through my eyes...

I am the master of my own domain!

colleen_finn — Wed, 20 Jun 2012 23:32:00 GMT

Okay, if you're a Seinfeld fan, you know that "web domains" isn't exactly what he and Elaine were talking about, but it's a fitting title all the same.

It's been quite a journey. After six years (and over 100,000 hits!) of blogging about my travel and voluntourism adventures on World Nomads, it was time to branch out. I will always love World Nomads--they are by far the best travel insurance and travel site around (and I've tried a few)--but I wanted to spread my wings a little. It's what I do.

That said, if you've enjoyed keeping up with my travels this far, perhaps you're willing to go just a bit further. Check me out at: http://www.talesofwander.com.

Catchy, huh?

Bidding Ecuador hasta luego...

colleen_finn — Sat, 24 Sep 2011 04:48:00 GMT

The time has finally come—our last full day in Ecuador. The day after our excursion to Isla de la Plata, we flew back to Quito so we could catch a plane the following day for home. Flying from Manta to Quito is a difference of over 9000 feet, which takes a bit of acclimatizing. However, rather than spend the day relaxing, we decided to go a bit higher and check out Volcan Pichincha, an active volcano that is part of a range called the "Avenue of Volcanoes," which contains the highest volcanoes in the world. Volcan Pichincha borders the west side of Quito and stands at 15,695 feet in elevation. To get there, we hopped aboard the TeleferiQo, which is a gondola that takes you to a height of about 13,300 feet. At this height, the views of the volcanoes in the distance and the city below are truly breathtaking. Although we started off too late to make it to Pichincha's summit by dark, we hiked along a ridge for several hours and made it to the base of its rocky peak at 14,750 feet—my highest hike to date (but not David's highest by a long shot). It was a great last day to a wonderful trip.

And this brings us to the present. As I write this entry, I'm aboard one of the flights from which I was mysteriously canceled (I was mysteriously canceled from two, even though the airline had already issued me boarding passes for both flights). This is after we discovered that the airline saw fit to add a layover to our itinerary without notifying us—and don't even get me started on how they lost David's bag on his way into Quito. Flying is its own special challenge (especially on Continental Airlines, I find), but is even more frustrating when you can compare it to a flight that you just took in another country—a developing country, I might add—and that flight went smoothly and seemed a million times less complicated.

It seems the ongoing theme of this trip has been 'challenges,' but I am happy to say that each one turned out well in the end. Being alone in my volunteer placement was tough, but the work was still immensely rewarding. Trying to learn a new sport while overcoming a phobia was challenging, but my kiteboarding lessons were still fruitful, incredibly fun, and left me inspired to continue to work at it. And the repeated mishaps with the airline will still eventually bring us back home. I guess if there is one thing that I've learned from traveling the world, it's that nothing turns out exactly the way you expected, so if you approach it with that expectation, then it's easier to learn and grow from the challenges that present themselves. The alternative—allowing the challenges to overcome you, leaving you angry and bereft of the ability to find enjoyment—just doesn't seem like an option.

As always, I appreciate you traveling with me and sharing the highs and lows of my experiences. Until next time...

Whales, boobies, and sea turtles (oh my!)...

colleen_finn — Tue, 20 Sep 2011 13:55:00 GMT

After enjoying a week playing on the beach and in the surf, we opted to spend our last day on Ecuador's coast in Puerto Lopez, a sleepy fishing town about two hours south of Manta. It wasn't really the town we were interested in, but a trip to Isla de la Plata ("Silver Island"). Isla de la Plata is an island 90 minutes from the mainland (by a very fast boat) and is known around these parts as the "Poor Man's Galapagos." Despite this name, we elected to visit the island less because of financial reasons and more because of timing (the Galapagos Islands require more of a time commitment than we had available on this trip, and we opted to spend that time playing on the beach). Isla de la Plata seemed like a good compromise, and according to my guide book, is a "reasonably accurate facsimile of one of the Galapagos islands." It's also home to several bird species, including blue-footed boobies, red-footed boobies, frigate birds, and albatross.

Given my long history with sea sickness, I was a little nervous about the boat ride, but after taking tablets well in advance, I found it to be surprisingly enjoyable. About an hour into the journey, there was a thrum of excitement on the boat—the captain had spotted a pod of humpback whales in the distance. Everyone quickly agreed to postpone our arrival to the island for a chance to see these beautiful creatures. After the boat circled around to approach the pod from a better angle, we settled in and waited, rocking to-and-fro with the waves. Soon thereafter, there was an audible intake of breath from all aboard. Fins broke the water's surface as these large, but supremely graceful creatures undulated just beneath. Then, we spotted a pair of fins rising and falling as two whales rolled their bodies in tandem, making it look as though they were not swimming, but dancing a carefully choreographed underwater ballet. And then there was a collective gasp—a whale took a glorious leap skyward, momentarily joining us in the open air. This entire sequence repeated several times, leaving us all breathless.

I believe everyone would have been satisfied with the trip after this unexpected delight, but we finally moved on toward our intended destination. As we disembarked from the boat to set foot upon the beach of Isla de la Plata, I took note of several species of birds that were immediately in sight—frigate birds flying high above, and curious mockingbirds and Darwin's Finches landing nearby to check us out. The bird I most wanted to see, however, was the blue-footed boobie. We didn't have to wait long, for just after 15 minutes of hiking, we came upon the first boobies—a mating pair with the male nesting upon newly laid eggs. Shortly thereafter, we couldn't avoid these birds if we tried. It was surprising how unconcerned they were with our presence, especially considering that they live on a deserted island surrounded only by other wildlife and the occasional daily visit from small groups of tourists. Some of the birds even built their nest directly on the hiking path and made no effort to move as we drew near—and why should they? This is their island, not ours—so I was pleased to see that we were forced to avoid them and not the other way around.

