the world can handle it

Posted on February 8, 2011 by sol

I will come back to this blog; I’ve just been planning a wedding for the last 6 months (and abroad for 2.5 of those) – so please just forgive me.

In the meantime, I do invite you to watch our “save-the-date” video – because it’s fun and love stories should be shared. We’re also doing pre-marriage counseling (which I LOVE) and it was on our task list to write a letter to our wedding guide/officiant/counselor/mentor explaining “why we love our partner”, and I sent her the following letter this morning. It’s rough, unedited and intimate. But the world can handle it.

Why I love Slade.

The first thing that actually comes to mind, are the three words we chose to root our wedding: travel/explore, witness, play. And I think it’s because we both embody and practice these verbs together in our partnered approach to life.

Our relationship was born on a plane. We’re met in LAX and spent the first 24 hours of our life together, in route from LA to India. He was wearing flip flops and jeans – two things that I told our student group, explicitly, not to pack. And yet he provided me with a rationale in such confident good humor that I felt no need to challenge. Instead I laughed. And thus began the softening of Christina (slightly hardened, as 8 years of independent travel and living will do). We spent two weeks preparing our program together – WORKING – researching, contacting, setting up, communicating, organizing. From 7am till 11pm. Finally, it was time to pick up our students and we boarded a train that was supposed to take us to Calcutta in 12 hours. Mid-course, the train stopped. It had stopped for about 8 hours, but Slade and I hadn’t: we just talked, and laughed, and talked and laughed. I remember there was a moment of silence, when we both laid down in our separate train bunks for a few quiet moments. Looking back, we both remembering thinking at the same time, “I could care less if this train was broken for another 12 hours. Will I ever grow tired of this person? I think I’m in trouble.”

Exactly three years later, I feel like I’m still on that train with Slade; crunched up in our bunks, caring not for time or “breakdowns” – but hanging out the open door of the train, sipping chai and encouraging him to try some slightly dangerous and very spicy mung beans (or other challenges he can’t resist). Back in the bunk, Slade is prompting humorous and engaging conversations with all those that pass by, as I (still fail at) trying to read even a chapter of my book (ever) in his presence, instead being unable to resist his charms and falling over myself for just a little more banter, laughter and flirting with the elements of life together. Even now, nestled in our home together, we travel. We open up our laptops – and though others can’t see it (or necessarily speak our language) – we venture into technologies and designs and windows to worlds of imagination and invention that don’t always exists for others. Or we collaborate on a project. Be it building a green house, website, flower bed or wedding invitation – there is an element of exploration in everything we do together. A trust in following our curiosity. A faith in knowing the steps to getting there will inevitably influence the vision. And a deep love for a blank slate.

Which gets me to play.

I think it’s my natural tendency to take things a little too seriously. And at the same time get caught up in my strong imagination. Don’t worry – I know that these characteristics are also a source of my creativity. But what I didn’t know, until I met Slade, was how much healthier and lighter I felt when I had someone who could keep these elements in check – and do so delicately. I call on Slade for a “reality check” on almost every interpersonal altercation I encounter – as he has a DEEP and intuitive rational that’s calm, kind and super strategic. He says this of his mom, so he probably inherited it – but Slade is the BEST problem solver I’ve ever known. I respect him deeply for this emotional and intellectual intelligence, and actually can’t imagine having a more competent or resourceful person by my side. And as “efficient” as that sounds, I think this resourcefulness comes from his most natural drive - which is to PLAY with the elements around him. Be it a game, paintbrushes, website, camera, puppy or small child – he’ll pick it up and follow with focused curiosity. And there’s very little I love more than watching him in this state; his “artist” state. I have profound trust in his vision when he’s in the this state; It’s something I love to foster and I find myself conspiring ways of setting him up with the elements and the time, for him to “fall” into it. Especially as this spirit of constant play is infectious – and infuses my own life with a lightness – that it does need. Play and exploration were enormous themes in my independent childhood – where I spent 10 hours a day outside doing both, within the natural elements. I’m not sure what got lost or hardened along the way (maybe it does with most adults) – but what a delight to find it again, and to laugh and dance and play – feeling like that IS God’s (as loosely defined as possible) wish and our responsibility.

