How strange after two months of slow distance travel over one-hour-at-a time changes to jetset like a ping pong from the most culturally different capitalist success(?) story we could find to the most culturally similar monarchy this side of the sun, to the setting of some of the craziest stories of our lives in just a few days. In one short flight we got great views of the Mediterranean and the endless Sahara (where patrollers use the burnt-out cars of adventurers who didn't quite make it as road markers), and were briefed on pan-African current events, history, and pride in pre-European civilization by a free in-flight magazine.
On disembarkation our bodies were slapped with the hot customary reminder of our arrival at the equator, and we've been sweating ever since. In the airport gunless soldiers directed us to immigration, where the attendant officer asked us if he could come visit us in Canada. "If immigration says it's okay, we'd be happy to have you."
The indominatable David Firang greeted us with otherside hugs and introduced us to his best friend Patrick, a entrepreneur, Samuel, Fire Chief of the airport, his son Sammy, and Jima, who is the Driver/Household Assistant of another friend of David's. We were whisked through the baggage check with one question asked (what's in the bags?) and made a 200 metre drive to Samuel's house, where we met David's wife Hannah before enjoying our first Ghanian feast: authentic Chinese food, at what is considered to be the nicest (and most expensive) restaurant in town, on David. "Ghanaian tradition demands," he explained, "that during your first week you pay for nothing."
Jima took us from the restaurant to our new temporary home: Lydia's. Lydia is a matter-of-fact mother of one-year-old Isaac (the most advanced one-year-old I have ever seen, Isaac is already walking, can repeat words he hears, and can pick up rocks as big as his head and throw them short distances), husband of Edward (a Director of Ghana Water Co.), and an educator who specializes in teaching people their rights as individuals under the 1992 constitution of Ghana. Lydia showed us to our stifling hot room and gave us our own fan. We slept like jetlagged stoners until 4:30 AM.
Friday, December 01, 2006
First Ten Days
Sometimes ten days are a lifetime. This is Day 10 in Ghana but as I look back to our arrival last Tuesday, it seems an age ago.
First off, the good news. We moved into our semi-permanent residence two days ago. Our hosts are Cynthia and John, an older couple whose four children are mostly grown and have left home (including one studing in Halifax!) and so have some room to spare. We are in their home, luxurious by Ghanaian standards, with running water and even our own semi-private bathroom and shower. Our bedroom includes a desk where we can work and we have free use of the kitchen to cook and make use of their pots, pans, and staples. It is good to unpack our bags, the first time really since Finland, and to use our new homebase as a place to spring from and begin to make our life in Ghana. It is good to have a place to lay our head at night and look forward to resting when we need to rest.
You can write us, then, at
c/o Cynthia Fosu
PO Box 1080
Dansoman
Accra
Ghana
West Africa.
Our cell number is 233 207 343423 and the landline number is 233 213 01405. Feel free to call - it would be great to hear from you! We are generally home before 8am and after 8-9pm (GMT).
I confess I was surprised by the culture shock in coming here. After many months on the road and already six months since we left Canada, I thought I was done missing home. Still, this is again a new place, a new way of doing things, a new city and I guess it isn't so easy to just settle in. With time, though, as Chris and I make our way around, I begin to adjust and feel stronger and better able to involve myself in life in Ghana.
We spent our first couple of days in Accra meeting up with some connections including university profs, NGOs, and former government ministers. They were initial contact sessions just to find out some about the different sectors in Ghana.
On Thursday of last week, we went to Akim Ayirebi, a small village of about 2,000 people some 2 hours (ideally) from Accra. On our way, though, we ran the requisite errands which took several hours and en route it began to rain and the sun set. Driving in the car with Patrick at the wheel, David in the front passenger seat, Henry our new 18-year-old friend behind him, Chris in the middle in the back and me on his right, it was getting foggy inside and dark outside. Then, just some 25 minutes from the village, a lumber truck without rear lights or reflectors, backed out on to the main road. The last I remember was David shouting. We hit head on. My head hit the back of the driver's seat and all of us were thrown forward. We were all a bit dazed and started asking each other, "Are you OK? Are you OK?" Henry flopped into Chris' lap, breathing shallow and fast, his eyes watering. I couldn't find my glasses anywhere and worried they'd been broken. I found them soon after - under the brake pedal... they'd flown so far forward. Henry had a serious concussion, it seemed. David stopped a taxi and put Henry in and David, Chris and I jumped in. Patrick stayed behind with the car waiting for the police. The driver of the lumber truck had disappeared.