After hiking for a few hours and seeing more birds than I could have hoped for, we returned to the boat to make our way back to the mainland. Just as we all reboarded, we spotted sea turtles paddling around the boat (and hoping for some food, no doubt). Seeing them was a lovely end to a lovely day.

Kiteboarding days 1 through 4...

colleen_finn — Sun, 18 Sep 2011 23:16:00 GMT

There are challenges, and there are challenges. For example, not speaking the language is a challenge. Learning a new sport while trying to overcome a phobia that I've had since childhood is an entirely different challenge.

I mentioned in my first entry for this trip that I was looking forward to my first kiteboarding lesson. For those of you who are not sure what kiteboarding is, it's basically surfing with a very large, inflatable kite. Your feet are attached to a board and you hold on to the kite as it harnesses the power of the wind to move you along the water. Lucky for me, kiteboarding is a sport that David used to teach. It also happens that Ecuador has a well-known kite beach and a consistent flow of wind (as opposed to the strong, gusty wind that you get in places like Hood River, OR). I've watched some kite surfing and thought it looked like an incredible amount of fun, but the problem is that I have a wee phobia of open water. In truth, the phobia has greatly improved since I do make an effort to overcome it, but it hasn't improved enough to stop myself from hyperventilating (just a little) when the surf gets in my face. So here's how the kiteboarding part of our trip is going...

Day 1: We caught a ride to the main kite beach (Santa Marianita) with the owner of the business from whom we've rented a harness. The ride to the beach is pretty sketchy—the highway is being repaved in several spots, so it's about two parts paved road to one part dirt, and there's no real transition between the two (Ecuador being a less litigious country than our own, there seem to be fewer attempts to make accommodations for you). With the hills that you have to traverse and sparse population, the beach town feels remote—like a rare jewel that has yet to be discovered. The beach itself is lined with several sun-bleached bamboo and straw cabanas that offer kite lessons, kite rentals, and food—the things that a kiteboarder really needs.

For my first lesson, we focused on keeping the kite aloft and steady. Before this trip, I had practiced with a training kite, but a training kite is much smaller than the real thing, so it took some time to get used to the power of the larger kite. I tried to get into the surf, but the shorebreak is so strong at this beach that I quickly went into hyperventilation mode. Ugh.

Day 2: Body dragging. Dear god, that sounds like something I shouldn't be doing. Thankfully, I didn't have to do it alone. This time, we stayed at the beach at our own hotel where the shorebreak is less forceful and I could feel a bit less freaked out by the waves. Since I was still feeling skittish by the water, David managed the kite while I dragged behind him. I was relieved to discover it was a lot of fun.

In the kiting world, there's something called "the walk of shame." This is when you, as a newbie, don't have the skill to kite upwind to return to your launch site, so you land the kite on the beach, and then return to the launch on foot while carrying the kite behind you. While I can see why this might seem shameful, I can think of something equally shameful. Such as not minding the high/low tide and losing the beach you need to walk on to return to the hotel. Yes, this happened to us and we were forced to leave the beach and walk through town—all while in full gear: helmet, life jacket, harness, and neoprene suits. Walking through town is not as direct a route, so it took twice as long, during which time we received many curious looks and several honks from passing taxis—because if anyone ever looked like they needed a taxi, it was surely us.

Day 3: More bodydragging. Lots of fun.

Day 4: As we've been so focused on my lessons, I'm insisting that David take a day to surf without me. So, for today, he will ride the waves while I brave the blowing sand within a little makeshift cabana (a little covered structure on the beach).

David tells me that there are two kinds of lessons that he used to teach: dinner lessons and dessert lessons. Most of the time, clients only wanted dessert so he skipped ahead to the fun part, but in so doing, they didn't learn the basics involved in dinner; such as running the kite lines, attaching them to the kite, inflating the kite, launching and landing, etc. Given my skittishness, I am the perfect candidate to have dinner first. So far, I've learned all of those things, and I've even taken a nibble of my dessert course. However, I can see that my need to feel secure about everything will mean I'll need several more lessons before I can truly devour the dessert. So, perhaps on my next trip I will be able to report that I rode the waves on my board. For now, I am quite content with what I've learned.

Exploring Quito and Otavalo...

colleen_finn — Tue, 13 Sep 2011 11:30:00 GMT

Can you believe that on my very last night at my volunteer placement two new volunteers arrived? Just my luck. But it's time to look forward, for now that my volunteer work has come to an end for this trip, the rest of the vacation begins. This is another thing that is different about this trip—normally, my trips end with volunteer work. Beginning with volunteer work definitely has a different feel to it.

After my volunteer work, David arrived (yay!) and we spent our time exploring Old Town Quito, which is a UNESCO World Heritage site because of its restored colonial architecture that dates back to the 1500s. Afterward, we headed to a nearby town called Otavalo, which is about two hours outside of Quito. It was nice to see the countryside and spend time in a less hectic environment—it was also a treat to avail ourselves of what the Otavalenians are most known for: their handicrafts (particularly their weavings). It is because of their skills that the Otavelenians are able to maintain a higher standard of living than all other indigenous people in the country.

