tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-85680286433016647722024-03-14T00:05:07.537-04:00DC DanaWhat's with today, today?DC Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985741031137722070noreply@blogger.comBlogger245125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568028643301664772.post-72588461786207494302015-08-26T13:44:00.000-04:002015-08-26T13:44:07.205-04:00DC Dana Moving to new website: dcdana.comFind my blog and my book at DCDana.com! See you there!DC Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985741031137722070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568028643301664772.post-83286711585950584292015-07-27T11:24:00.000-04:002015-08-26T13:43:19.257-04:00DC Dana Book: Arriving September 1!I've spent the last few months in hibernation but I promise I'm still alive. I've just been working on --<br />
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My. First. BOOK!<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Confessions of an Unlikely Runner </span><br />
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Available on Amazon Sept. 1 - More details coming soon!<br />
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This site will also be folding into a brand new website -- stay tuned for more details!<br />
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In the meantime, enjoy some of the most popular DC Dana posts below.<br />
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<a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2011/06/event-planning-for-president.html" target="_blank">Event Planning for the President</a></h3>
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<a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2011/06/dc-dating-part-three.html" target="_blank">DC Dating Part Three: "Breakfast Date"</a></h3>
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<a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2013/09/family-fun-day.html" target="_blank">Family Fun Day</a></h3>
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<a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2011/07/wild-wonderful.html" target="_blank">Wild. Wonderful.</a></h3>
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<a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2013/09/i-hope-you-fail-post-wherein-i-quote.html" target="_blank">I Hope You Fail (The post wherein I quote Ashton Kutcher)</a></h3>
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<a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2011/06/because-i-hadnt-done-it-before.html" target="_blank">Because I hadn't done it before</a></h3>
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<a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2013/09/sticks-and-stones-may-break-your-bones.html" target="_blank">Sticks and Stones May Break Your Bones, but Thoughts Tear ACLs….</a></h3>
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<a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2014/07/if-you-want-to-go-far.html" target="_blank">If You Want To Go Far...</a></h3>
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...And here is a picture of my cat, because fur-covered evil never gets old...</div>
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DC Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985741031137722070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568028643301664772.post-24253354177400209142015-04-07T12:16:00.002-04:002015-08-26T13:43:19.196-04:00Taking a breakHi Internet,<br />
I'm taking a break from blogging to work on some other projects (big news hopefully coming soon) but in the meantime, feel free to read some of my most popular posts below and feel free to share in the comments any similar ridiculous stories you might have. See you soon!<br />
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<a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2011/06/event-planning-for-president.html" target="_blank">Event Planning for the President</a></h3>
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<a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2013/11/that-one-time-i-tried-crossfit.html" target="_blank">That One Time I Tried CrossFit</a></h3>
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<a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2013/09/family-fun-day.html" target="_blank">Family Fun Day</a></h3>
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<a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2011/06/dc-dating-part-three.html" target="_blank">DC Dating Part Three: "Breakfast Date"</a></h3>
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<a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2011/07/wild-wonderful.html" target="_blank">Wild. Wonderful.</a></h3>
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<a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2013/09/i-hope-you-fail-post-wherein-i-quote.html" target="_blank">I Hope You Fail (The post wherein I quote Ashton Kutcher)</a></h3>
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<a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2011/06/because-i-hadnt-done-it-before.html" target="_blank">Because I hadn't done it before</a></h3>
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<a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2013/09/sticks-and-stones-may-break-your-bones.html" target="_blank">Sticks and Stones May Break Your Bones, but Thoughts Tear ACLs….</a></h3>
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<a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2014/07/if-you-want-to-go-far.html" target="_blank">If You Want To Go Far...</a></h3>
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...And here is a picture of my cat, because fur-covered evil never gets old...</div>
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DC Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985741031137722070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568028643301664772.post-77240027756763762762015-03-20T11:08:00.000-04:002015-08-26T13:43:19.254-04:00Give One Picture That Describes Your Story...<div style="background-color: white; font-stretch: normal; margin: 0.75em 0px 0px; position: relative;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">I attended a team offsite event for work this week and to help us all get to know each other better, we were asked to bring in one photo that describes our "story." I ended up bringing in this:</span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DA7WrPbhArE/VQw08eBCzaI/AAAAAAAAEr4/dbm5dAWPp_E/s1600/BIG_Wheel_(3327257572).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DA7WrPbhArE/VQw08eBCzaI/AAAAAAAAEr4/dbm5dAWPp_E/s1600/BIG_Wheel_(3327257572).jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Big_Wheel_%28tricycle%29" style="background-color: white; font-size: medium; text-align: start;" target="_blank">Big Wheel bike</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: xx-small; text-align: start;"> </span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">Because around the time I was 3 or 4 years old, I made my parents amused and proud when I was riding my Big Wheel down the street in my original home state of Washington and I chose to turn around in the driveway in front of a retirement home. Well, one elderly woman was sitting outside and did </span><i style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">not </i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">like that I was doing that so she kept trying to make me stop. But I didn't stop, because I knew I wasn't doing </span><span style="color: #222222;">anything</span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"> wrong and that lady didn't </span><i style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">own </i><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">the driveway, and I wasn't hurting anyone. And I </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">had </i><span style="font-family: inherit;">to turn around </span><i>somewhere </i>because hello! Parents don't just let you keep riding your Big Wheel until you reach Oregon! Anyway, my parents lovingly tell stories like that as examples of the fact that I've always been a little headstrong, not afraid to challenge authority when appropriate, and not afraid to stand up for myself and <a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2013/06/the-i-did-it-my-way-award.html" target="_blank">do things my way. </a></span></div>
