Patria es Humanidad

broken silence

grifnizzle — Sat, 10 Nov 2007 11:33:00 GMT

Im not reallsy sure how to explain my silence over the last month or two, when briefing after humanitarian briefing inundated my psyche with a tangled web wherein politics somehow pretends to have jurisdiction over saving lives, myths undermine peoples' willingness to accept treatment, and NGOs with a 50 million dollar budget do governments' work. Nearly every day for some five weeks we were going to briefings from the UN convention on trade and development (UNCTAD), the UN high commissioner for refugees (UNHCR) which was a favorite of mine, Medsans du Monde, the UNDP, FOSIT--an association of NGOs alligned towards a certain set of principles, various organizations centered around migration and health, as well as homecare medical treatment. We learned about projects in Africa, designed by UNESCO in Paris, wherein teachers--among the most respected in society-- who contract HIV/AIDS teach towards its prevention, undermining the stigma against it and educating children to value safety and sexual discretion rather than promicuity. It has been projects like these that reall inspire me. We can learn about HIV/AIDS, the stigmas against it, where they come from, and general ideas about what we need to do, but examples of projects which get it done provide true education for me. and hope. I think part of this literary silence has come from some level of disenchantment and disheartenment--the natural consequence of living in the barriers to humanitarian efficacy, the hard realities of what unfolds around the world, and my opportunity to address one of them. But it has been interesting to to watch the reaction to it all by my peers. We began to fall into a rhythm...and a desensitization. Certain students began to ask predictable questions, which meant that others would make fun of him behind his back, and asking questions would become a scary affair. Experts presentations too became highly scrutinized. A briefing by a senior member of the UN Development Program began to be a drag! These briefings needed to be prepared for and processed, especially as yound americans--highly protected from the devestating realities that characterize the lives of the vast majority of the world yet eager to contribute to the alleviation therein. What do you do when youve just been shown pictures of a dog knawing in the street on the flesh of a body seared by the heat of a nearby explosion, its mushroom hovering in the background? Or kids playing football with shrapnel? or Babies heads fed tubes through beer bottles? or Muslims making concrete with potable water? Or ten year old boys holding warriors' rifles to women's heads? What do I do with that? --academically, psychologically, emotionally, and professionally? We can talk about grand "initiatives," "programmes," blueprints for growth. but this stuff continues, this stuff is what so many see and live. its all they know. and we were spared. So my question becomes, how can we make their lives better? How can we make those little girls, born with AIDS in the middle of an African war zone smile?? Am I naieve? Theres a woman, Hope Amman, who has worked with a local man in the Ivory Coast to create a facility for the mentally ill--those who are emotionally disturbed by the violence, the disease and the poverty that ravages their country. She works to rehabilitate them and help them to reenter society, often as farmers or as social workers in the very facility they entered for help. Aside from the rebels who would destroy the place, and the refugees who would often seek refuge there, the St. Camille foundation has become a major factor in the community's increasing acceptance of mental illness, which makes a huge difference when children become encaged for their cerebral palsey or chained to trees with depression.

Naturally I've found myself pulled in every direction, interested for example in the innovative partnerships forged between a humanitarian organization, say UNHCR,and the local people when they are unable to penetrate the zone of conflict because the rebel groups no longer respect their neutral status or the governments dont want them there. Or I entertained the impact of post natural disaster/post conflict reconstruction as a basis for sustainable development. I looked into environmental security and peace parks -- trans-boundary protected areas designed to foster cooperation around consrvation and development and I spoke with an expert at the World Intellectual Property Organization about work with Patents and Traditional Knowledge. There are so many things happening here, my mind was consumed with opportunities and options for my independent study. Everything nudges the trajectory of my imagination, and I try to incorporate it all.

And of course none of this happens within a vaccuum. I missed the train returning from Paris because I was immersed in conversation with a new and dear friend from fellowship. So I exchanged my ticked and was given open seating in first class besides the UN ambassador to Cameroon. Of course the nature of his affairs interested me, and he told me about his life, his education and Cameroon. He became highly flirtatious, holding my hand, asking me to go dancing with him, inviting me to his hotel in Geneva when we arrive. He didnt want to talk about the real issues--how he, as an ambassador, can address poverty among the various needs of his country. He didnt want to share the nature of his business at all aside from the fact that he represents the African Union to the Group of Five at the UN. He wasnt interested in this, at all.