The taxi brought us to the local hospital, a heart wrenching place with some seriously sick people. We grabbed a wheelchair and put Henry in, trying to find a nurse or doctor. He seemed about to go into shock. But the place is understaffed and underequipped and there was nothing to do but wait until a doctor would come. So we waited. And waited. Henry was seen by a nurse but continued to wait. Chris and I sat there, necks stiff and completely dazed, and felt that sickeningly frustrating sense of "In Canada..." when every now and again you ache for what you are familiar with, including a responsive health care system.
Henry was admitted for observation and some other friends got a hold of us and came and picked us up. We arrived at the village at night, hungry, wet, exhausted.
Henry was out the next day with a bump on his head and some major aches and pains. We all had sore necks and bruises in random places. A strange, strange experience.
Ayirebi is a poor rural village where most people are involved in agriculture. There is much to say about the place. I don't think I want to focus on the poverty, which is pretty stark, but on how we were so warmly welcomed, how people were excited to meet us, talk to us, and even more excited to see us dance at the large community gatherings. We were there for David's mother's funeral, a three day affair that started on Friday with an all night vigil. On Saturday we were in church for the funeral, then a procession to the cemetery and finally a community festival to celebrate the life of all those who were buried that day (there were four funerals on Saturday). On Sunday there was the regular Sunday church service and then a final community celebration. I had had my measurements taken so that on Sunday both Chris and I were outfitted in traditional Ghanaian clothes.
In Ghana, funerals are a big deal. They generally happen about 3 months after the person has deceased and are intended to be a celebration of the person's life as much as a time to grieve. Family members come from all over and friends too are present. The bodies are kept in the hospital morgue for a fee and then transported by a rented "ambulance" that comes to the home of the deceased with sirens blaring. The deceased is laid in bed and people can walk round and pay their respects.
Children under 18 years are not buried in this way. We couldn't quite figure out why but it seems that it is too painful to celebrate a life taken too soon. After death, the family holds a private ceremony right away and the body is taken to the cemetery.
The ceremonies are a complete mix of mourning and weeping as well as rejoicing and dancing. The families of the deceased cover the costs and during the two community festivals on the Saturday and Sunday when people dance, donations are made to the families and announced to the community. Extended relatives and friends bare a responsibility to contribute and can be held to account by village chiefs if they do not honour their responsibilities.
The hardest part for us, I think, was that as the only whites, we were paraded around as these great guests of honour when we felt that there were people who were much closer to the family and David's mother (who we never even met). We were checked into the only guest house in town, catered to, set apart during meals, accompanied, sheltered, upheld in ways that were hard for us to receive. I looked at some of the women with their many children, their hard work collecting fire wood, transporting water, cooking, cleaning, caring for children... And then how I was treated as this great person when my efforts were nothing compared to theirs. I understand and am thankful that my friendship with David means much in the community and that we have come from far away to attend this funeral, but in my own heart I don't feel like I merit such a reception. It was a bit hard to take but, in the end, as we got accustomed that it was just going to be that way, we did our best to be as gracious about it all as possible.
Every Ghanaian village has a chief and part of our visit to Ayirebi included a visit to the chief's palace. We met the chief, the Queen Mother, and many of the sub-chiefs. There is a whole etiquette involved, including greeting the royals upon arrival, speaking only when spoken to, speaking to the chief's linguist (i.e. spokesperson) and through that mediator, bringing gifts, having your representative make a small speech about why you're there and the purpose of your visit, and leaving only when the chief gives his permission, rising when he enters and exits. In all, we visited with the chief three times and each time the visit became more familiar, warmer, and we were more impressed by the chief. I began to see why the chief was chief and appreciate his insights, his understanding. I look forward to going back to the village in the hope that we will have still more chances to talk with him.
Somewhere during this process there has been talk of making Chris a sub-chief and me a Queen Mother. We'll see how this goes and what happens. It may not come to fruition but we'll see. I'll keep you posted.
