooped cones are available.

But that’s not to say that it is always easy. In fact, some people are terribly confused by our actions. Some of them appear to be downright horrified when we pull out an obviously-used, rather wrinkled, perhaps even a bit dirty, plastic bag instead of accepting a new one. I have even had to argue, heatedly, against pushy salespeople armed with mountains of flimsy plastic bags. Our Point-It Book lacks images to communicate recycling or reusing or eco-friendliness.

I am desperate to find a translator; I feel that it will heighten our decisions and help people to understand our intentions. I’d like to write out a small card that reads: “Thank you for your understanding. We choose not to use plastic because we feel that it harms the environment.“ Please email me if you can help with this translation in Turkish. I will be needing Bulgarian, Croatian, Italian, Serbian, and French as well.

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Honey Service Cyprus-Turkey

Honey Service Cyprus-Turkey

I.

Our trip to Cyprus has been a whirlwind. We have had highs and lows, mostly stemming from a lot of carrying our luggage further than we wanted to or needed to. That said, Cyprus has been a real honeymooner sopt for us. We were whisked out of the airport to downtown Larnaca in a late model Mercdes Sedan Limo-Taxi, our first night was spent in a untra modern very sleek hotel, and we have crisscrossed the island - meeting new friends all along the way. It is great.

The moments of agony sweating down charming streets carrying our heavy loads only to not find any ‘Panysions’ local guest house, will disappear and become positive memories. Our journey this year is to always be in service, though exchange and small actions, and, through this blog.

Cyprus was chosen by us not because it was a place we coveted visiting; but, more as a luxury weigh station on the way from Egypt to Turkey. We have picked up a much faster pace since leaving Africa as we are wanting to join our friend in Nice, France the third week of June.

So, how to be in service for such a brief visit to Cyprus?

We had arrived during the latest in a long string of peace conferences organized by the UN and various governments of Europe to try and reconcile the Greek/Turkish division which has taken place since 1974. So, our first idea was to talk peace, to bring an outside set of eyes and ideas to the island, and to promote Cypriot resolution in the context of the difficulties or successes we have found in other lands.

But, as I have said, we have had our own difficulties here. While it was so comforting to arrive in Cyprus at the brand new Larnaca airport; to glide along the walking escalators; to be greeted by gracious and efficient customs officials; to peer through windows of flat screen advertising in modern showy style; and, like I mentioned, tp take our first luxury limo ride as newlyweds (this was due to a 1a.m. arrival and not because of choosing this over our usual public transportation offerings); Cyprus soon grated on us. We were immediately discontent. My wife wondered aloud, ‘Is this what it is going to be like to be back in the USA? Surrounded by all of this stuff and disliking it? Have we become so accustomed to standards of living in poorer countries that the standards of our own culture repulse us?” It was a valid question.

In Cyprus, wealth is everywhere. It is an offshore banking capital for Europe, so there are banks and accounting firms. It is a resort island, so there are real estate offices selling condos in large new developments and waterfront towers. But I was not so sure it was only wealth, modernity, and the ugly side of ‘gold rush’ type Real Estate Development which was making us so ill at ease. We had been in Hong Kong, Shanghai, Tokyo, also gleaming and new, Filled with wealth, but somehow they had a different class, the value of money was not the predominate aesthetic. Here it was pervasive, unbalanced.

So, we left Larnaca. We woke up, walked around town, dipped our toes in the ocean (where there was a wonderful contrast, teenagers frolicking on break next to rows of empty umbrellas and chairs lined up facing the ocean - from the front row back with front row seat clearly the ideal spot) ; and, at the end of the town beach, and old man, clearly a long time resident, carrying bags of trash which he probably collects daily out from the beach. The old man, and the children’s play both lifted our spirits.

We checked the bus schedule, headed back to pack [our hotel had an interesting concept, nice modern rooms but no frills: 10 a.m. checkout, 8 Euro remote control use, 3 Euro bag check, 2 Euro towel, 5 Euro per hous internet, 10 Euro room clean etc]. instead of walking to the bus, we decided to give an effort at hitching. So, here begins our service journey in Cyprus…

II.

