Responding to Emergencies with Cash not Goods

Have you seen those AllState ads about the fires in Colorado? They say "We didn't just show up with cold water and checks..." and then continues about how they brought teddy bears to help children get back to normal. Good child protection practice, hopefully they're doing more for kids, but beside the point. Your house burns down and someone helps you access clean water and money to help you get back on your feet. That makes sense. That's what I'd want. So why isn't that what we do in other countries? Why can't we give people cash when their homes are destroyed by war or disaster? Why do we feel the need to give them the things we think they need? 

If I experience hardship, I know better than you do what I need. Maybe my home has been washed away in a flood, but I don't want you to build me a new home, because I was going to move anyway, or my family is growing, or you build crappy houses. Maybe my family does need food to eat, but I need cash to buy medicine for my baby, and you're just bringing me food from your country that I don't know how to cook, nor will my children eat. Maybe you think my children need recreational activities, but I need them in the field to replant after the crops were destroyed, but I can't replant until I buy new seeds. People are resilient, but they are only able to employ their resiliency when allowed to make their own decisions. 

My first response to this AllState ad was that we must not trust poor people. People in Colorado will obviously use the checks you give them to repair their homes (yes I know they are home insurance checks, but it occurs to me that we have home insurance in case of disasters, whereas countries in the global South often rely on humanitarian aid for similar support) but for some reason, people in other countries won't know how to spend the money? Are we worried they will spend it improperly? That happens where we live too, corruption and misuse of government funds is often connected to disaster. Is it because we feel the need to help, and writing a check isn't as exciting? 

In many places, especially in urban settings, cash is sometimes being used, so that both the economy and the population can start to rebuild. I won't argue that the only answer is cash grants. Sometimes the needed supplies aren't available during or after a complex emergency. Steps have already been made toward ensuring that food and supplies are well used by (often) giving them to women to ensure that the goods go to support children and to be sure that female headed households receive goods.. But giving food and tent supplies to people in refugee camps doesn't restart lies, it simply sustains them during an emergency. Helping people rebuild and recover takes more than that, and if your world got turned upside down, wouldn't you hope that people trying to help would trust you to identify your own needs?

Humanitarian Space

Humanitarian space "is  often used to denote areas to which humanitarian agencies have safe and protected access, in order to provide urgent relief assistance. This is generally dependent on the consent and cooperation of the controlling authorities," according to change.org


One of the goals of this blog, in addition to sharing personal experiences and keeping me from tearing my hair out, is to share the work I do, and to give people a better understanding of what the humanitarian sector is, and what it means to be a part of it. One of the questions I am often asked is how I choose where I will work. While I am not at a point in my career where I get to choose explicitly where I will work, I can turn down any assignment I like. It occurred to me the other day that the places I wouldn't consider working all have something in common, the humanitarian space in those countries (or some cross-border conflicts) is shrinking or practically non-existent, which in turn would make it difficult to accomplish whatever my task was, but it would also have the potentially to considerably increase the personal danger of the assignment.


Some argue that humanitarian work can be traced back to the Red Cross, workers could run onto battlefields, after the fighting was over, to aid those who were injured on either side of the fight. That is an excellent example of protected humanitarian space, you aren't associated with fighting forces on either side for offering medical and other aid. However the lines between fighting forces and humanitarian groups have continued to be blurred, especially over the past two decades, to the point where humanitarian workers may be in just as much danger as members of the military, except they don't get bullet proof vests or guns. You've heard about humanitarian workers being kidnapped or killed in conflicts where they were working, this is the ultimate violation of humanitarian space, where, for whatever reason, one armed group believes that a humanitarian group is aiding the other side, and is therefore classifiable as an enemy combatant. 


There are overt and covert ways that humanitarian space can be compromised. The most recent overt example is where individuals identifying themselves as employees of USAID (the US Agency for International Development - intended to be a state run humanitarian organization) were later identified as spies in places like Pakistan, Afghanistan, and Iraq. USAID is not only an organization that does work of its own, but also funds a litany of organizations all over the world. With the connection now confirmed between the CIA and USAID, the ability of USAID and anyone funded by them to claim neutrality in a conflict in which the US has an interest is diminished.


Above is an example of when partisan influences work their way into the humanitarian sphere, but another important way that humanitarian space is compromised is when members of fighting forces participate in humanitarian work. If the US military is in Afghanistan handing out food or blankets or stoves or what have you, they are are generally doing it to build goodwill and help gain the support of the local population. But then suppose I work for the Norwegian Refugee Council and the next day I'm giving out out blankets and stoves; there can be confusion in the minds of local people where the line between the military and the humanitarian spheres lies. What this can lead to is that humanitarian workers are assumed to be partisan, rather than the opposite.


