Back in the USA

We are back. We are here. We are probably not so far from you, or at least we no longer have an ocean between us. If there is an ocean between us now, you have seen us more recently than have many others.

Our dialog is non-stop, the stories are endless, yet the words we use to describe our journey are inadequate. Insufficient. Paltry without the smells and the tastes and the pulsing sense of the experience. 

I want to say, "Listen, I'll tell you this story about India. But first you need to develop a queasy 'travelers stomach' and sear your tongue with scalding chai and be coated with dirt from walking in the streets and spend a few moments of your morning exchanging pleasantries with the cow draped in jasmine flowers that contentedly awaits affection from her stolid stance in the middle of the street."

But we try to articulate our adventures, knowing that our words could never fully express our experiences. Yet still we try, it's a human condition. We try to define and label to better our communications and connections. We are social creatures, it's an 'evolved species' thing.

People ask us how the transition back to the United States is going. Others, especially those who have completed extensive travel themselves, ask whether we are experiencing 'culture shock.' The truth is that for now, our journey has not ended. We are still on the move, still in motion, still experiencing and exchanging and learning. There are pockets (albeit slightly smaller) of the Bronx or of Beverly that are unfamiliar, just as there were pockets of strangeness in Behai or Nis or El Jadida. No matter where you are, new sights and experiences exist, travel just amplifies your receptivity and awareness. With an accommodating mindset, a walk through the town that you have lived in for an entire lifetime can be just as enthralling as an African safari.

The biggest difference now is that we are surrounded by familiar faces. Family and friends are near and just as anxious to see us as we are them. Although the beauty of a New England autumn is quickly approaching, the geography cannot captivate me in the way that the voice and smile of a loved one can. If ever I was homesick on our journey, it was for people, never for things (I am lying, I once was in tears thinking of the joys of a 'western toilet').

There really is 'no place like home' when home means family.

Hope to see you soon.

xoxo

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I Love Libraries

I love libraries, I really do. I love the soft papery smell and the dense organization and the anticipation of discovering a new favorite book. I love the decadent combination of quiet, solitary engrossment within a literary community.  

Libraries have always been part of my life. As a child, I was a voracious (and rather incorrigible) reader. I spent long hours at the Sweet Home Public Library, not just reading or borrowing books, but also participating in kid-focused activities hosted by the library, especially in the summer. I developed a strong friendship with the head librarian; she didn't even bat an eye when I asked if she wanted to see my newly-aquired handstand skills (I was an *active* reader). There was a great encouragement of literacy from both my parents and my community, and a request to be taken to the library was almost never turned down.

During my years at Miss Porter's School, when the old library on Main Street was still in use, I sought the quiet solitude of its aged nooks and crannies as a respite from the all-pervasive company that was part of boarding school life. I grew to know the floor of the Lewis and Clark library quite well, studying until my eyes fluttered and then curling up under a desk (oh, and there was a reasonable extensive collection of books at the college library as well).

We have discovered some incredible new libraries during the course of our world journey. Some new favorites include the Chester Beatty Library in Dublin, the Bibliotheca Alexandrina in Egypt, and the Trinity College Library in Dublin. Edinburgh has a series of fantastic libraries, including a Map Library. On our final day in Edinburgh we stopped by, hoping to find some original maps done by my cartographer ancestor, John Ogilby.

And I found them! The first was a brilliant "pocket atlas" that charted roads in and out of London using a new and unique strip map technique. I was stunned to realize that the excentric archivist was actually going to let these untrained and potentially grubby paws touch an old and original book, regardless of whether I was a direct descendent. But he did, even though I refused his proposed trade (old map for a dance in the middle of a library, sans music? It begs the question: from where do you glean your knowledge of American women, do you only watch Dancing with the Stars?).

And so I leafed through an incredibly old pocket atlas that contained original prints from copper plates by John Ogilby. And these maps were beautiful and exceptional and rather remarkable. The 'strip maps,' presented within a scroll design, consist of vertical panels that illustrate a road mile by mile. Intricately detailed images embedded in the map (rivers, mountains, mills, churchs, etc) give landmarks that direct the traveler along the correct course. A small compass is also included to indicate the cardinal direction of travel.

