2013 Holiday Letter

Sitting down to write this year’s Christmas letter, I wonder when Christmas cards will be a distant memory.  I’ve come to treasure my yearly holiday letters for they now represent an on-going summary of my life.  I hope you enjoy reading about my wanderings as much as I enjoy reading the cards and letters I receive.

Wander I did this year, setting foot on a land new to me and returning to some of my favorites.  I spent more time away from home than in the Twin Cities which I still do call home.  In January, I lived in a Hindu ashram in southwest India along with 250 other yogis taking a 200-hour teacher training course.  I’m not sure I’d recommend that grueling of a schedule (non-stop from 5:30am to 11:00+pm six days a week), but figured if I was going to spend a bulk of time learning more about yoga I would do it where it originated, and get certified to teach if I ever decide to do so.  I met some wonderful people in the ashram, and even visited some this year. 

I left a few days open to travel in India before heading to the Maldives where I totally relaxed on a live aboard dive boat.  Scuba diving is my passion so I revel in being able to dive four times a day and observe such marine wonders as whale sharks.  Knowing that the Maldives is a Muslim-dominated country, I was still surprised when the brass OM I bought in India was confiscated at the airport.  Non-Islamic religious items cannot be brought into the country, but fortunately, they can be retrieved upon leaving.

I spent the next six weeks in Minnesota shoveling snow and chipping ice away from my front stoop, but missed the onslaught that fell after I departed for Mexico in April.  I visited my ashram roommate in Playa del Carmen, taking her yoga class, seeing her new yoga studio that overlooks the water, and meeting her dogs and husband who I heard so much about in our month together. 

The reason for going to Mexico was to help my cruising friends, Tom and Rose, deliver their sailboat from Isla Muheres to Florida.  The benefit for me was to visit Cuba.  We flew into Havana rather than risk any issues with their boat, and made a circuit from Vinales, to Cienfuegos, Trinidad, and through Guantanamo on our way to Baracoa before returning to Havana.  We stayed in B&B’s, referred to as casas, which gave us a good idea of how the locals live.  Those running the casas have a better life than many.  Some even have (slow) internet, thanks to foreigners contracting for it for them.  It’s kind of nice yet at times disconcerting to be so disconnected, especially when you hear about tragedies back home where loved ones are, in my case the Boston Marathon this year.  I didn’t realize how much pent up anxiety I had about the safety of my nephew until he confirmed that he was “still kicking” and tears welled up in my eyes.  It did make me ask why I travel to remote areas.  The answer was more along the lines of how I can keep in better contact when traveling.

Cubans are very friendly.  I felt safe the entire visit, maybe because crime is almost nonexistent.  Some people were very open about their frustrations of living there, Fidel and his brother, and how nothing has changed in 30 years.  Many images of Che Guevara can be seen throughout Cuba. 

Cuba has two currencies—convertible units (CUC’s) and pesos.  Tourists are supposed to spend CUC’s, which we did.  We also used pesos which are really meant only for the locals.  The Lonely Planet noted on one page that we should expect to spend 60 CUC’s a day on the economy plan, and on the next page that locals earn the equivalent of 30 CUC’s a month.  We’d pay for the casas in CUC’s and egg and cheese sandwiches for breakfast and pizzas for lunch (in pesos) at the myriad door fronts for less than fifty cents. 

The covers of various Cuban editions of the Lonely Planet have a picture of an antique American car.  That’s because, mainly in Havana, the locals pride themselves in these vintage models.  Some are in excellent shape, those are the higher priced taxis.  The less expensive taxis are not in such great shape.  The door may open from the inside or outside, but not both.  Rarely would you be able to roll the window up or down because the handle was missing.  We heard, with pride, the history of one car being passed down from grandfather to son to grandson.  That one was very well maintained in a homemade kind of way.

I continue to teach sailing during the summer on Lake Superior out of Bayfield WI.  The classes were fun, though my increased knowledge in marine weather and eyes on the sky weren’t enough to keep me from getting caught in several storms.  The colder water temperatures kept me out of the water, so different from my numerous swims the year prior.  I was fortunate to house sit for some friends during July and August, allowing me more time to enjoy the area, continue my yoga practice at a local studio and enjoy walks along the lake.  I also volunteered at Big Top Chitaqua and the Bayfield Maritime Museum.

My sailing season ended a few weeks early this year because of a trip to India and Nepal in mid-September on behalf of Toddler Food Partners, a non-profit for which I volunteer.  It was rewarding to see our project in the slums of Mumbai helping kids under five overcome severe acute malnutrition (SAM).  We serve as a catalyst, partnering with local organizations in the production and distribution of a peanut butter paste with micronutrients that outperforms their traditional treatment.

We ventured into our first conference, in Nepal, to publicize our organization with the hope of helping eradicate SAM in other areas.  I stayed on after the conference in the Himalayan lakeside area of Pokhara to practice yoga, and learn more about Buddhism.  Yoga in southeast Asia includes more breathing exercises and not as much strenuous physical exercise to prepare one for meditation, its original intent. 

I came back home to work on a fundraising dinner for Toddler Food Partners before heading out to Los Angeles to visit some friends and spend Thanksgiving with my family.  My sister and brother-in-law moved to LA in February, living now a mere five miles from my niece and nephew-in-law, leaving my nephew the lone Wulf in Boston.  I’ll see them all in LA, including with my nephew’s new girlfriend!

When you receive this letter, I’ll be on another site visit, this time in northwestern Thailand.  I volunteer for Schools for Shan Refugees which provides funding to educate ostracized Shan from the Shan state in Myanmar now living in and around Chiang Mai.  Maybe I’ll put into practice my TEFP (teaching English as a foreign language) training.