The man who briefed us from the UNHCR, Alphonse, wasnt supposed to do so. The man originally scheduled to illustrate his life for us had to go to an emergency meeting on the human rights abuses in Myanmar. So Alphonse told us about his life in the field working with refugees. Afterwards, I felt inclined to ask him about Music in the refugee camps. Apparantly, hes the producer of the Refugee Allstars, http://www.refugeeallstars.org/ This group of unbelievably inspiring refugee musicians tours the world educating people about their lives, through music and film. We went out dancing.

And so the cultural of power became my "Cultural Drop Off," this project we had to do to engage in interviews with individuals within a certain culture. Naturally, given the interactions id had, and the sphere of power in which we've been living and studying, I chose this culture to explore. I asked people about global power dynamics--what they thought about the endless examples of promises to save the world that go unrealized. We can help Africa, we know how, and we dont. Why? Is this ok with you? Apparanty, Yes. Apparantly there is a dgree of learned helplessness that characterizes the international political world, and its observers, or perhaps just an acceptance of the way it works. I find it rather outrageous--the lies that are told of change and help. Many said, "at least they are doing something." Mediocrity is better than nothing at all. And many said "they,"--the ones in/with "Power" "couldnt care less" about those oevr whom they have power. They live in a world of "Illusion" characterized by ideology which obscures their perception of reality. Who knows. But in this context, meeting the UN ambassador to Cameroon, Dr. Toko, whos spent more of his adult life in a classroom than in Cameroon, versus meeting Alphonse, the field guy and producer redefined my personal perception of power's locus. And it raises many questions: What are the characteristics o leadership most effective when power arises rather than descends. Because this is what I see happening.

So I met some Doctoral Students who are designing what they call global demos, which is really trying to be many things...but underscoring their project design in an intention to leverage civil society to influence Corporate Social Responsibility, by trailing industrial supply chains online and generating conversation around it. I have generall been moving into the private sector as it has become clear that so many social and environmental responsibilities have shifted to their jurisdiction. So then it becomes a question of how they govern environmental issues? What do their words mean, if anything, as in Greenwashing. And as carbon markets drive companies to outsource, supply chain valuation brings together suppliers, producers and consumers, and companies become social and environmental stewards, inverting the environmental paradigm of just 5 years ago, what does this mean dor sustainable development and democracy--of environmental governance?

I miss you all! I love Switzerland, and Jurgen continues to ride his bike to work before I get up in the morning. It is a magnificent country, and a perfect time to be here--before the glacers recede entirely and it becomes part of the EU. The culture is pure. its a landlocked island! you can feel the difference as you enter and exit its borders. Theres a feeling of safety, predictability and a wholesome calm which I think alienates as many people as it comforts.

...And philly is my home.

Post Tenebras Lux

grifnizzle — Sat, 15 Sep 2007 17:16:00 GMT

Geneva. a city of reformation in a pluralistic country that implements with integrity the ideals it holds dear. and you can feel it. I generally try to keep two fingers on a city's cultural pulse when I go, but living here, and working with Earle, Im coming to know this country in a way that one only can by living here. its very subtle. Upon first glance, as a tourist, Id roll through and deeply inhale this unbelievably fresh air, revel in the omnipotence of the perfect weather, the customarily kind regard, and the overwhelming presentation of culture. Id see a show, say merci alot and go sailing, windsurfing, hiking and biking through the waters and countryside. But living here, and necessarily studying this place, I'm beginning to understand why it is and where it all comes from.

The Wassenbergs have very full lives, yet they extend their home to me and Stephanie. They take short showers, lock the heat nozzle so we cant crank it up, eat very very healthy food, wash very large loads of laundry, turn all the lights off, etc etc etc. They rarely drive their cars and Jürgen rides his bike a very long distance to work everyday. Despite the abundance of cats here, the house is immaculate. Ballers rige the train, Im sayin, men and women you know work for one of the hundreds of Swiss Banks that line the streets, or the international government. Everyone takes public transportation. In Geneva, with a 20 dollar deposit, you can take a bike for 4 hours for free. Naturally, I stopped to ask how this was possible. The guy (a black french man) told me about how the country's various businesses contribute money to the government to make this possible, with the expressed intention to promote health and the physical exploration of Geneva in the fresh air. The place stands for democracy, fairness, stability, tolerance, pluralism, PUNCTUALITY, thrift, efficiency, transparancy, etc. people are very blunt! There is a feeling of isolation, that trickles down i suppose from the fact that the country has yet to join the EU, for fear of its centralizing tendancies among other things, and despite hosting the headquarters of nearly every one of its sectors, the Swiss only joined the UN in 2002. It still refuses however to join any alliance that will oblige it to take military action in the event of war, and will not send troops into battle unless it is threatened. Superimposed on the multiplicity of languages spoken, are divisions in ethnic, geographical and religious ones, which underscore the brilliance of and the need for complete integrity in its political system, which tangibly grows from the bottom. All of this is to say that, unlike the US, the political system doesnt dance alone here in its own sphere of reference. Its not like politics is over there, but one other societal sector. Everyone seems to take their citzenship seriously, and they reap the benefits.