And I guess that gets me to Witness. I’ve seen a lot of this world. And surprisingly, I do think it’s much more beauty than ruin. Still, we’ve both seen hard things – and more than enough to put our privileges and position in perspective. I live with that every day. And I also live with the task of fitting the responsibility of what I have witnessed into my life action plan. Before I met Slade, it was really hard for me to center myself in this spinning world view. I always joke that I never felt jet lag until I met Slade; I just landed and my equilibrium re-centered immediately, and I took off running. A nice talent – but also a slightly dangerous and very unrooted one. After I met Slade, I, for the first time, felt my equilibrium struggling to stop spinning in tune with his – I literally felt like my heart had to re-calibrate. I can still acclimatize and acculturate – don’t worry. But there is something very healthy about knowing that I actually am tethered, no far how I reach, to a pole that can bring me back to center.

And the other half of Witness is the simple act of holding everything in life SACRED. I feel/know Slade to do this. As I do. And the combination allows us to hold life, beauty, and relationships with profound appreciation for their blessings. Slade’s parents are sacred to him. MY parents and siblings are sacred to him. Nature is profoundly sacred to him. This wedding is SACRED to Slade. It’s not an event or a commitment or just another traditional life stage – it might be the biggest thing in his life. Aside from the birth of a child. And he knows this. Respects and holds it as so. As I do. And probably the only thing more important in life than approaching it with humble gratitude and respect, is having a partner who can mirror, complement and share in the upholding of the same values and approach.

There are hundreds of other “reasons why” and individual characteristics of Slade that I love (already sent you 64 of them!) – but it’s really our shared approach to life and the harmony and health that I have found born between us that I love most. Like a good recipe or alchemy, complimentary ingredients just came together and made something beautiful. Something that I could have never conceived of on my own. And so to sum it up with a very appropriate metaphor: if he and I were going on a trip (along a shared life path, perhaps?), and we could only put four things in our backpack to take with us, they would be: a creative approach, playfulness with the elements, the container of our India train bunk, and a humble and sacred appreciation for all that we encounter and witness.

mixed bag of future, past & present

Posted on August 7, 2008 by sol

Well, I’ve finally got myself that cup of coffee and computer time that I’ve been craving. As well as a messy pile of stained notes and unorganized photos documenting my day-by-day account of the adventures unfolded in rural Dolpa; all to be composed and posted soon. But first, as we rewind, I’m gonna pause on Thailand and do a quick “detox camp” debriefing as it’s also a story worth sharing. And then, if we fast rewind all the way back to where the tape snaps off, you might even remember a trip to Peru, around this time last year, where I helped document a community service trip by talking to a camera and taking notes (reflections of which are posted here as well as published in the beautiful new, World Nomads Book of Travels). Well I’ve just learned that that Peru footage is now being played on National Geographic Adventure (but have yet to sort out the TV schedule) as well as many airlines in-flight programming. The man behind the camera and production, a Mr. Trent O’Donnell (pictured above), quickly became a favorite friend, and has PROMISED me that I look wise, witty and beautiful (and also that he edited the toilet bits documenting my bouts of parasite-infested intestinal disease). I have yet to see the documentary, but if you happen to catch it, do let me know if all he claims is true.

And that’s the mixed snack bag of future, past and present. Now let me get to my coffee and serving something we can actually bite into…

———————————————
*sol bows her “namaste” and gratitude to World Nomads Travel Insurance, ThinkHost and Merc for their ever-supporting roles in the realization of her dream.

bendinggrass.com

Posted on May 28, 2008 by sol

You know those periods (over the last 7 years) where I disappear? Well, we’re in the middle of one of them.

LUCKILY, my upcoming pilgrimage partner has her OWN blog and so you can now take a side street to my experiences here in Nepal via a surprise detour full of interesting and refreshing new perspectives on our shared path.