So far, much of what I've seen of Ecuador reminds me strongly of Peru for obvious reasons (Ecuador borders Peru), but also for less obvious reasons. For example, I didn't realize how closely the histories of the two countries were intermingled. In fact, Quito was an Incan stronghold until the Spanish conquistadores arrived in the 1500s and subsequently conquered the Incas. After that, Ecuador was considered a "province" of Peru and ruled by the Spaniards from a governing body in Lima. It wasn't until several centuries later (and after switching hands from Peru to Columbia) that Ecuador was finally liberated from Spanish rule. In addition to the Incan connection, Ecuador and Peru share indigenous roots with Quechuan (which is spelled Quichua in Ecuador), making up the vast majority of the indigenous population in both countries.

Suffice it to say that being in Ecuador feels a lot like deja vu. It reminds me so strongly of my time teaching English in Pumamarca—the little mountain village outside of Cuzco—that It feels like the five years that has passed since my Peruvian adventure was only five minutes, and being in Quito is just a continuation of a long thread.

Off to Manta in the morning for some sun, ocean, and maybe even some sightings of the famed blue-footed booby...

Saying Adios to the students of Ayudamos a Vivir...

colleen_finn — Sun, 11 Sep 2011 09:07:00 GMT

Today was my last day at the school, which completes the first phase of my Ecuadorian vacation. We had a special program complete with dancing, food, and a puppet show. A visitor came by the school to see the facility and observe the students. She engaged me in conversation and I was able to speak well with her in Spanish until finally we reached a point where I faltered in my understanding. I confessed that my Spanish was not very good. Her response was that at the school, it doesn't need to be good. She is so right. More than words, the students understand a smile, a hug, kisses, and affection. In those things, I am fluent.

Language. Or lenguaje, if you prefer. If you don't speak the native tongue, then language is always a challenge with every volunteer job. As I mentioned before, it was more of a challenge for me this time because I was alone in my struggle, staying with a Spanish-speaking family and working in a Spanish-speaking school with no other volunteers. But this assignment served as a potent reminder (because I seem to require constant reminding) that there are many things that transcend language, and those things communicate far more effectively than the spoken word.

After I helped load up the students for the last time, I bade them all farewell. Vanessa and I shared a last hug, Hernan reached out for a last high five, and Dario gave me a final kiss on the cheek. And today, Francisco called me his friend.

Mis amigos especiales...

colleen_finn — Fri, 9 Sep 2011 07:37:00 GMT

It's inevitable that I have my favorites. It happens every time and there's no rhyme or reason to it. I have several this time, but I think the most special is Vanessa, who I've already mentioned. She's mentally sharp, but trapped in a body contorted by muscular dystrophy. Early in the week, Vanessa and I had a bonding moment when I was assigned to help her during a hydrotherapy session. I clumsily removed her clothes (which are always nicely matched), put on her pretty red and white polka-dotted bikini with the frilly bottoms, and then gently placed her in the water and held her while her therapist encouraged her to move her legs. While I spoke some words of support, I used one arm to keep her from slipping under, and the other to pour handfuls of water on her exposed shoulders to keep her warm. Between handfuls, I gently caressed her back, which is curved as though a snake were slithering under her skin. That unnatural curve would be a hard thing to see in anyone, but even more so in Vanessa's tiny body, every inch of which seems to have twisted to accommodate her meandering spine. Vanessa's body, combined with the water and my inexperience, resulted in a few clumsy moments, but she was patient with me. After that bath, I think Vanessa saw a kindred spirit in me as well, for every time I drew near, she would reach a weak, pinched hand up to mine and hold it with her delicate fingers. Vanessa es mi amiga especial.

Another of my favorites is, of course, Francisco. As I mentioned before, he and his twin brother are usually in their own world and don't engage very much, except to utter their favorite word, and perform their little mimes. Genuine engagement only seems to happen on their own terms. Francisco enjoys the little visual game of hide-and-seek that we play because it's something he started on his own and I just played along. If I also play along and repeat his favorite word (the non-sensical "camishu") and use it in a sentence, his face lights up and he gets very animated. I imagine him thinking to himself, "Finally, someone who understands!" The other day, I was watching over some of the students who were awaiting their therapy. One of the students, Andres, was trying to leave the room and getting quite upset at me for blocking the door to prevent him. Francisco, who normally doesn't engage unless he initiates it, came protectively to my side and put his arm around my waist, as though to help me block the way from Andres, but also to protect me from Andres' growing hysteria. Francisco stood there patiently with me, the two of us united until Andres' episode subsided. Francisco's first day at the school was the same as mine and I've seen him every day since—it was the first time I've seen him do something like that.

I cherish these special moments. It's what keeps me going when I feel tired, overwhelmed, or just isolated because I'm the only volunteer. Yes, this particular volunteer job has been challenging, but it has also been worthwhile. The unique challenge of this job made it special, and it was the challenge that made the special moments stand out so vividly.

Un dia en la vida...

colleen_finn — Thu, 8 Sep 2011 04:02:00 GMT

The neighbor's rooster is confused. Muy confundido. At 1:30 in the god-forsaken morning, he begins notifying all within earshot that dawn is at hand—a full 3.5 hours before the first rays of sun make their timid appearance. Soon after, the neighborhood's dogs join in the fray and a night of restful sleep is lost to the cacophony. Earplugs help, but not much. I'm surprised that the rooster hasn't found himself in a pot. I might be the one to do it if only I knew more about the legalities of throttling a neighbor's rooster.