It is bizarre though too because there is a constellation of very highly controversial organizations here, yet there are no protesters picketing outside the gates, or angry signs decrying the injustices of the WTO. Curious. Everything just works smoothly. it is a place of solutions not problems. and its great because its the solutions that I came here to study. But it requires a new eye towards cultural sensitivity. I can go to places, sense pain and inquire into its source. Here, the inverse is true. I notice the absence of pain, very very subtle social and cultural differences, and I inquire into why the problems dont exist.

Post Tenebras Lux. After the Darkness, Light. The place fought for its independence, won with a brilliant David vs Goliath story, and not only bask in the light internally, but they try to shed it around the world. I try to find my place. Hopefully, itll pan out to be more than an observer alone.

Every week is different. Every day is different. We're all sort of holding onto our seats to see whatll come next, and I know Im adapting to very different academic and social/living circumstances as much as possible. Aubonne is very small, and very far out. Last night, I spontaneously decided to go to a show I came upon at the Music Conservatoir in Genéve, a brilliant young pianist who played Scarlatti, Grieg, Chopin and Schumann with conviction and precision, and brought me to tears in the musty auditorium. but the taxi home from the nearest train station costs SF 90 for a 5-10 minute drive! I got a ride from some kids. but im sayin... We dont have regular internet access, are confronting the opportunity of doing research on an entirely new level--in field. So I try to search through the social, health, political programs available, to study why certain problems dont exist. This is where I am right now at least. I think all the time too about my Thesis project. We dont have classes per se. This week we were briefed at both the WTO and the Internation Centre for Migration and Health, the former by a member of the secretariat and the latter by a brilliant man, Dr. Carballo. He opened my eyes to the sociological trends resulting from poverty, war, natural catastrophe, as well as the more subtle trends like tourism and travel. He talked a bit about how bugs survive transatlantic plane trips, carrying with them all sorts of microbes and bacteria, conducive to disease. He talked about the women and children war refugees, and the new trends in disease post cold war, as well as the use of disease as a military weapon. Many of us made follow up appointmens with this natural teacher. The lady at the WTO basically spent most of her time defending the organization, rationalizing its actions. no one asked for her card... I wonder, to work for the org in an attempt to reform it from the inside out, or to work against it... That day was extremely provacative for me. The sense I got of the people who work in the WTO disturbed me highly--really smart people using their intelligence to reg the international system in accordnace with their economic interests at the crippling expence of the South. As I listened to her shed light on the circumstances of various cases posed, actious taken in the name of "self interest," I could only think of the short sightedness. silenced enlightened self interest. the southern countries try to appeal to the sensitivities of a Northern system that seems to operate from a different place... and all of course within conference room comfort. The chairs were sweet, and I could see alot of the kids in our program getting off on being at the WTO. I hope they were listening. really listening.

Then friday we went to the International Commitee for the Red Cross. The museam is awesome, really well done, laden with powerful symbolism. I never put it together before...but the red cross is the inversion of the Swiss flag...! the organization originated here by a brilliant visionary, and so they inverted the flag. Its become a bit of a religious symbol now. Muslim countries use the red Crescent and now Isreal has proposed the Red Crystal, a hollow diamond. interesting. it does embrace spiritual values. its manifested with religious undertones. But it continues nonetheless to unite rather than divide.

Ive met a nubmer of kids from Geneva--kids at U of Webster, one, Aude, from U of Geneva last night at the concert, a local snowboard buff named Vince, and a bunch of fellowship folk from Austrailia, London and France. Ill see them tonight, and every wednesday as theyve asked me to chair their weekly meeting. sweet:) Im slowly breaking this place in. Its dense!