I’ll fly back to LA for Christmas, then home for several weeks before escaping to the British Virgin Islands . . . . for work.  You have to love my office setting!  And no, I don’t (yet) have any immediate plans to trade my water logged office for a drier one with a desk.

Here’s to a cozy fun-filled holiday season with those you love, and a new year filled with hope and peace.

Namaste

Revisiting Chiang Mai. December 2013

14:40 plus 3:58 plus 1:10 in addition to layovers of 1:35 plus 5. Those are legs in hours it takes to get from LAX to Chiang Mai Thailand. The total is just over 25 hours, time that is hard to compute if you're just basing this on your watch, which is good to change along the way to make sure you get to your next flight on time. There is a nine hour time difference from PST to Thailand. Of course this doesn't account for the time you'll spend worrying about whether your bags will ever get to you after you arrive. Luckily I didn't let this bother me even though the ticket agent (after weighing my checked bags, my carry-on bags and me) told me my bags were probably going on a different plane. 30 hours later, I'm wondering if I'll get clean clothes today. For those of you who have laughed at me for packing clean undies in my carry-on luggage, know that I'm not laughing. I didn't do it this trip, and after all this traveling and walking around Chiang Mai all day and celebrating the Shan New Year's Eve, you can imagine the body odor, though nothing like the stench in the slums of Mumbai, so I guess I shouldn't complain. And I guess I won't say more about the malfunction of the instant hot water, and actually lack of water in my shower. Thanks to my friend, I did manage to get a warm shower in her room before collapsing into a sound sleep until 3am.

I missed my fellow board member/executive director, Bernice Johnson, at the Chiang Mai airport. She went to the international terminal, and though I ventured over there from the domestic terminal to see about my luggage, we passed each other as if we'd been wearing invisible capes. We did meet back in her room and proceeded to one of her favorite places for tea, the Blue Diamond, for its fabulous garden and eleven-year old goldfish. Bernice has spent the last 12 winters here, staying at the Boonthavon Hotel on Soi 1 Rajchadamnern Road. I'll never understand addresses in other countries. She said Soi means street, but why use "road" also? It actually means there are multiple streets along Rajchadamnern Road. I know there's a Soi 1, 3 and 4, and maybe more with a tag of Rajchadamnern. How the taxi driver found this hotel is amazing given the number of lodging establishments tucked away on the narrow streets which we would call alleys, and more down even narrower paved paths which maybe they call alleys here. Bernice introduced me to the young woman who works at the hotel who let me into her room. Another woman told me my room would be ready at 10am, but couldn't understand when I said the room number wasn't what I'd reserved. Oh well. It's a small hotel, not a Marriott or Radisson. I was assured the woman who works in the afternoon speaks English. She got me a blanket, a fan, changed batteries in the in-room safe and understands my luggage is to be delivered here, so we hope. Too bad I didn't try to take a shower while she was here.

Given the Thai names that were already flowing in my head--Nit Noy, Kahun Nuk, Poy-- I shouldn't have been surprised when Bernice kept stopping to introduce me to friends she's met over the past decade. In between she pointed out the good eateries--this one is owned by the sister of Eed and wife Née who run the Blue Diamond, then she'd point to another one and say the same thing, and another. Looking at my questioning face, she said Eed had three sisters--Hon, Da, and another I can't remember. Their restaurants all were for the tourists--Mild, Da's Bakery, and Nice Kitchen. After coffee we went to lunch where again she knew the owners and pointed out the best dishes. With meals here generally costing less than five dollars, it's easy to eat out all the time. We stopped at one of the numerous cooking schools to check on schedules. Do I want to take some classes now, or wait closer to when I return to the US? That way I could practice what I've learned as soon as I get home. But more practice here could also be of benefit. I don't need to do everything all at once. I'll probably wait until next week after my yoga friend Susie leaves and Bernice and I do our work this weekend. I looked for clothes in the afternoon but it seems this is the eating district. So no new clothes for our expedition to the Shan New Year's Eve festivities.

We didn't wait long for a song tao, the 4x4 red trucks you sit in the back of for 20 baht, unless they tell you another price for a longer trip. We were dropped off at Wat Ku Tao. The night was young, there were crowds of people, but nothing to give a clue what it would be like a couple hours later when we tried to leave. Later, we'd need a police escort to pave the way. Stalls of traditional Shan attire, and the usual t-shirts, games, balloons, etc. surrounded the temple. The smells of Shan foods filled my nostrils, my nose not yet able to discriminate enough between Shan and Thai food, just embracing the essence of these wonderful aromas. As during the day, Bernice kept being stopped by local friends, in this case former students from when she taught English as a foreign language, and also those who work here on behalf of Schools for Shan Refugees, the Minneapolis-based non-profit which is the reason I'm here. The 501(c)3 oversees education programs for Shan refugees in Thailand by supporting Shan migrant schools as well as the living and educational costs of a small number of Shan orphans and scholarships for many others. We met Toom Mawk, who now works at a local Shan radio station, Ying Tzaem, an assertive young woman who works for a non-profit here, Charm Hom who works with our organization overseeing the orphan project, and Nor, a hard-working teacher. Penny and Reggie, both readers and from Canada. Gabriel, the French woman who does Tai Chi. Finn, from Denmark for tax purposes but travels extensively, having spent time with Bernice this summer touring the US southwest. Pippa, the woman who handles our money transfers. Bernice introduced me to everyone, making my head fog over with names--Thai, Canadian, French, Danish names--now a total blur after 25 hours of travel as my mind tries to keep these in my memory before the next onslaught of names purrs out of Bernice's mouth tomorrow. Penny, Reggie, Finnnnnnnnnnn. I'm oblivious to the height of the mountain high pillow in my almost comotous state of sleep.