In the previous article, I shared what it was like to be at a travel show. But I left out one really fun thing: meeting travel celebrities.
I admit that I get star-struck pretty easily. Sometimes my neck gets sweaty, my heart feels like my body must be doing a 100-yard dash, and my ears get beet red. But after seeing and spending time with some of these industry experts at several different shows, it’s refreshing to know that they are all down-to-earth, inquisitive, thoughtful, and intriguing yet “regular” people who happen to follow their passion for a living…and do it well.
More often than not, I don’t have my camera ready or even with me when we meet these people because we’re busy working, promoting our tours at the Rick Steves’ Europe booth. But I have managed to snap a few pix every now and again. Here are some fun photos with travel show guests that Rick and I have met and have had the pleasure of getting to know at some recent conventions.
Samantha Brown (host: Passport to Europe, Passport to Latin America, Samantha Brown’s Asia)
Samantha Brown is as cute and lively in person as she is on TV.Rick and I palling around with Samantha Brown and her husband and manager Kevin.
My two favorite public television/radio travel show hosts: Rick Steves and Rudy Maxa. Rudy is a genuinely kind gentleman and savvy traveler, and Rick is simply the best (yes, I’m biased).
Chris Harrison has some amazing stories about his show-related travels, but above all, he’s a really nice guy to chat with.
Wally Shawn (playwright; actor: The Princess Bride, Clueless, Toy Story)
Bonus photo: OK, this isn’t at a travel show, but I had to put this up. I met Wally Shawn on a night train to Berlin, and he was so gracious with me and my students. “Inconceivable!”
When you think of winter, you might imagine trees enveloped in velvety white snow, marshmallows slowly dissolving in molten hot chocolate, scarves wrapped twice around the neck in defiance of the wind, or the crackle of reds, yellows, and oranges in a just-what-I-needed fireplace.
While it’s typically Deanna, Steve, Rick, and I working at the booth, Rick’s daughter Jackie and one of her students joined us for the fun.
Lately, when I think of winter, I picture immense convention center halls, labyrinthed ever-so-neatly with countless vendor booths, peppered with performance stages, rock climbing walls and scuba tanks, and jam-packed with people who want to know where to go on their next vacation. I’m talking about travel shows, and during the winter, I (along with Rick Steves and two other amazing people from Europe Through the Back Door/Rick Steves’ Europe) go to various cities to work these travel shows (Travel & Adventure Show, L.A. Times Travel Show, N.Y. Times Travel Show) at the Rick Steves’ Europe booth, letting people know about our tour program. And I love it!
This is isn’t a pitch for tours–I promise. But, especially for those who have never been to a travel show, this is a glimpse into what it’s like to be there.
Steve and Deanna help out some eager travelers.
Because Rick is the big draw, celebrity speaker at these events, we have a high percentage of passers-by at the booth who are PBS viewers. They all know Rick intimately from his TV show (you can watch all his shows free, anytime at Hulu.com), but more often than not, they have no idea that he does so much more. Non-Rick aficionados are eager to learn about him, too. It’s fun to get people up-to-date on our tour program, Rick’s radio program (Travel with Rick Steves), his guide books, his Facebook page, his syndicated newspaper column, his political activism and advocacy, and his iPhone/Android app (Rick Steves’ Audio Europe).
While our goal is to talk up our tours, we invariably find ourselves also teaching hopeful European travelers about cell phone usage, our favorite European restaurants, transportation options, independent travel itineraries, and how to pack smartly. This is what I love the most about these travel shows. We get to engage with fascinating people who are eager to expand their world, to venture off to new-to-them and distant lands, and to experience other cultures as travelers, not as tourists. Don’t get me wrong. From seasoned travelers to those who have yet to venture beyond their home state, we hear the whole gamut of questions–from the profound to the sub-basic. But what every one of these people has in common is their burning yearning to travel. I’m just as excited as they are about their upcoming plans because I know that travel can empower and fulfill them in ways like nothing else can.
As soon as Rick announces what’s available at our booth, these freebies will all disappear within minutes.
The shows generally start at 10 a.m. and go until 5 p.m. Rick usually gives two talks that run about two hours each–one on travel skills, the other on Italy or Travel as a Political Act. (You can watch his travel lectures for free on YouTube). In the fifteen minutes before he starts a talk until about a half an hour before it ends, we get a slight breather at the booth. This is when nearly a thousand people (sometimes more) vacate the vendor area to flock to his talk and learn all they can. But as soon as he mentions the free tour catalog, free DVDs, and free newsletter that we have at the booth, the mad rush begins. It can get pretty grueling, but it’s also very cool to see how excited people are–not just about getting free stuff but about the anticipation of learning more about Europe.
This entire hall is filled with travelers dreaming of their next vacation.
When I get a chance, I like to walk around the convention. Certain vendors are steadily busy: AAA, Yosemite, Disneyworld, Hawaii, and the Turkish Culture & Tourism Office. Some booths rarely have visitors, like Myanmar, Sports Basement (huh?), or Sheboygan Tourism. Many vendors try to tempt potential customers with free pens, candy, reusable grocery bags, or buttons. Some go for the hard sell. Others seem to make no effort at all. You could spend all day (and some people do) wandering up and down the corn rows of vendors, letting your travel dreams meander to natural parks, exotic cities, majestic cruise ships, relaxing spa resorts, and places you’ve never even heard of.
But wait! There’s more! In addition to the myriad stalls, there are aromatic dishes that permeate the air near the culinary stage, tribal drums thump their rumbling beats for the grass-skirted dancers at the cultural performance stage, legs dangle twenty-five feet above the ground as thrill-seekers zoom along a zip line, and a Segway course makes even the most clumsy of us feel graceful.
Rick Steves and Steve Smith show off their Segway skills at the Travel & Adventure Show.
And don’t forget to hone your travel skills at the seminars. You can find out great insider travel tips from Johnny Jet. Or why not learn from a whole slew of other experts about travel photography, the right travel apps to use, traveling with kids, or volunteer vacations? You can also hear about the personal experiences and travel lessons learned the hard way from the likes of Arthur Frommer, Samantha Brown, and Andrew McCarthy. To me it’s comforting to realize that travel specialists like these didn’t start off as experts, that they make rookie mistakes like all of us, and that their love of travel continues to grow, no matter how long they’ve been on the road.
Rick drops some knowledge on this massive group of travelers.
Now I may be biased, but I do love Rick’s talks the best. I learn something new every time, and I think the throngs of people who come to hear his talks glean so much more than the “hottest tips.” He communicates his travel philosophy so effectively and charmingly with humor and truth. He wants people to broaden their perspectives by connecting with other cultures, to see that there are not necessarily right or wrong ways but other ways of doing things, and to share what they’ve learned when they get back home. It seems like such an obvious and healthy attitude towards travel, but you’d be amazed at how expert people can be at being miserable when they travel because “it’s not like home.” One of my favorite Rick quotes is, “Fear is for people who don’t get out much.” And perhaps that’s truer than we realize.
Which is all the more reason to love these travel shows. They offer those who are eager to get beyond their personal frontiers a chance to nourish their hunger for travel with good resources that can prepare anyone for travels of a lifetime. But you have to remember that tourism is not necessarily “good travel”, and you need to equip yourself with the right kind of resources and inspiration to make your traveling worthwhile.