This weekend is one of preparation. FRENCH. Study. the semester is about ta pick up quick I think. Tomorrow Im planning on going to Chamoneaux because I have a bit of a love affair with Mont Blanc! Im a sucker for the Alps, especially when I have ta travel by water to go. This weather continues to be pristine (!) and im all over it.

Next week, we explore in depth Mèdecins Sans Frontiers and Mèdecins du Monde. On Thursday we have a welcome dinner with all the homestay families. Marielle and David--my 21 year olds homestay cousin and her boyfriend are gonna come :) and Im so excited to meet the families Ive heard so many crazy stories about!! Fondue galore.

the Wassenbergs et al

grifnizzle — Sun, 9 Sep 2007 11:08:00 GMT

Lying flat on the trampoline, time moves in slow motion. They soar into the air on top and all around me, each to their own rhythm, each with their own stunts. my body bubbles with them. I laugh and I shriek, but I trust all along. Theyve done this before, layed here before. A sort of right of passage.

Their home is some 300 years old, though much has been renovated. The vestibule, laden with feline junglegyms, leads into their tiled kitchen. Its pretty standard and modern. On the right is a table with a wrap around bench. Teddy bears of all sizes nestle on the winding stairway, usually with kittens scattered in between. a dependably adorable scene. My room is at the top of the steps. I sleep amid transformers, and hanging mobiles, a library of childrens picture books and a poster of the disney Cars movie in Jerome's old room. Since their Au Pair, Stephanie, sleeps in the third floor bedroom, Jerome and Amelie were kind enough to share a room to make room for me. They get along very well, playing Nintendo, Futbol or trampolining together. Everyday when I get home around 7pm, they're often playing in the beautifully groomed lawn with a host of neighboorhood kids, a huge willow tree in the corner. Ill drop my stuff and get down. Jürgen, the Father, gardens avidly. His huge, cobblestone lined garden grows potatoes and tomatoes, beautiful sunflowers and Fresias and flowers I dont know. He has many projects going on at once, and after he cycles home from Nyon, a trip which takes me over a half hour by train, he gets down and dirty outside. I offer to help, but he tells me he works with pleasure. His brother-in-law calls him a workaholic. Marylene tends to the home, the fish, the cats, children and Jürgen, and works from her home as a beautician two days a week. Shes always busy, cleaning up after the cats, hosting the visiters who come to purchase them, cleaning, brushing hair, etc. She takes parenting very seriously and is very good at it. She sleeps in a separate room from her husband, and has a very full life all her own. Stephanie helps quite a bit. I love this girl. She's 16, was born in south america, and moved at a very young age to Basil, in Northern Switzerland where the educational opportunities would offer her a better life. She speaks Swiss-German, french, spanish, and is now learning English with me. She goes home on the weekends, goes to school each day, cooks for the family at night, and tells me all about her life, boys, dreams, etc. She always got a sort of light and airy way about her, and we get along very well, despite a little bit of a language barrier. We laugh and teach each other.

Marylene's parents live in a small home attached to the back of the house, also quite separate from each other. Her father watched TV all day and smokes incessantly. Hes always friendly and happy to see me. Im not sure what her mother does... but outside, across from the pool, the small barn or garage, and swingset, is another small home, recently built. Here, Marylene's sister lives with her 21 year old daugher, Maralin and her 22 year old boyfriend David. On my first night, they have me over and toast my arrival. "Santé!" They take me through their vineyards on a family "promenade." We get a booklet of ticket, strap a wine glass around our necks and venture from vineyard to vineyard, eating and sipping wines from the patchworks of farms that decorate the land here with texture, color, productivity and personality. I meet men from Italy who dazzle me with flowers and stories from afar; old women from Finland walked by their small dogs; I watch the children frolick through the trees and hillsides, Corra (our dog) prances besides them.

Each morning I awaken early (545am) to use the (one) bathroom before catching the only bus each hour that leaves this small village for the train station to Nyon where I study. It takes me through vast sunflower fields, vineyards and small villages, and Ive come to recognize many of the young faces. Classes come day by day. Sometimes we have long discussions about Security, migration and health; or analyze the causes for the shift from a state to people-focused international community. Sometimes we go to the palais in Geneva. Three days a week, we have french class for three hours, which, despite its length, helps tremendousely. Im starting to think in French more and more...which is wierd, because sometimes my English will almost come out as translated French. Often, Earle will organize a tea, cafe, croissant gathering for all of us to come together, take over a cafe and socialize. Its really nice!

