Showing posts with label travel writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label travel writing. Show all posts

Semi-Pro travel blogger: Pro-blogging

>> September 1, 2010

I.

Pro-blogging. I am pro-bloggin.

On this piece of paper, I am blogging in our dear friend Martha's London flat. I am alone with a crashed computer. I have for tools a pen and a torn scrap of paper.

We have come up with all sorts of new widgets and apps in the course of tracing histories of ancient dialogues. This is what fills the empty space when the cyber has quieted. These are emerging technologies, too delicate even to reveal, which flew by in conversation too fast to write down.

We did discuss campfire apps (those which keep mosquitoes and biting insects away) - until we arrived at teenager apps (those which emit pitches from your phone to keep those between 11-21 years old away). We discussed million dollar apps for shopping and those for keeping our conversations on track. You see, we live in modernity.

Yet, I sit here a-scribbling. I am pro-bloggin.

I could bore you with our reams of data and news... it would be more noteworthy or worthwhile than this. Instead, I can take you where we have been. I am pro-bloggin (or is this proto-blogging). I am doing the type of exercise which takes place on pen and paper. And, I am reduced to pen and paper. I blame planned obsolescence.

So....our computer crashed. If you have been reading, you know this.

With a crashed computer and a race across four very historical (and yet very new to us) countries over a little less than two weeks; I am asking myself to run the last dash efforts as travel blogger. In this case, for this blog, what does it mean to lose all our travel technologies?

As I sat down and composed what thoughts defining these two words might mean to me ('travel' & 'blogger'), I came up with some formulaic answers which (a) might be of some use to our fellow travelers and blogging or blog friendly readers; and (b) I realized, yet again, that by unpacking our mission of exchange, service, exploration and discovery, I could discover deeper within myself sources of inspiration, language, and action. In the blogosphere, I realize in the actions and words of myself and others, that we are all becoming forces of combining self-interests.

Travel: involving every facet of life in relation to its other; ability to succeed; management of staying busy; preservation of health; enjoyment of self beyond (1) either self; or, (2) selected zone of self protection and/or self-awareness.

Blog: to publicly share and garner interest in travel.

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Semi-Pro travel blogger: Pro-blogging (Part Two)

II.

When my world was inverted (instead of pleasurably introverted as it is as a cyberwriter); when all that I could do from dawn to dusk and then into the wee hours of the morning was put the nose to the grindstone and achieve work, I was not alone. Everyone around me was tweeting me - or so it seemed; metaphorically. When I had adopted this pro-forma project philosophy, all I could breathe was work.

Lucky for me, I was in disaster recovery-mode. I was nurturing my resiliency, personally, socially, culturally, I was at one with the need to use physical and intellectual rigor to fight for the existence of the place where I was from (which through the work of the US Government and the natural phenomenology of hurricanes had wrought severe damage to this hometown). I...digress.

When one is caught up in one's projects, it is hard to turn off the phone.

In our modern world, the evolutions from beepers to tweeters ties us to technologies in ways which we love and absorb. Sometimes, we hate these technologies too; but, usually this sense is frowned upon or considered anti-social. So, let's assume that we love our technologies.

Anyway, when I was in the thrust of these previous epochs of my work life, I loved taking airplane flights. I used the airplane as analogy for what I encouraged my fellow disaster recovery comrades to also embrace - the retreat from 24 hour phone and message cycles.

In travel, we have so many opportunities to be something temporarily. This ambiguity speaks to the case of our modern life.

Last night, we watched a theater production of the "Prisoner of 2nd Avenue," a 1970's play by Neil Simon. It was a surprisingly hip and current rendition of times changing around those who cannot move forward. I could not place it fully in my own life. Yet, it had angst and urbanity.

At the beginning of theater and cinema, as the curtains rise, the managers they have conceived of nice ways of asking us to turn off our cellphones.

It is too bad there are not more ways of finding out how to do this. It is too bad that as a blogger I have not found better apps and widgets for helping me manage the distance between the objective to blog, write, and serve the communities at home (or those we visit on our trip), and how to enjoy the spirituality of travel once the netbook [laptop] gets sick. In previous millennia, it was your own sickness from the elements which brought you down; now, it is sickness from removal of portable media. I am unsure which illness is graver.

That said, I am off to take in more of London (camera in pocket, pen and scrap of paper in breast pocket).....

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Semi-Pro travel blogger: Pro-blogging (trois)

III.

Do we blog therefore to exist? Or, for us, is blogging an individual act of reaching out beyond mores of public acceptance (therefore being as an insidious and rebellious act)?