She’ll hit me in the shoulder for posting this photo taken from Kathmandu’s immigration office…

IMG_7055, originally uploaded by seekingsol.

So take a look at her site, bendinggrass.com, for maps, our Dolpa pilgrimage itinerary and a side sneak peak into the daily logistics and quips of our shared journey in Nepal.

(Meanwhile, I’ll continue my desperate search for both time and a DSL hotspot in this valley.)

a few questions & answers

Posted on January 13, 2008 by sol

Visions of India Dec 2007, originally uploaded by seekingsol.

I recently answered the following questions from a Portuguese journalist and figured to recycle the content. The answers are short because the last time I had something published, the editor, having no mercy with the scissors, cut my tresses of words to something of an ugly bob. So my answers are trimmed in anticipation of another hack job.

Q: Tell me about your life before the trip?

My life before “the trip” was spent checking off a list of the acquisitions that people around me (family, culture, society) told me I needed to have in order to be happy. I think of that period of my life (ages 14-21) as years of blindness: I just felt around in the dark and let the people and objects I bumped into direct my path. I certainly wasn’t unhappy. I just had no goals or passions or interests of my own and so I was fine with putting my faith in the path that American society prescribed for me. I’ve since realized that I sort out a lot of my life by walking down paths that lead to dead ends; it’s just my slow process of learning. So when I had everything I was told would make me happy, but still felt empty, I realized that the path prescribed me was a dead end. I was simply done with that path and ready for a new one.

Q: Why did you decide to go?

I wanted to know what would remain if I left everything behind. I was numb and wanted to feel things again – coldness, warmth, pain, rain, surprise, bliss, confusion; it didn’t matter to me so much what I felt, but just that I could FEEL again, something that could confirm that I was alive. I started to contemplate the idea of traveling for a year in Central America, and only at the first contemplation of the idea, I began, for the first time in a long time, to feel something. I felt nervous and I felt wicked and I felt brave and I felt afraid. But I was feeling! And that’s how I knew I was doing something that I needed to do. So I bought a ticket. I had a job at the time and I didn’t even tell my boss. I just bought a one-year-return ticket and let all the details sort themselves out on their own.

Q: What is the message you want to pass to your generation?

That your life is unique and a mystery to be explored. I’m not sure how we can live with sunrises and sunsets and stars and not wonder the big questions that such visions inspire. But I really think these questions should be pondered, individually and with each other. Because they are the most important questions in life and I have a hunch that anyone who asks them, will come, via their own unique path, to the same conclusion. And this conclusion is the answer to most of our (humanity’s) problems. So I guess my message is to engage your sense of wonder and think creatively with your life path; it’s your own to create and color.

Q: What did you learn travelling for so many countries?

I learned that borders mean little and that an open mind and heart means a lot. I learned that despite the thousands of dialects, we (humans) all speak the same universal languages: of laughter, music, dance, art, and play, of love for family and of needs for safety, community, health and peace. I’ve learned that it doesn’t matter where you start, go or end; but that life, like little kids in the mud, will teach you everything you need to know utilizing whatever resources are available, providing an open heart, creative mind and will to learn are present. And I’ve learned that the truth is easy to find; you just have to ask, respectfully, for it and be ready to listen.

Q: What is the experience, the place or the person that marked you the most?

An American woman named Hanley Denning donated her entire life to providing education, safety and health care to children living in the slum community of the Guatemala City dump. She was a friend and mentor. She died, tragically, in a car accident this year. But she is still my guide by her example of total selflessness and the power of a single human to better the lives of thousands. You can learn more about her and/or the project at: www.safepassage.org.

Q: What is your next trip?

Currently, I’m living in Varanasi, India but in May of 2008, I, along with a best friend, will begin a 40-day pilgrimage into the Dolpo Region of remote Nepal. Logistically, we hope to explore the kingdom of Mustang and visit what is considered one of the last enclaves of pure Tibetan culture left on earth. Intuitively, we are most interested in the nomadic nature of the pilgrimage itself, and the messengers, messages, questions and answers, we are bound to encounter and ponder along the way. For those interested, I’ll be documenting the pilgrimage on my blog: www.solbeam.com.