These maps were originally published in John Ogilby's "Britannia," in 1675, as the Kings Royal Cosmographer. While at the Edinburgh Map Library, I got my hands on an original printing of Britannia; the content was estentially the same, but with larger maps and accompanying text. I was able to get a fascimile of one of the maps, and will be able to order the rest via mail.

I don't want to say that I was disinterested in my family history before this journey to Scotland, but the connections I encountered have deepened my geneological interest. The Ogilbys are pretty cool.

Certain elements of Scottish culture and traditions resonated with me and recalled pieces of my family and my childhood. When we were children, my grandmother frequently gifted kilts to my sister and me (please note that these were the properly pleated and sufficiently scratchy versions). The song about "Loch Lomond" unburied itself from my memory and has since refused to depart; does everyone know this song?

Turns out that my Scottish blood is thicker than I realized.

Images of fantastic libraries (and many other themes) from around the world can be found at Curious Expeditions.

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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.


****
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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Islam and Equality

written by Nathan

Visiting Egypt has been a lesson in ethnic diversity and cooperation. It is a place that has worked for more than fifteen centuries on nondiscrimination based on gender, race, or ethnicity. While it would be overly simplistic to say that this has always been successful or that no prejudices or sexism exist here today, it is a concept which comes directly from the most ancient teachings of Islam. [Islam makes it very clearly a sin to prejudice. Mohammad, in his last sermon says, “You are all equal. Nobody has superiority over others except through piety and good action.”]

As the teaching on righteous love of all humanity has been passed through to the modern age, Egypt has developed without the visible and suppressive context of racism. There are likely many forms of discriminations which are not obvious, many lower classes of people have not received the same levels of education and opportunity as some in the upper classes. But the genuine politeness, civility, respect, and equality in the interactions we see on the street here are a very important lesson for those of us who have come from places with more discriminating and prejudicial cultures or political classes. In Islam, the prophet Mohammad is very explicit, “An Arab is not superior to a non-Arab, and a non-Arab is not superior to an Arab. A white has no superiority over a back, nor does a black have superiority over a white. You are equal.”

Before ever arriving, I was expecting friendliness in the Arab world. Both my parents and grandparents had spent considerable time here before I was born and spoke very highly of the virtues of hospitality, generosity, and piety here.

With my grandfather, I had seen a ‘conflict of the Middle East’ from a USA perspective occurring in miniature, right before my eyes. After my grandmother had passed, my grandfather had mover in with one of his younger sisters, so that they could look after each other. But brother and sister had very different political views: my Aunt Inez was the spokesperson and matriarch for the most firebrand republicanism; my grandfather a ‘dyed in the wool’ progressive democrat. The two of them played out conflicts America was having in their living room; as the build up to the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq swirled around us all.

Most of their conflict occurred in front of the TV. Like many Americans, they were divided along media lines. When my Great-Aunt had on FOX news, my grandfather would berate the television as slanderous. When he would have his NPR tuned to the kitchen radio, Aunt Inez would ask him to please, ‘turn off that liberal mouthpiece.’ So, it went on.

But, my grandfather had lived with people of the Middle East. He knew them intimately. His coworkers had depended on him; and, they had saved his life on several occasions. This is why my grandfather was so distraught during his last years, over the conflicts erupting in the Middle East. He had lived all over the world and spent most of this time living in many different countries of the Middle East. He would tell me often (and FOX news during the staged conflicts performed by actor/news people), “Those Arabs are the kindest, most generous people in the world. This war is about lies!” I know better now how right he was…

Conflicts in the world, whether in the Middle East or elsewhere have not gone away entirely, despite the advocation of peace by Mohammad, Jesus, Buddha, Ghandi or the like. However, harmony between peoples occurs everywhere. The way we see this generalized non-prejudice manifested in Egypt is in the interactions which we see between people. There are couples of differing complexions. There are people of dark color in positions of power. More important, there is a general harmony. Missing in Egypt is the class and racial prejudice which is so internalized and oppressive in our western make up.