Eventually our time in the village came to an end. We had danced and made an entire village laugh. We had eaten our firsts of Ghanaian cuisine (many delicious dishes including kenke made from corn (like tamales in Latin America), spicy soup, mutuo (yummy rice balls), jollof rice, peanut soup, African doughnut, fried plantain, cooked yam, spinach fish sauce... mmmm.... I'm hungry even thinking about it!). We had met with the chief of the village, a bishop of the Methodist church, and many, many locals. We visited the local high school and gave impromptu talks to three of the classes. We made many new friends and learned a lot. We are trying desperately to learn Twi, the local language that most everyone in southern Ghana speaks.
As we started back to Accra on Tuesday morning, we were in the car with John (our new host) and some other people when, just outside of Ayirebi, there was a horrendous sound coming from the car and shards of metal flew in through the open window beside me. I took cover, John stopped the car, and we saw that the back right wheel had shredded completely, ripped off the gas cap and broken the rear light. What luck. Our other friends passed us in a bus and we said it was OK, we were replacing the wheel. They came back soon in another car that took us to Akim Oda, the nearest major town, and from there we took a bus back to Accra. We were hurrying to make it to a launch of a new initiative called College for Ama (CofA) at Ashesi University where one of the professors we had met was involved in this new project. Both Chris and I have thought about volunteering with CofA whose main aim is to work with rural junior high girls to keep them in school and even get them to university or some vocational training. Hopefully I'll be able to lend my hand there.
Phew. What a recap.
Since being back in Accra, we've moved in to our new digs and yesterday spent the day wandering just the two of us downtown, at the insane market Makola (the biggest I've ever seen), registered at the Canadian Embassy, and took our first trotro (public minibus) rides on our own. There is an electricity rationing system in place that cuts off the electricity one night every six days so we spent a very hot night last night with no fan and just the hot, humid air. It's 30+C here every day and I said to Chris this morning that I think I just have to adjust to being sweaty all of the time. Easier said than done.
We are now trying to continue to make connections and find our way around. Slowly, slowly.
OK, there is the last week and all the we've been up to. Suddenly I'm hit with a terrible bout of homesickness and wish I could be there with all of you. Sad to sign off.
Miia
First off, the good news. We moved into our semi-permanent residence two days ago. Our hosts are Cynthia and John, an older couple whose four children are mostly grown and have left home (including one studing in Halifax!) and so have some room to spare. We are in their home, luxurious by Ghanaian standards, with running water and even our own semi-private bathroom and shower. Our bedroom includes a desk where we can work and we have free use of the kitchen to cook and make use of their pots, pans, and staples. It is good to unpack our bags, the first time really since Finland, and to use our new homebase as a place to spring from and begin to make our life in Ghana. It is good to have a place to lay our head at night and look forward to resting when we need to rest.
You can write us, then, at
c/o Cynthia Fosu
PO Box 1080
Dansoman
Accra
Ghana
West Africa.
Our cell number is 233 207 343423 and the landline number is 233 213 01405. Feel free to call - it would be great to hear from you! We are generally home before 8am and after 8-9pm (GMT).
I confess I was surprised by the culture shock in coming here. After many months on the road and already six months since we left Canada, I thought I was done missing home. Still, this is again a new place, a new way of doing things, a new city and I guess it isn't so easy to just settle in. With time, though, as Chris and I make our way around, I begin to adjust and feel stronger and better able to involve myself in life in Ghana.
We spent our first couple of days in Accra meeting up with some connections including university profs, NGOs, and former government ministers. They were initial contact sessions just to find out some about the different sectors in Ghana.
On Thursday of last week, we went to Akim Ayirebi, a small village of about 2,000 people some 2 hours (ideally) from Accra. On our way, though, we ran the requisite errands which took several hours and en route it began to rain and the sun set. Driving in the car with Patrick at the wheel, David in the front passenger seat, Henry our new 18-year-old friend behind him, Chris in the middle in the back and me on his right, it was getting foggy inside and dark outside. Then, just some 25 minutes from the village, a lumber truck without rear lights or reflectors, backed out on to the main road. The last I remember was David shouting. We hit head on. My head hit the back of the driver's seat and all of us were thrown forward. We were all a bit dazed and started asking each other, "Are you OK? Are you OK?" Henry flopped into Chris' lap, breathing shallow and fast, his eyes watering. I couldn't find my glasses anywhere and worried they'd been broken. I found them soon after - under the brake pedal... they'd flown so far forward. Henry had a serious concussion, it seemed. David stopped a taxi and put Henry in and David, Chris and I jumped in. Patrick stayed behind with the car waiting for the police. The driver of the lumber truck had disappeared.