We^ve gone out together a couple of times now. I really dont like to roll that deep...some 10 kids, some more intoxicated than others, flagging ourselves as Americans on the trams and cobblestoned streets of a worldly and refined European city. Many people didnt make it the whole night anyway. At one pub, I heard some kids speaking engligh, so I introduced myself. They turned out to be students from the US who studies abroad at Webster in Geneva, and liked it so much that they tranferred. I met many other kids from Webster froma all over the world--Greece, Russia, Romaina, Hong Kong--and they recommend cool things to do here. We exchange numbers.

Its a beautiful place here--so clean, polite and politically/socioculturally utopian. Ill write about this more later, but their direct democracy works, people live very healthy, hardworking, orderly lives and are happy and friendly. People complement me on my French all the time, and Festivals or concerts grace the streets and many parks all the time. I wish you were here to see it. And (!) one of the French teachers, the sweetest woman ever, Gisselle, gave me the numbers for the Music conservatory in Geneva where I can go and play. Thats on my agenda for today!

Yesterday, I went hiking through the Jura Mountain Range, to the Dola summit some 3500 m high with two of the guys from my program (Pete and Paul) and one from the other (Max). I got kissed by a cow:) They are scattered through the hills, and wear HUGE cow bells around their necks that combine to create what sounds like a gorgeous windchime echoing through clear air. Mountain goats pranced before us on the trails. Given the little map we had, and what Ive come to discover to be a somewhat characteristically nontraditional predisposition among ourselves, we ventured off the trail and found ourselves bushwacking through gorgeous trees, golden sunbeams, and bright orange mushrooms down the steep, forested decline. Flying blind at times, we followed the sound of the cow bells.

I got home, showered and went out with Mariel and five Swiss guys, friends of Davids... tbc

Bienvenue a Switzerland

grifnizzle — Wed, 5 Sep 2007 22:01:00 GMT

I could write volumes. Each day brings something entirely new, be it a new word, face, cultural encounter. Everything is something--every step a discovery, every conversation an adventure, each class unpredictable. and the views are breathtaking.

the plane trembled as we coasted across Lake Geneva through the vast Jura mountains that trapped swabs of thick clouds in their valleys. My head rests on the wall as we descend. the woman in the bunk below me at the hostel in London snored so loud that she made another woman cry... I close my eyes and in the darkness flashes a keleidescopic wave of memory. I marinate in gratitude as I reflect on the last year and a half of anticipation. Its a flight unlike any other.

Its pouring rain when we land, and the reast of the group isnt scheduled to arrive for another three hours. I see a sign finally for the school for international training, and eventally we all load our stuff on the bus.

Orientation was interesting, seeing as we all--all 50 some kids in both programs (one in International Studies, Orgs and Social Justice, and our in Development Studies and Public Health)--were staying in a Youth Hostel in the heart of Geneva with kids from all over the world. Everyone was jet lagged. I was glad I adjusted early.

Our Acedemic Director: Dr. Earle Nolte. This guy is an international powerhouse. Hes got his Doctorate in international studies and humanitarian law from the University of Geneva, taught at the institute for humanitarian Law in Italy, spearheaded post conflict transformation projects in Afghanistan, Nicaragua, and Palestine, and worked on confidential missions with Amnesty International-- for example. He seems to know everything, personifying grace, class and poise, and despite the fact that French is the first of the five languages he speaks, his English is better than mine. I want to talk to him for hours. He gives us our basic travel materials, welcomes us to Switzerland, and illustrates a glimpse of what were in for--an opportunity to explore the breadth of our humanitarian curiosity, engage in a project situated nearly anywhere in the world, expand the breadth of our global consciousness, and delve into the action of the contemporary international community.

The other 18 students in the group come from all over the world--Ethiopia, Nigeria, Haiti, Albania, Hawaii, Cali, China, Costa Rica, and a bunch from the east coast. Jeff is particularly curious. Hes got beautiful blond dreadlocks, and is bronzed from having hust spent the summer on a permaculture commune in Oregon. He grew up in Haiti, spent the last twelve years in Albania where his mother managed the Peace Corps' local projects and his father headed the USAid Headquarters, and speaks very proper english, complete with a British accent.

I cooked in the Hostel's kitchen, where I met people from all over the world. Thursday evening, we returned from a guided tour through Geneva's magnificent old city, and I met a group of kids from Germany, France, Geneva, Italy, Morocco, etc. They had all met in Montreal, kept in touch and decided to come to central Geneva for a week for fun. Since the US wasnt represented in their group, they invited me to come along, so in the haze of the three-four different languages each of them spoke, I ventured out and became oriented to new heights of internationalism.