Now, it is easier to understand how truly devout Muslims, from parts of the world with great religious conflict, benefit from their Islamic pilgrimages. They can see with their own eyes and understand non-prejudice and cooperation and be hopeful. As Malcolm X said when he went to Mecca to perform Hajj: “My pilgrimage broadened my scope. It blessed me with new insight….I saw what I never had seen in thirty-nine years in America. I saw all races, all colors - blue eyed blonds to black skinned Africans - in true brotherhood! In Unity! Living as one! Worshipping as one!”

Travel is something which widens our perspective. Sometimes it gives us insight into harmony and togetherness where we did not know opportunities would exist. So, it is valuable for Muslim and non-Muslim alike to visit Egypt; to understand the value of sixteen centuries of intentional non-prejudice.

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Familiar Faces

Here in Lome, Togo, the weather mimics that of a New Orleans summer: morning is June, noon feels like July, and mid-afternoon is the mind-melting, hallucination-inducing, detour-as-far-as-necessary-to-keep-to-the-shade, sweltering heat of August. The familiar climate, combined with the news of great performances at the 2010 JazzFest makes me makes me nostalgic for New Orleans. I love being where I am, but some of the things and places and people I love so dearly seem so far away.

Although we travel to South America with regularity, we have friends there. We have people who we regard as family. Home doesn’t seem quite as distant when there are familiar faces and voices. Our time in Colombia usually has some length; we settle in for a while. We get the scoop on the latest gossip, and we continue conversations started the day before. Long distance travel hasn’t these luxuries. Part of the magical experience is consistently being on the move, seeing and learning and experiencing so much in a short(ish) period of time. But with this mode comes an inability to connect on a deeper level, to delve deeper into the personalities of the people you meet, to grasp a larger, deeper concept of the place you are visiting. Because, after all, you are A Visitor. A lucky one, and hopefully a grateful one, but a Visitor just the same.

It seems to have been around the four-month travel mark that I began seeing people I knew out in the big wild world. Well, people who looked like people I know: a look-alike T.S. in India driving us through Mumbai; a man who was assuredly Kermit Ruffin’s brother (same big smile and dapper hat); a laugh that made me whip around, expecting to see Becky, her head thrown back in giggles. Faces and expressions and shapes and tonalities of voice lurch me from where I am, to the life we have left behind (albeit briefly in the grand scheme of things).

We spent one night in Aneho, Togo, close to the beach. At our hotel was a dog that must have been the sister of my grandmother’s dog, “Got-to.” Maybe a little big sweeter, a bit older, slightly lazier, but still the same darn dog.

Exploring our hotel options in Accra last week, we popped into the “Royal Hotel” for a peek. If my eyes had been closed, I would have sworn on my life that we had walked into my grandmother’s bungalow in Eliot, Maine. My footsteps resounded in the same way on the thinly carpeted floor, the air was heavy with the odor of age and books and mothballs, and the room had a slight salty tang that had seeped into the walls over time.

A dog in the night sounds like Nutter, and I grumble through my dreams for her to hush up.

Someone in our current hotel, Hotel Patience, wears perfume that smells of Tamar. I’m not sure if it is my aunt of childhood, or if she still wears the same scent. But I find myself disappointed when I walk into the lobby and she isn’t there.

Who will be our first, true, familiar face. Will it not be until our visit with Aunt Nancy and Uncle Nat in Brittany? Or perhaps Melissa in Turkey? Where in the world is Peter? Chris, don’t tease, will we see you in Morocco? And that crazy travelin’ Robin, always in a new corner of the globe…come to our corner! Where are your familiar faces? I see you all everywhere, but it turns out not to really be you.

There are reminders of you everywhere. I see you; I hear you; I smell you; I miss you. You are never as far away as our National Geographic world map seems to indicate.

Halfway from home, halfway ‘till we are back again.

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Call To Prayer

 written by Nathan

We have seen so many sunrises this trip. Every one is unique, often their setting tells a story.

One thing new that we have gained from the sunrises of Asia and Africa is a desire to live life near a mosque - to hear daily the Muslim ‘call to prayer.’ Sunrise, sunset and prayer fit.

People are pious here. Most places, the singing verse and howls of prayer signify day break and the waking of a city or town. Addis Ababa if different. Addis mixes prayer with the end of night.

