Game Plan for 2066

Folks have been asking. So here it is. The game plan:

First stop: Boulder to reconnect with home, tulips and kind-hearted friends.
Next stop: Maine to scream Swahili football cheers at Mar while she breathes through contractions. I will be staying throughout the month to teach baby Grady about fashion, cook tagines with my mom and convince Billy to practice morning yoga with me.

June - ?: I’m thinking about a road trip to share late-night kitchen conversations and sun-filled games of Frisbee golf with many of you. Holler if you’re game.

Along the way, I’ll be working on web projects for the organizations that I visited during the trip. Hoping to write a few freelance pieces about the adventures. And lastly, I’m working on securing funding for the Push Play project.

Push Play is an idea to expose the lives of 8 extraordinary female athletes around the world through a video podcast series. I’d set off on another trip to capture the stories. Additionally, I will give each woman a simple digital camera and teach her how to blog. Lastly, I will set up a Web site that would share the professionally produced videos, the blogs and give users the opportunity to donate directly to the athlete’s organization. Here’s the full Push Play game plan. Any and all leads or suggestions are welcomed with open arms.

This was my first attempt at blogging and it became a really important rhythm in my days, as a practice and a way to make my experiences feel shared, even when they were experienced independently. Thanks for following the blog over these months. There will be more stories to tell in this blog on future adventures, but for now....

The End. 

2065: What A Year It Has Been

I left Nepal one day before their biggest celebration - the Nepali New Year. The streets of Kathmandu were buzzing with preparations to usher in 2066. My next destination: USA. Personally poetic that I’m leaving on the last day of the year and coming back home at Easter – when many folks are also celebrating a rebirth. I’ve decided to postpone South America for now. My sister, Mar, is on the verge of having her first baby and I wouldn’t miss it for the World (literally).

I went on this journey in search of something colorful and bold – in the world around me, and in myself. Did I find it? Hard to tell. I'm not sure I can sum this experience up in any sort of neat conclusion. Every day was surely a ride – emotionally, socially, and practically. In this blog, you saw a lot of the happy drama -- so much beauty out there. But there were tough times.

One day, I was in Jeffrey’s Bay, South Africa. My credit card had been cloned. Waiting on money to be wired, I only had a few bucks. I had not hit my stride -- feeling more lost and lonely than ever before. I went to yoga in this woman’s living room. She said something that I clung to, writing it in my journal in huge, page-filling letters:

“What if, we didn’t need to add anything to this moment…if we viewed it as complete and not in need of change?”

For the rest of the trip, I kept it close, like a mantra or motto. If there is one change I’ve noticed in myself, it’s that appreciation of the moment. The constant motion of the trip combined with the uncertainty of a major life shift, has challenged me to find happiness in staying present. Smelling the apple before biting. Listening to the songs kids sing thru school windows. Not living for what was or what will be - just what is.

I guess I’ve changed in that way. That, and, I’m far more likely to dip my bread in food and 100 times more humble.

Thanks to all those who took me in, fed me, hugged me and shared the days. Thanks to all the strangers who made me feel less strange. And all the gratitude in my heart to my family and family of friends for the never-ending support and encouragement.

Love.
Sarah

Kdu Wins Me Over

Kathmandu made me want to bury my head in my hands for the first 24 hours upon arrival. The dirt caked in the gaps of my teeth. The cacophony of car horns. The badgering salesman. But then, like stray cat with fleas, the city sidled up to me with an intrigue and I couldn't help but pick it up. Sitting in one of the main "chowks" (intersections), slowly eating pomegranate seeds next to a statue of Ganesh, I watched the city slide by and found her kitschy charm.

Today, Kathmandu looked like this....

Joyrides

My feet have been my mode of transport in Nepal prior to yesterday. There was the 1960s-era, toy plane I flew into Pokhara on before the trek. A ten-seater. Security? None. Walked up to the plane on the tarmac when I was ready. A boy was on a step stool, washing the windows of the plane with a squeegie. No flight attendant. Just us and the pilot who chatted the whole way. He balanced us according to weight. We flew real low, weaving in and out of the mountain folds . Felt sporting. I loved it.

The bus ride to Kathmandu yesterday was quiet another story.