Our first ride came quickly, we had moved up the street from Hellenic Bank, where we finally retrieved enough Euros to feel we could get through a day or two. In front of a local fruit truck, almost immediately a pleasant single woman, Leza, in a brand new Volvo sedan pulled over - offering a smile and a lift. Her first sentence was something like, “Cypriots don’t see to much hitchhikers, but, I lived in England until I was 21 and I am happy to giver you a lift.” She was on her way to work, but went out of her way to bring us to the right intersection, and we departed with her telling us that if we did come back to Larnaca she would love to have us over for some wine or a dinner.Leza said that tourism made it more difficult to enjoy Cyprus; but that she especially liked Larnaca’s working town vibe; and that it still preserved much Cypriot way of life. We applauded her kindness and promised to stay in touch.
Brittany the hitchiker

Our next ride arrived even faster. Out the (right) driver side door popped a pregnant blond woman who motioned for us to load our stuff in her trunk where she would make space for us. Her name was Dorotha. She was from Poland, a singer, a salsa dancer and instructor, and an expectant mom and soon to be bride. We learned so much from Dorotha as she drove us half way across the island to the capital of Nicosia.

Since Dorotha, we have wanted to hitchhike only. We did catch public transport from just outside the great walled city to get to Kyrenia. We were in the process of trying to hitch when a humbler Mercedes pulled up and motioned for us to get in. As it turned out, this was a sky blue stretch vintage limousine now converted into a shared taxi. It filled up quickly and we were on our way.

South Cyprus (known as Turkish Occupied Cyprus in most of the western world) had preserved the charms of what Cyprus was probably like before the civil war. There were old buildings, people gathered in the street at parks and cafes, and the high end brand stores and skinny busty dress were not as much in vogue. I commented to Brittany that at one public square in North Cyprus close to the edge of the border, I felt a seemliness that reminded me of Thompson Square in the east village of NYC before it reached the high pace of gentrification. Prostitutes, old men, high end shoppers, immigrant laborers, punk teenagers, and flocks of oblivious tourists all were using the square mostly unaware or through ignoring each other.

We have been picked up by two Nottingham Knights (in current incarnations as plumbers) who brought us to our lovely camp site. They told us camping would be fine, just to keep an eye out for vipers. We were picked up in a big Mitsubishi work truck by a local Cypriot who picked us up and drove us slowly across the island occasionally explaining that his truck was ‘engine too hot’ and overheating. Then, we were whisked back too quickly from this far flung peninsula by a younger Turkish Cypriot who shared his own success in the rental car business as a parable for how business has boomed and busted since the 2004 opening of borders. When I enquired if he could draw a parallel for us between the conflict in Cyprus and the occupations in Palestine and other parts of the Middle East. He gave us a very dignified and reasonable answer, ‘I could not answer that question because I do not know what happens in Israel and Palestine. I do not live there,” he began, “But I am from here, and I can tell you that Cyprus has a conflict between peoples who are the same people - but we just cannot live together.” He went on to say that he did not think there would ever be a resolution, “I have seen so many presidents and governments,” he told us, “They are all the same, nothing changes and none of them offer new ideas or prospects of peace.” “The problem,” he told us, “Is that the Greek population is four times as big as the Turkish population. And, the Turkish populations hass always been poor, while the Greek population is rich. They have more than 4 million visitors a year while we have less than 150,000.” As with all the people we have met hitchhiking, we gave him our card, asked him to read and respond to our blog posts, and to come and visit us in one of the places we live (where maybe the view of our own conflicts in the Americas would give some insight into ways to bring peace to this small, historic and sentimental island). We all act to exchange good will.


