Being there

I've previously been very skeptical of traveling for its own sake. Why go anywhere, I wondered, when we're all fundamentally trapped inside our own heads. I've met plenty of insightful, untraveled people, and plenty of well-traveled people who seem completely unaffected by their experiences. Better to stay at home, I thought, and read up, analyze one's life, meditate, talk with friends, etc. than to journey to far-flung lands in search of something which maybe isn't there and could just as likely be found at home, especially when that home is the SF bay area.

While I can't say I've exactly changed my mind, I was surprised by the impact made by being personally transplanted into a very different reality. Sure, I'd seen photos of poverty, but actually seeing people living by the side of the road in shacks made of sticks, twine, and plastic sheeting made that life much more imaginable. When we see photos or read descriptions, why don't our minds fill in the logical details? Why don't we extrapolate from the images what it must be to smell the animal dung, to feel the dust and exhaust in our throats, to absorb the frustration, weariness, and good humor of the people living there?

Still, I was there for only a month, and as a rich American. I stayed in a well-kept pensione, ate out all the time, and got to run around talking with government officials gathering data for wind power analyses. I only saw the poverty and the idle people, and heard some complain about the overly controlling "system" which allows them no opportunities. What do I really know about living there? I noticed early in my trip that many memories long dormant were resurfacing, probably in an unconscious effort to understand the new surroundings in terms of the old. Many things reminded me of Hawaii, of Berkeley, and of Black Rock City. How much could I see what was really there?

Not all back right away

Our schedule has slowly been shifting back to Pacific Daylight. In the meanwhile, we have been able to explore our neighborhood at times of day heretofore inaccessible. A few nights ago, we got up at 3:30am and roamed the streets of North Beach and Chinatown. We followed the sound of crowing roosters to a poultry shop with live birds where someone was unloading cages to be cleaned. We had passable macaroni salad in a 24 hour coffee and donut shop. Later, we found a Vietnamese place open far past their posted 2am closing time where we had a bowl of pho. We walked by police and shop owners dealing with a smashed window. The guys in the foccacia bakery were having some sort of argument, and I could certainly sympathize with being cranky that early. By the time we rounded Washington Square park the last time, the sky was getting brighter and a few old Chinese women had come out to start their morning exercise routines.

Back

I got back from Asmara yesterday evening and stayed up until 11pm or so to help me get back on this time zone. It seems to have worked, at least better than the adjustment in Asmara. I'll blog about my time there over the next couple weeks or so. Cheers!