Look. Y'all know I am not a faint-hearted traveller. I will roll with many-a-sketchy situation. But that ride was just not right. Ten hours of hairpin turns, up and down Himalayan mountain passes with death drops on each side of the crumbling road. Side of the bus covered in puke. And I would have been fine with all that. It was our driver's lust for passing constantly around blind corners, as though he was on a suicide mission, that drove my hands over my eyes so frequently. The true reminder of our mortality was the dozen or so burned up, accordian-resembling, crashed buses, just like ours, that dotted the side of the road. It's no wonder all the buses have Hindu deities painted on them. Shiva, have mercy.

I wish I could say I was relieved when we pulled into Kathmandu. But that would be a lie. I was alive, but the city hit me like a slap in my dirt-caked face. Incessant car horns, bloody, dead goat heads for sale and a touch of food poisoning from a veggie burger passed to me thru the bus window.

Last mode of transportation for the day: rickshaw. It was a truly a joyride. Have a quick look. Meet Bhopal. Turn the volume up for the conversation.

Saru's Song

This is my friend Saru. She is one of the top guides at Three Sisters. Saru is a warrior of a woman in all senses of the word. She also has a beautiful voice and likes to sing traditional Nepali songs. Click above to hear her. 

p.s. I looked at her cell phone today. Had me listed. "Sarah Didi." Means big sister. No greater honor. 

Home Away from Home

Today the whole country of Nepal is on strike. I was supposed to travel by Jeep and foot to a real remote and area called Sicles. Guess they have a women's movement happening in this super traditional Gurung village - microloans, daycare, women-run unions, the whole bit. But, when strikes happen, no vehicles are allowed on the road. Word on the streets has it that the strike is because its the birthday of a government official that the folks don't like - so they want to spoil it. Logical? No. But Nepal does as Nepal damn well pleases. Decided to take the time to update this baby...

Spent the past week hanging in Pokhara - a beautifully laid-back town tucked away in the foothills of the Himalayas. Lovely place to rest my battered feet, but the real sauce has been spending every day with my Nepali guide friends and their families. I have had an invitation to lunch and/or dinner every day. Becoming quick, caring friends is the Nepali way. The gals can't understand why I am so blown away by their immediate closeness. My buddy Saru even pantsed (flagged) me this morning in front of a bunch of European vacationers. Yeah, it's like that. 

Come see Pokhara...

The Maoists Are Coming

Prior to coming to Nepal, I learned about the volatile political situation here. The U.S. State Department warns against even visiting. Quick briefing before the real story: In 1996, Maoists (Communists) waged a "People's War" against the Hindu monarchy. Many young people in Nepal are Maoists and would tell you that the insurgency is truly about giving rights to members of lower castes, holding the government accountable for the overall well being of the populace, fighting corruption, etc. I tend to believe this. Even though Maoists have gained sizable political influence in the government, they are still basically using backwoods terrorist tactics to assert their power. The Kathmandu Post reported a house being damaged by home-made explosive and a rape of a 20-year old woman just yesterday.

Maoist rebels are most active in the hills. However, the Annapurna Sanctuary trek was reported to be basically safe, with the possible exception of one Gurung village - Ghandruk. I read this news, while...in Ghandruk.

After dinner one night, I was needing a little space from the group (two weeks is a long time to spend every waking moment with a group after solo traveling for 3 months). Put on my headlamp and stroll the cobblestone mule paths around Ghandruk. Moon is peeking from behind clouds. Smell of home-cooked food fills the air. Families tucked tightly in their warm cottages. Suddenly the serenity is disturbed by a megaphone barking something seemingly scripted in Nepali, that I cannot understand. Odd. Figure it is coming from the small village across the very deep gorge/valley.

I sit down on a stone wall and dangle my feet into the valley below. Ten minutes later, the echoing megaphone fills the valley again - this time the source is much closer. I look in a nearby window to see if I can gauge the reaction of the farmers. They seem unfazed. I follow their lead and continue enjoying my peaceful evening thoughts.