After a fitful night of sleep, I peel myself out of bed to start my day. There's no water in the house. An inconsistent supply of water is a reminder that I'm not at home. I have coffee from water I filtered the night before, and then begin the three-mile journey to the school. With Quito being over 9000 feet in altitude, three miles feels more like thirteen—but it gets a little easier each day. And did I mention the walk is uphill? Oh yes, the walk is most certainly uphill.

When I arrive at the school, I help the staff unload the students from two old minibuses that say "Niños Especiales" in white stickered letters on the back. They really are special children. Hernan is thrilled to see me and gives me a big hug and high-five, and then Dario gives me a kiss. Many of the students are generous with their affection, and the one good thing about being the only volunteer is that I don't have to share my hugs and kisses. After the kids get situated, they all disperse to their respective classes or therapy. I usually assist in therapy because that's where they seem to need the most help. Chubby little Marlo, who is one of our youngest, is crying alone in one of the therapy rooms. Since I arrived, Marlo spends each day crying or asleep—the therapist tells me it's a part of his condition. Marlo makes me sad. Imagine spending each day that way, not really understanding the world around you (or perhaps understanding too well), and crying until you are relieved by your slumber. I can only hope that his dreams make him happy. Hugs and affection only make him cry harder, so I usually wait until he's nearly exhausted himself before I try to rub his back. This seems to soothe him a little before he falls asleep.

I am rounding up the students for therapy and see the new nameless boy (whose name, we discovered, is Francisco) by the railing and I begin talking to him. An identical boy comes up to join us. Turns out Francisco has a twin and I had been talking to his brother, Sebastian. The two of them are perfectly identical, right down to the same mental disability—they're both in their own little world. So far, I haven't seen them speak to anyone, but they do seem to have their own language. Now that I know who's who, I can tell which one is Franciso because he often says "camishu" and makes little hand gestures to go with it. Francisco has his own special word and hand gestures. I asked if the words they say mean anything and was told they don't. Francisco and Sebastian happily wander about and will mimic anything you do with their handsome little half smile. At different points throughout the day, Francisco and I play a little game in which he stares at me and I pretend not to notice. Then, I catch him looking and make a face at him. He smiles broadly, then looks away quickly as though it never happened. And then it starts all over again.

After therapy is lunch and I help the staff feed the students who can't feed themselves. I feed Mateo spoonfuls of eggs and rice. Mateo seems perpetually happy, despite having cerebral palsy. Many of the students have special dietary needs, so eat different meals. Next to me is tiny Roni, who must be fed from a tube. I met his mother yesterday and was heartened to see her obvious affection for her son. That's one thing I love about this assignment: last year I worked with disabled kids that were abandoned at an orphanage, while this year I get to work with disabled kids that are cared for by their families. A few of them don't get quite the care they need at home, but at least they're in a school that can help them.

After lunch is another 90 minutes of class and therapy. I help Lisbeth with her balance on the parallel bars and encourage two other students to keep pedaling on their stationary bicycles. After Lisbeth finishes each "lap" on the bars, she gets excited and gives me a big hug. And then the school day ends. Feeling exhausted but content by a day's work, I help roll the wheelchair-bound students to the entrance to be loaded on to their buses. In a show of farewell, Hernan reaches for my hand and gives me a huge smile. Javel hands me a flower that he´s picked for me. Francisco, with his hands stuffed in his pockets, steals a few more playful glances at me and quickly looks away. I affectionately rub his shoulders, bid him 'hasta manana,' and then depart through the heavy steel gate.

Hay uno solamente...

colleen_finn — Tue, 6 Sep 2011 03:54:00 GMT

This is going to be a challenge.

This is my fifth volunteer trip. Of those five, only twice did I actually do the job for which I applied. It's funny how that works, but it's yet another instance in which you must 'go with the flow.' Well this time, the 'flow' took me away from the orphanage to which I applied and toward a government-subsidized school for the disabled. But that isn't the challenging part. After all, I enjoy working with people and the time I spent last year working with disabled orphans in Vietnam prepared me for this. And although I tend to shy away from volunteering at organizations when there's so much as a *sniff* of government about, that isn't the challenging part, either. I look at it this way: it's not an actual government facility and I've worked in organizations that were in tremendous need of government support and never received it, so I'm happy to know that the Ecuadorian government subsidizes such things. I will gladly support it as long as the facility is clean, well run, and clearly cares for those who are in their charge, and this facility is all of those things. From what I can tell, the only thing it's lacking is other volunteers. And that, mi amigos, finally brings us to the challenging part.

It has been my experience that when you volunteer with organizations that specialize in placing foreigners, you stay with other international volunteers and have access to a volunteer coordinator who can answer your questions. When the coordinator isn't available (which is often), the other volunteers help you learn the ins-and-outs of the placement. This time around, although I do have the coordinator, I don't have the other volunteers. I am staying at the home of a lovely family that lives about three miles from the school. This family regularly takes in volunteers for the organization and has separate quarters that can house several more of us, but for whatever reason (low season, scheduling, whatever), I am the only one here. And to make this even more challenging, with the exception of the volunteer coordinator (with whom I have limited contact, mind you), no one—not one member of the family, nor una persona at the school—speaks English. And my Spanish is oh-so-rusty. In fact, I haven't practiced the language since I volunteered in Peru five years ago, and even then my job was to teach English, so I didn't practice as much as I would've liked.