There can be a lot of crass commercialism in the tourism industry, and it can invade Travel Shows just as easily as anywhere else. But if you challenge yourself to be a smart traveler–even when you’re traveling to a convention about travel–you can choose to shape your itinerary to create the richest, most rewarding, most educational, and most enlightening memories. Filter out the tourist traps, avoid the scams, and be selective. Give yourself credit for being savvy and smart. Feed your hunger for travel with options that give you the most fulfilling experience. And ask yourself: Do you want to be a traveler…or a tourist? If you want to be a traveler, do your research. Make well-informed plans but be flexible. Go with an expectation of learning something new and exciting, and then…travel like you mean it.
As Rick Steves’ sister, Jan Steves (with her team of sixteen canine companions) mushes her way through the snow-blanketed Alaskan wilderness of her second Iditarod Trail Race, I’m wrapping up my three-part series on my behind-the-scenes perspective on what it was like last year at her debut in the “Last Great Race on Earth.”
The original article was posted on Jan’s blog on March 7, 2012.
The thing that’s so brilliant about taking a “tour” up to Willow for the Iditarod Official Start – a 20-person van with only 10 passengers and a tour guide who gives you just the right amount of useful/interesting info – is the efficiency. 1) You don’t have to get up early, 2) you don’t have to be the one driving in snow and traffic, 3) you can sleep on the way up and back, 4) the van drops you right off at the front entrance, and 5) you leave the race late enough to have seen your friend embark on her greatest adventure and early enough to beat the multitude of cars going back to Anchorage.
No dogs required for these sleds.
We arrive at the Community Center on Willow Lake around 2 p.m., just as the first musher takes off. Walking through the C.C., you see people mingling, bundling up, buying souvenirs and standing in line for the bathroom. As you walk out the back door toward the lake, you are immediately hit with the brisk air against your face, and the smell of deep-fried donuts, reindeer hot dogs, kettle corn, and onion-slathered chili bombards your olfactory nerves. To the left, little tykes take advantage of a snowy slope to go sledding – dashing through the snow, laughing all the way…literally. Just about 50 yards ahead of us is a colorful, swarming sea of North Face jackets and woolen beanies bobbing up and down as people try to catch a glimpse of the mushers and their dogs burst out of the chute and out towards the wilderness.
Fans jockey for position to get a good view of the race.
Thank goodness Sandy and I still have our handler armbands from yesterday. We snake our way through the crowd, past the security guards (including one wearing a construction hat, replete with felt-like ears and tail made to look like a Husky), and into the holding area for the mushing teams. My plan for today is much the same as it was for the Ceremonial Start: take pictures and notes to document my perspective on the race and Jan’s experiences. Well, “the best laid plans of mice and men…” My plans will get slightly altered today.
Jan is musher number 40, and by the time we reach her staging area, about seven mushers have already taken off, leaving at 2-minute intervals. It’ll be about another hour before her turn, but time seems to be ticking away much faster than it did at the Ceremonial Start. I can sense it, and I know Jan does, too. Nonetheless, she still seems fairly focused, so I try not to worry.
Who let the dogs out?
One by one, her dogs are brought out from their mobile kennels. They seem less distracted than yesterday, which is a good thing. The crowds can’t gather near them, and there is no “party” atmosphere in the staging area. Today, it’s all business. This is the real deal, and we all feel it.
While Jan stays focused on her team and the tasks at hand, I sneak a peek at the nearby mushers and their dogs. Everyone is intensely busy, and the dogs are just aching to burst out into a mad dash. The piercing canine cacophony reaches practically intolerable levels; it’s almost impossible for anyone to concentrate or even be heard. I don’t know the details and histories behind these other competitors, but it’s interesting to note who has matching gear for their dogs and handlers, who has logos on their fancy mobile kennels, who is pacing back and forth, who looks frantic, and who has the most help.
Another dog team is ready to go.
Part of what amazes me about Jan is that she is a rookie at this. Now in her mid-50s, Jan has chosen to take on a challenge that most people would never even consider. She wasn’t raised in this environment and culture of Iditarod. She started because of her background in winter sports and absolute love of dogs. She somehow ended up volunteering at Iditarod several years ago. She was later offered a chance to train sled dogs, which led to three winters of training and racing up in Alaska, including her participation in the 2011 Serum Run.
Jan’s sled is fully loaded with her gear.
As her passion for this grew, she knew her goal was to complete the 2012 Iditarod. Along the way, she has had amazing support from so many people, but she does not have the massive logistical or personnel support that some of these other mushers do. She (with the unwavering help of her partner Bob and friends like Ted and Paula English and Angie Taggart) has learned to hone her survival/dog care/mushing skills. She’s learned to do it with the bare necessities and without the help of handlers to help train her dogs on a weekly basis. She does it herself. She has good, sturdy, practical gear. It’s cool stuff, but it’s not all necessarily the top-of-the-line, the newest, or the shiniest. And while a pro may see that as a disadvantage, for me, it only increases my admiration for Jan that much more. She may not have all the advantages of her fellow mushers, but she has the invaluable assets of skill, passion, a soaring spirit, and a loyal team that will help get her through any challenge.
Jan gets the team in their correct order.
I begin to calculate how long it will take me to trudge through the snow to get to well beyond the crowds and down the trail. I want to get some good shots of Jan so I can make a fun memory book for her. At this point, it occurs to me that I’ll never make it that far. A woman has just come by to give a twenty-minute warning. That’s not much time, and Jan still needs to finish getting her dogs and herself ready: put on the booties, put on the harnesses, put on her suit, double-check the sled and its contents, line up the dogs, attach the handler lines, do this, do that, and that thing, too! I’m stressing out, and I’m not even the one who’s racing!
Jan and Bob give each other loving support.
To be honest, Jan is less composed right now than she was yesterday. It’s too real, too close, too intense, too much. Her partner Bob, who is also in this race, sees this, and in his Zen-like way comes up to Jan and says, “Honey, I need a hug.” As much as he says he needed it, I somehow think that he was really looking out for her needs. They embraced for a long, long time. It was one of the most precious and beautiful moments I’ve ever witnessed.
My pal, “Dog”
Knowing now that I can’t get to the area I had scoped out, I commit to being an actual handler for the start. With my camera slung across my body, I connect my leash line to the main line. I stand next to the third dog on the right. Regretfully, I don’t know the dog’s name or whether it’s male of female, so for now, I’m just going to use the name “Dog”. Dog and I look at each other. I can see in Dog’s eyes that s/he is ready, eager to hit the trail, and determined to run like the wind. I ask Dog to take care of Jan, to do the best that s/he can, and to make it safely to Nome. Dog affirms my request with a rooo-rooo-rooooooooooo!
Jan makes her way to the starting line, and her friend Angie gives last minute advice and encouragement.
It’s time to move. We get the signal to take the team to the starting line. Man, can those dogs pull! Jan can control it with the brake, and we handlers must use the strength in our bodies to prevent the canines from taking off like a bat out of hell. With one hand on my camera to take pictures and the other holding the leash (not the wisest decision ever), I run, and I mean run, with the dogs and pray in mantra-like fashion, “Please don’t let me fall, please don’t let me fall!“Angie had advised me earlier that should I fall, I need to roll and “get the hell out of the way.”
Jan takes some time to connect with each of her dogs before the race begins.