Q: Is it possible for a normal person to do the same? Leave a job, family and country and travel the world?

I’m a normal person. I’m actually abnormally clumsy, slow on many subjects, and I bite my lip over the same questions that everyone else does. If anything, that’s my charm: that I’m a single, solo, and normal girl, and I did it. It doesn’t take great courage, but it does take a first leap of faith. My advice to everyone is the same: don’t think about it – just make the decision and start acting like you own it. Make a physical commitment if you can – buy the plane ticket, go the school registrar and ask to defer your next year of university, get the second job you need to save the money. Once the commitment is made, the rest of the details (obligations, logistics, etc.) will sort themselves out on their own. All you have to do is make the decision and take the first step. At least “try on” the decision and see how it feels. If it makes you feel lighter or sparks something on the inside, you’re probably on the right path.

Q: And what about the money? How much does it cost?

Mostly likely, it’ll cost you less than it does for you to live at home. My costs of living abroad are a fraction of what I spend when I’m living in the States. My best tip is to be aware that there’s a two-tiered cost structure when traveling in foreign countries: prices for tourists and prices for locals. Do you hang out at the places in your town where tourists hang out? Of course not. Those places are unauthentic and overpriced. So try to avoid the package tours and tourist hot spots. Pick a random place that fancies you and instead of sticking to the guide books, study the local language, make friends with locals, and let them be your guides. If you are authentically interested in understanding another culture and country, people will feel it and open their hearts, houses and lives to you. An amazing resource for finding friends in foreign countries is the online community of travelers congregated at www.couchsurfing.com. Those are my best tips.

What do you know about Portugal?

I walked along the Camino Portuguese from Santiago, Spain to Porto, Portugal. The route has very few pilgrims on it and no organized accommodation for those on pilgrimage, but I was greeted and treated with enormous warmth by the people of Portugal. Shopkeepers let me sleep in their attics, bartenders served me free hot meals, priests let me set up my tent in the courtyards of their churches and I reme
mber even spending one night at the fire station. I found the people and landscapes of Portugal to be exceptionally lovely and have put the country high on my list of places, should I ever slow down enough, to retire. I was unable to finish the pilgrimage due to heat and forest fires, so someday I plan to return and complete the route, walking from Porto to Fatima.

sweating, seeping, Senegal

Posted on May 21, 2007 by sol

No peanuts are served on my flight from Paris to Dakar.

But as I pull down the seat tray and flip open (for the first time) my Lonely Planet Senegal, I learn that in addition to an average life expectancy of 56 years, and being 94% Islamic, one of Senegal’s principal exports, is, of course, the peanut.

Now, contrary to what many might embellish me to be, I am not fearless. Although some have so *kindly* depicted me as so, I am actually not a sculpted and belly-bearing, heroine who cuts through the unknown without hesitation, armed with nothing but a machete, digital camera, laptop and bottomless flask of courage.

Oh no, no. I have come to Senegal with a long list of phone numbers – belonging to friends-of-friends, both local and foreign – and addresses detailing directions to respective houses roofing couches I can crash. As well, I have had the entire country mapped out for me on bar napkins as co-workers and friends, who have spent months making cultural mistakes in the country while working for various NGOs, laid out for me straight, the rules of Senegalese social engagement. And despite all these briefings, in-country contacts and prearranged dates, on my red-eye to Dakar, I still drink two cups of coffee upon which I can conveniently blame my hands’ shake.

I’ve never actually looked into the matter, so I’m not even certain as to if hostels or other low-cost accommodation for travelers exists in the city of Dakar. I’ve only been advised that if I arrive in the night, it is not wise to be ambling about the streets seeking accommodation. Same for all cities. Luckily, one of the names scribbled into my journal has organized to have “his driver” pick me up at the airport. To those for whom the vision of the above “Rambette” sketch was shattered, let us also not swing the pendulum too quickly to that of high-maintenance, socialite-swinging, princess. For neither to this type of 1st class treatment have I ever been accustomed.