Humanitarian organizations that expect to be granted humanitarian space in which to provide assistance are expected to abide by the principles of impartiality, neutrality, and independence. This means that they should provide assistance to both sides of the conflict, should not do anything to support or diminish the capabilities of either side, and should not be susceptible to outside influences. Many organizations do not take grants or donations from large organizations or governments as it could compromise their impartiality in the eyes of others, as well as their independence as they may be beholden to this funding their activities.


It is in places where humanitarian space has diminished the most: Somalia, Iraq, or Pakistan among others, where humanitarian workers are most at risk, and where you are most likely to hear of them being kidnapped or killed (in my experience, I do not have data on this, but this article addresses related research). One last element that has contributed to greater compromises in humanitarian space is the nature of war. Humanitarian space finds its jurisdiction in international law and the Geneva conventions. But today more wars are between non-state actors, or non-state actors and the state, and these groups are less likely to be held accountable for upholding the Geneva conventions, as they technically are not a party to them. 


We all have our limits, and realizing that mine are based in reality, rather than simply in fear, is comforting to me. In most places I have worked humanitarian workers are viewed as a nuisance (another survey!) at worst, and with gratitude at best. I think humanitarian workers themselves absolutely have a role to play in maintaining their neutrality, but governments must also realize that they put hundreds of thousands of people at risk when they blur the lines by having the military engage in humanitarian work, or ask humanitarian workers to engage in non-neutral activities. There are conflicts where all outsiders are seen as the enemy, as is shown clearly in In the Land of Blood and Honey (please see my post of January 9, 2012 for my review of the film), where Serbian forces attack UN peacekeepers, associating them with outside forces attempting to end the conflict. It is only through ongoing respect of and persistent maintenance of humanitarian space that those employing that space can do their jobs safely. 


However, an important question is that given that the nature of war is changing, and non-state actors often decline to abide by international law, how can this space be protected? The International Red Cross wrote an article addressing this question in Afghanistan. Also the Forced Migration Review dedicated an entire issue to non-state actors and displacement. I have much to learn about the subject, but for the time being will continue to avoid locations where being an American means being associated with the military. And as an aside, this is in no way a judgement of humanitarian workers living in working in places where humanitarian space is diminishing as we speak. You are brave; you are doing good work; and just because the military is active in a particular place does not mean people there are any less deserving or in need of support. Stay safe. 

Who Are You When No One's Looking?

How much of how we act is a result of who we are, and how much of it is the result of social pressure exerted by those around us and thenorms and regulations imposed upon us?

Most of us like to consider ourselves ethical people.  We like to believe that we would begood people, even if there weren’t any consequences for acting in ways that arecontrary to existing laws and norms. For example, I like to believe that Iwouldn’t purposefully hurt someone for the heck of it, even if it wasn’t againstthe law. But, in fact, I think we’ve all seen that this isn’t necessarily true.We often act and speak differently depending upon whom we’re with and where weare. People who make sexist or racist comments in private, but hold theirtongue in front of those they don’t know well or who would be offended.

This can also hold true when we travel, when we’re in aplace away from ‘our’ culture, norms that hold true at home may not apply.Think of men who travel to other countries to abuse children, and justify it byciting the normalcy of it in the place they are and the availability ofchildren. Or people who would hold their tongue in the US, but have no problemcalling entire cultures or countries ‘lazy’ or ‘incompetent’. I’ve noticed thatthe tendency towards disregarding criteria for acceptable behavior increaseswhen (some) people are traveling or working in the developing world. (I can’tspeak about whether this happens in the developed world as I have no experienceworking abroad there.) Somehow it’s suddenly acceptable to be more ‘ist’ ofevery sort. Whether this is because of the legacy of colonialism and whitemen’s superiority is still assumed to a greater extent or because thestereotype of the people in that place as less moral or less deserving ofcommonly held rights is difficult to say and not necessarily generalizableacross diverse contexts.

Alternatively, perhaps it’s that people with those attitudes are more likely to work abroad as participating in things like the diamondindustry are less likely offend their scruples. Or maybe my naïveté is showingagain, as assuming that people working in the developing world want to work toimprove things, when in fact they may be there with the explicit goal ofexploiting a country’s wealth of resources. So there’s the question, do morepeople ‘behave badly’ in developing countries, or do people with the desire todo so seek out those places where they are less likely to be criticized orostracized and in some cases are effectively above the law or local moralorder?

Is it being in Las Vegas or the fact that the city’s adcampaign tells you that you can do anything there because no one will tell the peoplethat respect you at home? 

Happy Holidays and here's to positive situational and personal influences, and to the people who act morally and ethically even in their absence.