With just one musher ahead of us now, we detach our leashes. Jan makes her way down the line of dogs, calmly talking with each one, reassuring them and thanking them. When she gets back to her sled, a swarm of TV cameras, photographers, and reporters crowd around her. She’s confident again. She beams with an inner glow that could brighten a dark, Alaskan tundra night.
The media clamor for Jan’s attention.
She is now less than 60 seconds from embarking of the wildest adventure she’s ever known. Her dogs are ready. She’s ready. The cheering crowd gets louder and louder still.
And they’re off!
And then for a brief moment, I swear I hear absolutely nothing. Life is suddenly in slow motion for me. I see Jan wave at the people lining the trail. Her dogs bark their eagerness. All around us, camera flashes pop: boom, boom, boom, boom, boom. And in an instant, Jan and her team are on the move… away from us and toward her future. I turn around to stare at her back as she begins the first leg of the 40th annual Iditarod Trail Race. She wears the number 40 on her race bib. It must be a good omen.
Happy and safe trails to you, Jan! We all wish you well!
As Rick Steves’ sister, Jan Steves, continues on her second Iditarod adventure, I’m continuing my three-part series on what it was like last year at her debut in the “Last Great Race on Earth.”
The original article was posted on Jan’s blog on March 4, 2012.
All dressed up for the Iditarod Ceremonial Start in Anchorage.
Snow dances its way onto the ground and tickles my face as we trudge our way over to meet up with Jan on 4th Avenue between F and G Streets in Downtown Anchorage. Several streets have been blocked off for two days in preparation for Iditarod, and now their sidewalks are packed with fur-clad spectators (locals, tourists, and die-hard Iditarod fans alike), reindeer hot dog vendors, journalists, and photographers. A palpable excitement is in the air, and it’s contagious. On the avenue itself, which is cordoned off by a waist-high wobbly wooden fence, the mushers have parked their mobile kennels at their designated staging areas. Teams of dogs wait (im)patiently – they just want to run, and the distractions of camera crews, excited onlookers, and an unfamiliar setting make them feel and look a bit out of their element.
Sandy and I sport our official “handler” bands.
Jan has asked us to help out as “handlers” for the Ceremonial Start. Prior to the start, this entails just being with the dogs, helping them to keep calm, and scoopin’ the poopin’. As Jan and her team move up to the starting line, the handlers run alongside the dogs with leashes hooked to the main line and prevent the dogs from chewing on their lines. While I’m merely wearing the handler armband as I photo-document Jan’s experience, our friends provide as much help as they can. We are all novices–thankfully Jan also has the help of long-time volunteers and former Iditarod mushers like Angie Taggart, who has graciously provided Jan with some of her dogs for this race. She is able to not only help with the technical aspects of prepping the dogs but also lends calming reassurance and support to Jan, based on her own prior experiences in Iditarod.
“Lovin’ on” her dogs, Jan helps keep her team (and herself) calm and focused.
Like and Iditarod rock star, Jan signs the race program of an eager fan.
That being said, I’m highly impressed by how calm Jan is. She’s not expending any extra energy and is staying focused on the tasks at hand,“loving on” her dogs, and not getting overwhelmed by all the frenetic action that somehow remains outside her personal bubble of rapt tranquility. Which, I must say, looks impossible to do, especially when so many excited fans come up so frequently to the fence line to ask her about the dogs and beg for her autograph. She is the Iditarod rock star that she deserves to be, and she is gracious under pressure. Jan would tell me later in the day that she felt so relaxed and serene during all of that and just knew that she was ready to do this.
As her starting time draws nearer (she is number 40, her partner Bob is number 49), Jan changes into her Trans Alaska suit and massive boots. She’s conscious of how much time she has left and doesn’t want to be prepared too early and have to wait anxiously to start, nor does she want to have to stress out herself and her canine companions because she doesn’t get them prepared fast enough. She and the experienced handlers fit the dogs with their harnesses, secure the booties onto their paws, and continue “loving on” the dogs to keep them happy and at ease. The dogs keep their gaze focused on Jan. You can see how much they trust, love and need her – just as much as she trusts, loves and needs them.
Time to get the dogs harnessed.
Excited yet at ease, Jan is ready to begin her first ever Iditarod competition.
At this point, I tell Jan how much I love her and that our family and friends back in Edmonds are here in spirit to cheer her on. As we embrace she tells me how grateful she is to have so many familiar faces here, too. That they would fly all way up to Anchorage to emotionally support and physically help her heartens her immensely and gives her beautiful memories and feelings that she’ll hang onto for her entire journey.
The line-up for Jan’s dog team.
With that, I take my leave and work my way past the other mushers, their dogs, the onlookers, the media, and the vendors to about five blocks past the starting line. The police officers kindly allow me to move in past the rope barriers so I can bunker myself against a snow berm that marks the mushers’ pathway. I watch musher 32 go by, then 33, then 34, and I start to get butterflies. I’m trying to imagine what Jan is doing right now and am neurotically checking to make sure my camera battery has enough life, that my fingers are warm enough to press the buttons, and that my lens hasn’t frosted up.
At the starting line.
Suddenly, and even from five blocks away, I hear the announcer say Jan’s name over the P.A. He tells a quick bio: that she’s from Edmonds, that she attended UW, and that this is her first time to run the Iditarod. I’m sure he said some other things, but I was so overwhelmed by emotion that the stream of tears rushing down my face and the racing of my heart just blocked it out.
3-2-1-GO!!!!!!!! Cheers reverberate in the air, and in a couple of minutes, Jan comes into view. The dog team looks so alive and Jan looks so confident…so incredibly happy. I hoot and holler and snap the shutter and try to keep my composure as this most amazing woman whooshes past me and on to the path that leads her to the fulfillment of her greatest personal dream. This is her moment, and she is relishing it.
Visiting Jan in Willow, Alaska to help her prep for the start of Iditarod 2012.
Rick Steves’ sister, Jan Steves, starts her second Iditarod competition this weekend in Anchorage, Alaska. While Rick and I couldn’t be there this year, I’m sharing my behind-the-scenes experiences with my three-part series from last year when I was a guest blogger on Jan’s website. Follow along to see what it’s really like to get ready for and to embark on “The Last Great Race on Earth.”
The original version of this article was posted here on March 3, 2012.
It was just after 12:30 a.m. that we touched-down in Anchorage. My friend Sandy and I were
already giddy with excitement to see Jan, but we knew we had to get at least some rest before our early start in the morning. By 2:45, we had rented our car, checked into our hotel, unpacked and conked out. Our power-nap bliss only lasted until 4:30. At 5:30, we met our (new) friends (other friends of Jan who flew up to support her) in the lobby and started our caravan to Willow. Fortunately Sandy was driving because it took everything I had just to keep my eyes open. Thank goodness for the stunning scenery. Even in the limited light before daybreak, nearly-bare and spindly trees, jagged mountains, and broad plains made for sugary, snow-covered eye candy.
After a long day of hard work, we’re all still smiles.