If my hometown, New Orleans, was half Muslim like Addis, it would likely wake up the same as this city does - mixing imens’ howls with a muffled drone of fading dancehalls and occasional street crackles from the last patrons’ revelry. As night haunts wind down, mixing pulses quietly provoke the early dawn light along with mosques and church bells, nudging ladies and gentlemen who are night people back into the wastes of last night’s streets. They spill out in conversations where fear of the brightening sun sends them scurrying home toward their private shadows at a crack of dawn.

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As I write this, I am reminding myself what a city person I am. I have loved being in small towns. I love other places, rural places, too, where morning prayers wake up first roosters, rising cantonances with the holy sounds until the mutual efforts of guarding the earth sweep out above the mountains and across valleys in dulling muted harmonies. Cadences when so muted, whisper of our lot shared together. Why does the image of Jesus on a cross have this rooster crowing? What about our rooster causes no alarm?

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Here in Addis, in the heart of this Ancient country’s hundred year capital, as the prayers whirls into a morning din that is mixing bus engines, wild birds, and rising human movements and early conversation, I am always being reminded of my natural embrace of urbanity.

This morning, like most mornings, I think of other people like me. I remember friends and family when it occurs to me what they might like , what they would want to see, how differently we might approach a place. One of my favorite people to think of these past months as we pass through all these capitals of human urbanity is David, my stepfather.

David and my Mom would both wake up like me before sunrise, before the call to prayer. My mother would wake, greet anyone else awake, then muster out for one or two hours of hiking the cities. She would go everywhere and greet anyone - up the hills, around the ports and seashores. David would sit here in this bench seat - observing, smiling, watching and listening.

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Two Rivers

written by Nathan

A Brief history of related lives of Shroyers and Humes

I.

In 1830, several families set out from the Monoghahalia valley in far western Pennsylvania. They were walking to a new frontier where no villages had yet settled. With them they brought all the necessary belongings in ox-carts and horse and buggy. Sheep and cows were herded beside the caravan.

The carriages were full, so the families walked. They brought their livestock of cows, pigs, goats, chickens, and squab. They brought seeds to plant. When they arrived at their new location in tiny Selma, Indiana six weeks later the families had to stay in in the ox-carts and carriages for the winter as the houses they began constructing that Autumn were far from complete. Temperatures that winter dropped below freezing for many weeks on end. They had to rely on hard work and help one another.

Before reaching western Pennsylvania from which this Shroyer journey sprung, generations of families - Jones, Hopkins, Euwellen, and Shroyer - had already lived, married, and settled together. They had bonds of family and belief. These were very pious people with trusted leadership who helped one another.

In the late 1800's, the Shroyer's migrated a third time to South Dakota. After half a generation, they returned to Muncie, Indiana before making another migration to Crockett, Texas where my grandfather and father were born and raised.

In my own childhood of the 1970's, my Shroyer grandparents lived in such faraway places as Abu Dhabi, South Africa, London, Malta, and Netherlands (interesting and confusingly another family name).

I am indebted to my Shroyer ancestors for giving me the confidence to start new beginnings

II.

In the 1830's many of my Hume family ancestors (another family which had immigrated to the United States before the Revolutionary War with Britain) answered a call for missionaries to go into the world and serve. They asked and got congregational support for following the word of God because their faith demanded that they share God's love.

The Hume family's America Mission, while dedicated to spreading Christianity in India, was to serve a  humanitarian mission. They would sail off to India three months at a time to get back and forth to the USA (not including several long stops). Here, in far away lands on the other side of the globe, they would live for three generations. Once they reached Bombay, they had to live on board their boat several months to gain permission to land. The East India Company (which was running business in India) forbade all missionaries from entering India. After appeals for their mission reached parliament in England, special permission was given.

After being raised in Bombay (now Mumbai), India, my great grandfather Edward Hicks Hume went back to the USA for education and became a doctor. He joined up with some college classmates and left for a new

mission to China. On the way, he and his new wife Lotta stopped over in Bombay for a year to volunteer as doctor and nurse at missions his parents and grandparents had begun 60 years prior. Because of my Hume

ancestors fierce dedication to service, I grew up with a grandmother who spoke Chinese and had stories of narrowly escaping the violence of revolutionary wars in China.