Ay de mi!

Don't get me wrong. It's not as though I expect the people who live and work here to know my language (I'm in their country, after all), it's just that normally the language barrier is mitigated by other volunteers who are fair to fluent in English. So far, with my limited Espanol, I've gathered this much: the school where I am volunteering is called El Fundacion de Ayudamos a Vivir (literally translated, it means the "Help them to live" foundation) and has about thirty students whose families bus them there each day to receive specialized care that includes some schooling, but also includes cognitive and physical therapy. The school's staff includes a psychologist and several physical therapists and aides. The students themselves range in ages from 7 to 24 years and suffer from a variety of disabilites, including cerebral palsy, muscular dystrophy, Down's Syndrome, and mental retardation. Some students are highly functional physically, but not mentally, such as the new boy that arrived today who refused to divulge his name, no matter how hard the psychologist or I tried to coax it from him. Others are highly functional mentally, but not physically, such as Vanessa, who suffers from muscular dystrophy and can't control her body, but who understands every word you say to her.

Yes, this will be a challenge. But as challenges go, I suppose I've experienced worse. And while I'm feeling extremely isolated at the moment, at least everyone here is friendly and welcoming, even if our conversations are superficial and brief due to my rusty Spanish. Speaking of which, I suppose I should focus on my studying right now, lest I have nothing else to say to these lovely people for the remainder of my stay...

Buenos dias from Quito

colleen_finn — Sun, 4 Sep 2011 08:09:00 GMT

It's been a stressful summer at home. When I travel, I often feel "ready" for a vacation , but I don't recall ever feeling quite as desperate for time away as I have before this trip. Here's a little story to illustrate just how much I've cracked under pressure lately. Recently, I was at the gym working out. A gym employee and another member (both of whom are Really Buff Dudes) begin arguing within earshot. I'm annoyed that they have the gall to interrupt my workout, but I try to stay focused on my third set of lunges. They're still arguing during my squats and I finally snap. I turn around and angrily tell them both to "chill out" and "shut up!" They did, but it wasn't exactly my proudest moment. And all this happened right before I headed off to my yoga class, mind you. Ohh, the irony.

Yes, it's been stressful. And while traveling is stressful for many people (and even for me, at times), it has become my oasis. Even being at the airport--with its tedious security stops, mounting fees, and overpriced coffee--feels like a welcome reminder that I am on my way to somewhere.

Ecuador, take me away.

In my brain, that sentence takes on a dreamy quality, like the "Calgon" commercials from yesteryear in which an overworked mother washes away her stress with a bubblebath full of water softener. (Yes, I realize I'm dating myself right now, but I'm beyond caring about that at the moment.)

But I digress. So, what am I doing in Ecuador, you ask? Last year, I enjoyed my experience volunteering at an orphanage so much that I decided to do that again this year. In fact, it's an organization that I committed to volunteer with several years ago the first time I planned to visit Ecuador. Sadly, that trip was canceled due to a medical issue, but I am here now, a bit late for duty, but better late than never. After my time volunteering, David (you might remember him from my Israel trip) will meet me here in Quito for some sightseeing, after which we'll fly off to Manta for sun, sand, and water sports. I'm hoping to have my first actual kiteboarding lesson, wind permitting. We shall see.

Stay tuned...

Photos: Ecuador

colleen_finn — Fri, 19 Aug 2011 05:58:00 GMT

All photos taken by Colleen Finn

Leaving the land of Eretz Yisrael...

colleen_finn — Wed, 30 Mar 2011 09:04:00 GMT

A day late and several hundred dollars short, we finally prepare to leave the ancient land of Eretz Yisrael, the land of Judea and Samaria, home to seemingly opposing religions and nationalities that have more in common than anyone cares to admit. As I was writing my entries on this trip, I intended to eventually address politics because Israel is a place where you simply can't avoid it (especially when politically charged attacks happen while you're there); however, every time I tried to write, I found my words sounding like a gross oversimplification of some very complicated issues. As a result, I finally abandoned the attempt. It's probably just as well since religion and politics are intricately bound here, and some may say that an agnostic is an unfair judge on matters of religion. As an agnostic, it’s easy for me to declare that no one truly has a right to land. Aside from a belief that we should attempt to preserve historical sites for everyone equally, I have no position on who-has-rights-to-what. My only steadfast beliefs on this topic are: a) all life is precious, and b) we all have an equal right to live freely and with dignity. My fervent hope is that the people involved in Israel's conflicts can eventually resolve their issues with as much grace as possible, honoring life and the rights of all individuals involved.

Aside from politics, one of the things that impressed itself upon me throughout this trip is how the threat of conflict shapes a culture. Israel is certainly not unique in this, but perhaps it was more obvious to me because some of that conflict occurred during my visit, and also because so much of the infrastructure that is visible to a foreigner seems to be based upon a simple fact of life: peace is fragile. Because the people in this part of the world know this all too well, there are multiple security checkpoints throughout the country, bomb disposal containers in high-risk areas, armed IDF soldiers at every turn, and security checks just to enter a mall coffee shop to buy a cappuccino. At any moment, an innocent-looking suitcase can be left at a bus stop and explode. At any moment, rockets can be fired into someone else's territory. And life goes on. Part of that life may be complicated and fraught with conflict, but part of that life is also incredibly beautiful: a lovely young woman celebrating her Bat Mitzvah, a family rejoicing in an opportunity to be together, people of all kinds worshiping in the ways of their beliefs, and a breathtaking landscape infused with history, and enhanced by the different cultures that live upon it.