Uh oh. Footsteps. Heavy, booted, man footsteps in a land of mostly flip flops. Then massive moonshadows of a band of people. They came over the ridge so quickly that I didn't have time to move. A group of men, one with the megaphone, filled the path around me and start announcing their presence loudly to the valley. Frozen with fear. Do I make a run for it and risk being chased? Do I stay still and hope that the Maoist rebels truly don't want to mess with trekkers?

Not one to sit idly and take a beating, I decide to get up. Move briskly and confidently, without running, towards the teahouse. Leave headlamp off. Heart is pounding. I don't dare look back.

I make it into the teahouse breathless, but safe. Shaken to my instinctual core.

The next morning, I ask Aman, one of the porters, if he heard the megaphone and what the men were saying. His reply?

"Everyone could hear it. That was an announcement for free dental cleanings for villagers in the valley."

Of course, it was.

Words Aren't Enough

There will never be a combination of words to use that would do justice to this trek. Far better to show you what it felt like. Each link leads to a different photo gallery...

Happiness is in the Journey

Guides: Toughest Women on Earth

Annapurna Base Camp

Nepali Life

Awe

Annapurna. A sanctuary in every sense. Twelve of the richest days of my life spent walking in the mighty Himalayas with Nepali women whose spirits were bigger than the peaks. Getting reacquainted with electricity and motorized vehicles today. Stories and a few photo albums to come soon.

Sending the love. 

Annapurna with the Sisters

I am setting out for a two week trek in Nepal tomorrow with Three Sisters Trekking -- the only women owned, guided and portered outfitter in the Everest region. This mountain gal couldn't BE more excited to get a feel for the Himalayas -- to spend days walking in her folds and getting a feel for the biggest hills in the world. I'll be doing the Annapurna Sanctuary trek...through rhododendron forests, hot springs and up to the base camp of the big beauty. 

Heads up that I'll be away from blogging, email, Facebook and all the online connectivity jazz through March 29th. Will be sure to share the adventure when I return. 

Yeeeee haw and yippppeeee!

Life at Kruger

Twelve hour layover in Delhi was the perfect opportunity to compile some footage from this South African wonderland. This was shot at Kruger National Park in northeast South Africa back in January. Feels like ages ago...

The music is by Agape Children's Choir, from the movie "We Are Together" - brilliant story.

Peace in Cyprus

Spent the past week relaxing with an old friend, Megan Chawansky....eating juicy pomegranates and oranges and enjoying the splendor of Cyprus. 

Cyprus is a small island in the Mediterranean Sea between Israel and Turkey. The north is controlled and culturally influenced by Turkey and the South by Greece. Fascinating clash of cultures, history and study in peace and unification (or lack thereof). Megan is here working as a Program Manager for Peace Players International -- a group that uses basketball to teach youth lessons of peace in the major conflict hotspots of the World. In addition to her work, she is playing semi-professional basketball for a "Achilleas" - a Cypriot club. Got to watch the old bird in action and even practice with her team (I wore someone else's sweatpant shorts - H.O.T.!)

Tanks for sharing your days and love, MC. 

All interested parties...Have a peek at the highlights.

Heading thru Israel, Austria and India on my way to Nepal next. Five flights and two nights in a row sleeping in the airport should have me feeling fresh as a daisy upon arrival...

Tourist or Terrorist

I admit - I was a hot mess getting to the Ben Gurion Airport. I got lost returning the rental car, and had trouble finding a gas station. Apparently, "they" say you should leave yourself no less than 3 hours in Tel Aviv. Well, I didn't have a chance to talk to "they." I was working with less than an hour and a half.

Picture it:
Sweating, frantic SJM goes racing into potentially the most highly secured airport in the World. Baggage trolley on two wheels, screeching around corners. Instantly surrounded by security guards. Somehow, my quick utterance of "I am a tourist" must have been misunderstood as "I am a terrorist." My passport and laptop are confiscated.

I am interrogated at length by a posse of six guards about why I am in Israel, why I have so many stamps on my passport, why I have only been in the country for a day, what I do for a job, why i am going to Cyprus. Most of the questioning revolved around my visit to Morocco.