III.

When I first came to India, my mother insisted that I understand how our family histories are imperfect. My family's risks, their adventures, their service had not been without mistakes and suffering. In the case of my missionary ancestors, their insistence on introducing western ideas and politics in China and India had likely

caused untold rippling effects that were lasting through to today. 

Similarly, when my Shroyer family migrated to Indiana, South Dakota, and Texas they settled on indigenous land belonging to others. They had land grants; but the use of these grants displaced

None of these families were perfect. Each family had 'black sheep' and hidden sin (for whom they assigned their forgiveness, banishment, or reconciliation - over often extended periods of time). Nor was any family life easy. There were conflicts. They had trouble with other families, settlers, religions, or native peoples.

As our world 'flattens,' as distances become smaller, as travel and migrations are recognized and normal, as our economic participation and advantages muddy in streams of global economies - recognizing the gifts and privileges afforded us today, thanks belong to these ancestors.

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The Chauhan Family and Civil Rights

We are always thankful for balance that friends give us. We share joys, our sadness, our hopes. We share our common inspirations and our values. Because of friends we have the ability to change our lives, our work, our world. We cannot know exactly what brings us together except good fortune and ancestors.

My friend Sara Chauhan, I have known since I was eighteen years old. We met at Loyola University in New Orleans. We have many memories together and much in common. But, here in her ancestral home of Jabalpur, I have learned so much more about our shared family histories. And, again, I learn to not question what brings people together, to not wonder how we learn to be friends with one another.

Our grandparents would have been fast friends also.

Sara’s grandmother is memorialized by a lovely statue outside of the government center here in Jabalpur. She is known across India for her revolutionary poetry which she wrote during her work for the Congress Party - the party of Ghandi and Nehru which gained India‘s independence from England in 1947.

When we visited the park with Grandma Chauhan’s statue, workers were enjoying lunch and tea under shady groves. A cow chewed his cud peacefully in the driveway. Flowers were in bloom. There was peace.

The Congress Party in India, which Grandma Chauhan belonged to, was founded by an A.O. Hume, (surely some connection with my own Hume ancestors who lived in Bombay (Mumbai) for nearly 100 years - three generations!). When Ba & Bapu Ghandi visited Jabalpur, Grandma Chauhan hosted them.

When great-grandfathers Hume raised human rights issues in India, they were starting with backgrounds in abolitionist human rights campaigns of the middle nineteenth century in the United States. The deserved rights for Indians were very closely related to the struggles for freedom of African slaves working in the Americas. The success Revs Hume had in Bombay fighting for rights of people without castes (‘untouchables’ or dahlits), were directly tied to corresponding human rights work of the USA.

So, our ancestors were influenced by similar world events. The work of early human rights efforts, (abolitionists in the USA - anti-British revolutionaries on India), influenced my grandfather in India in the 1840’s, Sara Chauhan’s grandmother in the 1920’s, my grandfather Shroyer in the 1930’s, my own parents in the 1960’s. These triumphant human endeavors shapes our lives and future of our world today.

When my father was younger than I, his grandmother was once presented with her morning paper. The front page lead article cut was out. As she later discovered, my Aunt Ines had cut out the photo of my father being clubbed by a police officer in Houston, Texas. Working on what you believe and changing the world does not always happen without a few extra whacks! But, my father’s Grandmother Shroyer knew that the family values raised up in her grandson were strong and supported him. She was proud of him. My father practiced non-violent protest in the Civil Rights movement which was influenced by Ghandi.

I think of Sara, many friends and family, often. As they all know about me, I am always concocting ways to spend more time together, to find more common paths, and to combine our work. Sara Chauhan has always been this type of friend. She allows her friends to share her confidence in themselves. She allows us to dream. She reminds us that we are supposed to she and challenge our world beliefs. She reminds us of the importance of work, responsibility, and dignity.