As always, I feel grateful that I've had the opportunity to visit this place, but I am especially grateful to David and his family for making it such a rich and memorable experience.

Thanks for sharing the journey. Until the next trip...

On human rights and missing flights...

colleen_finn — Tue, 29 Mar 2011 09:10:00 GMT

After my first attempt at surfing and a fun day of paddle boarding, the last day of our trip arrived. That evening, I had the pleasure of meeting an old friend of David's who used to live in the U.S., but now makes Israel his home. This friend is a peace activist and the founder of a non-profit organization called Human Nation, which promotes a humanist approach to the problems that divide the people. The conversation that evening was an interesting blend of reminiscing and an overview of Israel's issues. After reading so much about Israel's political and religious history, it was refreshing to hear a perspective that was not focused on religion, but instead on practical approaches that honor human rights for all parties involved.

The next morning, we prepared for our flight home and something unique happened—something that has never happened to me in my entire travel history. After boarding the wrong train on our way to the airport, we missed our flight. (Note to future travelers: the trains are not as well marked as you might expect!) We corrected our mistake as quickly as we could, but the time lost got us to the airport too late to check in for our flight. The only other flight leaving that day was overbooked, so we had no choice but to stay another day. Damn, another day of vacation. It doesn't sound so bad, except that with airline fees, that extra day was the most expensive day of our entire trip. We decided to make the most of it and spent our last, last day in Old Jaffa, a part of Tel Aviv that we had missed because we focused so much of our time on the beach. We spent a lovely day exploring the old town, popping into art galleries, and enjoying the sunshine. It could have been worse.

Making our way to Tel Aviv...

colleen_finn — Mon, 28 Mar 2011 17:49:00 GMT

After leaving Jerusalem, we headed into Palestinian territory as we made our way through Jericho and north to Galilee. We had an interesting (but not unpleasant) experience at a checkpoint when we were "randomly selected" for a full car search, complete with mirrors to check underneath the vehicle for bombs. I suspect the recent bombing in Jerusalem has something to do with that, but I understand it is also the checkpoint's proximity to the Jordanian border. Regardless, on that day, their "random" searches seemed to be targeting foreigners.

David made arrangements for us to stay at a permaculture farm in a moshav. Traditionally, a moshav is a small agricultural settlement where all residents contribute in some way to the community. The permaculture farm, Yarok Az, is run by a very tall, very buff ex-IDF security guard who used to protect the Prime Minister (the chef at a nearby restaurant referred to him as an Israeli "James Bond"). Now, he just trains IDF soldiers and runs his farm, which has goats, rabbits, chickens, various types of produce, and two cozy geodisic domes with wood-burning fireplaces that are available for lodging. Surprisingly, we actually needed the fireplace because we were hit with a massive thunderstorm which unleashed itself just as we arrived in the area. We were treated to the deafening sounds of rain crashing upon the dome, punctuated by occasional blasts of thunder and flashes of lightning.

After the farm experience, we headed to the town of Safed (or Zefat, depending on which map you consult), which is an old artist town near the Sea of Galilee. Here, we met up with David's family one last time to share Shabbat with them before making our way to Akko—a city known for its fortress ruins that date back to the Crusader period—and then finally to Tel Aviv, where we will relax, enjoy the beach, and where I will have my first surf lesson, courtesy of David (who happens to be a talented all-around sportsman). I understand that some of the rockets launched by the Palestinians in the latest Gaza attacks have reached as far as the southern part of Tel Aviv, so we're thankful that we're staying a little further north. To see people carry on with their lives here, you'd think Gaza was on another continent instead of only 44 miles away. It makes me wonder how we would react if something similar happened so near to our own homes. I can't help but think that things would be a bit more, I don't know, frenzied. I find the whole thing perplexing, but I can only assume that I'm missing something because I'm a foreigner. Or perhaps this is simply a byproduct of living in a country that is in a state of constant conflict. Maybe the fact that I find this noteworthy says more about me than it does about Israel.

Mazel Tov!

colleen_finn — Sat, 26 Mar 2011 20:10:00 GMT

Today is the day of Tiferet's (David's niece) Bat Mitzvah, which is being held at the family's synagogue in Ma'aleh Adumim, where they live. Ma'aleh Adumim is in an Israeli territory just outside of Jerusalem. In Israel, the term "territory" is the preferred term to describe contested land currently occupied by Israelis. Ma'aleh Adumim is in an area of Israel that we know as the West Bank.

Many people have heard of Bar Mitzvahs, which are celebrated when a Jewish boy reaches the age of 13; but they are less familiar with its female equivalent, the Bat Mitzvah, which is celebrated when a girl reaches the age of 12. Both celebrations are big events in the life of Jewish youth because they commemorate the age at which the girl or boy accepts the commandments and must abide by Jewish law (prior to this age, the parents are responsible for them).

This is the first Bat Mitzvah that I've had the honor to attend, so I was eager to see what it was like. To the unknowing eye, it looks like a wedding reception. At the entry of the synogogue's reception hall, a table is set up with an album for guest signatures and a basket for gifts. A photograher busily snaps photos of Tiferet, who looks beautiful in a lace turquoise dress with matching glitter in her hair. Soon, guests begin to trickle in, all dressed for a party—women and girls in their dresses, and men and boys in their dress shirts and yarmulkes. A few young boys Tiferet's age look subdued in the wake of all the girls, but they hold their own.