After clearing immigration, I enter a hall cluttered with taxi drivers and hotel attendants waving signs and am shocked to recognize my own name, typed in capital letters, within the clutter of ads and banners. I quickly seize the sign with embarrassment for the boldness such block letters command and, reveal, behind the sheet of paper, a man smiling wide with equally obvious intention.

He giggles. And sensing his amusement with my discomfort, I know the joke is on me.

We swap excited introductions, shake hands enthusiastically, and despite his attempts, I dance my backpack away from his grasps. He barely gets away with opening a door for me on way out to the airport parking lot.

It’s two in the morning and totally dark outside, which has the effect of turning our car conversation inward and keeps my first hour in Senegal comfortably confined to the small and cozy space inside the auto. My first challenge in the country is that the Parisian French I’ve been studying and speaking for the last two months falls flat in function as my ears strain to understand the new song of African French that he sings to me. Still, nothing is lost as all that goes over my head – in my inability to comprehend this new intonation – is replaced by the warmth and excitement of his animated welcome, which I will eventually recognize to be a defining characteristic of local greeting.

We chatter on until we reach a gate that quickly slides open upon expectation of our arrival. I step out of the car and shake hands and exchange introductions with a few security guards who, despite their disturbed slumber, are excited to meet the new houseguest.

The house is dark and its inhabitants asleep, so I’m quickly shown to the shower and my room. It’s a beautiful house full of verandas promising equally exclusive views; certainly far beyond the norm of Senegalese; owned and occupied by a small group of foreign journalists stationed in the country; one, among the few groups, who possess such means.

Knowing the tropics, and the insomnia such heat can arouse, I know the trick to solid rest is a very cold, pre-bed, shower. So I step into the tub and wash France off my skin. Despite a single shiver that a slight breeze through a small window shoots across my skin under the chilled water, as soon I step out of the shower, I begin to sweat, and feel Senegal begin to seep in.

Because there isn’t another more practical option, naked, I crawl within the mosquito net and tuck its four corners under my mattress. While normally I am the type to sleep as soon as my head hits the pillow, tonight I lie wide awake, listening to the curious anthem of a county’s creatures and critters to which I am foreign, and watching the night through the windows of my room, thinking only of the parallel to the obscurity, that is at once, both my reality and understanding of this country.

la petite fille

Posted on September 24, 2006 by sol

I try to hunch into the longer shadows cast by the spotlight. Then I try turning around and searching for some speaker or spectacle that might give me more shade. I quickly realize that all my efforts to remain anonymous are about to abandon me when, my head still turned towards the back of the church, I feel two very eager hands clasp mine with a squeal of recognition. Knowing the inevitable is about to happen, I grab her hands back – “no, no, no, no” – I chant to to the receding tune of my last chance to keep the flag from rising. But I’m too late. One of her hands escapes my desperate grasp, flies into the air, waves my protests away as frantically as she petitions immediate attention;

“La petite fille! La petite fille!”

(“The little girl! The little girl!”)

As if Jesus himself had commanded it, the sea of shadows parts, a bright light blinds me and a microphone the size of a small animal is thrust under me, chest level.

The priest, as unfazed and natural under the eye of national television as he is under the adoring attention of his parishioners, smiles at me. There is a slight surppressed laugh under his grin, and as he knows both me and my story quite well (having found me homeless the day before and offered me a free and cozy room in the church’s youth center for the night), for the camera’s audience and curiosity only does he inquire, “And you pilgrim? Where do you come from?”

(I want to kiss his sweet feet for switching to English!)

Blinking, deer-like, under the camera’s headlights, I answer, “The United States.”

“And where are you walking to?”

“I’m walking to St. Jean Pied De Port.”