Feels like Home

I woke up this morning sleeping on a futon on the floor in my sister's beautiful guestroom. The bed had a top sheet and a bottom sheet. A feather duvet kept me warm during the chilly night (anything under 85 feels cold now). As I lay in bed at 5:30am, amazed that the sun was up, that no one was honking or shouting, I realized it felt like home. I grew up sleeping on futons, in fact I didn't move to a bed with springs until... high school?

I realize that a futon on the floor isn't what typically feels like home to most Americans. Maybe home feels like a specific kind of blanket, or your dog whining to be taken out, or the bird singing outside your window. But a comfortable bed, a top sheet (no top sheets in Indonesia!), and a place where the sun rises and sets at different times depending on the time of year feels comfortable, even though I've never actually lived in this city, and this house is not technically my home.

While contemplating my comfy bed,and what I would do without my luggage, since it got lost in customs limbo, I got to thinking, that even though this is what I'm used to, that doesn't make it better than how anyone else sleeps. In Indonesia a lot of people simply unroll a straw mat, sometimes grab a pillow, and go to sleep, no blankets, no privacy. This has nothing to do with how much money the family has, they are just most comfortable sleeping on a straw mat, often with several other people.

Where am I going with this? It has occurred to me that through my presentations of culture, and the manifestations thereof, in the various places I visit, I may have done you and my friends in those places a bit of a disservice. I was hoping to present my experiences with reverence, to show the differences as well as the similarities, as well as to share my reflections on living and working somewhere so different than where I'm from. But instead, it has occurred to me that some of my posts could simply make someone say "phew! I'm glad I don't live there, those people really are uncivilized/undeveloped/in need of help." And while I could see why someone might feel that way, I think there is a different way to look and understand.

I have argued here and in other arenas against the concept of cultural relativism when those things that some claim are cultural infringe upon the human rights and dignity of people, most often women and children, but also other vulnerable groups. So while you may read my descriptions of whether to wear a jilbob (veil) or discussions with people that show me they have different understandings of the roles and rights of members of their society, it was not my intention to present all aspects of that cultural as inherently less valuable or less correct than those of the West.

I was talking with another Western researcher about how she felt in rural areas of Aceh, and her response was that she felt lucky. Lucky to have been raised by parents in a place where education and self determination were a given. We discussed who we might be if we had been raised in Aceh. I commented that I like to imagine I would be like myself, that I would have moved away to somewhere with more liberal laws, but who knows, maybe I would hold as tightly to Islam as I do to humanism. How do people living in Aceh, for instance, feel when they look at me though? It would be conceited and narrow sighted to imagine that everyone looks at me and thinks I am lucky and developed, something to strive to be like. We all cling to our own cultures and backgrounds, seeing everyone else as different, but often forget to imagine what we look like through their eyes.

I was taking a walk in rural Aceh with a researcher and several girls around 13 years old. They were giving us a tour of their town. They all wore veils and I would be genuinely surprised if any of them had left Aceh province. One girl, through the Bahasa Indonesia and English speaking researcher, told me that I should marry an Acehnese so I could move here. (I often get similar suggestions and marriage proposals, so I've got a bit of an arsenal of responses). I told her that that sounded like a good idea, but in return she would have to marry an American man. She looked at me with a mix of shock and disgust and shook her head. The researcher (who is Indonesian) apologized to me for the girl's response, explaining that it was not meant to be disrespectful of America, or some dislike of American men. But to this girl, who had worn a veil since a young age, rises at 5 am to pray, praying 4 more times throughout the day, was appalled by the notion of marrying someone who was so ignorant and uneducated that he was not Muslim. I just laughed, knowing that the vast majority of Americans would react the same way if I suggested they marry a traditional and strictly religious Muslim man in Indonesia.

And so, we must remember not only to observe the world around us, but also to look in the mirror on occasion, seeing ourselves as others see us. Perhaps you read my blogs and feel sorry for the women in Aceh, forced to wear veils and cover from ankles to wrists to neck, punished if caught engaging in premarital relations, prohibited from praying when menstruating, and who must have a male relative present to consent to their marriage. But look back, they may be looking at you and feeling pity too. Pity because you have not accepted Muhammad as the one true prophet, pity because you think that by showing skin and looking "sexy" you are showing your power, when in fact you are demonstrating your weakness rather than demanding respect from men, pity because your country has forgotten the meaning and value of family, pity because you worship money and power instead helping one another and working together.