Is blogging the newest and least developed version of formal editorial publication?

Do we bring forth emerging concepts for a radical individualized project?

What does it mean to be a travel blogger?

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The Internet is Ubiquitous – or was that a glitch?

>> August 25, 2010

Microsoft is corrupted.

For the third time on our nine month journey, our computer is dead. On a blue screen it screams, “your computer has been corrupted – please restart in ‘Safe Mode’”. Travel with a computer has become, for us, common place.

We left New Orleans in early December with a less than one kilo netbook. It has performed flawlessly and been heavily abused. It’s one drawback, though, is that it keeps allowing Microsoft to corrupt it. When corruption occurs, I think of it as the computer’s gone for vacation. The computer is still there. Its office space is occupied. But when you try to contact it you get this passive blue screen – a sort of ‘I will be out of the office until September 2nd – please try and contact me when I return,’ type message.

So, our computer is corrupted. Thinking about our current computer problem leads us to feeling that we are letting down our blog. We love our blog. It is a part of our promise of service and exchange between home and abroad. We have a dedicated group of readers to whom we are very grateful. Our readers give us a sense of mission, engagement beyond our common surrounds, contact with home, and exchange. We do not mean to let you down.

When at first the computer goes on vacation, we enter into a revolving conversation. I always defend the internet. When we were in developing countries I would throw up my hands, “Let’s just give away the computer here and be done with it.” My latest response in Bretagne, France was different, “We are close enough to home; let’s just carry it around broken until we get back.” I look at computers as apparati of planned obsolescence. Computers are disposable. They are meant to be treated this way. I don’t like it. I don’t appreciate it. But, it is a fact.

My wife, coblogger, and traveling companion has a much younger and healthier opinion and usefulness for a broken down compute;. “It is not the computer that is malfunctioning; it is Microsoft,” she will tell me. All we need is a reasonable techie in an internet café and we can reinstall Windows. A simple fix. Of course, she is right.

We have had our computer put back together from Mumbai to rural Turkey. Our computer has recovered from two previous complete meltdown, several close calls, Chinese worms, spyware invaders, reckless luggage handlers, overnight bus rides under foot and much worse… So, it seems obvious enough that now that we are back in the West; now that we are back in the birthplace of western civilization; now that we are in the country of all things cosmopolitan and worthwhile for consumption (France); it would be easy for us to find techies and internet. In Mumbai, when the precious blogs on our ‘desktop’ had not been properly backed up to the hard drive, our lovely techie buddies did the equivalent of open heart triple bypass surgery to our computer. Not really being surgeons; but having our full faith; they got their 10 minute surgery education from YouTube. The surgeons downloaded a video of cutting apart and putting back together our exact victim and then for the course of two hours played Dr Jeckyl and gave rebirth to our traveling Mr Hyde.

This of course brings me to our point: We need the internet to publish. We need the internet to travel (our itineraries, maps, contacts etc reside in email or other forms). So it is important that the internet remains ubiquitous. It does not.

When the internet quits working our Marco Polo lifestyle collapses. For those of us who begin travel from a computer savvy country, we may have to accept changes in our technological world view. At the beginning of our trip I imagined the world was broken into two classes of internet use.

My internet worldview was developed between my experiences in the United States and Latin America. I believed that there was either a culture of computers (with wifi flowing freely from every house and business), or, there were internet cafes in every neighborhood where single available twentysomethings teenage facebook fans, tiny video game addicts, and midlife male losers met like a small community to laugh about or hide behind computer terminals under whirling fans. I believed that the internet was ubiquitous. As it turns out, internet and computer culture changes as dramatically from country to country as language. In what I thought would be the most computer savvy countries t visit (China and Japan where computers are pioneered and built) there was not the public I.T. culture I had assumed.

Early readers may remember us bemoaning the ‘Great Firewall of China’ which kept us blocked from such important web communities as Facebook, Google, and YouTube. In Ethiopia, internet had really only arrived in the capital (Addis Ababa); the rest of the country waited for periodic signals and power to be turned back on. In Ghana and West Africa, there was internet as I had known it in South America, existing in small internet cafes. However, they were so completely local we needed guides to find them.

Each country, it turns out, has a unique relationship to computers. In Turkey, wifi was everywhere. However, the country was struck by some great paranoia (so that while wifi comes streaming from every possible nook and cranny, none of it was accessible). A grand conspiracy to sneak in and destroy your computer, your home life, and probably your fridge and TV caused streaming paranoia. In three weeks in Turkey, we never came across an open wifi signal. In Europe, there appears to be internet. I think people are using computers. But it is not a public thing.

