Inclusive Junk Mail, Part 7

Again with the Inclusive Junk Mail.

Yesterday, another Korean Air Visa card application written in Korean showed up in our p.o. box.

It's been a few months since we last received a piece of foreign-language junk mail -- October 2008, actually.

That month we got two mailers, one which, after two years of getting this sort of thing in Chinese and Korean, was written in Vietnamese.

We were excited about the Vietnamese mail. Someone, somewhere, we thought, finally figured out the ethnicity of Hubby's name.

But I guess we were too quick to make any assumptions as we're now back to Korean mail.

Anything Che Can Do I Can Do Better

The title for this entry, perhaps, isn't quite accurate. I can't perform radical, revolutionary, doctor-type moves. Nor do I want to.

However, while reading The Motorcycle Diaries, I did discover one thing I can hold over Che:

He took the train to Machu Picchu. I hiked four days through the Andes to get there.

That's me there in the picture, on the left-hand side, carrying all my gear.

My hiking partner was Alison, the very same friend with whom I now write Haiku By Two.

We made this trip back in 1998.

When people ask me to name the things I've accomplished in my life for which I'm most proud, this trip, this four-day hike, always tops the list. It was hard!

Che, with his notorious asthma, perhaps could not have followed this trail. But I did. And I would never give up the experience.

Motorcycle Diaries

After crawling out from under the weight of all four Twilight books, I decided to pick something from my bookcase that I really really wanted to read.

I settled on The Motorcycle Diaries, Che Guevara's famous (infamous?) journal recounting a trip he took through South America at the age of 23/24.

Despite the fact that I am Che-obsessed and the fact that this book has been sitting on my shelf for two years, I'd never cracked the spine. I decided it was time.

Besides, it's just a slim little book. Easy reading, I thought.

Not exactly. It took me three weeks to read 175 pages. Not quite as engaging as I had hoped.

This was probably because I had some pretty high hopes. Motorcycle Diaries the movie had been so engaging. Now that I've read the original book, I'm left wondering how in the world they ever made such a fun film from this drab account.

Or maybe I'm remembering the film all wrong. Maybe I let my feelings for Gael Garcia Bernal, the actor who played Che, cloud my judgment there. He is quite a little hottie.

Anyway, back to the book. Sure, it had its moments.

Like this line, which I highlighted and starred:

"All this wandering around 'Our America with a capital A' has changed me more than I thought."

To that I had only one thing to say:

Amen.

Smart Talking Syliva Earle

Last night was another lecture series night. A good friend and I have been season ticket holders for the Smart Talk series for several years now. Events are held once a month at Minneapolis' Orchestra Hall.

Last night's presenter was a woman named Dr. Sylvia Earle. I'd never heard of her before, but after listening to her speak, I was in awe. I was also feeling a little inadequate. She knew so much! About so many cool things!

She is a marine biologist, a ground-breaking one at that, who earned her ph.D. in 1966. She is in her 70s, sharp as a knife and fit.

She has logged over 6,000 hours underwater. She lived in a bio-dome type of set up on the ocean floor for two weeks. She holds the world record for deepest solo dive by a woman -- she went down 3,300 feet by herself.

She had a lot to say about the current health of our oceans and our fish populations.

Yet it was these words from her mouth (I'm paraphrasing) that stuck in my mind all night:

Children, she said, always ask her what it takes to be a explorer.

You can't ever grow up, she said. You have to always be like a little kid, asking questions all the time -- why? why? why? You have to have a deep curiosity and a sense of wonder.

Postcards from Pamplona

After reading When Wanders Cease to Roam, I got a bit nostalgic about my own past trips.

So much so that I dug out my box of travel souvenirs and started rifling through them.

I came across a whole stack of postcards addressed to my parents. I had written them all while a student abroad in Pamplona, Spain.

The postcards caught my eye for a couple of reasons:

First, they were addressed to my mom and dad. Had I stolen them back upon my return home or had my mom given them back to me, figuring I might want them as keepsakes?

I don't know. I don't remember anymore.

Secondly, check out my itsy-bitsy print!

How did I manage to write this small?

And not once, but on postcard after postcard.

I don't know who I feel more sorry for: My parents for having to read this or the postman for having to figure out the mailing address amidst all these words!

These postcards were all sent pre-the-dawn of email. And even though they are a pain in the butt to read, I'm glad I have them.

I wonder if these mailbox missives of mine would have survived this long if they'd been sent over the computer.

Vivian Swift, author Q & A

I was so taken with my recent read, When Wanderers Cease to Roam, that not only did I post a review of it the other day, I also sent an email to the author, Vivian Swift, asking her some questions.

She wrote back, and this is what she had to say:

A lot of people seem to think that traveling and staying home are the opposite of each other. What do you think?

Traveling and staying home are actually the same activity, they are just two different points on the Being Alive Continuum.

Anyone can use time-tested travel tips in their own backyard. For instance, think of all the places in the world that are famous for their sun sets: The Pyramids, the Taj Mahal, Bali, Key West...

The sun that glows with such romance in those exotic locales is the same sun that sets in your own home town.

So go find it: go find the best place in your neighborhood to see a good sun set. Your search, I bet, will take you down streets and into corners of your town that you never would otherwise have explored.

And when you find your very own sun set place, and you take in the way your familiar ground is transformed by this wonderful time of day, part of you will be watching and experiencing the sun set in the Taj Mahal, the Pyramids, or Bali.

In Mark Twain's day, Sweden had the reputation for having the best sun sets in the world. And Mark Twain, himself quite a world traveler, said that Swedish sun sets, like happiness, are every where; but most people are looking the other way.

Don't miss out on the Swedish sun set in your own little world.

Have you gone out and found your very own sun set spot close to home?