And so, never forget that neither you nor I are objective observes of culture, nor can we be. And while you may read about the people in the places I go and feel sorry for them or thank your lucky stars for your freedom, the people I describe may be looking back and thinking exactly the same thing about you.

another year older and deeper in debt

St. Peter don't you call me, 'cause I won't go. I owe my soul to the company store." More figuratively than literally of course, given that I don't think Safeway would let me buy Almond Milk on credit...  This is one of my favorite songs my mum sang to me growing up. I've been a bit nostalgic lately, between rummaging through old papers and finding high school essays, trying to figure out a name for the LLC I'm going to start (suggestions are more than welcome) and turning the big 2-6. But it's all okay because I get a snow day for my birthday. It started coming down this evening so I should get some fresh lines at Sugarbowl as a birthday present from Mother Nature (or whoever you choose to believe is sending me the fluffy white stuff).  So in the vein of archives and nostalgia, below is an essay I wrote for my rhetoric class when I was a senior in high school. I don't remember the assignment, but just coming across it made me smile. It's a bit long, I know, but I'm always happy to provide a little procrastination help. Here's to playing in the snow.

Double Digits
I can hear the radiator clanking as  I hide underneath my covers for one more minute. It sounds like someone swinging at a metal pipe with a hammer. Slowly, the clanks turn to clicks. My room is warm enough for me to venture outside of my fire engine-red bunk bed onto the chilly wood floors. I open my eyes slowly, anticipating the sea of bobbing colors on my floor. My entire room is filled with balloons. I can't set foot out of bed without kicking one, or popping one. This year they are red, yellow, blue and green, my favorite colors at the moment. I stand, shivering in my nightgown, amazed at how different my room looks with these globes in it, wondering how many of my mum and dad's breaths it took to fill them all. I pick one up and punt it across the room. It bounces off the kite hanging from my overhead light. I smile as the kite sways and the canary colored balloon floats to the floors, scattering the balloons it hits.

I need to hurry now. It is Tuesday and I have to get to school on time, I've already been late once this week. But I think Mrs. Alloway will forgive me, she'll be as excited as I am that I'm turning ten today. I can't believe it! I'm finally in the double digits, as Amanda keeps telling me. She says it means I'm getting old and that my brain is going to start decaying soon. I wish I were her big sister, then I'd be able to scare her with facts like that. Today she doesn't matter though, she has to be nice to me because it's my birthday. Pushing some balloons out of the way I open my door, and just like every year, the door is now a curtain made out of streamers. They hang down, swaying slightly, and I can imagine I'm a princess emerging from my royal chamber. I cross the hall to the bathroom; I want to look in the mirror just to be sure that no one can tell my brain has started decaying.

I begin walking down the hallway towards the kitchen, hoping for something yummy for breakfast, when I remember the most important guest on my birthday. I jump up so I can see the top shelf of my closet. I know he's up there somewhere! Finally, he tumbles down with all my other stuffed animals. Birthday Bear only comes out once a year, and today's his day. He's a CareBear whom I got on my second or third birthday. It's his birthday today, too, and he always sits at the table with me while I open my presents. Now I'm ready to begin my birthday.

Tip-toeing down the hall with Birthday Bear under one arm, and a balloon under the other, I sneak up on Amanda and bop her on the head with the latter. She gives me a mean look, then smiles, steals my balloon and hits me with it. Still holding my balloon, she runs away laughing, "Happy Birthday Watermelon Head!"

My dad is cooking my favorite breakfast, a bowl of Spaghetti-O's and a tall glass of milk (with a twisty straw of course). I peak around the corner into the dining room, and I am happy to see exactly what I anticipated. There are streamers, in the same colors as the ones across my door, hanging from the chandelier and radiating out to all sides of the room. There are clusters of balloons in every corner and loose balloons bouncing around the floor. On my chair there are yellow (always my very favorite color) balloons tied to the back. Then I catch my breath. Snow! Our entire porch is covered in snow, at least a foot!

I spin around, and with wide eyed amazement point to the porch. My dad tells me it started snowing as soon as I went to bed last night and stopped around seven o'clock this morning. "It's a snow day, just for you, for your birthday!" I excitedly scream to Amanda that we don't have school. She walks in, with a knowing look on her face. She has been up since early this morning watching the schools closings; obviously there's no school. Determined not to let her ruin my good mood, I pull on my snow boots and run outside in my nightgown. I jump into the snow on the porch and it goes past my knees. I run back inside, freezing cold, and ecstatic. A day off on my birthday, what more could I ask for?

I wolf down my breakfast, and gulp down my milk. I don't even stop to blow bubbles in my milk to make Amanda laugh. Not only do I want to open all the presents next to my chair, but I want to get outside and play in the fresh snow before everyone else ruins it.