A burly woman shuffles me over to the baggage inspection station, where she proceeds to take EVERYTHING out of my carefully and tightly packed backpack and wipe it with a piece of special toilet paper. She does not seem alarmed by the smell of my shoes or the Leatherman. She is quite concerned about why I have a stuff sack full of electronic equipment....an audio recorder and a tin waterbottle wrapped in duct tape. My underwear falls to the ground. I pick them up and wonder if there is another flight to Cyprus later in the day.

Burly gal briskly motions me to follow her for the "metal check." We leave the general terminal and go down a long hallway...into a private room filled with sensor devices and machines that look like they could give you an MRI. Looking over my shoulder to the left and right as she locks the door behind me. Suffice it to say, that this phase of the security screening ended with my pants around my ankles and my chin buried in my neck after a hearty pat down.

Fear not, Americans...this story has a happy ending. I get the passport and laptop back. Backpack and pants are zipped up tightly. Burly woman calls her friend, Tough Gal Airport Golf Cart Driver. I get an LJ VIP ride to my gate. Psyched on life that I am going to make the flight. The three of us pass by all the other LJs in the airport -- waving at the short-haired lady selling cell phones....laughing at the surprising speed of the cart. All that was missing was a radio with some Beyonce blaring out the speakers....

Lesson learned: Ununciate the "ou" in tourist and always travel with clean undies.

Shalom, Tel Aviv

It would discredit all other things I ever say in this blog to preface any of this by saying Israel is underrated. After all, it is the most sought after parcel of land on the planet. But as a non-Jewish American, my view of Israel was shaped primarily by media accounts of car bombings and a constantly rising death toll on account of the Israeli/Palestinian conflict.

No one told me that Tel Aviv is a vibrant, creative, cosmopolitan city, perched on a gorgeous stretch of the Mediterraenan Sea. It's full of liberal-minded, kibbutz-loving folk who eat killer hummus. There are dogs running freely on surfable beaches and bike paths that go for miles. I was in Israel for all of a day and a half and adored it, fully. Here are some pictures.

Meeting Nicole Matsuka

The main reason I went to Casablanca was to meet Nicole. She has been living in various cities in Morocco for two and a half years -- first studying abroad, then on a Fulbright and now working for a national sport development organization. She has focused primarily on the grassroots growth of girls'/women's football (read: soccer).

I spent the day sponging knowledge from her about all aspects of trying to help cultivate women's sports in a society that traditionally resists females displaying strength, leadership and muscle. We spent hours talking about funding, networking, moving past the challenges, incorporating new media in this effort.

Nicole's work has not been easy. She has had to roll up her sleeves to get grants, organize events, solicit community support to give girls' an opportunity to play. Progress IS being made. Morocco now has a national team and regional leagues. Nicole was able to get funding to take four girls to the United States last summer to attend Julie Foudy's Leadership Camp. Each of the girls received a small sum of money to come back to Morocco to start a girls' sports project herself.

Read Nicole's entry on "Players on a Masculine Stage" at the Global Game blog
Take a look at her brilliant images of women's football in Morocco
*photo above is part of her collection of photos

Grateful and inspired.

Complex Casa

One day is not nearly enough time to wrap your mind around the complexity of this culture. Here is some of what I saw today....

...and above, click on the play button to listen to the call to prayer that echos over the city five times a day. One of my favorite parts of visiting Muslim countries....so peaceful and assuring....

Brother, please...

I have heard cautionary tales from a handful of women who have traveled in Morocco. Men are aggressive. Women can't go out at night alone. Prepare for the badgering, even if you're head is covered -- but especially if it is not. Lonely Planet suggests "looking busy -- like you know where you are going."

I would keep and open mind and judge gender relations in Morocco for myself. I have an aversion to the popularized American-style fear....

Got off the plane after more than 30 hours in transit. So tired. Pouring rain. Hop in a taxi. The guy speaks French....which will work...certainly much better than Arabic. We seem to be doing OK. He knows the hotel I am looking for...."Il pleut" (it's raining)...weather....small talk....tourism highlights of the city.