In Paris, Madrid, or Venice, the great café culture has not been upended into becoming the great internet café culture; people leave their laptops at home and still enjoy old fashioned conversation.

As for our blog, we are going to work hard to find internet. If we can find a sprightly twenty-something techie we will beg them to help us reinstall our windows and return our tiny netbook from its extended vacation. Until then, we will seek out internet hotspots and wifi cafes, borrow beg and steal our friends and others computers, and publish, where ever possible, our blogs.

Our computer is corrupted. This means, you can expect fewer blog postings for a while.

The Internet is Ubiquitous – or was that a glitch?

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Rewards for Travelers of Time and Patience

>> July 22, 2010

Two key ingredients which we have found for enjoying and getting the most out of your travel are patience and time.

One must have the patience to enjoy your time. And you get more time with patience. We have been told this any number of ways by other travelers and locals we met.

A reader may be surprised to know that we cannot describe with any confidence places that we have been in Japan, Italy, Egypt or the Balkans (and yet, we have impressions and still might recommend them).

Due to our impatience or to a lack of time when visiting these wonderful lands, the times there have faded quickly. What we do have from each are place markers signaling to return whenever we can.

But, could we have done any differently?

There are experiences which linger. Even in Morocco, where I am writing now, I might best describe a moment, a sound. We just have acquired enough patience to be in a new land.

We have still not described above what is for time to come to a traveler. But, finding time or living it - it has its own rewards.

Time is strange. Time is often blurred with jetlag, different daylights, late nights, or morning confusion waking up to an uncertain new space. It is lit up, fluorescent, flickering, passing.

Time is never within our control - and that is its reward. Time is less our control while traveling. It will take place when we let it, no sooner.
Justify Full
The rewards of these qualities which are critical to finding your way out of tourism and into new forms of in-place, culturally contacted, and local travel are Time and Patience.

It is hard to visit any place quickly and get more than cursory glances of a passer-by, [train] stations, and blurry highways.

Being patient, however, earns friendship and respect abroad.

[This blog I would partly connect to not traveling as light as possible - more weight on your shoulders (or precious cargo) - less inspirationally jumping to places without planning. Time is patient.]

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In the Riad (for Mohamed)

>> July 20, 2010


Sound hardly reaches here. It is lonely from sound.

Sound reaches; but it is broken like by deep distant canyon's roar or a steep mountain valley whistle. It is silence of mind.

There are bird sounds, but most like a rustle.

Every once in a while, a daytime awareness, the mind listens.

It believes there is a city around me, around here, outside the door.



Last night, I caught a wedding celebration in a corner of my dreams.

Distant, the movements of long fluted horns, may be a parade stomp.

Light, drawn down in shadows, lengthens these notes.

There is drought in the tiny chatters. Drought in shadows.



At night, there is a donkey braying.

Braying at the yard. The yard by the large gate.

My wife says, “All over the world, mules are mistreated.” I agree.

There is drought in the tiny chambers.

We open the door and go out.

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Who stands up in the basement cell?

>> June 3, 2010

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.


****
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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Coffee and Ethiopia

>> April 22, 2010

written by Nathan
 
Another quick note on coffee loving and Ethiopia. For those who love coffee, Ethiopia is your Jerusalem. Not only is this birthplace of humanity also the origin of wild ‘Arabica,’ our coffee ancestor still growing in forests here, Ethiopia still produces the meanest Cup o’ Joe that I have practically ever had.

For those readers who know that I proudly decamped (½ time) for Colombia almost ten years ago, this comes of course as a shock to all of us…. Especially me. Not that I did not love or know coffee before Colombia, café culture is a pride of my childhood new Orleans and Francophile Louisiana.

Of course, we have not found Starbucks or Dunkin’ Donuts even trying to compete with this 1000 year old coffee culture. Not that you can’t get a soy double latte here, just don’t ask for sugar substitute. Soy lattes are called ‘macchiato fasting’ indicating refrain from drinking cow’s milk (2-4 birr or less than 30c).

*** As we try and cull what themes come from our blog as it moves abroad (now transferring our content again subjects from East to West Africa the North Africa this next month), obviously travel - it's thrills, chills, strains, and magic moments of discovery - always rings true.

Focusing on aspects of each place, we are aligning our experiences with what we think other travelers may be interested in; and, writing more reviews.

Look for our 'Picks and Pans' list of favorite spots we have found along the route thus far in upcoming blogs.

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