Turning my head to look back at the dining room table as my mum zips my jack I can't help but smile. I have gotten all sorts of neat presents, and Birthday Bear will watch over them for me until I get back. I lumber out the door, padded from head to toe, and looking a bit like The Pillsbury Dough Boy. As soon as I get to the bottom of our stairs, Amanda pushes me face-first in the snow. I stand up and jump on her back, taking her down with me this time. Once we are too tired to get up again, we decide it is time for a plan of action. The snow is so deep that it is really tiring to walk in. So, we have to decide what we want to go, then get there as soon as we can. Amanda wants to walk to Kineen's Park and go sledding. I tell her that she can go, but I am going to the the Leaf Pile. Quickly changing her mind, Amanda agrees and run off towards the boundary of our yard.

The Leaf Pile is a collection of leaves raked from our neighbor's huge yard over the past twenty years at least. They have never been removed, and the Pile is added to every year. At its peak, it is at least fifteen feet, if not taller. We scramble to the top just in time to see Kelsey, Tory, and Jen coming through the woods towards us. Determined to take the first jump, I stand up and prepare to take the plunge. Amanda protests, saying she should go first because she is the oldest. I just smile at her, and leap over the edge. As I slide to the bottom I see my friend arriving above me. "Nice jump!" they call.
"Yeah, you got real air too!" yells Ned, Jen's neighbor.

Then I see them all huddle, and they turn around and throw armloads of snow down on me. While I am still pinned beneath all the snow, they sing Happy Birthday to me; purposefully off key, of course.

North San Juan

The plan was to head to Homewood to ride if it snowed at least 3" overnight. It snowed about 1. Since our passes to Sugarbowl are only good M-F we needed to find something else to do with ourselves. And so we set out onto 89, away from, rather than towards, all the crowds from the Bay congesting the roads near the ski resorts.

The houses went from beautiful amber colored vacation homes to well lived in small homes and trailers quickly. Going in and out of Tahoe National Forest we started the loop that goes from Truckee out 89 to Sierraville, West to Nevada City and comes back around on I-80. The elevation ranged from over 8,000 ft where it was snowing, down below 2,000 ft where it was raining or misty and the granite cliffs and moss reminded me of British Columbia.  Several hours in, after finding one little town where everything was closed, we decided to stop for a little cocoa in North San Juan. Unfortunately the hope of finding an isolated Puerto Rican community in rural California didn't pan out.  We walked into Yuki's Fountain, not quite sure what to expect, with the window advertising breakfast, homemade pastries and oriental cuisine. We sat at the counter, with local eating omelettes and hash browns to one side and teriyaki yakisoba to the other. Yaki'd Fountain is owned by a Japanese woman, astounding in this town of under 600 people. The first page of the menu was full of traditional American favorites and the second was full of "oriental" selections.  Behind us on the wall was a hand painted family tree with photos of at least 50 people pasted on it.  And I thought I lived in a small town.

This was a great adventure after more than 5 weeks rehabbing a knee injury.  But thankfully it's snowing more now, I'm working on getting back on a board and things are looking up. Apologies for the lack of posts but sitting at home icing a knee isn't much to write about. Much more in the future!

P.S. I have a number of people on an email list for this blog, mostly from when I was traveling. If you receive this post as an email and would like to stay on the email list, just forward this to me, otherwise I'll just take you off, since I'd hate to bother you with my snowy tales.

Go West

Here's a quick version of all the excitement from our cross country road trip, Dec 26th - 29th, 2009.

Day 1
We set out from Concord, MA the morning after Christmas after some repacking to fit presents, pictures and snowshoes.  Hearing about the storm and state of emergency that'd been declared in the midwest after an incredible snowstorm we were a bit worried but undeterred. Through Massachusetts, New York and Northern Pennsylvania were all relatively uneventful.  Moving through Ohio things began to get more exciting. There were overturned cars littering the sides of the highway and the median all the way across the midwest for the next few days. Although the days were bright and clear, mounds of snow that looked like dunes because of the high winds framed the road. After our first full day we arrived in Sandusky, Ohio.

Overnight in Sandusky, Ohio
We were reassured by the elderly couple in front of us in line that we were, in fact, at the cheapest place to stay in Sandusky (Motel 6 of course).  We drove up the road to an Italian restaurant dedicated to Frank Sinatra and got to listen to a group of young men next to us, discussing their holidays, their wives and why married men should have unlimited access to prescription drugs. Funny for sure, and a good introduction to the small town we were headed towards.


Day 2
We started out bright and early, and after a roadside breakfast (courtesy of Bronco) we got to driving.  We passed "The Biggest Truck Stop in the World", along with more and more overturned cars and jackknifed tractor trailers.  Alternating between radio and CDs, we managed to entertain ourselves quite well. That evening, determined to find a hotel with a gym, we scoured rest stops for coupon books, crossing our fingers.