The taxi brought us to the local hospital, a heart wrenching place with some seriously sick people. We grabbed a wheelchair and put Henry in, trying to find a nurse or doctor. He seemed about to go into shock. But the place is understaffed and underequipped and there was nothing to do but wait until a doctor would come. So we waited. And waited. Henry was seen by a nurse but continued to wait. Chris and I sat there, necks stiff and completely dazed, and felt that sickeningly frustrating sense of "In Canada..." when every now and again you ache for what you are familiar with, including a responsive health care system.
Henry was admitted for observation and some other friends got a hold of us and came and picked us up. We arrived at the village at night, hungry, wet, exhausted.
Henry was out the next day with a bump on his head and some major aches and pains. We all had sore necks and bruises in random places. A strange, strange experience.
Ayirebi is a poor rural village where most people are involved in agriculture. There is much to say about the place. I don't think I want to focus on the poverty, which is pretty stark, but on how we were so warmly welcomed, how people were excited to meet us, talk to us, and even more excited to see us dance at the large community gatherings. We were there for David's mother's funeral, a three day affair that started on Friday with an all night vigil. On Saturday we were in church for the funeral, then a procession to the cemetery and finally a community festival to celebrate the life of all those who were buried that day (there were four funerals on Saturday). On Sunday there was the regular Sunday church service and then a final community celebration. I had had my measurements taken so that on Sunday both Chris and I were outfitted in traditional Ghanaian clothes.
In Ghana, funerals are a big deal. They generally happen about 3 months after the person has deceased and are intended to be a celebration of the person's life as much as a time to grieve. Family members come from all over and friends too are present. The bodies are kept in the hospital morgue for a fee and then transported by a rented "ambulance" that comes to the home of the deceased with sirens blaring. The deceased is laid in bed and people can walk round and pay their respects.
Children under 18 years are not buried in this way. We couldn't quite figure out why but it seems that it is too painful to celebrate a life taken too soon. After death, the family holds a private ceremony right away and the body is taken to the cemetery.
The ceremonies are a complete mix of mourning and weeping as well as rejoicing and dancing. The families of the deceased cover the costs and during the two community festivals on the Saturday and Sunday when people dance, donations are made to the families and announced to the community. Extended relatives and friends bare a responsibility to contribute and can be held to account by village chiefs if they do not honour their responsibilities.
The hardest part for us, I think, was that as the only whites, we were paraded around as these great guests of honour when we felt that there were people who were much closer to the family and David's mother (who we never even met). We were checked into the only guest house in town, catered to, set apart during meals, accompanied, sheltered, upheld in ways that were hard for us to receive. I looked at some of the women with their many children, their hard work collecting fire wood, transporting water, cooking, cleaning, caring for children... And then how I was treated as this great person when my efforts were nothing compared to theirs. I understand and am thankful that my friendship with David means much in the community and that we have come from far away to attend this funeral, but in my own heart I don't feel like I merit such a reception. It was a bit hard to take but, in the end, as we got accustomed that it was just going to be that way, we did our best to be as gracious about it all as possible.
Every Ghanaian village has a chief and part of our visit to Ayirebi included a visit to the chief's palace. We met the chief, the Queen Mother, and many of the sub-chiefs. There is a whole etiquette involved, including greeting the royals upon arrival, speaking only when spoken to, speaking to the chief's linguist (i.e. spokesperson) and through that mediator, bringing gifts, having your representative make a small speech about why you're there and the purpose of your visit, and leaving only when the chief gives his permission, rising when he enters and exits. In all, we visited with the chief three times and each time the visit became more familiar, warmer, and we were more impressed by the chief. I began to see why the chief was chief and appreciate his insights, his understanding. I look forward to going back to the village in the hope that we will have still more chances to talk with him.
Somewhere during this process there has been talk of making Chris a sub-chief and me a Queen Mother. We'll see how this goes and what happens. It may not come to fruition but we'll see. I'll keep you posted.