So we have found service, again, in Cyprus: We outspokenly discuss the prospect of peace and prod all those we meet to give us the reasons why it is not occurring; we meet people who will pick up hitchhikers and describe our journey (while at the same time, we wave to those who smile but point that they are not going our way; and, perhaps, we help those who cannot pick up hitchhikers for fear of encountering the other to productively question themselves and what it is that prevents them from wanting to pick up a couple of bright-eyed smiling, ostensibly innocuous people such as us).


And, then we look for our service projects where we can create them. I am writing this blog from our campsite on metamorphic rock cliffs high above the setting sun and the Mediterranean. I spent part of the afternoon picking up plastic bags along the cliffs. I would like to pick up more trash in the crevasses below, but the cliffs are treacherous, the rocks sharp, and I can do more on top than below. Brittany too picked up trash at a remote beach we visited near Turtle Bay. She tossed industrial plastic containers up from the tidal edge and carried an enormous diesel oil filter left leaking on the sands out to the side of the road. We try not to leave much of a footprint. We still struggle to not be given bags at stores and to have our items packed together or more lightly, we ‘pack it in pack it out’ much probably to the chagrin of a beautiful large red Cyprus fox which just approached me as I typed this. [Later we saw his mate with her four beautiful ox cubs rollicking in the sands and carved sea rocks below our camp].

We have realized that our service is often not so much in direct action, or projects, as it is in the promotion of ideas, in the rousing aptitude for harmony with peoples, in our cultural ambassadorship. We can leave the world in small ways better than we found it. For this journey, it is a start, it must be enough.

In about 72 hours in Cyprus, we have seen a lot, greened our travel a little further, heightened our awareness of the problems of rampant and unmitigated consumption, and worked for peace. At this pace, Europe will have a lot to gain by our visit.




III.

Hitchhiking in Turkey has been easier than we thought. We had some delightful and long rides, usually accompanied by generous hospitality in forms of exchanges of fresh fruit and chai tea. Some highlights have included: Brittany’s first ride in a ‘big rig’ which she hooked for us singlehandedly while I had my back briefly turned; a charming Turkish ex-pat Memet living in Zurich who really struggled with us to use German to make sense of the world; and a kind petrol operator who drove us 300k. - each of whom never tried to use English, nor us Turkish, but we all used a combination of charades, repetitious phrases at obvious moments, and all kinds of smiles and friendly gestures. With new friend Memet - Turkish chai and cherries for a break

We did break out our ‘Point It’ travelers universal language book during chai breaks causing additional good feelings as we saw together that when travel is put into photo images our common language needs are much simpler than we imagined. How do we make a picture for “Thank you.” to send to the ’Point It’ guides?

For those people who want to ‘green’ their adventure trail and go local, I think that team hitchhiking is a valuable way to experience ambassadorship, local hospitality, and share messages of interconnectivity. While Americans have a view of hitchhiking a dangerous and vagrant it does not have to be this way; the best way too change this is to break the mold and change the status quo; if hitching were to become as comfortable as it appears to us in Europe, we could all help dissolve barriers and build new friendships between peoples. In the process, you will: fill empty seats reducing carbon usage, find unexpected locations, make friends, and be an ambassador for how you want to represent your country.

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Photos of Turkey

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Useful Public Art in the Mediterranean: Murals, Spray Can Art, Mosaics

Murals, spray can art (and illegal graffiti), signage, and public art all play such important roles in defining cities, towns, and urban cultures. Public art viewed from the point of view of the traveler can become windows into the cultural world around us. Art in all its forms enlivens places we visit. For protest, aesthetic, and celebration, they are windows into a new world. Intentional art given for public purpose seems to do most good.

Public art provides a structural usefulness for people who live in the places we visit. It creates a ‘sense of place.’ Murals break up the monotony of hard flat surfaces. They tell stories and pass history between generations. Mosaics are like painting and plastic arts mixed. They seem particularly appropriate and historically resonant in the Middle East and Mediterranean

In Egypt, public art is often filled with ancient symbolism. It is a way to reach back into dim history while bringing forward contemporary aesthetic values. In Alexandria and Cairo, public art is everywhere. Aesthetics are not only on walls and in statues and sculpture put up in prominent locations, but on the painted market carts that rumble gently through the street delivering goods and selling merchandise.