Overnight on the Iowa Nebraska border
We ended up at a Best Western in a town full of casinos on the Iowa Nebraska border. As I went out in search of dinner I blindly put my faith in the GPS and ended up lost, in the middle of a neighborhood and past the industrial park that flanked the city. When I finally made my way back to the urban area I found casino after casino, a Hooters, a Ruby Tuesdays and several bars with no windows, but no grocery store and nowhere that looked promising for dinner. I pulled up to a gas station, and as a man in full camo, a hunting vest and a black hat/face cover combo came out, I was sure the place had just been robbed. Luckily I was wrong and managed to find dinner and made my way back to the hotel. 

Day 3
The next morning I went to the front desk for the key to the gym. After the young woman at the front desk gave it to me and I headed to the gym, I had to go back to the front desk because the door that led to the door I had the key to was locked. As she explained that the building manager had the key, but he was at home because he got stuck in the hotel on Christmas and that even if she called him he might not answer, I began to suspect I wouldn't be getting in. I asked if anyone else had a key. She explained that the maid did, but that although she had a key she didn't know how to open the door. The young woman I was speaking to did know how to open the door, but couldn't leave the front desk to do so. Shaking my head and tired of walking up and down long halls, I joined Doug at breakfast, excited to find that biscuits and homemade gravy in a crock-pot were standard fare.

The day only got more exciting from there. We crossed the immense state of Nebraska, full of snow and overturned cars, as well as beautiful flat farms as far as the eye could see. There were lots of cows at first and as we crossed Nebraska and into Wyoming we even saw some live coyotes (as opposed to the ones that had been hit by cars that littered the road).  We stopped for lunch at {someone's} Big Game restaurant, after it had been advertised on billboards for 150 miles. Walking in to a stuffed polar bear stepping on a stuffed baby seal, we knew we were in the right place. With animal heads and camo as far as the eye could see, we ate an absolutely delicious lunch, including some awesome cowboy baked beans and sweet potato casserole.

Overnight in Rawlins, Wyoming
As the night closed in on us with another amazing sunset and finally some mountains, along with single digit temperatures, we realized that we'd gotten farther than expected and could get to Truckee, CA by about 6pm the next day, rather than spending another two days driving as expected.

We stopped in Rawlins, Wyoming, unwisely ignoring the oil refinery and funny smell as we rolled into town. We drove past the chain hotels, hoping for something great, and found the Sunset Motel. Advertising a phone and cable tv in the rooms, we knew we'd found the place. It was actually quite reminiscent of the Sunset Motel we stayed in in White Sand, NM last March.  It was the first time we got to our motel early, so we decided to explore downtown Rawlins (a place where the entire town literally smelled). Our first stop, Tico's Bar and Restaurant was incredible. Exciting facial hair and mullets galore, smoking indoors, and PBR on tap were all around.  We left there and headed down the street to somewhere that reminded me of the atmosphere at Vortex in Atlanta. Nice beer and friendly people, but we decided to have dinner at an old home that had been turned into a restaurant up the street. There were about 5 tables, one waiter and "the only salad bar in Rawlins". The food was fantastic and it was a great last dinner on the road.


Day 4
We left the Sunset Motel at 7 the next morning, hopeful that we'd get a great view of the rest of Wyoming, Nevada and maybe even going into Truckee in daylight. Sadly it was cloudy and even bombing snow at some points, so we'll just have to go back to get a full view of the salt flats and everything between Salt Lake City and Reno.  After narrowly missing being sideswiped by a car during the snowstorm in Salt Lake and white knuckles on the wheel, we finally made it through. In honor of reaching the land of delicious cheap Mexican food we had exactly that for lunch. We reached Reno after nightfall, but after our roommate warned us it'd take weeks to get the stripper dust and desperation out of our clothes, we sped on to Truckee, knowing we'd be back soon as Reno is the closest city to us.  We arrived and we greeted by 3 great roommates, an incredible house and even homemade lasagna for dinner.

We've settled in, set up and stored lots of stuff over the garage, decided what hills to buy passes to, gone snowshoeing and scoped out places to ride that are off the map and totally untouched.  It has snowed almost every day since our arrival, but also gets up into the 30s or 40s during the day so you don't freeze. Pretty incredible. Now we're just waiting for Monday, when we start to ride, and visitors of course!

Happy New Year and here's to new adventures in 2010


Also, if you'd like to see some pictures (lots of which were taken by me!) check out Doug's blog http://hyphyrecords.blogspot.com/, my favorite is the one of the truck.

Everywhere but home

If I'm writing about everywhere but home, everywhere is anywhere at the moment.

What makes a place a home? Is it where you lay your head? Eat your meals? Feel safe?  Where you miss when you aren't there? Where people miss you? For many people all of those are different places. The more places you go, the more places, people and moments you have to fall in love with, and the more you have to miss. But what is longing? Is it merely a yearning for the past or hopefulness for the future?