When we had a few hour of free time, I went down to the water front, where across the shimmering lake and through the tall ship silhouettes, I gaye upon the red roofs of small French Villages on the Hillside--resting in the shadows of the french alps that tower behind them. Along the waters edge, groups of children feed the swans, hot tubs breath steam into the wind, and sailors/windsurfers dock their crafts into the Marinas. Behind me is a row of buildings--homes and business and hotels with equisitly intricate architecture, and many swiss flags. A few blocks away, fountains flank the intensively flagged entrance to the United Nations' headquarters. The Palais de Woodrow Wilson has a block all its own around the corner from the UN High Commissioner for Refugees. Down a given street, I pass the relatively inconspicuous University for International Development, a poster inviting me to join a conservation project in Bangladesh with the local WWF (zou know I was tempted), and some graffiti that reads, "Relax, the world is yours." I take a picture.

On Sunday, after a thoroughly physical, intellectual and cultural orientation, we finally meet our host families! Marylane comes to pick me up with her two kids, Amelie and Jerome, who greets me with a big hug. We talk for a little while with each other and the other families/students before loading the car and driving some 30 minutes to their/our home in Aubonne. I must close now… but in a nutshell: many kittens, trampoline, lots of kids, 300 year old home, sunflowers, Nintendo, Big family and many languages J

hOLy cARniVaL

grifnizzle — Tue, 28 Aug 2007 21:25:00 GMT

The British know how to rage, dear lord

Ive been to my fair share of festivals, but Ive never seen anything like this. The Notting Hill Carnival: London's perennial summer bonanza, Caribbean style. Translation: Kingston moves to Notting Hill.

Basically, the city closes off entire neighborhoods and stages of reggaeton, electronica, rai and funk mastas move in, bringing mass amounts of people with them. Apparantly there's a parade, but no one seems to be paying attention. white washed neighborhoods, where beautiful stoops and ionic columns behold each rowhome's entrance way, channel tides of wasted circus animals. Everyones pimped out. Fyi,the 80'S are back, like whoa. some things transcend all cultures...like Prince! gets me everytime. We dance our way around and around, winding through each and every street, stopping along the way to kick it at every party. Conversations explode like roman candles. Colombians, South Africans, Brazilians, British share tales with brutal honesty, and we rock n roll together for a snap. Everyones named William or Daniel or Richard...I wanted to say, "can I call ya Dick?"

There are few other Americans. I am greeted with smiles and open arms. Apparently there are many after parties. I smile and and we dance on.

In the midst of this Rastafari street fest, police sit tall on their horses, looming high over thousands of heads. They dont do anything despite the shananigans. Sometimes, a woman will walk by in nothing but huge green fairy wings and sparkly sequence. Sometimes, a cowboybooted seductress lounges in a window from above, nursing a cigarette. on the side of the street, between piles and piles and piles and piles of cans and corn, a man with an afro plays "Hey Joe." I give him change. women cook grilled corn and shishkabobs under elaborate tents, and leather-coated musclemen pour oversized shots in womens mounths beneath huge superman-themed structures. POW!

Men walk through selling clouds of random balloons--pokemon, hello kitty, dalmations...characters i dont recognize. Everyone has horns and whistles, and they blow them with gusto. a cacophonous rumble. Dreadlocks. clouds of thick smoke. people make out lounging in the middle of the street. and as we tread through the raging river of red, yellow and green, church steeples sing their hourly song.

London Homespice

grifnizzle — Sun, 26 Aug 2007 17:45:00 GMT

I just arrived in London yesterday afternoon and I have found family already; a family of fellowship. Im staying at Kate D's house, a beautiful woman Ive never met. She welcomes me into her home with open arms. we change, make dinner, and pack our picnic for the party. Fellowship-- this family of strangers I now have. women in recovery have come together from all over the world and greet me like they've known me forever. Maybe they have. They're hilarious, and predictably dramatic. Despite my fatigue from raging through the red light district the night before, I could listen to their accents all night. I feel tremendously blessed to be so accepted in a foreign world.