Food is an important part of any Jewish celebration, and this is no exception. The guests soon begin to gather around heavily laden tables to partake of a delicious kosher meal that includes soup, bread, quiches, vegetables, hummus, pasta with cream sauces...even sushi, courtesy of Tiferet's brother Natik. All of the food is vegetarian because to be kosher, you can have either meat or dairy at a meal, but not both at the same time. Israeli music provides the background as the sounds of talking, laughing, and eating fill the air. Although this is a traditional Orthodox gathering, it is also thoroughly modern—a few girls huddle together to giggle over a text or share a tube of lip gloss, and the glow of the iPhone oracle occasionally makes an appearance. Even a traditional brass menorrah in the corner of the room has energy efficient bulbs.

As the feasting winds down, Pam, Tiferet's mother, stands in front of the microphone to address Tiferet and give her a blessing, followed by Tiferet's father, Yehuda, who does the same. Then, Tiferet rises and performs a selection of both modern and classical tunes on the piano, including Mozart's Turkish Rondo and a lively rendition of The Entertainer. Her piano teacher sits nearby nodding and following along with the music, listening to her pupil with a mindful ear. After the performance, a group of Tiferet's friends perform a song for her, and then the dancing begins.

In an Orthodox group, boys and girls are typically separated during the dancing. As a result, a partition goes up to separate the dance floor into equal parts. When the live music begins, the girls fill the dance floor, exuberantly dancing to the music as the photographer surveys the room looking for his next shot. There are fewer boys at this particular gathering, so as the dancing progresses, the partition that separates the sexes mysteriously inches out farther and farther to make room for the girls, and soon the boys are relegated to a small space near the kitchen. The partition is largely symbolic, so boys eventually abandon their paltry dance floor to sit and watch the girls.

The dancing eventually winds down as guests disperse to feast on cake and ice cream before they depart. They laugh and chatter amongst themselves and an exhausted Bat Mitzvah girl heaves a sigh of contentment. A few groups of giggling girls, full of sugar-fueled energy, hang around outside chatting and laughing, unwilling for the evening to end.

And that's the Bat Mitzvah—fun, food, music, laughter, and dance. A lovely (and lively) party to celebrate an important coming of age in a young Jewish girl's life.

All is well with us in Israel...

colleen_finn — Fri, 25 Mar 2011 02:14:00 GMT

Perhaps I spoke too soon when I wrote in my last post that the level of danger and safety feels like any other country in this part of the world. Yesterday afternoon a bombing outside the Central Bus Station (which is near our hotel) killed a British woman and injured 45 others. I'm sad for the woman who lost her life and for all those who were injured, but I am grateful there weren't more casualties. I also realize that there are attacks going on between the Israelis and Palestinians in the Gaza strip right now. At the moment we are nowhere near there. There is heightened security throughout the country, but at this point, we are relatively unaffected by current events. Let's hope it stays that way.

For what it's worth, I don't think I would take back what I said regarding feeling safe—I still feel safe. I guess I look at it this way: violence happens all over the world every day, even back home. I would still rather experience the world for myself than see it through someone else's lens. Anyhow, these topics are receiving a lot of coverage in the news here, so I thought I better post a quickie to let everyone know that everything is just fine with us. More to come...

Exploring the Old City...

colleen_finn — Thu, 24 Mar 2011 07:28:00 GMT

We've had the pleasure of doing a lot with David's family while we've been here. Last night we celebrated the birthday of his eldest niece, Seri, and the night before David's sister graciously invited me to attend her 50th birthday party. It was a women's-only party because dancing was involved and women who are Jewish Orthodox are not comfortable dancing in the presence of men (it's just as well since my dance moves would've been a lot more excruciating if done in front of a larger group). A dance instructor was there to lead the women in Israeli dances, which was a real treat, despite the fact that my weak attempts to follow along rendered my dance moves unrecognizable.

Our time here hasn't all been family time, of course. Today David and I returned to the Old City to see it by daylight and enjoy the freshly rainwashed yellow-hued Jerusalem stone that seems to be a part of every building in the city. The most popular gate in which to enter the Old City is the Jaffa Gate, which is also where you'll find a modern row of cafes and shops, some of which are local chains, but others are shops with which we are well familiar, such as The Gap, Nike, and Columbia Sportswear (go Portland!). The juxtaposition of modern capitalism and an ancient city that encloses one of the most important (and most contested) land in the religious world is a bit too stark to put into words.

We started by visiting the Temple Mount. If conflict arises in the Old City, it is likely centered in this area. Since Christian, Jews, and Muslims each share the same fundamental scriptures within the Bible, Torah, and the Koran, they each stake a claim on this land. The fact that Jews do not recognize Jesus as the Messiah and Muslims view Jesus as a prophet makes little difference, because each religion shares the same belief that this is the site where Abraham sacrificed his son to prove his obedience to God. Later, it also became the site of the First Temple, which was built by Solomon and destroyed by the Babylonians; as well as the Second Temple, which was rebuilt by Herod and subsequently destroyed by the Romans. Now, the Temple Mount is the platform upon which the Dome of the Rock stands (or Haram al Sharif, if you're Muslim), which is a gorgeous piece of architecture in its own right, with its well-known golden dome that is featured in many pictures of Jerusalem.