Here in Cyprus, public art and architecture has been a part of public life for literally thousands of years. Villages are built on ruins of older villages containing theaters, frescoes, and mosaics several thousand years ago. But, today, art is increasingly important to meld modern sentiments, expressions, and politics with stories and history of by-gone eras. One particularly smart combination of public art in modern city expression we saw recently in Cyprus was the use of spray can collaborative muraling to surround ancient historic sites under reconstruction Spray Can Artists (graffiti artists who have gotten permission for the placement of their art) compete on tin panels securing restoration sork in the historic center. The contrast of the ancient and the contemporary provide a nice springboard for visitors and locals alike to see themes emerging without vandalism or public conflicts. However, the madcap artistry and tensions expressed by these youthful artists has a temporary functional utility which is sunsetting as the project of restoration moves to completion. Temporary Spray Can Art Installation outside Historic Site - Cyprus

Unlike murals, spray can art, public sculpture or mosaics (where agreements are fixed in advance with private or public property owners for permission to display art)): Graffiti is thought of as having positive and negative effects. But, by definition, graffiti is a nuisance. While it may be beautiful, it creates unbalance as someone has been hurt financially or otherwise. We have seen Roman historic sites 2000 years old spray painted with the usual swear words or propositions of love common n juvenile art. These ugly and selfish displays, which exist everywhere thoughtlessly and without any merit, take away from the artistry of others. Some solutions which we have seen are to provide temporary graffiti boards, to create competitions of juried spray-can art exhibitions, and for owners to turn ver more private and public spaces for display of public arts.

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Who stands up in the basement cell?

Three women kneel on dusty ground, speaking in hushed tones through a small basement grate. Blue box trucks stack behind them with three little white hats peering off of bench seats out back; smoking, jostling.

Two of the women are older. Dressed in black covering, the eldest has one hand clenched, supporting her heavy weight as she kneels and bends; her other had pressed against the chain grate. She is not crying.

This is a lonely scene. While the bustle of barristers, onlookers, and policemen fill the street; and noise of streetcars and horse bugs clang along the city’s tracks, none pay notice to mourning mothers.

Why bother them? They are doing their duty. They have sacrificed their morning to be here with a lost son and husband. No consolation is as complete as nursing the confidences of their family member.

Who stands up in the basement cell? What is their condemnation?

Life comes to its undesired crossroads when a family member is incarcerated.

Here at this former palace of Alexandria, a long history of cruelties and condemnations have befallen many families. Families plead many loved ones innocence. The blue trucks arrive from across the region. Each carry a single cargo. Each are met by the bearers of family sustenance, suffering, compassion.

During times of capital punishment, the yard beside these courts was stained with a vulgar gaiety of public executions - and beside us lies the graveyard to the condemned. It is a solemn, silent, tombless place.

Northern winds punish the silver grey clouds trying to make land from a cool grey sea. Trashy dust lifts in sighs from around feet and hoof. Horns and calls of vendors go unanswered - are muted against caravans of prison blue trucks.

Authorities outside the court make small talk. They whisper deals on corners and side yards. Silent prayer and broken gazes seem to permeate out from darkened cell windows. Cigarettes are meted out a plenty.

Across the street, more jovial tones of business. Men gather in cafes, smoking sheesha, drinking dark tea, reading newspapers. Could their lives befall the curse of the jailer, the executioner? Maybe some, many not. It is an age old tale of poverty, circumstance, powerlessness. This is the seat of enforced governance.

Three women kneel unobserved by the crowds. They are speaking in hushed tones through a small basement grate. Who stands up in the basement cell? Who draws such selfless love?

The dust will not settle. It is a sand yellow day in shadow. A forgotten graveyard metes out offers.


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Footnote: This was written in anticipation of probing feminism in the Middle East....