We had the same experience of friendship with Sara’s nephew Ishan Chauhan. Ishan is 12 years old. He lives in Jabalpur. But, he visit’s a Shriners facility in the United States once per year for several months. Ishan was good enough to go with us to Kanha National Park. Kanha is a magical jungle where one of our recent heroes from The Snow Leopard, George Schaller, the celebrated biologist, researched tigers and was the residence and inspiration for Rudyard Kipling’s The Jungle Book. We had such a great time with Ishan. He is a new BFF (Best Friend Forever) - translator, navigator, negotiator, and gentleman - at 12!

Traveling with Ishan reminded me of early journeys in my life: hitchhiking the USA with my father and as a young man, childhood in the woods of my grandparents in Texas and our farm house in Mississippi, hiking the Rocky Mountains and the Brooks Range. Ishan helped me appreciate many roles of friends. It is important for me to remember who has come before that make me who I am. Friends remind me who my base is, who has my back, who my friends are - Ishan Chauhan, at 12, has all these great qualities.

Luckily, family is a certain base in my life too. Looking back over my own family history, my grandfather Shroyer’s work in human rights in East Texas, my great grandfathers Humes’ mutual work in India, my grandmother Freeman’s passion for human rights into her late 80’s; it is no surprise to me that I am so interested in the world and taking stewardship for it. More important, it is so right to know from where I am now, how pleased my ancestors are with their good efforts shining onto me.

Even far away, friends give such support. Brittany and I are incredibly lucky to be on our round-the-world ‘honeyserviceyear.’ We are inspired everyday to learn, share, exchange. We are that much luckier to be following in the steps of our forbearers and to have to kind and generous support of family and friends.

I often reference ideas which change my world view while traveling. One of these is ‘Six-Degrees of Separation.’ You are never more than six degrees separated form any person in this world. It is true. Whether it is the Chauhans in India or my friends back home, we are all just degrees removed from presidents of nations and presidents of corporations, from Yak herders of the Mongolian steppes to goat herders at the furthest reach of the Andes.

You are too.

How we shape, change, and influence a better world helps us all realize wondrous connectivity. Awareness of our habitation in the world makes for living better, fuller days!

All my adult life I have remembered famous thoughts of Aristotle on Friendship. Aristotle believed in keeping a happy mean in all that we do. He said to not live life with too much or too little of anything: Not to be too drunk or straight, neither too happy nor too sad. Aristotle said that we should only have as many enemies as we have friends. While the statement may sound crude, I believe in its truth.

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getting ready to set sail Saturday..

in the 19th Century my family really did set sail. As we take an 'airliner' not a steamliner this Saturday we will be meeting friends and family on the East Coast and having these 19th Century type of family send offs. Also, like my relatives who left New England and the Mid-Atlantic almost 200 years ago we want to do service in our journey. we will not be traveling under the auspices of a University or Church but under our own steam, encountering people as they are, as we are, but meeting them in areas of the world that are affected by disaster - we believe we can create an exchange on resiliency and come back with new gifts for our home in New Orleans and the Mississippi Gulf Coast as we all work together to understand and learn from each other in the 21st Century and build a better world for future generations. Maybe your family has crossed on similar paths? Maybe your own journey left you wanting to give back more? Maybe you know people who are in service around the world? Reach out to us, send us your blog, links, stories - THANKS!!

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Tokyo anyone??

The only hitch so far is that to start our trip we will no longer begin four blocks from the White House circulating among histories, anthropologies, embassies, and artistries from around the planet but huddles in a diferent kind of american mecca - Gaylord National Resort and Spa on the National Harbor in Maryland across from Alexandria by ferry... weird. sounds like fun?? maybe. It is basically a hug atrium MALL in a master planned, new construction condo community connected to NOTHIING!! So, we huddle and wait. It is the opposite of what I will be teaching so should make for an interesting model "Community Engagement: Increasing your Community Voice, Power, and Knowledge of Decision-Making." This place is a residence which nobody chose, is not organic, has no 'base' other than what an owner/developer, planner/architect, and government thought up!

But, as a mecca for conventioneering and new development it should be an interesting jumping off point for finding my own family history and beginning the journey as a new family with my very understanding and accommodating wife (who I had promised the Mayflower Hotel of Farragut Sq~!).