As is often the case on this trip, he asks me if I have a husband. I wonder which way to answer this time. Go with no. He persists. I give in and untruthfully say I have a boyfriend -- hoping to end the conversation. It all starts getting a little dicey as I try to explain why my "petit ami" (boyfriend) isn't with me on this trip to Morocco (he was working, of course). My broken French, which has not been used for a solid decade, is doing little to deter the disintegration of the conversation. Before I know it, 54 year old man is suggesting I sleep with him at his house, instead of the hotel. Said his wife would not be mad. He roars with laughter and just keeps tapping me on the knee.

"Mon Dieu," I say (My God)
"Vous Etes TROP vieux" (you are TOO old)
[odd logic here, but it was all I had in my vocab at the moment]
"Et, j'ai un petit ami" (and i have a boyfriend)
"Non! Allez-y a l'hotel, si vous plait" (No. Let's go to the hotel, please)

Conversation over. Turn up radio. Windshield wipers stagger awkwardly. Old Mercedes taxi steams up uncomfortably. Nervous tap of foot. Hope this is the exit to the hotel and not his place.

Turns out he took me right to the front door of the Hotel Central and sent me off with a "Bon Soir," as if it was just another normal ride for him.

Still going to try to keep an open mind....but might be a little harder with a start like that....

Explaining the Hiatus

Took a little T.O. this past week from the adventure train. Couldn't tell y'all about it ahead of time-- as I was surprising my sister, Mar, at her baby shower in Maine. She is due to birth some new life onto this Earth on May 29th - our Mom's birthday. It is no myth -- pregnant women beam with something otherworldly. She is so bright and full of motherness. Glorious to see her in that state.

Had an amazing time being back in the States. I was ripe for a little break from the anonymity of traveling alone. Got off the plane in New York and actually felt like I was home. Mind you, I traveled to that big, burly city every other month for ten years and NEVER felt anything remotely similar. And being in front of the woodstove in Maine...with Mom's lasagna in the oven...and Nanny Alice sharing old stories from the classroom. Golden.

Not easy to hop back on a plane at JFK today for so many reasons. Doesn't take a trip around the world to make me appreciate all the beauty I am blessed with in my life at this moment in time -- but sure lends some important perspective.

Next stop: Morocco to hang with Nicole Matsuka -- former Fulbright Scholar who is doing roll-your-sleeves-up grassroots work with girls and women in sports.

Ode to The Bus Driver

There are but a handful of consistencies that can be counted on across the World.
In no particular order: Fanta Orange. Flip Flops. Bikes made in China.
And The Bus Driver.

I'm not one to lump anyone to another, but this cross cultural likeness is too beautiful to ignore.

You know this man. We all do.

Mighty forearms.
Elbow draped out the window, tattooed from years spent resting in the rubber well of the open window.
Toothpick. Present. Always.

Quick with a smile. Quicker with the horn.

He is not a truck driver - opting for a solitary life on the road.
No, no. The Bus Driver indulges in the company of others.
Each rider, a chance to flex his well-worn charm and wit.
If his bus is equipped with a microphone - he rocks it.

A cigarette at every rest stop.
A loafer or boot kicked up on the tire of the bus.
Happy to small talk while we wait, but when it's time to load 'em up and fly, he's all biz.

Back in the bus, a personal touch flaps from the rearview mirror.
A Manchester United flag or a symbol of the God that keeps him company on the road when we all get off.
Ask him about it. He'll share the sermon.
And for the love of that God, please keep your feet off the seats.

His native tongue may vary from country to country, let's get one thing straight:
He knows what's best.
And if you ask, or if you don't, you're likely to get a little free advice.

And truth be told, you NEED it.
THIS is a man to count on.
He'll take you where you need to go.
He'll point you in the right direction.
He'll chat you up when you're lonely.

Laugh at his rusty jokes.
Smile when you get off.
Give him a good, hard pat on the shoulder, even if touching makes him uncomfortable.

Appreciate this dude.

Thanks, Bus Driver.

Pireneos with the Funny McFunnertons

Journs, J and I rented a button of a car and took a spontaneous snowboard safari through the Pyrenees in Spain, France and Andorra. Rode hard and happily. Sang along to Bob Seger. Ate an extreme amount of yum cheese. Soaked in hot springs. Stretched out the car window to take pictures of the glory. And gave a ridiculous number of high fives about it all.

Fancy free.

More pictures to come...but here is a peek.