And so I'm off on a new adventure, moving from the East to the West coast. Packing up and shipping off and seeing what's between here and eastern California.

Some people believe in soul mates, I believe in places you're meant for and places that are meant for you. There are people you meet who you feel like you've known your whole life. There are places you find that feel like you've returned after an odyssey. I'm still looking for mine. I've lived many places I've loved, but my perfect place feels just out of reach. Maybe I'll find it. Or maybe I've been moving and traveling and wandering long enough that the idea of my place is my home.  Maybe it's in my blood, and maybe that itch that I get after being in one place for a few months or years isn't going to go away. And rather than ignore it, the thing to do is scratch the itch and love the journey.

Merry Christmas and happy trails

The Archives: Alaska

Where to start with the archives? Why not from somewhere near the beginning of the adventures? I'm not sure where I contracted wanderlust, but it's quite possible it's genetic.

Before my sister and I were born my parents agreed that when we moved from 5th to 6th grade we would get to go on a trip to a place of our choosing with the parent of the same gender. The reasoning was that teenagers often have trouble getting along with their parent of the same gender, so the trip might help head off some of the problems. Unfortunately for my dad, they had two daughters.  My sister headed to Hawaii with my mum while my dad and I drove up to Montreal through Acadia on mini vacation of our own.

Then my turn arrived, first I considered Greece, but ended up settling on Alaska. We arrived in Whitehorse in the Yukon in the summer so the hours of darkness were few and far between.  After a quick stop at the Dairy Queen, a family tradition, and settled in for a night before taking off. The next morning we started off on a white water rafting trip down the Tatenshini River, from the Yukon into Alaska.

There were about 8 of us on the trip, along with two guides, one of whom was the second woman ever to scale Everest.  There were also two French Canadians working at an oil site in Alaska and a couple other people, but I was the only person under 30.  Although I was only 11, I was already tall and excited about getting to paddle through the rapids. Unfortunately they didn't expect me to be able to help, and only brought enough paddles for the adults. While this might sound like a godsend, where I could just sit on top of the luggage and take in the breathtaking cliffs and be in charge of spotting bears, as the rain began my mum and I realized it might be a problem. It started raining on our second day and never let up for an entire day until the end of the trip.  Sitting still in the rain, I began to shiver, and just got colder and colder as the days went by. The trip was exciting, the rapids were powerful and the scenery was incredible, but the longer I sat still the closer I got to hypothermia. Eventually I could barely get myself off the raft, and when the guides tried to get me to run up and down the beach to warm up I was just too tired.

One night we camped inside a dried up river bed after a full day of paddling and darkness slowly arriving. I was filled up with chocolate and tucked inside a sleeping bag in a tent while everyone else cooked dinner. I slowly began to warm up, but then I heard worried shouts. The rain was starting again and running down the river bed into our camp. It was too late to move so everyone started building walls out of rocks and sand to keep the water away. As I lay in my tent still cold but slowly recovering, listening to everyone hurriedly working together to save our campsite, I remember being glad I had come. Because although it wasn't quite what I'd signed up for, with the cold and the rain, the baby grizzlies and the cliffs and jumping into an Alaskan river to a very quick bath and hearing stories from all the interesting people I'd met was certainly above and beyond the average 5th or 6th grade experience.

I haven't been North of Vancouver since then, but am absolutely planning to go back. With a warmer coat and a paddle of course.

Back in the East

So it's been a week and some days, my jet lag is finally gone, my report (or most of it at least) has been turned in.  Although I miss the warm days and bustling streets of Aceh, and the food and people for sure, it's always good to be back in the states. You can't go wrong with abundant skim milk and being able to open your mouth in the shower. Probably not something most people think about, but try taking a shower and never letting a single drop of water get in your mouth. Really hard when doing things like rinsing your face while breathing out of your nose...

Now I'm in the great state of Massachusetts for about a month until the next adventure begins. I'm working with members of the Indonesia research team to get our report, as well as the reports from India and Sri Lanka, ready for their first submission. Hopefully the back and forth process between us and the NGO that hired us won't be too long. Who would have thought that you could request changes in an independent evaluation you commissioned... apparently that's the case though. I'm determined to stick with what we've found and I think everyone else is too. Whether the study gets publicly published is a different question, depends what the all knowing board that's based in the US thinks I guess.

Now on to a bit of a new stage with the blog, I'm going to start a stage called "The Archives".  These will be stories from escapades in the past, for the sake of documentation and entertainment. And of course, on my life list is publishing a book of travel short stories, so I figure this is a lovely place to start. Suggestions from readers are more than welcome if you've got an adventure in mind. If anyone would like to be taken off the email list just let me know, you can always check out the blog at http://kwrwandering.blogspot.com/ if you don't want to get an email each time I post. I'm aiming for once a week. That's all for now, happy travels.