After the Temple Mount, we visited the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, which is an important part of Christianity because it's believed to be built upon the original site of Christ's crucifixion and resurrection. It is here that you can find the structure that is believed to be the tomb of Christ, as well as other important relics, including a piece of the stone that sealed Christ's tomb after the crucifixion. The inside of the church is an interesting amalgamation of several Orthodox religions (e.g., Greek, Copts, Armenians, etc) as each attempt to stake their claim to this holy site. At the time we were there, we were fortunate enough to witness a procession of Armenian Orthodox priests who ceremeniously walked into the church to pay homage to Jesus' tomb. Interestingly, just outside the church is a large, round contraption made of thick steel—these things can be found around the old city, and I'm told they are used to blow up abandoned items when they are found (such as backpacks), lest they contain bombs. With so many groups attempting to stake claims upon various parts of this ancient place, I suppose you cannot be too careful.

Overall, however, I should say that I feel surprisingly safe here. It's true that you are surrounded by evidence of a country in constant conflict—checkpoints, the armed IDF soldiers, etc.—but to me, the level of danger and safety feels like other countries I've visited in this part of the world. Of course, I also realize that part of the reason it feels this way to me is because I'm a foreigner and don't notice or experience everything in the same way. I am also not a Palestinian, for whom Israel is a vastly different experience. I suppose I will have to dive more into politics a bit later, but for now, I will leave it at that.

Photos: Israel

colleen_finn — Mon, 21 Mar 2011 23:42:00 GMT

All photos taken by Colleen Finn

Experiencing 'lots'...

colleen_finn — Mon, 21 Mar 2011 23:38:00 GMT

I think many travelers know what a treat it is to experience, first hand, how a culture celebrates a holiday—even if it isn't a holiday that is celebrated by your own religion or home country. As luck would have it, we've arrived in Israel just in time for Purim, a colorful Jewish holiday that seems to have the the best of all holidays rolled into one. Purim (which is Hebrew for "lots") commemorates the deliverance of the Jewish people from extermination, the story of which told in the Book of Esther in the Hebrew Bible. According to the story, Haman, a Prime Minister of Persia in the 5th century BCE, drew lots to determine the date upon which all of the Jews in his kingdom would be murdered. His plan was foiled by Esther and her cousin, Mordecai—and instead Haman, his sons, and 75,000 of the Jews' enemies were killed.

Those who celebrate the holiday do so by attending synagogue to hear a raucous reading of the Book of Esther (I'm told that people bring noise makers to drown out the name of Haman when it's spoken during the story), dress up in costumes, enjoy celebratory meal and drink, give gifts of charity, and exchange food and candy. It's because of the costumes and candy that many people compare the holiday to Halloween. While I can see why this comparison is made, I think Halloween pales to the richness of Purim, not only because there seems to be many more layers to the Purim celebration, but also because of the historical and religious significance of the holiday. For our Purim celebration, David and I purchased small costume items so we would be properly attired, and then shared a delicious Purim meal with his family. Afterward, we took an evening walk in the older part of Jerusalem (the 'Old City') to see the Western Wall (some may remember this as the "Wailing Wall"). Despite the rain (what?! yes, rain...there had been a drought until we arrived), it was a lovely night to roam around the old city because the weather and the holiday kept many people indoors, so we were able to enjoy it without the crowds. Crowds or no, we did run into the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and isn't that what everyone expects to run into when in Jerusalem's Old City?

Shalom from Jerusalem...

colleen_finn — Mon, 21 Mar 2011 02:06:00 GMT

Here I am, in Israel at last. I've wanted to visit this country for years, but the opportunity just never arose. This is a unique trip for me for several reasons. First, I am not doing volunteer work, therefore the trip is shorter than my normal. Second, I actually have a travel companion <gasp!>, and for those who have been with me for awhile, y'all know that's a relatively rare luxury for me. It's because of this travel companion, David, that I am traveling to Israel, since he invited me to accompany him to attend his niece's Bat Mitzvah. I feel as though I've hit the travel jackpot: a wonderful destination, a more unique "local" experience, and a person who is actually willing to tolerate my company for the full duration of the trip. The travel gods are smiling down upon me.

As we made our way to Israel via several flights, I found myself musing over what a strangely familiar place the airport has become after years of traveling. When I took my first trip to travel through Europe many years ago, the airport was a place of stress—a purgatory between places. Now, I feel a sense of calm in this familiar place, as if it were a second home of sorts, a place where I can shrug off the heavy coat of my day-to-day existence and don something lighter and more fluid. It is as I was reflecting upon this serene thought, clearing my sinuses with a handful of wasabi peas, that a colorful German gentleman in a fuchsia sweater began swearing exuberantly at his laptop, his face contorting in expressions usually reserved for those who cut you off in rush hour traffic. So much for moments of serenity. I suppose just like any home, you cannot choose your neighbors.

So here we are now, in the Holy Land. When I set my agnostic (but respectfully curious) foot upon this hallowed ground, the heavens did not open up with the hand of God reaching out to smite me (smote? smeet?) down, so it appears the travel gods have intervened yet again on my behalf. We have arrived on Shabbat, the Jewish day of rest, so things are relatively quiet as observant Jews stay in their homes assiduously abiding by the commandment to keep the day holy. You might be as interested as I was to discover that although Judaism is the primary religion here with 76 percent of the population, 43 percent of that number identify themselves as secular. As a result, Israel is largely a secular country.

Anyhow, all of this rambling is my usual first-blog-entry way of saying that we have arrived at our destination safely and look forward to the adventures that await.