We went back to Kates and had a slumber party. Saffron slept over too because its Windsome's birthday today and of course, they're having a party. We wake up early, meditate together with aromatic candles, make breakfast and ride with my backpack to the meeting. I share my story to grateful ears, and play the piano for everyone. many hugs. tears. Kate blew open my world with insight and we become sisters, brought so closely together after just 24 hours. We marvel together at the magic of life as we walk to the British museam for the party. Apparantly their fellowship is never this externally active; apparantly the weathers never so nice. I feel so so lucky. filled up. I meet these other women on a deeper level, surrounded by the museam's beauty. I learn about Oxford. Eugenie's an MBA Student there, focusing on Social Entrepreneurship. We discover common friends. ideas, experience, questions. we see eye to eye and vow to stay in touch.

My family's expanded, again, and as I anticipate my time in Geneva, away from such strong fellowship, I cherish these bonds. Something tells me they will become profound friendships over the next few months. Somethingtells me Ill see them again before I return home. I have a profound respect and love for each and everyone.

My backs behind me, I roll into an internet cafe. This thing has cut me off like ten times, and they have a different keyboard in London apparantly. But Ill fill out later what I miss now. I need to reflect, to share these clips of devine design. Every moment's an adventure.

Im off to the Notting Hill Carnival to meet up with Daniel and one of Jen's friends from the University of London, Soaz. bring it.

All the world's a psychedelic stage

grifnizzle — Sat, 25 Aug 2007 23:32:00 GMT

Finally, finally I have found a place to write, a massive internet cafe in the heart of London Central Square. My intellectual and cultural world is rocking out hard. conversation abounds, sights dazzle, the world extends its gifts. But I must start from the beginning.

Day one, Amsterdam. I havent slept n nearly three days when I arrive, caught up in the excitement of leaving, but the energy and beauty of the city fuel my adrenaline, and I quickly forget my fatigue. I havent seen Jen in months, not since she last rolled through Philly--a classic fly by. She met me in the airport and we exchanged snipets of stories as we navigated the airport's transit system, laden with backpacking clowns, hipsters, european debutantes and aged travelers. bonafide. people dont take themselves seriously. they wear very oversized glasses, shoes that are two different colors or styles entirely, colorful hats with spinners on the top, and everyone seems to have either a mohawk or a mullet. no joke. impressive really. rat tails galore. Dready mullets too--biz in tha front, ganja in the back. I'm enthralled already.

We get to the centraal station and I store my stuff. Outside, the biggest bikelot I ever seen emerges, each of the four stories revealing itself one by one as we begin to walk into the city, past a much more manageable one. I take a picture. The (relatively) few cars that drive by are so small they look like toys. In fact, the more we penetrated the city, the more I realized how the whole scene sort of tickles reality. Since the buildings are built on beds of sand, they lean ever so slightly, flanking boathouse-lined canals through which white swans elegantly glide. Beautiful people ride bikes laced with fresh flowers across intricate, old skool bridges in the shadows of immense churches, government buildings or museams that exude history. "roxanne" plays onto the narrow alleyways as we stroll by, passing art galleries that make me think that Amsterdam is like Europe on acid. Artists will take themes from Beethoven, Back, Mozart, Van Gogh, Vermeer, etc etc etc and deuce them with a psychedelic originality, embedding "Ode to Joy" for example in black and white, urban freeform. We seem to pass from square to piaza to square, wherein jugglers, unicyclers and breakdancers dazzle layers of encircled spectators. This one guy kept hitting a tennis ball tied to a stationary weight. he was there everyday, everytime we walked though this square trying to sell these rather boring looking toys. it became comical...

Around nine, we step out of one of the "coffee shops" where we sat in a hue of red light. Mosaics decorated walls in spaces filled with personality, artwork, and many many heavy eyelids. people looked strangely familiar. We had met up with two Penn alumn, Jordan and Renee. They'd been here for days and just finished the "Heinekin Experience." They entertained us with stories and showed us the "toys" they'd acquired during their stay. We caught up too. Ironic. They're in law school. Time floated exquisitely by. At times, I found myself tremendously humbled, in complete awe of my surroundings. I have a feeling this will happen alot over the next six months. I hope I dont get used to it.

Twilight in Amsterdam brings in a beautiful dark blue, glowing hue. Each of the little buildings seems to be radiating, and no, i didn't smoke anything... in the backdrop, sillhouettes of immense Gothic church steeples penetrate an orange sky as we walk back to the station.