My U.S. ancestors who came over from Europe - well some began in New Sweden, while others began in Maryland. My grandmother's family who were Baptists, came from Maryland - and my mother and her siblings still manage 'ground rents' in many older parts of town that have been leased to 'owner tenants' for 100 years. Nice long income stream of nineteenth century rents... I learned more about this years back when I was at another NeighborWorks conferences with people from Baltimore who were more familiar with the history of these 'rents' than anyone in our family ever was...

While we are in the DC area our undefeated New Orleans Saints are playing the Redskins, (plenty of Irony in that one that could be blogged about forever). I sent the shout outs for wintry bleacher tickets; but, as yet, our 'miracle' tickets have not come through....

After Mary-Land, we will do a two day family tour of New Sweden and her capital Philadelphia. The clans Freeman/Ogilby/Shroyer/Clothier/Barnwell will all have drinks and supper at Uncle David and Aunt Ellen Freeman's home in New Town Square, PA. This will be a delight my aunt is not only a very accomplished chef, (her husband David the ultimate host!), but they have lived in the mainline area all of my life and travel internationally extensively - so we will plumb them for family history, travel tidbits, and delicious local flavor.

Brittany's Uncle David and Aunt Katrina Ogilby will be joining us Saturday evening for cocktails. It will be a real pleasure to introduce and meet so many members of each others' family in one fell swoop. We are hoping many cousins on both sides will join us. When they do we will update our blog with their news and ideas!!

Tokyo anyone??? From Philly we go to NYC, then Tokyo. When I was younger I visited Tok, Alaska where they had been fighting million acre fires. When the army got there they felt they were getting close... It could not feel very much further away as we prepare to leave NOLA. Luckily, we keep serendipitously running into people with knowledge, ideas, contacts, and memories to share. Just yesterday, I heard from an old friend Kevin Jones who gave me the best 30-second to-do list for Tokyo I could have imagined...

Anywhere on our journey, we would love to meet you, meet your friends, your family, or encounter past histories and adventures. We will be there 8 short days before we fly to Shanghai for XMAS and begin a journey through China. Hoping to hear/see you soon!

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In just over a month....

Sitting here in the verdant yard in New Orleans, it seems hard to believe that our Honey Service Year will begin in just over a month! It's amazing that with every item we cross off of our punch list, 3 more are simultaneously added.

Now that the itinerary is finalized, we can start to truly plan our activities, accommodations, and events! As a lover of all things holiday (minus the commercialism), I am certainly looking forward to international holidays and events. Growing up, my family took several trips (almost always to tropical destinations) for Christmas: the Dominican Republic, Belize, and Puerto Rico. Don't judge...my grandfather was a sailor and loved getting the family together. We were always happy to oblige in his whims....

Last year, our christmas was spent with great friends at the Hotel Oso Perezoso, in Taganga. Perhaps it would be the perfect location for YOU and YOUR family this year?! Nathan's sister and her family are currently managing the hotel and would be happy to set you up with a private room and bath, with a ocean view for a mere $12 a night, breakfast included. Do I need to twist your arm further?! :) Oso (bear) + Perezoso (lazy) + Hotel (with hammocks and parrots and cold beers) = your perfect vacation!

Ok, back to focusing on OUR plans for a less-than-tropical Christmas.

After a week in Tokyo, we will fly to Shanghai and then make our way overland to Hong Kong. Christmas in Shanghai!! Although the chilly december weather will undoubtedly throw us for a loop, the "water villages" around Shanghai are especially intriguing...and to folks from New Orleans, will probably feel vaguely familiar! I am really looking forward to a day trip to Tongli or Zhujiajiao, which sounds vastly more appealing than the (perhaps more elegant and restored) Zhouzhuang.


Plus, Tongli just happens to also boast a Sex Culture Museum. Facinating.

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Welcome to our world...can't wait to see yours!

In November, 2009, we embark on a service tour of the world. We will combine our honeymoon with a year of service, lending our skills, enthusiasm, talents, and passions to the places and people we visit.

Our current world tour includes China (specifically Changsha), India, Africa, and a brief stay in Europe. We look forward to experiencing new ideas and cultures, and connecting with family, and both old and new friends.

“There are no foreign lands. It is the traveler only who is foreign.” - Robert Louis Stevenson

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