“Thank you.” But he relieves me of duty only temporarily because when I find him after mass as we had, earlier, agreed to meet, the cameras are still following him. And as I am his chosen lamb, he waves me over and says, “We’ll eat together, yes, but first, the camera will film you getting your first stamp in your pilgrim’s passport.”

There is little room for negotiating with a priest and so as I am ushered into a backroom, the bright light and furry microphone again attach themselves to me. The news anchor turns on his English as well; “Why do you walk?”

Now I am an introvert, and I write because I hate to talk, especially to the population of France, but I give it a terrible go: “The Camino, for me, is a metaphor for life. It sounds simple, but I walk – because I love to walk.”

This is a very poor summary of the understanding that I consider each step on the path, a day in the life – and that walking is the ultimate practice of presence – not living for a beginning, ending or destination, but a surrender to the simple act of stepping; living.

Whatever. Cameras could care less.

“Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

(Thank god for an easier question!)

“Are you afraid?”

With this question, my faith obliterates the bright light as I, overcome with such confidence that I almost laugh out loud, reply…

“No.”

Later, over coffee, bread, butter and jam, the priest and I realize from where our affinity stems:

After my confession that it has been a very long time since I have been to a mass, he says, “Neither had I spent much time in the church before I chose to become a priest. I travelled for five years around the world and then I walked the Chemin de Saint Jacques. At the end, I came to the inner realization that priesthood was my path.”

To this I question, “But it is exactly my travels that took my religion away! Not brought it to me! I’ve seen so many people, the world over, worship in so many ways, none less sacred than another. So how is it that this same route brought you to yours?”

He shrugs with a smile that hints he knows more, “Each pilgrim has her own path.”

For one second, looking at our matching paths prior, I am scared; What if the same thing happens to me!?

And then with a sigh of sarcastic relief, I laugh at the ignorance and petty discrimination of the Catholic church and say to myself, “I can’t! I’m a woman!”

Phew.

The priest walks me back to the church – where a special staircase is literally RISEN from the floor – and a hidden entrance to the chemin opens the path to pilgrims. With two kisses (as is French custom)from the priest, I am thus blessed, and on my way.

I descend. And, thus, my pilgrimage begins….

wheel-ing

Posted on June 11, 2006 by sol

Some go to movies. Others go climbing. Many go to bars. But MY idea of a good time…

…is meeting a group of total strangers for a weekend crash course in rueda de casino style salsa. (Click above to view the clip.)

So we’re a little sloppy; but I’ve only danced rueda (“the wheel”) one time before (while living in Ecuador) and this was a fast and crash course covering basic to advanced moves in only a few hours.

Our ratio of laughs to fumbles was perfectly par; and that’s all that matters…with anything in life really.

———————————————
*sol bows her “namaste” and gratitude to World Nomads Travel Insurance, ThinkHost and MercuryFrog for their ever-supporting roles in the realization of her dream.

paving the path

Posted on March 14, 2006 by sol

I didn’t think much of it when a very nice man emailed me about six months ago with a contract for a quote off this site, but boy did I blush when I found this card at the local bookstore! Truthfully, I’m still blushing, but I just wanted to throw out my thanks to Quotable Cards for being another divine player in financing my fanciful path.

(The quote was cut and pasted from a longer version originally posted in a reflection on high school called, “Melted Clocks.”)

And do I ever know that I’ve neglected this site for too long (it actually gives me a stomach ache to think of it); I’ve been travelling again but promise to get right back with a proper post.

safe passage continued

Posted on November 25, 2005 by sol

(I’ve got thoughts to compose and post, but we’re fast on the move as the semester comes to close. The following comes from a newsletter update that Hanley, the director of Camino Seguro, asked me to write to their sponsors. Camino Seguro (or “Safe Passage”) is a non-profit in Guatemala where I spent six months volunteering to help the children living in the squatter community of the city dump break out of poverty through education. )

*****

Dear Friends and Sponsors of Project Safe Passage,

I am an old volunteer, yet forever fan, of the Safe Passage project. Almost five years ago while studying Spanish in Antigua, I saw a flyer on the wall advertising a need for volunteers. I copied down the address having no idea, but a pretty strong intuitive feeling, that I was signing up for a life-altering experience. And as always, to both the children of the dump as well as its volunteers, Safe Passage provided.