Eventually our time in the village came to an end. We had danced and made an entire village laugh. We had eaten our firsts of Ghanaian cuisine (many delicious dishes including kenke made from corn (like tamales in Latin America), spicy soup, mutuo (yummy rice balls), jollof rice, peanut soup, African doughnut, fried plantain, cooked yam, spinach fish sauce... mmmm.... I'm hungry even thinking about it!). We had met with the chief of the village, a bishop of the Methodist church, and many, many locals. We visited the local high school and gave impromptu talks to three of the classes. We made many new friends and learned a lot. We are trying desperately to learn Twi, the local language that most everyone in southern Ghana speaks.
As we started back to Accra on Tuesday morning, we were in the car with John (our new host) and some other people when, just outside of Ayirebi, there was a horrendous sound coming from the car and shards of metal flew in through the open window beside me. I took cover, John stopped the car, and we saw that the back right wheel had shredded completely, ripped off the gas cap and broken the rear light. What luck. Our other friends passed us in a bus and we said it was OK, we were replacing the wheel. They came back soon in another car that took us to Akim Oda, the nearest major town, and from there we took a bus back to Accra. We were hurrying to make it to a launch of a new initiative called College for Ama (CofA) at Ashesi University where one of the professors we had met was involved in this new project. Both Chris and I have thought about volunteering with CofA whose main aim is to work with rural junior high girls to keep them in school and even get them to university or some vocational training. Hopefully I'll be able to lend my hand there.
Phew. What a recap.
Since being back in Accra, we've moved in to our new digs and yesterday spent the day wandering just the two of us downtown, at the insane market Makola (the biggest I've ever seen), registered at the Canadian Embassy, and took our first trotro (public minibus) rides on our own. There is an electricity rationing system in place that cuts off the electricity one night every six days so we spent a very hot night last night with no fan and just the hot, humid air. It's 30+C here every day and I said to Chris this morning that I think I just have to adjust to being sweaty all of the time. Easier said than done.
We are now trying to continue to make connections and find our way around. Slowly, slowly.
OK, there is the last week and all the we've been up to. Suddenly I'm hit with a terrible bout of homesickness and wish I could be there with all of you. Sad to sign off.
Miia
Monday, November 27, 2006
Village Life
Hi folks,
Another short one as internet is moving slow and minutes are ticking fast. We are at a cafe in a small town near another small town a few hours north of Accra, where we attended the 3-day funeral of David Firang's mother. She was a well-respected elder of the community who died unexpectedly a few months ago. In Ghana funerals are usually held a few months after death and they are as much a period of celebration of the person's life as they are a final mourning period. Life in the village has been an incredible adventure that we will hopefully describe in some detail very soon, but for now know that we are safe and sound, despite the car accident we had on the way up here...more on that later too. Suffice it to say we are well, healthy, and enjoying this steep learning curve of an adventure.
Chris
Another short one as internet is moving slow and minutes are ticking fast. We are at a cafe in a small town near another small town a few hours north of Accra, where we attended the 3-day funeral of David Firang's mother. She was a well-respected elder of the community who died unexpectedly a few months ago. In Ghana funerals are usually held a few months after death and they are as much a period of celebration of the person's life as they are a final mourning period. Life in the village has been an incredible adventure that we will hopefully describe in some detail very soon, but for now know that we are safe and sound, despite the car accident we had on the way up here...more on that later too. Suffice it to say we are well, healthy, and enjoying this steep learning curve of an adventure.
Chris
Monday, November 20, 2006
Continuation
I know that we've been doing more apologizing than posting details lately, and for now that sad trend must continue, largely due to ongoing jetlag and the fact that we have a flight to Ghana in the morning. We've had our ticket for several months but on our second last day in Japan we found reason to doubt that we would make that flight:
We had thought that we could get a visa to enter the country on arrival. Turns out we were wrong, and that processing a visa application takes 4 business days. Those 4 days should have started today, this being the first day of our time in London that the consolate has been open. Fortunately, we managed to get a rush job and we are now equipped with two very fresh 6-month visas.
So now, after being treated (last night) to a fantastic dinner with my York University buddy Zoe, her husband James, and their 3-year-old son Alex and 6.5-month-old daughter Julia, and then spending a lovely day with my friend Rachel, who now goes by Megan, whom I met when travelling and volunteering on organic farms in British Columbia, and finally an Indian feast at Masala Zone in Soho with Pranav (who we hosted in Toronto when he and Miia attended the same course on international refugee policy), Allison (who went to York with Miia and was on Greenest City's board with me), and Gemma (with whom we are staying and who Miia met in Warsaw at a conference), and Megan, we are about to pack and gain a much needed night's sleep. Seeing old friends in a new setting created a strangely delightful nostalgic newness, and it was great to catch up and create new memories. But here on the blog many stories remain untold, for now.