We got to Jan’s place a little after 7:00 and were put to work right away. If you’ve been following Jan’s blog, you already know how much work she does on a daily basis, not only to train herself and the dogs for Iditarod but to just take general care of them and to live out her everyday grind. With 35+ dogs (Jan’s and her partner Bob’s) and the Ceremonial Start of “The Last Great Race on Earth” looming ahead, there still was much left to be done. Between Jan, Bob, her neighbor friends (Linda, Jane and others), her Mountaineers friends (Debbie, Jane, Jenny, Jenny’s friend Laura), Sandy and me, we took care of the following tasks:
powdering lots and lots of dog booties
organizing the dogs’ medication
sorting dog jackets
setting up Jan’s iPod shuffle with music to inspire her on the trails
sewing extra pockets and sponsor patches onto Trans-Alaska suits
sewing fur hood ruffs onto coats
stomping down trails with snow shoes
PLUS…
shoveling poop (we used more colorful terminology amongst ourselves) in the front yard kennel
shoveling out the 35+ dog houses and pathways to them (they had been buried in over two feet of snow after a recent blizzard)
and weaving nylon rope neck lines
What dog kennel snow looks like AFTER hours and hours of poop shoveling.
Time to dig out the backyard doghouses, too.
Laura weaves the dogs’ nylon neck lines.
Jan takes a moment to connect with Amber.
All of us kept remarking that we were just so thankful to be a part of Jan’s preparations for Iditarod, but we also admitted that the physical toil was a challenge. Even now as I type, my entire left arm feels like someone used it as a punching bag. Then I think of how much Jan has done over the last year – physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually – to get herself and her dogs ready for this incredible adventure, and I am completely humbled. David Thoreau once said, “Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you have imagined.” Of all the people in my life who truly embody this quote, I have never been as moved by someone as I am by Jan. And to briefly orbit her Iditarod world as she propels herself closer to achieving her dream has been, to say the very least, amazing and inspiring.
Jan displays messages of support from her friends at Europe Through the Back Door.
Around 4:30 p.m., we left Jan and Bob so they could finish up their other tasks and get mentally focused for the next day’s events. As we made our way back to Anchorage, I couldn’t help but reflect on what lies ahead for Jan on this journey of a thousand miles. This will arguably be the toughest thing that she has ever done in her life. Part of me worries. But now only a very small part. I’m so glad I got to see Jan in her element. This is what she has trained for. She can do this. I know she can do this. This is her dream, and she is making it come true.
Tribal beats of ancient druid drums thumped and reverberated in my chest, and the ringing in my ears seemed to be in perfect pitch with the wailing music. Flashes of colored light hauntingly illuminated the gathering of devotees who swayed and swarmed in feverish rapture. I had never been to such a gathering, and my eyes dared not blink, lest I miss any instant of this spectacle. This was so foreign to me. I felt like such a gawky tourist…but I wasn’t in a distant land. I was in a ballroom in Chicago, and this was my virgin experience at a Celtic Punk concert.
Jackie, Rick, and I are ready for a raucous night at the Flogging Molly concert.
Rick and I were in town for a travel convention and to celebrate his daughter Jackie’s birthday. On a whim, we all decided to snare tickets to see Flogging Molly–an L.A.-based Irish Rock band who hit the music scene in the mid-90s . Entering the Aragon Ballroom, the visual disconnect between the opulently adorned, Technicolor, art deco interior and the attendees clad in Doc Martins, ripped jeans, t-shirts, and lip rings was strikingly apparent. This wasn’t my culture, and I was out of my comfort zone. I didn’t know the rules…and it didn’t seem wise to ask what they were.
The Aragon Ballroom is packed with Flogging Molly enthusiasts.
The punk-lovers filled nearly every inch of space on the ballroom floor, save the three-foot-wide aisle that cut through the middle of the floor. Metal railings meant to maintain the division of the masses seemed more like cages to me, but the barricaded beasts looked willing and eager to be a captive audience. With Rick’s smooth skills, we sweet-talked our way into the side balcony that was reserved for “friends of the band”. As we settled into our perch, the lights went dark and a roar thundered from the mob below. This was going to be wild, and I was suddenly grateful that we decided against hanging out with the “General Admission” crowd.
They’ve been rockin’ since the last millennium, and they’re still going strong.
The band commanded attention with their charisma, their volume, and their sheer musical talent. Their songs ranged from anthems of solidarity to acoustic poems of introspection, and from bellicose rages to foot-stomping celebrations of life. The devout audience–like Irish Catholics at Sunday mass–knew all of the lyrics, and I found myself wishing I had a Flogging Molly hymnal so I could sing along. I had known only two of FM’s songs prior to this concert, but I could see myself becoming an earnest convert.
Like a preacher or a god, Dave King can inspire his followers to chant, clap, rock, and mosh.
Yet even more intriguing than the band was the horde of worshippers paying homage to their almighty Irish rock gods. On either side of the ballroom’s aisle, mosh pits swirled tightly, and the instigators drew in peripheral bystanders like debris in twin cyclones. The frenetic whirling and shoving seemed reckless…brazen…dangerous. Everyone stripped down to their most animal instincts, and even dainty girls who seemed to have no business being in a mosh pit could push and give back as hard as their male counterparts.
As I stared at the primal chaos, my fingernails dug into the wooden rail of the balcony, leaving miniature half moons as evidence of my anxiety. I kept thinking to myself, “This is so crazy! How is getting jostled like a pinball by drunk strangers any fun?” It made no sense, but I was mesmerized. Like the proverbial train wreck, I simply could not take my eyes off of it.
When I witnessed a boyish-faced mosher lose his balance and crumble to the parquet floor, I let out a helpless yelp and dug my nails deeper into the wooden rail. In an instant, my heart doubled its pace. My mind envisioned this young, innocent teen: face down in a puddle of overpriced beer and being trampled by careless and unapologetic steel-toed boots. But in that same instant, the boy was swooped up from the ground by three fellow moshers. They all patted each other on the back to make sure everything was OK and then resumed the love-to-shove-fest.
This dainty lady surfs the crowd with complete trust.
The crowd surfing was a whole other beast. Every few minutes, a person was hoisted above an almost unanimously white sea of Chicagoans (I counted just two African-Americans and one Asian girl–besides me), and a dozen arms formed pillars of support for the horizontal surfer. You could never anticipate the route, but the person always ended up reaching the shore, into the awaiting arms of a burly (yet gentle) bouncer just in front of the stage. As the elated surfista scurried into the wings of the ballroom, I couldn’t tell if he (or she) was running off to buy a beer, take a pee, or head back into the crowd to catch another wave.
The more I watched the concert-goers, I realized that there was an etiquette to their mob-like rituals:
Never use your fists.
Shoving is expected, but stay below the neck and above the groin.
Always help your fallen neighbor.
Don’t grope the ladies.
When someone wants to crowd surf, you must help them.
Don’t take anything personal.
Etiquette is more than rules or even safety. It’s about respect. Everyone was there for a good and rowdy time. They love the music and the chance to work out their teen/twenty-something/thirty-something and even middle-age angst. And because they’re all there to celebrate the music of their favorite Celtic Punk band, their common bond begets common courtesy. When you’re of the same clan, the same sect, and the same cloth, you take care of your own.
As a witness to this polite mayhem, I was in awe of the curious ways of this concert culture. Just like with any culture we visit as travelers, it’s important to take it on its own terms and not try to make it conform to our own expectations and perspectives. And while I’m certain that I’ll never find myself exploring a mosh pit firsthand, I can surely appreciate and respect those who do.