Jen and I talk and talk and talk! She tells me all about her masters program and the dissertation she's writing on the neo-liberal resistence movement, through the lens of the World Social Forum, a growing international referendum wherein organizations unite, network and pledge their commitment to its anti-capitalist ideals. I ask many questions. Shes changed alot since her days of philosophy and religion at Penn and has developed her global ideology now through her work at the UNEP and school at the University of London, Soaz where she studied African and Oriental development. I ask many questions. This ignites a conversation that doesn't stop. I'm so so happy to be talking about these things, these hard questions. Everyone's engaged. Everyone knows all about America despite their distance (or perhaps because of it). Maybe when we're in it, we cant see it. There's a certain perspective the Europeans have, a clarity. They're awake. Every conversation reflects it. Small talk is rare.

We meet up with her boyfriend, Geis. He works in Amsterdam proper as a Cocoa Trader and tells me all about his studies in Geneva, his childhood in France, and his work. He's spoken five languages during the course of the day. He's very polite, very cultured, totally humble, gracious, mature and generous, and totally in love with Jen. I'm elated to see her so happy! and so the dream continues. We get my stuff, board the train and head to their apartment in the Hague about an hour away. I'm exhausted now, broadsided by that crippling fatigue that hits all of a sudden. I'm happy to finally arrive at their flat for a night of sleep, and I coast out of consciousness in a wave of gratitude.

The Great Experiment

grifnizzle — Sat, 25 Aug 2007 00:51:00 GMT

Amesterdam seems to be this great experiment no one seems to acknowledge. Its a culture of tolerance, and while at times, a flashing ambulance rests somewhat poetically on a historic bridge as classic boats coast underneath at sunset, its a place of humanitarian engagement, inspired creativity and peace, or so it seems. Everything seems to be fair game. Every paved space is a road and since bikes are everywhere, there are many roads. Pedestrians have the right of way, but many times, those little bells they ring just barely prevented a collision. You would think that it would get dangerous at night--drunken bikers, many foreign pedestrians that dont know the protocol. But it doesn't seem to be a problem.

So, ive never considered myself to be a museam type. I like live culture, here and now. Lets talk about and contribute to what is, not what was. Then, I went to the Van Gogh museam. My God, it totally blew me away. At times I was shoked with chills. I loved hos fascination with nature and the People, farmers in particular. I love how heknew nothing when he began painting around 20 years old. By around 26 he declared himself a painter and went to Paris where he incorporated impressionistic pointilism that he incorporated in hos own way. He took what was and mad it his own. This, he decided, would be his contribution to humanity. Represent truth. And so, it seems he responded to the rapid industrialization and enlightenment of the era, with art that celebrated the People whose calloused hands sow the seeds that ultimately feed the world. He captured exquisite moments in nature, rapidly evolving, and I loved how he mimiced the Japanese by trying to create peaceful communes of artists. And I loved his art through his ostensible fall from Grace, his descent into psychosis. Sometimes his work would show no signs. Literal clear blue skies would serve as the backdrop for little blossoms in a paining for his brother Theo. But others reflected his lonliness. I became completely immersed in the dialectic among his life, his art at the contemprary times. I got his experience, and I left feeling so grateful for his work. His intention to reach people with his art found resonation through me that day. I got some postcards.

predeparture ruminations

grifnizzle — Mon, 20 Aug 2007 01:00:00 GMT

Sunday night. The bag rests zippered in the corner, the passport's locked n loaded; ive said my goodbyes. Tomorrow I leave. an american portrait reels through my mind's eye: the philly phanatic wires his lucky vibes to the mound. 10 year old boys swirl their shirts above their rally hatted heads beside us. fireworks burst above the field and fall gracefully through the clouds. waves break onto the jetty as the hobycat sails into the horizon. city kids cultivate an organic garden between slabs of philadelphia's torn-up cement. they complain of non-profit corruption, but their eyes hold a twinkle of hope. cheesesteaks drip a cherished grease. flashing neon lights illuminate the wildwood boardwalk; teenagers make out below. the wave circles Giant's Stadium six times before Al Gore introduces Bon Jovi; an inflated Pig floats above carrying the famous words, "United we stand, divided we fall". Carl Rove resigns. America. I have a feeling it may look quite different upon my return five months from now...

A dream awaits, one once lost. Gratitude abounds for i ride on the blessings of so so so many. its all happening.

Family expanded

friendship reunited

mind challenged

the soul's song sung

musical jubilation

deepened understanding

cultural celebration

the Truth betold

absorb Swiss wisdom

extend American grace

fuel hope

in every place

Griffin to all beaches, signing on