The craziest thing is that tomorrow evening we will be in West Africa meeting the incredible David Firang, Miia's U of Toronto classmate who has proved himself to be one of the most generous people alive in performing logistical gymnastics to ensure that we are welcomed and made comfortable and connected in Ghana. This arrival means that by the time of our next post there will be another million stories to be told.
Chris
We had thought that we could get a visa to enter the country on arrival. Turns out we were wrong, and that processing a visa application takes 4 business days. Those 4 days should have started today, this being the first day of our time in London that the consolate has been open. Fortunately, we managed to get a rush job and we are now equipped with two very fresh 6-month visas.
So now, after being treated (last night) to a fantastic dinner with my York University buddy Zoe, her husband James, and their 3-year-old son Alex and 6.5-month-old daughter Julia, and then spending a lovely day with my friend Rachel, who now goes by Megan, whom I met when travelling and volunteering on organic farms in British Columbia, and finally an Indian feast at Masala Zone in Soho with Pranav (who we hosted in Toronto when he and Miia attended the same course on international refugee policy), Allison (who went to York with Miia and was on Greenest City's board with me), and Gemma (with whom we are staying and who Miia met in Warsaw at a conference), and Megan, we are about to pack and gain a much needed night's sleep. Seeing old friends in a new setting created a strangely delightful nostalgic newness, and it was great to catch up and create new memories. But here on the blog many stories remain untold, for now.
The craziest thing is that tomorrow evening we will be in West Africa meeting the incredible David Firang, Miia's U of Toronto classmate who has proved himself to be one of the most generous people alive in performing logistical gymnastics to ensure that we are welcomed and made comfortable and connected in Ghana. This arrival means that by the time of our next post there will be another million stories to be told.
Chris
Sunday, November 19, 2006
An answer to the Russian wedding question
From my friend Gemma who I met in Warsaw but lives in London and has studies in Russia and is now in Canada as I, just in from Japan, lay in her bed in England!
"It's true, Russians do enjoy an en masse wedding. It's because wedding traditio indictates that you must travel around the city to place flowers at all the major landmarks like famous buildings, war memorials etc. So in Autumn you'll see a huge amount of last minute weddings congregating at tourist sites before the winter hits. Also it's not normal to get married in church so you need to find picturesque venues to take wedding photos after the ceremony."
There you have it. Thanks Gemma!
"It's true, Russians do enjoy an en masse wedding. It's because wedding traditio indictates that you must travel around the city to place flowers at all the major landmarks like famous buildings, war memorials etc. So in Autumn you'll see a huge amount of last minute weddings congregating at tourist sites before the winter hits. Also it's not normal to get married in church so you need to find picturesque venues to take wedding photos after the ceremony."
There you have it. Thanks Gemma!
Saturday, November 18, 2006
Some apologies and updates
I did want to write more on the blog as we travelled but, as I'm sure you all understand, it's not always feasible. The Gobi Desert, for example, did not lend itself to www connetions and China seemed to have a complete block on blogger. Japan we did have more time but tentative connections and, well, sometimes you just have to opt to live life rather than write about it. Know what I mean? So I will try to write some updates here now in London over the next couple of days. There is, as always, much to say.
But for now...
We took the super fast Nozomi train from Iwakuni (the town where Chris' brother Kevin lives) to Tokyo yesterday. We managed the super efficient subway well and found our way to the international youth hostel, the 18th and 19th floors of a highrise in kinda central Tokyo. The view from the window in the room reminded me of Lost in Translation - sprawling cityscape as far as the eye can see. It's a bit daunting, really, and when Chris and I played a game this morning where we described each place we've visited in just three words, we both came up with "built/buildings" to describe Japan. Since we didn't see the whole country I'm not sure it applies across the board, but Tokyo is certainly the shining example.
At the same time, we walked down some lively streets full of restaurants, shops, offices, people coming and going. Even in the midst of such immense human settlement, we don't need to lose humanity.