Cramped in a middle seat, in the middle of a plane that screams its way across the country, traveling east to west from Washington D.C. to “the other Washington”, I find myself in the warm company of happy Democrats. Across the aisle are the Governor and First Lady of my state. Six rows up is the Executive of King County in Washington. And peppered throughout the seats are delegates, donors, staffers, movers, shakers, and constituents who flew to our nation’s capital to celebrate the beginning of the second term of our 44th president. As we make our way home, like our counterparts from the other 49 states, we’re still basking in the afterglow of four days of banquets, balls, private parties, parades, and the third largest inaugural ceremony in our country’s history.
This weekend was, to be sure, a Liberal Lovefest. Except for the obligatory appearances of certain representatives and senators, I’m pretty sure that the crowds that stood shoulder-to-shoulder to cascade down the steps of the Capitol, to fill the National Mall, to line the streets, and to shout cheers of elation and appreciation were all partying for the same party. Still, for all the partisan camaraderie, a grander sense of solidarity rippled through this political Mecca, stirring in me a deep-seated pride and love of country.
Giving the green light to congress to work in harmony at the Capitol.
On our first night in town, Rick and I bundled ourselves up to brave the January chill for a moonlit visit of our national monuments. Although not truly a monument, we began at the Capitol. We marveled that this tribute to Democracy was so easily accessible to us and to every person who chooses to visit it, but we were delighted that on this night, we had the place virtually to ourselves. We had read about President Lincoln’s determination to complete the construction of the dome during the Civil War as a testament to the notion of maintaining our young nation’s unity. He said, “If people see the Capitol is going on, it is a sign we intend this Union shall go on.”Despite all the turmoil that inundates this home to our legislators, the Capitol stands as reminder of what we as a country have worked so hard to achieve and what we empower our representatives to accomplish for the benefit of all our countrymen. Compelled by this thought, I gazed teary-eyed at the cupola, which glowed brightly beneath a velvety onyx sky. Just being in the presence of this historic building was enough to restore all faith in my country. My pride soared and my hope grew strong, and I wanted so desperately to share this moment with everyone.
Thomas Jefferson: Founding Father, author of the Declaration of Independence, third president of the U.S., great citizen and leader.
Each of the memorials we visited obliged us to reflect carefully on our history and the values we embrace as Americans. It was clear that the designers and architects of these commemorative testaments thought carefully of how best to personify the great feats and triumphs of these mere mortals who led our country through harrowing times. The Jefferson Memorial, in its elegant simplicity, properly honors our third president, with his wise counsel engraved onto the walls that encircle a stately statue of the principle author of our Declaration of Independence. As I stood next to his likeness, barely tall enough to reach the pedestal upon which it stands, I thought how fitting it is to truly look up to this man.
Words of wisdom from FDR.
The Franklin Delano Roosevelt Memorial, rife with symbolism, is as expansive as the accomplishments of his four terms as president. Abundant waterfalls, strong yet limber trees, and FDR’s sage words carved in granite all reflect his respect for the “Common Man” and the generosity, compassion, and wisdom that he shared with our country. I considered how FDR navigated our nation through the Depression and World War II. He propelled us forward with programs under the New Deal (such as Social Security, the Civilian Conservation Corps, the Farm Security Administration, the Works Progress Administration, the Public Works Administration, and the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation) to combat poverty and unemployment, to re-establish and ensure economic security, and to support cultural prosperity. I can hardly imagine where we would be today if not for FDR’s visionary leadership. And I’m grateful that in protecting those who needed help the most, Roosevelt created a model of American leadership that people across the globe strive to follow to this day.
Abraham Lincoln–the embodiment of action, equality, and justice.
Inside a pantheon-like shrine, a marble Abraham Lincoln sits stoically dignified. His soft-spoken nature and resolute commitment to action are both manifest in this sculpture. The Gettysburg Address and Lincoln’s speech from his second inauguration flank the president and remind the visitor of the difficult challenges our country faced at the time and how the people, then and now, must always strive for what is right, what is just, and what is good for the whole of the country. With one foot forward, as if ready to rise to action, I felt Lincoln compelling me not to be a mere spectator to our Democracy, but to be fully engaged in it.
It is up to us to continue the work of MLK and the great leaders of our country who came before us.
The newest monument is the Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial. Like outstretched arms, an unbroken wall arcs around the dignified sculpture of the greatest Civil Rights activist and offers words of love, peace, and hope that ring as true today as they did four decades ago. They serve not as a call to arms, but as a call to compassion and equality for all. Yet even the statue, carved as though MLK were emerging from a singular block of granite, reminds us of the unfinished work and unresolved struggles that we, the beneficiaries of his efforts, have yet to overcome: injustices that must be rectified, inequalities that still permeate our society, and prejudices that still simmer in the melting pot of our great nation. Hope for change must live on in us. And it is through us and through our belief in our nation’s most fundamental ideals that change will continue to come.
Great leadership, great citizenship, great governance, and great works. At every turn, Washington D.C. provides beautiful ways for our citizenry to engage in its history and our democracy. And on this weekend, there was none greater than the Inaugural Ceremony and the Inaugural Parade. Rick and I were fortunate enough to acquire ticketed seats for both events.
So thankful to be here for the second inauguration of President Barack Obama.
Cloaked in seven layers of clothing and a blanket borrowed from our hotel, I shivered next to Rick as we faced the West Portico of the Capitol. We weren’t close enough to see the President clearly without the help of Jumbotrons, but we were close enough to feel pretty darn lucky. In front of us on the steps of the Capitol, bleachers were erected for prominent government officials and special guests who were fortunate enough to be thisclose to the President for his swearing-in. Behind us, the masses huddled together for 1.5 miles back to the Washington Monument, relentlessly waving innumerable flags in patriotic solidarity…or perhaps just to stay warm.
From the steps of Capitol Hill to the base of the Washington Monument, we gathered to celebrate our history and our future.
As my focus shifted throughout the ceremony from the President’s emotionally (and politically) charged speech to my fellow Americans who shouted in unison for our political heroes, I kept saying to myself, “I feel the love.” This wasn’t a fanatical love for “our team” based on adversarial animosity against the other side. This was a universal love of country that, no matter what political viewpoint you champion, fills us all. Because of this trip to Washington DC, I have great and renewed faith that we all want and hope for the best for all citizens of our nation. And while we may go about expressing, supporting, or enacting that in different ways, it is that love of country–intertwined with our shared history, our common legacy, our national pride, and our faith in our Democracy–that keeps the dream of America strong.
President Barack Obama and First Lady Michelle Obama.
The fervor at the Inaugural Parade reinforced that. Despite starting nearly two hours late, the parade amplified everyone’s excitement. We sat giddily hip-to-hip with Americans of every creed, color, and orientation. Across the way, the sidewalk was packed from street to building with energetic families, and in the windows of the stores, restaurants, offices, and apartments, people pressed their noses to the glass and scanned up and down the streets for any signs of spectacle. We were only twenty-five yards away from President Barack Obama and First Lady Michelle Obama as they walked down Pennsylvania Avenue, and I could swear they looked at every single one of us in gratitude. We are the descendants of generations of Americans who, over the course of nearly 250 years, have welcomed, celebrated, and supported 44 fellow citizens as they stepped into the role of President of the United States of America. Our history holds us together, and it is what we must do in the present that will keep our country together throughout our future.
Bonus photo: Vice-president Joe Biden and Dr. Jill Biden.
Moving forward…together.