My experience volunteering at Safe Passage was life-shaping. I remember writing of my time, “It’s confusing sometimes. Inside the doors of the school we paint volcanoes, sing about worms, make papier-mâché pigs, share healthy meals, do homework and have bean-sack races. I’m often so busy having a good time that I forget what the other option is for these children. And what IS the other option to passing time in the project? The other option is usually a mixture of scavenging the dump for recyclables, caring for younger siblings, selling candies/trinkets in the street, and/or following big brother’s gang and glue-sniffing example. On the way to the project each day, we pass a half dozen “fathers” slumped in doorways, covered in flies, passed-out, with a bottle of cheap liquor or glue rolled off in the corner, as guilty as a gun in the bushes at a scene of a crime. Every day, I wonder which one of these beautiful children that is now painting a papier-mâché pig under my supervision, might be, in a few years, slumped in this same doorway. It’s a terrible thought that puts a lump in my throat that I never seem to be able to swallow.”

Well those “few years” have now passed and I have been so fortunate as to return to Guatemala and revisit both the children and the long-term accomplishments of the project. In the most obvious way, the project has, incredibly, grown from serving 230 to over 500 children. And the new school and housing facilities easily match, if not surpass, the professional, beautiful and creativity-inspiring ambiance of any in developed countries. Perhaps less apparent, but that which truly moved me to tears, was that the project has matured from assuring not just the short-term safety and health of the children, but has also adopted a long-term dedication to safely guiding the children to alternate, educated, creative and self-sustaining futures as well.

Over the last five years I’ve done various forms of volunteer work for NGOs on four continents, so from vast experience I can easily say that I have never seen a project make such amazing progress and advancements in such a short amount of time. Hanley is by far the most resourceful, productive and successful visionary I know. And what I wrote about her five years ago still stands true, “Hanley scares me. She scares me because she shows me the power and potential of what one human being can do, the potential of what each one of us could do, the potential of what I could do — if I were brave and selfless enough.” Although I hardly have the courage that she has, I have since dedicated my life to sharing the inspiration that Hanley, and working in the project, has inspired within me. And I know not every sponsor has the opportunity to come and see it for her or himself, so as an (tearful) eyewitness, let me assure you that your support makes all the difference in the world for these children – I’ve seen it. You have my personal gratitude, for it’s only because of your continued contributions and long-term commitment to the project, that I can finally swallow that lump in my throat — and have hope.

*****

< More information on Project Safe Passage

monsoon hiking

Posted on November 28, 2004 by sol

You COULD hike to La Ciudad Perdida in the dry season, but then you´d miss out on…

pre-hike muscle warm ups…

showers with REAL water pressure…

hour-after-hour of giggle worthy mud music…

alternative modes of aerial transport…

raftless white water crossings…

…and the friendly funk that comes with wearing clothes that have been wet for six days.

It´s a good thing that one of those funky wet t-shirts read…

I still haven´t the time to put together all the words, but the pictures can now be found in the Colombia Album.

And if you live in Germany, you might even catch a glimpse of my muddy boots stomping by on the tube, as we had THIS guy…

and a journalist from ZDF.de stalking us around, interviewing and capturing footage for a documentary on, “Why travellers consciously choose to travel in notoriously dangerous areas…”

My answer coming soon.

(Just in case the slant of my sarcasm slipped, let me be clear that the trek — monsoon, mud and all — was absolutely awesome. It´s an mysterious and magical equation that the more you endure, the more you hold dear.)

(sol’s travel photos) (about sol) (some sol stories) (LeapNow.org) (travel disclaimer) (packing list) (photogallery guestbook) (blogger profile) (World Nomads Travel Insurance)

www.solbeam.com

…equipped with backpack, blog and her sense of Wonder, a perpetual pilgrim wanders aimfully on…

Category Archives: press & media