This morning we were up early and went by subway and then train to Narita airport. And then, of course, the long flight though the food was yummy (quality Bento box!) and we saw lots of movies (Dave Chappelle's Block Party a highly recommended favourite). A strange incident on the plane was when the guy across the aisle from Chris bent over the arm rest of his chair into the aisle and we both thought he was looking for something but turns out he had completely passed out or was having some kind of seizure. We jumped to help him and hailed down the cabin crew who brought him a tank of oxygen and some water. Luckily there were enough spare seats to get him to lie down for the rest of the flight.
Into London and then by tube to my friend Gemma's place although, by funny coincidence, she's been called away to work in Calgary and we are being hosted by her great husband Andrei. As I write this I am dizzy with fatigue so will sign off here. There is much to tell and to think about. At this point, as we are at the end of one long leg of the journey and about to embark on another, it will be good to look back and think about the good, the bad and the ugly. Will try soon, I promise.
Much love to everyone, Miia
But for now...
We took the super fast Nozomi train from Iwakuni (the town where Chris' brother Kevin lives) to Tokyo yesterday. We managed the super efficient subway well and found our way to the international youth hostel, the 18th and 19th floors of a highrise in kinda central Tokyo. The view from the window in the room reminded me of Lost in Translation - sprawling cityscape as far as the eye can see. It's a bit daunting, really, and when Chris and I played a game this morning where we described each place we've visited in just three words, we both came up with "built/buildings" to describe Japan. Since we didn't see the whole country I'm not sure it applies across the board, but Tokyo is certainly the shining example.
At the same time, we walked down some lively streets full of restaurants, shops, offices, people coming and going. Even in the midst of such immense human settlement, we don't need to lose humanity.
This morning we were up early and went by subway and then train to Narita airport. And then, of course, the long flight though the food was yummy (quality Bento box!) and we saw lots of movies (Dave Chappelle's Block Party a highly recommended favourite). A strange incident on the plane was when the guy across the aisle from Chris bent over the arm rest of his chair into the aisle and we both thought he was looking for something but turns out he had completely passed out or was having some kind of seizure. We jumped to help him and hailed down the cabin crew who brought him a tank of oxygen and some water. Luckily there were enough spare seats to get him to lie down for the rest of the flight.
Into London and then by tube to my friend Gemma's place although, by funny coincidence, she's been called away to work in Calgary and we are being hosted by her great husband Andrei. As I write this I am dizzy with fatigue so will sign off here. There is much to tell and to think about. At this point, as we are at the end of one long leg of the journey and about to embark on another, it will be good to look back and think about the good, the bad and the ugly. Will try soon, I promise.
Much love to everyone, Miia
Friday, November 17, 2006
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Monday, November 13, 2006
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Friday, November 10, 2006
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Amusing Ourselves
Below are many more pictures from Russia, the accompanying stories remain untold for now.
We have finally arrived in Japan, and are staying in Iwakuni, near Hiroshima. This is phase III of operation family-building, a phrase I've borrowed from my former boss Catherine. We are visiting my brother, Kevin, who is an ESL teacher here. His fluency in Japanese has given us a break from the usual linguistic gymnastics, which is nice but has prevented us from learning more than a few words (konichiwa, arigoto).
In China there were other barriers: tonality, pronunciation, the velocity of our throughfare, and poor health. We missed large chunks of what seemed like a great country due to an ongoing game of swapping sickness, which is where first Miia got food poisoning, and once I was sure she had recovered, I got food poisoning. Beijing, as Miia desribed in an earlier post, was a wonderful city to visit, filled with history and mystery, elegant beauty and modern excitement. Shanghai had a nice hotel near the ferry terminal with HBO in English. The hotel was listed in Lonely Planet as a real deal, cheap but stylish with oodles of history, including a visit from Einstein. Somebody must have read that and seen an unmilked cash cow because by the time we arrived it had been "restored" into an over-priced colonial gem complete with bowing doormen and snooty desk staff. We handed over enough cash there to last us, in our usual budget accomodations, about a week, for our overnight. Having just travelled on an overnight train and lugged our baggage across town (twice actually - the first place we checked out seemed unnecessarily far from the ferry), we decided to splurge. In all fairness the rest of the staff there were exceptionally nice, and went so far as to go to a pharmacy and pick up a new thermometre for us when my fever hit 38 degrees. It just seems a shame to me when something goes from being financially accessible to yet another means of exclusion.