Regardless of party affiliation, no one can deny that this was an historic event: the commencement of the second term of the first Black American president. We’ve come a long way since our forefathers fought for independence from a royal government across the sea. It is because of their vision that we have the right and responsibility to govern ourselves with the best interests of the people in mind and that we continue–if only in fits and spurts–to move forward in becoming “a more perfect union”.
With the start of a new year, many people take stock of their life in the last twelve months: choices made, goals achieved, promises broken, dreams unfulfilled. In optimistic form, resolutions are made in the hopes of making this year even better than the last. In a similar vein, I’ve been thinking about my travel experiences. The last decade and a half of travel has shaped my life in ways that I didn’t expect and in ways that are fundamental to the essence of why we must travel. In taking stock of my own “travelution”, I am even more resolved to seize every opportunity to travel, to continue learning about my world and about myself, and to make each travel moment better than the last.
The original version of this article appeared on Pink Pangea, and I am grateful to Jaclyn Mishal and Rachel Tager for encouraging me to think about how travel has changed me and for letting me share my thoughts with their readership.
Once upon a time, I was a travel idiot. About fifteen years ago, on my first couple of trips to Europe, I researched virtually nothing in advance. I was lucky enough to show up at the right hotel and have the right currency in my wallet. I once forgot to notify my bank about my travels, and they froze my one and only credit card while I tried to check into a London hotel. On that same five-week trip, I had packed such a huge and heavy suitcase that I couldn’t exit le metro without two Parisian, shaggy-coiffed teenagers carrying my blue behemoth up three flights of stairs for me. So embarrassing.
Since then, I’ve learned a lot about being better prepared. I pack lighter (just a carry-on and a day bag), I always inform my bank about my travels, I have back-up money options, and I thoroughly research my destinations in advance, traveling with good guidebooks and apps.
But beyond the nitty-gritty of basic travel skills, my travel world has changed a lot, too, and continues to change with every new experience.
Churches still move me.
Early on, I floated through Europe with wide-eyed wonder, so thankful to be traveling at all. Everything fascinated me: sounds, scents, history, architecture, art, food, accents, the antiqueness of the buildings, the cleverness of public transportation, and the differences and similarities between these places and my home. I cried in every church I went into–awed by the time, the devotion, the energy, the labor, the money, the faith, and the love of God it took to construct such magnificent houses of worship. My students started taking bets on how many columns I would pass inside the church before I started weeping. With my necked craned high and with my eyes marveling at every stone stacked in a time when faith was strong and cranes didn’t exist, I never made it past the second column without tears starting to flow.
Picnicking in a Parisian park with classmates from the Sorbonne.
Admiration stokes curiosity. I found myself wondering more and more about the places and cultures I was visiting. Inspired by my growing love of travel and by my love of languages, I did summer language programs: once at the University of Santiago de Compostela in Spain and twice at the Sorbonne in Paris. Immersing myself in the language as well as the grind of non-touristy daily life, interacting with locals, and making friends all gave me an even deeper appreciation for far-away cultures.
When you take the time to really live in (and not just visit) a place, you gain an understanding of the lives of its people. You talk with your local baker who toils to provide for his family of four, with the young woman at the weekly market who is continuing her family traditions as a third-generation farmer, and with the portly old Frenchman at the cafe who wants to debate French and American politics with you because he once studied in Boston and “loves America.” The happy result: you truly personalize and humanize your travel experiences and the cultures you encounter. Studying abroad is more than hurdling linguistic barriers. You learn how the historical, gastronomical, architectural, religious, political and artistic heritages provide deeper insight into impressive and complicated societies.
This quest for understanding emboldened my passion for travel. Learning begat learning. For me, Europe had become more than a place to visit historic sites, see priceless art, and taste savory foods. It was a mental playground where I could engage all fives senses in ways I didn’t even know were possible. Greater still, travel became a gym for my soul, where I could exercise sympathy, respect, and appreciation for the triumphs and challenges of other cultures.
With strikes being as common as drinking wine in France, there was a demonstration in the streets of Paris on a blustery autumn evening, and I decided to join it. Marching with bus drivers, bureaucrats, store clerks, teachers and their students through the broad boulevards of Paris–boulevards that had once been narrow, cobble-stone streets and then widened in post-revolutionary times to prevent angry citizens from hiding out from cannon fire–I felt the revolutionary spirit live on in the French people, with footsteps as drumrolls, calling the citizenry to stand up for what was right, to make their voices heard, and to celebrate their right and duty to exercise democracy…and I got to be a part of it. Engaged travel changes us for the better. We learn. We adapt. We gain empathy. We evolve.
Enjoying the essential gelato experience with my students.
The more I experienced, the more the tour guide within me welled up. I wanted to share those experiences with others. Except for the summers when I studied abroad, I spent two weeks a year traveling through Europe with some of my high school students, and then spent the rest of the summer traveling on my own. Each itinerary differed from year to year, but for me the goals were always the same: to teach my students how to become practical and savvy travelers and to help them become better-engaged citizens of the world. It sounds like a lofty goal, but I learned early on that if you set the bar low, people tend to reach only that level. If you set the bar high, they will surely rise.
Even if I’d been to a place several times before, my students gave me a chance to see it through their first-time eyes, and it renewed my sense of wonder. Their awe reminded me of my first trip to Europe and how amazed I was at finally standing before things I had only read about in books, seen on film, or heard in songs. My students’ unfiltered inquisitiveness reminded me to challenge long-held beliefs, to constantly seek the truth, and to embrace the unknown.
I remember once in Assisi, after having visited the Basilica of St. Francis and seeing the passionately painted frescoes of Giotto, one of my students came to sit by me on a bench made shiny and wavy from generations of faithful parishioners. His sister had recently passed away, and I had not wanted to initiate conversations that might make him uncomfortable. He had seemed pensive wandering through the basilica, and I worried, knowing that his family was not very religious, that he seemed to be having a miserable time visiting so many churches, reminded of his loss or regretting coming on this trip. To my surprise, he turned to me and said, “Thank you.” He seemed older, more mature. I asked, “Thank you for what?” For the opportunity to leave his pain at home and to see the real world, he told me.
My students let their guard down and dance with local teens near the Trevi Fountain.
Not every moment with my students was as profound as that. But even in small moments when I could see my young travelers let their guard down, when they would be in the moment and allow themselves to be engaged with the culture, I shared in their triumphs. Whether it be dancing in the streets near the Trevi Fountain with local Italian teens, embracing their independence by mastering how to get from Picadilly Circus to St. Paul’s Cathedral on the Tube, or boldly ordering in French their first escargots, my students were learning from their travel adventures and creating their own unforgettable travel memories. Their travels were actually transformative. And while I provided my students with opportunities that would help shape their worldviews by expanding them, they returned the favor by providing me with invaluable lessons about travel that I carry with me on all my adventures.
Even the youngest of us can teach us to unleash our enthusiasm for travel.
I’m no longer a classroom teacher, but I still love to travel and still enjoy opportunities to be a guide. I try to strike a balance between the “intellectual” and “playful” sides of that. I relish new opportunities to share what I’ve learned and to help people make the most of their own travel dreams. With my blog, I work to reflect thoughtfully on my experiences and, hopefully, to encourage others to nurture their passions as engaged travelers. And I anxiously await my future travels and all the ways they will continue to shape and re-shape my life. Let travel change you, to be an education, and experience your own “travelution”.