I've discovered that the best place to see a sun set is in the parking lot of my local grocery store.

As I'm standing there in the glorious sun-downer display, part of me is breathing the salty air of my own special foreign sun set place . . . on the sea wall in the town of Saint Malo in Brittany, France, for example.

This is the closest I have come to having a transcendental experience.

Travelers have itchy feet. Have you really "ceased to roam" ?

Oh certainly. These days, I never leave home for more than three weeks at a time, maybe once or twice a year. I'm much more interested in processing the data I've collected from having lived on Earth for 53 years.


The traveling I do now if to pursue lines of inquiry I have about "unfinished business": personal and family history and mythology.

In the past five years I've been to Scotland and New Orleans repeatedly. I am always inspired and exhilarated, but I'm always glad to get home.

Is there another book in you?

I'm working on another one. I call it "Travel Tips for Staying Put." It's an illustrated guide for adventuresome homebodies.

Consider this: Emily Dickinson never left her house. Traveling your soul. Now that's the value of staying home.


Images (c) Vivian Swift from the book When Wanderers Cease to Roam.

When Wanderers Cease to Roam

It's been a dreary February here in Minnesota. Unusual rain has washed away the snow leaving everything ugly and gray. I've taken to curling up with hot tea and a book to pass the gloomy hours.

The book I've been reading fits my mood exactly. It's called When Wanderers Cease to Roam: A Traveler's Journal of Staying Put.

It's a travel memoir. It's coffee table book. It's like nothing I've ever seen.

The entire book, all 197 pages, was hand written by the author, Vivian Swift.

Not only did she hand write every single word in the book, she also illustrated it extensively with watercolors and pen.

After 20 years traveling the world as a backpacker, a Peace Corp volunteer and a professional, she decided to find a small spot in a small town and make herself a home.

This book is basically a scrap book her travel memories. It becomes apparent that Swift is a fantastic hoarder of stories, trinkets and travel scraps as she fills pages upon pages with intricate drawings of the places she's been and the things she's collected.

I especially liked a reoccurring series in the book. Swift picks a theme -- say tea -- and then writes five one-paragraph stories involving tea that happened to her in five different countries. It was a writing idea I think I'm going to try.

Once I'd finished the book, there was a page in particular that stuck out at me: page 21. It probably rang such a bell as it talked about the dullness of February, which it now is, and the desire to plan a trip, which I currently feel.

Anyway, this is the passage that stuck out at me:

"February used to be the month I paid the least attention to,
except as inspiration to plan a long road trip as far away as
possible. Now that I've acquired the habit of staying put,
February is the month that keeps me closest to home, feasting
on the memories of travel . . . "

Photos - close up shots of inside pages from When Wanderers Cease to Roam by Vivian Swift

Phone Calls from my Congressman

It was eight o'clock in the morning. My computer was not yet on. I hadn't even finished my first cup of coffee. Already, though, my phone was ringing.

Hello? I picked it up.

"Kelly," said a voice. "This is Jim Ramstad."

"Mr. Ramstad," I choked, grabbing the closest pen and paper I could find, my brain snapping to attention. My Congressman was calling me!

Well, he wasn't really my Congressman anymore. He gave up his seat this past election cycle, but he'd served a long time -- 9 terms in the U.S. House, or in other words, 18 years, which is exactly half of my life. Of course I knew who he was. And he was calling me.

His call wasn't that unexpected. After all, I had been assigned to write an article about him and his new-found retirement by a local newspaper. Still, an interview had not been finalized so it was a surprise to hear him on my phone.

But I pulled through, even without that first full cup of coffee.

And Mr. Ramstad is pulling through his retirement by refusing to retire. Wanna know what he's up to?

Check out my article:

My Goal is to Inspire Students

Rick Steves Likes Travel Haiku

In the course of my recent web wanderings, I came across something that caught my eye. It involved two of my interests: travel and haiku.

Rick Steves, as many of you might know, writes guidebooks for European travel. He also does a travel radio show. On his web site, he's got an open call out for the submission of travel haiku.

If your travel haiku is chosen to be read on the air, you get a $20 gift certificate to be spent in his online store.

Some of the previously submitted haiku are posted on his site.

After taking a look at them, if you think you've got one in you, you can read up on how to submit.

I've got some travel haiku I'm thinking of submitting.

Among them, this favorite, which I composed years ago in Rome . . .

Sticky table top
hot waiter winks and I will
forgive anything

As always, if you're interested in more of my haiku, check out Haiku By Two.


Photo: (c) Rick Steves

Unfortunate Signage in Minneapolis

I'm not a big fan of football and on Sunday I was in full Superbowl Avoidance Mode.

I headed to the movies with a friend. We went to see Milk, which was awesome. Sean Penn ruled his part and will totally deserve any award nominations that come his way -- and I hope a lot of them do.

He plays the role of Harvey Milk, the first openly-gay elected official in California. The film takes place in the 1970s and it's frightening to realize that the debate over gay rights hasn't progressed a whole lot since then. Same old arguments, same old social fears. The arguments are entrenched, which won't help anyone.

It was a pretty long movie. However, before heading into the theater, I noticed this sign outside.

Obviously the theater is showing more movies than it has screens, but did "Doubt" and "Che" really need to be displayed like this?

Personally, I know I would never doubt Che.

How Can I Get to Haiku?

Today it was my turn to post a haiku on my haiku web site, Haiku By Two.

Winter is getting long here in Minnesota and my mind has turned to vacation dreaming. This is what I wrote about in today's haiku.

Vacation dreaming and a place I've recently learned exists . . . a place called Haiku, Hawaii.

Perhaps I could stay here, at this lovely Haiku B & B.

Che Spotted at Midtown Global Market