There is no doubt that most of the world lives and suffers highly patriarchal societies. Women are often marginalized populations, not able to enjoy the same freedoms and opportunities as men. While I have read much in Islamic literature here in the Middle East about feminist Islamic society and the equality espoused in the holy Quran towards women, it does not appear so obvious in real life and social norms. I want to know what women would seek to be freer from controls of patriarchal society. The west, where women ostensibly have freedom and opportunity, bears out in statistical data much cruelty and violence directed at women; that does not occur in other more male dominated cultures. How is this possible?

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A Day at the Beach

On our last day in Alexandria, we went to the beach. I was feeling rather risqué in my mid-calf length skirt and high-necked t-shirt, with a shawl draped loosely around my hair and shoulders. This is a pretty standard outfit of mine, and happens to be the second favorite out of my three. Though a bit wild for wandering the streets of Cairo, this naughty little number caused even more of a scene at the beach. But why?

Obviously some one had been here before. Expectations and assumptions had been created in regards to foreigners at the beach. All eyes were upon us and people tittered at our presence even more than usual. I could only imagine the conversations: “Hey! Look at those foreigners! Maybe they are going to strip off their clothing and run around like lunatics in bikinis and speedos!”

I felt no sadness in disappointing the locals: they didn’t get a show from us. Some very tame basking in the sun (fully clothed), and a brief toe dabble in the crisp sea.

A few couples played in the waves, the women wearing lycra three or four-piece suits that covered their entire bodies. Most wore head veils as well.

Several paces down the beach, a large older woman suddenly charged into the water, breasts swinging wildly under a floating pink floral muu-muu. She plunged into the sea, crashing headlong into the waves, laughing hysterically. Her joy could not be contained, and the infectious and boisterous laughter presented itself as a gift to those within earshot.

As we sat in the sun, watching the waves, I watched a young woman walking along the beach. Of the one hundred or so people at the beach, she was only one of twenty that actually braved the chilly Mediterranean water. She pranced along the edge of the sea, delightedly self-conscious, listening to the tinny music of a cell phone that she carried in her hand. Long, balloon pants clung tightly to her legs with the dampness of salt water, and the layering of three shirts covered fair skin from neck to wrists. Her hair and neck were free of scarf or veil, and she was visibly enjoying the feel of ocean breezes upon her scalp and neck. The young woman held her head high, flipping her braided pigtails about in the wind, and occasionally looking up to smile at the bright sun. She walked the beach, eager to be noticed, and relishing the freedom of a bare, wet head beneath hot sun and strong winds.

The veil or headscarf (hijab) of Muslim cultures is a heavily debated topic. Did you realize that its origins are cultural in nature, and not a result of Islamic teachings? Many Westerners consider hijabs to be an infringement on the rights of women, a form of oppression, and see it as an indication of female subordination. However, is this viewpoint shared by Islam, the “owner“ of this cultural practice? An Islamic text that I read while in Alexandria described the wearing of hijab by Muslim women to prevent harassment and to distinguish themselves from others, as a form of protection. The text relayed that it is important for believers to wear clothing that communicates modesty and reserve in the situations in which they find themselves.

I remember reading a passage in “A Thousand Setting Suns,” written by Khaled Hosseini. Set in Afghanistan, the principal character was discussing her feelings in regards to wearing a burka. She stated that she enjoyed the invisibility and anonymity afforded by her burka. She felt safe from the stares of men, the dirt of the city, and felt comfortable in her veiled camouflage. I certainly remember wishing for a similar camouflage in India, so I can understand the sentiments.

In Turkey, Tunisia, and Tajikistan, all Muslim-majority countries, the wearing of a head coverings has been banned in government buildings, schools, and universities. France has also banned the wearing of hijabs in all educational facilities. Does this seem fair? Who has the right to decide that wearing head scarves is discrimination, that it impedes the rights and freedom of women? It amazes me that people in the world fight this tradition and custom - the motive behind this custom has become so distorted.

Please feel free to share your own thoughts, ideas, or knowledge.

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