These days, my classroom has expanded, and I’m teaching travelers about Europe.
This might have been the lightest I’ve ever packed. Two pairs of lightweight cargo pants, one pair of leggings, two well-worn long-sleeve shirts, one short-sleeve, two tank tops, a sweatshirt, my jammies, my tennies, my undergarments, and my toiletries would be more than enough to get me through a week of construction work in Tijuana. I hoped. Beyond the clothing basics, I made sure that was plenty of room for the most crucial items: my passport, work gloves, goggles, an open heart, and an open mind.
Bunking it at the posada, Spartan-style.
When we arrived at the posada run by Esperanza, we made ourselves comfortable in our Spartan, dormitory-style dwellings. We were reminded that because water was a precious commodity in these parts, our daily showers would be limited to one minute per person. Thankfully the water ran hot.
Despite our humble sleeping quarters, the posada was modestly comfortable and seemed fairly luxurious compared with some of the current living conditions of the families we were helping. Complaining would just seem cruel and selfish when you can see with your own eyes how little some people get by on without one hint of discontent.
While we were there to contribute our physical labor, this certainly was no charity. The families we were assisting had “earned” the services of Esperanza by committing to helping their own neighbors build their homes, by engaging with their community-run organization, and by contributing to the community fund that provides micro-loans to participating families. These are active participants who benefit from many hands making light work to make their dreams of a home for their family a reality.
A new skill for me: making rebar squares to be used in rebar columns.
We worked on three different homes in varying phases of construction. The first family we worked with had land on a steep slope. Because of flooding concerns and lack of proper drainage, we would construct large concrete and rebar columns, upon which the main floor of the home would be built. The work requires strength, endurance, and a mind that doesn’t wander–which I had. Luckily for me the construction skills–which I did not have–could be learned on the spot.
Teamwork.
With my eleven fellow volunteers, members of the family, and the construction crew from Esperanza, we made rebar squares, tied countless wireless to bind said squares to form massive steel columns, and poured bucket after bucket after bucket of sloshy, home-made concrete. We spent two full days there under a blazing Mexican sun, focused on the tasks at hand, knowing that all our efforts would benefit a beautiful and deserving young family.
We joined our group leader, Cliff, on the roof to help tie down the rebar checkerboard he laid out.
At the second home, we laced together a seemingly endless checkerboard of rebar for top of an existing structure, upon which a second floor would eventually be built. With pinto bean-sized beads of sweat cascading down my face, I meticulously cut strips of wire to make wire ties for making rebar grid. When someone needed a break or just a change of pace, another volunteer would always be willing to take over and switch places. With so many of us working so diligently and happily, time flew by, and we ended the workday early, taking advantage of the extra time to nap, enjoy the sunset, and give our weary bones some well-deserved rest.
Many hands make light (and quick) work.
On one of the final days, we were down two volunteers, due to a 24-hour flu, and also had to split our team in two to work on two different homes. I chose to work on a place we hadn’t been to yet. While the family’s home had already been built by Esperanza a couple of years ago, they were lacking a wall around the perimeter. By now I was an expert at tying wire ties to rebar, and since I was the smallest volunteer at 5’1″ (barely), I got to go deep into the narrow trenches to position rebar and tie them off, stabilizing them for the concrete blocks that we all transferred in assembly line-fashion from one end of the property to the other.
In assembly line fashion, workers pass buckets of concrete to fill in the cement blocks for a perimeter wall.
Intent on getting the job done, we were like machines. Making wire ties, building rebar columns, stacking blocks, making concrete, pouring concrete– by now we had become so efficient at all of our jobs…or so I thought. Sometimes I got so focused on what I was doing and how I was doing it that my tunnel vision prevented me from seeing an even better way to finish the job. As the other volunteers formed a brigade to pass endless 5-gallon buckets of cement that would fill in the perimeter wall, I was the shoveler. The Shoveler of Sand. From a demi-mountain of sand whose summit was higher than my head, I shoved my shovel in to scoop out piles of gritty grains, filling the dozen plastic vessels that surrounded me, which would then be carried off, one in each hand, by a teenage neighbor to the cement mixer.
After shoveling away nearly half the sand dune and paying the price with my aching back, I finally learned a better way to do the job…thanks to a helpful teenage neighbor.
It was all quite rhythmic, à la Hokey Pokey. “You stick the shovel in, you pull the shovel out, you fill the bucket up, and off it goes without a doubt, they mix up all the concrete and they bring the buckets back. That’s what it’s all about.” It wasn’t until about bucket number 43 that my tag-team teenager kindly and with gentle pity showed be a less backbreaking way to do my job. While I had been loading individual shovel scoops of sand into the upright buckets, he demonstrated that laying the buckets on their sides with the mouths open to the sand mountain would allow me to use the awesome force of gravity to slide the sand into the buckets. I could then just tilt them back upright and have them ready to be carried off. With a stream of “¡Gracias!” flowing from my smiling mouth, we continued our work with twice the efficiency and four times the joy.
Bridging cultures by playing and communicating in Spanish with this precious little girl.
It was always a welcome break to just chat with the family members and play with the kids. While it’s consistently rewarding to learn about someone–their life, their triumphs, their struggles, and their interests–it is doubly gratifying to communicate in their language. People want to share their stories, and when you can provide them the space to express themselves comfortably, the more they will open up. And that is a beautiful thing. Even if your own skills may be limited in their native tongue, you’ll find that you’ll understand more than you expected and make a deeper connection by making the effort to speak their language.
This young mother of three expresses her deep gratitude and pride in the opportunity to have a home for her beautiful family.
More often than not, the families simply wanted to express their gratitude. You could see in their eyes how appreciative they were of the help that we and Esperanza provided, how proud they were to have contributed in their own ways to help build their home, and how hopeful they were for the same kind of life-changing and community-building experience for their fellow neighbors.
Committed to Esperanza for seven years, this family now has a second floor on their home, providing ample room for eight people.
One family who came to visit us at the posada invited us back to their home to see how Esperanza had made their lives better. They began their relationship with Esperanza seven years ago, working within their community to help neighbors. Two years later, they built a small two-bedroom home, barely fitting their family of eight. After paying off their micro-loan, they added another room two years after that. And just recently they added a second floor with two more rooms. They continue to contribute to the Esperanza family of neighbors and to pay off this final micro-loan. The confidence they feel in knowing that that their family is safe and secure in their own home and the eternal appreciation they have for Esperanza and the dozens of people who made this dream come true showed me that definitively once and for all that coming to Tijuana to volunteer to build homes is one of the most worthwhile things I’ve ever done in my life.
Tony, Cathy, and I were so humbled to be welcomed into this home and to learn of the family’s history with Esperanza.
Whether you travel out of the country or just out of your neighborhood to help another person, you have the opportunity to learn so much about your fellow mankind and about yourself.
Life has challenges for all of us. Travel lets you see first-hand the challenges that others face and how they strive to not only cope with them, but to overcome them. It’s not always easy, and one can’t always surmount them alone. Whether it takes a neighborhood, a village, an organization, or world neighbors from across an international border, we can find ways to step beyond our own boundaries to help make life easier, happier, and better for another human being. If, in our travels, we allow ourselves to be at the service of others in need, we can gain greater compassion, develop a broader perspective for the struggles of others and of our own selves, and become a kinder, gentler, and more enlightened citizen of the world. What greater souvenir from your travels is there?