As for me, I spent two long wretched (literally) days on the boat to Osaka, while Miia (fortunately) made the most of her good health and made several new Scandinavian, German, and Australian friends, feasted on first rate bean curds, and made the most of the free ping pong table and hot tub. Our bargain basement boat trip turned out to be fully loaded!
By the time our 7-hour train rolled into Iwakuni I was feeling much closer to human and ready to feast on Japanese Indian food. Since then we have visited the spot 500 metres below where the first atomic bomb exploded, and a nearby graveyard. Around that neighbourhood are numberous monuments, including one honouring the 10,000 children who perished in the blast with an eerie computerized megaphone voice emanating from an angelic statue laced with colourful paper cranes, which symbolize long life and health. It is a sad place with a sombre air to it. What a difficult thing to memorialize.
But in true Japanese style we capped the day in the more festive present. If Aldous Huxley was right about the world, Japan is the proof. It is super-happy-joy-of-life land. As the evening descended we enjoyed yakitori, or meat (and veggies) on sticks, and later, kereoke and Japanese whiskey, and beer, Dylan and Costello. The pillars of civilization.
Tomorrow we visit one of Kevin's schools and meet his students, show them pictures of our travels and once more break the linguistic barriers to communication. What a joy to be in a place more than 3 nights, see it through more than a passing window, a clicking shutter. And what a joy to be with family again.
Chris
We have finally arrived in Japan, and are staying in Iwakuni, near Hiroshima. This is phase III of operation family-building, a phrase I've borrowed from my former boss Catherine. We are visiting my brother, Kevin, who is an ESL teacher here. His fluency in Japanese has given us a break from the usual linguistic gymnastics, which is nice but has prevented us from learning more than a few words (konichiwa, arigoto).
In China there were other barriers: tonality, pronunciation, the velocity of our throughfare, and poor health. We missed large chunks of what seemed like a great country due to an ongoing game of swapping sickness, which is where first Miia got food poisoning, and once I was sure she had recovered, I got food poisoning. Beijing, as Miia desribed in an earlier post, was a wonderful city to visit, filled with history and mystery, elegant beauty and modern excitement. Shanghai had a nice hotel near the ferry terminal with HBO in English. The hotel was listed in Lonely Planet as a real deal, cheap but stylish with oodles of history, including a visit from Einstein. Somebody must have read that and seen an unmilked cash cow because by the time we arrived it had been "restored" into an over-priced colonial gem complete with bowing doormen and snooty desk staff. We handed over enough cash there to last us, in our usual budget accomodations, about a week, for our overnight. Having just travelled on an overnight train and lugged our baggage across town (twice actually - the first place we checked out seemed unnecessarily far from the ferry), we decided to splurge. In all fairness the rest of the staff there were exceptionally nice, and went so far as to go to a pharmacy and pick up a new thermometre for us when my fever hit 38 degrees. It just seems a shame to me when something goes from being financially accessible to yet another means of exclusion.
As for me, I spent two long wretched (literally) days on the boat to Osaka, while Miia (fortunately) made the most of her good health and made several new Scandinavian, German, and Australian friends, feasted on first rate bean curds, and made the most of the free ping pong table and hot tub. Our bargain basement boat trip turned out to be fully loaded!
By the time our 7-hour train rolled into Iwakuni I was feeling much closer to human and ready to feast on Japanese Indian food. Since then we have visited the spot 500 metres below where the first atomic bomb exploded, and a nearby graveyard. Around that neighbourhood are numberous monuments, including one honouring the 10,000 children who perished in the blast with an eerie computerized megaphone voice emanating from an angelic statue laced with colourful paper cranes, which symbolize long life and health. It is a sad place with a sombre air to it. What a difficult thing to memorialize.
But in true Japanese style we capped the day in the more festive present. If Aldous Huxley was right about the world, Japan is the proof. It is super-happy-joy-of-life land. As the evening descended we enjoyed yakitori, or meat (and veggies) on sticks, and later, kereoke and Japanese whiskey, and beer, Dylan and Costello. The pillars of civilization.
Tomorrow we visit one of Kevin's schools and meet his students, show them pictures of our travels and once more break the linguistic barriers to communication. What a joy to be in a place more than 3 nights, see it through more than a passing window, a clicking shutter. And what a joy to be with family again.
Chris
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