Here's a rainstorm running into Pulau Weh Island (Sabang) off the north coast of Aceh.

Get ready... get set...

One of my professors' favorite, or maybe just most used, descriptions of emergency response work is that rather than "get ready, get set, go" it's more like "go, get ready, get set". You're off the starting block before you have any chance to prepare, because that's the essence of an emergency. You can do your best with emergency preparedness, but to a large extent you will always be somewhat unprepared.  And so off I go to Indonesia. For those of you who've been asking, I'm working on a project assessing a major NGOs 5 year long tsunami response program, which is in the process of winding up. We're evaluating whether their outcomes match their objectives, whether the money was spent well and whether it was effective at causing change. I'll update more about what I'm doing as I do, but for now I'm working on reviewing program documents starting in 2004 before the tsunami and designing data collection tools, quite the task!

I'm leaving NYC on Thursday morning (and am off to Indonesia on Saturday) and I'm almost surprised by how nostalgic the idea of moving away has made me. Since I moved here in 2006, from living in the Bronx to Washington Heights to Harlem and all the rats and late night reggaeton I've heard in between, I've always know New York wasn't the city for me. I love the range of things to do, places to eat and people to meet, but I'm more of an open spaces person I think. But above all, leaving has reminded me how many great people I've met here and I'm glad I'm going to be able to come back in December to finish out my work and see everyone again, and definitely go ice skating. I went out to dinner with a friend tonight (pupusas!) and he asked me what I regretted not doing here. After I made a list of things like apple picking, ice skating and kayaking, he pointed out that they were all things that could be done other places. So as much as I'll miss it here, I'm at go, here's hoping I'm ready and set.

On the Road Again

Just a little update/warning to everyone subscribed that this blog is going to be back in action, for the time being at least.  Some of you are on an email list so you get emails every time I update, I thought I would give you fair warning before you get barraged with updates. New news to some and old news to others, I'm heading to Indonesia in a bit, leaving 3 weeks from yesterday.  I'm working for a small private consulting firm/NGO until the beginning of December. I'm working on a final evaluation of the tsunami response programs implemented by an INGO (international non-governmental organization), and I'm working on a literature/desk review for about a month from home, and will then be in Banda Aceh, Indonesia for about 5 weeks collecting data and then contributing to the final report.  Banda Aceh is in Northern Sumatra and is run relatively independently of the rest of Indonesia, operating under Sharia law. To the right there's a link to news updates about Banda Aceh if you'd like to learn more. I'll give more updates as I have them, but thought I'd get back into the habit of blogging now. Below you'll find a poem I stumbled across that describes one side of NGO development work and it struck me as quite accurate (in some but not all development situations). Enjoy, happy fall, and thanks for reading.

The Development Set, by Ross Coggins

Excuse me, friends, I must catch my jet
I'm off to join the Development Set;
My bags are packed, and I've had all my shots
I have traveller's checks and pills for the trots!

The Development Set is bright and noble
Our thoughts are deep and our vision global;
Although we move with the better classes
Our thoughts are always with the masses.

In Sheraton Hotels in scattered nations
We damn multi-national corporations;
injustice seems easy to protest
In such seething hotbeds of social rest.

We discuss malnutrition over steaks
And plan hunger talks during coffee breaks.
Whether Asian floods or African drought,
We face each issue with open mouth.

We bring in consultants whose circumlocution
Raises difficulties for every solution --
Thus guaranteeing continued good eating
By showing the need for another meeting.

The language of the Development Set
Stretches the English alphabet;
We use swell words like "epigenetic"
"Micro", "macro", and "logarithmetic"

It pleasures us to be esoteric --
It's so intellectually atmospheric!
And although establishments may be unmoved,
Our vocabularies are much improved.

When the talk gets deep and you're feeling numb,
You can keep your shame to a minimum:
To show that you, too, are intelligent
Smugly ask, "Is it really development?"

Or say, "That's fine in practice, but don't you see:
It doesn't work out in theory!"
A few may find this incomprehensible,
But most will admire you as deep and sensible.

Development set homes are extremely chic,
Full of carvings, curios, and draped with batik.
Eye-level photographs subtly assure
That your host is at home with the great and the poor.

Enough of these verses - on with the mission!
Our task is as broad as the human condition!
Just pray god the biblical promise is true:
The poor ye shall always have with you.

Ross Coggins
"Adult Education and Development" September 1976

After a summer of clicking my heels together occasionally after multiple days of rice, beans and greens, conversations with non-english speakers and more bugbites than I could ever dream to count, I'm finally back in New York City. (Sadly?) I'm not sure that my life in New York is so exciting that all of you would care to read about it once or twice a week.