Life is good. While many complain, gobble up the spoon-fed fear from media outlets, and blame the other side for everything wrong in our society, traveling makes it clear: we have it good in the USA. That’s not to discount real problems that affect individuals like unemployment, lack of healthcare, poverty, and hunger. Those are painful realities for some Americans that need to be addressed.
But we live in one of the wealthiest, most powerful, and most influential countries in the world. People considered “poor” in our country would be considered wealthy in most of the world. Still, people complain about our lethargic economic growth rate—2012 third quarter at 2.7%. Sure, there are other countries that have higher growth rates–like Cambodia, Costa Rica, and Botswana. But growth rate completely ignores two important economic measures: how wealthy we are to start and the gap between a society’s wealthy and impoverished. As we excel in both, we have the capacity to address that gap. But we don’t.
Sadly, the chasm between rich and poor grows wider and wider day by day. While most of this is an abstract reality—far removed from our own lives, it becomes vivid—walloping your worldview–when you finally see it with your own eyes. While you can find examples of this here in America, traveling just south of our border into the developing world puts the effects of wealth disparity in clearer view. That’s why, my recent trip to Mexico deepened my gratitude and changed how I see the world and my place in it.
Through my church, I volunteered with a secular, home- and community-building organization called Esperanza International. Tijuana families who seek help from Esperanza commit to helping other families in their community build their homes while saving and contributing funds for their own future dwelling. When it’s their turn to receive funds to build their home, previous loan recipients, extended family, and neighbors help with the construction. Community organizations that are comprised of neighbors and advised by social workers from Esperanza are empowered to lead its members, to foster community building, to troubleshoot concerns, to collect payments from participating families, and to make decisions about who receives future loans. They work out payment schedules with the participating families that are commensurate to the family’s income–meaning if a spouse loses his/her job, the payment rate is reduced until the household’s wages increase.
Volunteers Susan and John check out how much Esperanza has helped families in Tijuana.
It’s a compassionate, practical model that’s been around since 1985. With more than 7000 volunteers just in the last seven years, Esperanza oversaw the construction of more than 200 Tijuana homes, positively impacting the lives of so many adults and children who finally have a home to call their own.
On our weeklong volunteer trip, we worked in three different colonias or neighborhoods, working on different phases of construction for three beautiful, loving, and hardworking families. Each of them welcomed us with warmth, gratitude, and dignity. They were thankful for the assistance that we and Esperanza were providing. And they were proud of the financial and physical contributions from their family, neighbors, and friends. This just felt so right: uniting the strengths of people from bordering countries to make the dreams of a safe, stable, and flourishing home a tangible reality for people in need.
This happy family may not have much, but they have each other and help from family, friends, and Esperanza.
One might be fooled into believing that based on their present living conditions, the neighborhoods they lived in, and the absence of “stuff” in their lives, these families would want to go somewhere else to escape this way of life, to emigrate to the U.S. to look for better opportunities, and to hope for something, anything better than this. But they were appreciative of what little they had. By no means were these people destitute, but neither were they middle class or even lower-middle class families. They were poor, getting by on small salaries, making do with what they had. And although they may have been lacking material wealth, they were certainly rich in happiness and family love. They knew that, despite what little they had, they were blessed.
Nonetheless, I couldn’t live like these families do. Not too many people I know could.
One of the neighborhoods where we volunteered.
One family who was new to Esperanza had been living Old Mother Hubbard-style with seven family members shoehorned into a 15×20 ft. space they called home. Potable water was delivered weekly. The chalky beige earth upon which their “home” stood lacked proper drainage, so that when heavy rains came, mud sloshed through the house and continued down into the neighbor’s yard. The father worked two jobs, limiting his precious time with the family. And if not for the help of Esperanza, this would continue to be their fate.
But this–and even much harsher conditions–is the standard for more than half of the world. More than 3 billion people live on less than $2.50 a day, and more than 80% of humanity tries to get by on less than $10 a day. Not because of temporary unemployment or because they’re not trying hard enough. This is simply their lot in life, from which it is difficult to escape. Most of us can’t even imagine what it must be like to live without the luxuries, the conveniences, and the basic necessities that so many of us enjoy. Or perhaps we simply forget to be grateful for our bountiful blessings.
I wanted to learn more about life in Tijuana for these families. Whenever we had a break, I took advantage of my language skills to speak with the family members, and, more importantly, to listen. The adults were proud to share their stories of how they encountered Esperanza (usually because they saw a neighbor’s home that had been built via this organization), what they hope for their families (adequate homes, decent wages, better opportunities for their children than they had), and what challenges they face (a struggling economy with few opportunities for any upward mobility; limited social resources from the government; being strong role models for their children; raising them to value education, family, hard work, and love).
At least one member of each three-generation family has a stable job, all the children attend school, and often the mother or grandmother runs the household. The intergenerational bonds are strong and evident. Everyone functions with the idea of doing what is best for the family. Everyone, even the little ones, contribute in whatever way they can, even if that means studying hard and just being good so the adults can focus on pouring concrete or cooking lunch for the volunteers.
Spending time with the kids was even more enlightening. They were the happiest of all, as children often are. I don’t think they were oblivious to their surroundings, but they were content with where they were and with what they had. Evelinda was excited about school and practiced her reading skills with me. Her sister Catarina was pleased enough to listen to her older sibling and to play with the knotty-furred dog. Each day I saw them, they greeted me with hugs that kept me motivated to work as hard as I could…for them and for their family.
Tony teaches the boys construction skills.
Josefina, her brother Antonio, and their cousin Miguel insisted on helping the adults and worked as a team to carry one long piece of rebar. The boys soon tired of that but quickly became fascinated with the machine that bends the rebar. Meanwhile, Josefina helped reposition rocks on the tarp covering the sand pile–from which I was filling buckets to help make concrete–to stop the wind from blowing it all away. As the wind picked up and heavy rain started to fall, all the adults took shelter on the patio, while the children danced, laughed, and embraced life as drops of water drenched their hair and tickled their faces.
Can you remember when you were last in awe of the rain?
In that moment, I thought about what treasures these children are. I thought of my own nieces and nephews, my former students, and the kids in my town. I thought that the children I’ve met here in Tijuana are no less precious than any other child, and all of them deserve, at the very least, basic shelter, easy access to clean water, good educations, and loving families. Their parents are doing all they can to provide them a better life, given the circumstances they’re in. My own circumstances afford me the opportunity to live a higher quality of life, but they also offer me the chance to help those who don’t. It’s not out of obligation, but, I think, out of simple human kindness and common decency.
We may be here to help these families, but we’re the ones learning a lot about life from them.
I think we’re all inclined to be good. I think we all hope for a world where there is no hunger, no poverty, no war, and no strife. Yet it’s important to remember that what we envision for ourselves is not necessarily how others envision life for themselves. As volunteers with Esperanza, we’re not here to tell these families how they should live their lives, how to become more “Americanized”, or to teach them the “right way” to do things. We are merely here to help fulfill their goals of having their own home in which to raise their families. These wonderful families that I’ve met already understand better than most that life is good, something I am continuing to learn and embrace. They are determined to work hard to make life even better for their descendants. And I’m grateful for the opportunity to help.