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Anyway, I ended up using that one image as an abstract way to explain that those traits carried into my adult life, blah blah blah, but a lot of <i>other </i>people chose the literal route and simply made collages of their lives.</div>
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Oh. </div>
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Yes, I suppose I <i>could've </i>done that instead of basically conveying to everyone that I was born a hot-head. Whoops.</div>
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So some of their collages showed the different jobs they had held before joining the career that we are now all in together -- government consulting. And some of their past roles included working in state politics, working overseas, etc. and it made me smile to myself thinking about what my collage would've included had I gone that route. </div>
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Below is a post I wrote years ago describing some of my former jobs. I think it's probably just as well that I stuck with the Big Wheel....<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">What a Way to Make a Living</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>(Originally posted July 2011)</i></span><br />
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I apparently have an entrepreneurial heart because I started
wondering how to make money about the time I, I don't know, started breathing.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I sold cookies and Kool-aid at my mom's yard sales in the
summer. I sold Friendship Bracelets to other children who were too lazy to make
their own. (I grew up in the middle of Orchards, I had a lot of time on my
hands to braid thread...)<o:p></o:p></div>
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When I was 12, I worked (underage) as a quasi-maid at my
parents' motel. I also got on staff at another hotel as a babysitter. Because
apparently some rich people like to dump their kids off on perfect strangers
who haven't reached puberty yet while they go out on the town.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The first gig I got was taking care of a toddler and an
infant. The infant was sick. I'd never babysat before.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I never worked at that place again.<o:p></o:p></div>
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When I was 13, my family moved to Tennessee where I
continued my streak of random income-earning:<o:p></o:p></div>
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I worked as a Hostess at Shoney's.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I worked as a Dairy Queen server <i>AT A TRUCK STOP</i>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I worked in a Rent-To-Own furniture store.<o:p></o:p></div>
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That one, I have tons of stories from. If you aren't
familiar with the typical clientele of that sort of place, let me describe some
of ours:<o:p></o:p></div>
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-we had actual Pimps<o:p></o:p></div>
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-we had drug dealers<o:p></o:p></div>
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-we had one lady with a tattoo on her forehead of a number
that my God-fearing self can't even type here<o:p></o:p></div>
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-and others who I've now blocked out in my memory<o:p></o:p></div>
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We'd repo furniture and it'd come back with roaches. I made
collection-calls. I drove the Box Truck. And I was the only female working
there, so if the customers and environment weren't enough, you should meet my
bosses!<o:p></o:p></div>
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One of them called me "Woman!" and also used the
term "Broad" and whenever anyone asked where anything was in the
office, the answer was:<o:p></o:p></div>
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"If it was up your *butt you'd know!"<o:p></o:p></div>
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*butt wasn't actually the word they preferred.<o:p></o:p></div>
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This is why I'm not really fazed by "difficult
personalities" in D.C....<o:p></o:p></div>
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After that, I started working...<o:p></o:p></div>
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...on an assembly line!<o:p></o:p></div>
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You thought I was going to say something boring, didn't you?<o:p></o:p></div>
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In my college town was a plant that made Foam Packaging for
everything from hospital beds, to BMW parts.<o:p></o:p></div>
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They paid above minimum wage and let you stare off into
space while mechanically going through the same motion for hours. I was sold.<o:p></o:p></div>
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That place was fun. There were some other guys (guys! Always
guys! I'm starting to see why I get along better with men in the workplace...)
from my school who also worked there. And they took more advantage of the place
then I did and used to bounce around in the back warehouse on the hospital
bedding we'd just put together. And take naps.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Meanwhile, me and my conscience worked steadily away at a
variety of brain-cell killing tasks.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Literally brain-cell killing. At one station we melted
Styrofoam with hair dryers to get items to stick together. Pretty sure that is
not the most healthy thing to smell for hours. But it explains a lot about me
now....<o:p></o:p></div>
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At another station, we had to stand up large foam mats and
spray glue on them, air-brush style. The great part was, (besides using the
glue gun) you were back up against an identical station sothat person's glue
would inevitably over-spray --<o:p></o:p></div>
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onto your hair.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I never had a dramatic incident but I do remember the
sensation of glue spray coming over the top of the divider wall. And I probably
was thinking "somehow this isn't how I pictured college life..."<o:p></o:p></div>
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After we sprayed them, we had to wrestle with these heavy
gel pads that went on one foam mat, then we had to slap a second foam mat on
top of that - forming part of a bed.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>Once again, I feel bad for the end user of something I
created...</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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After college, I moved to D.C. where before I was hired full
time, I served as an intern for 3 months, making no money. So then I resorted
to scavenging free food at events whenever possible and at one point found out
about a catering job I could do to make some money. They bus you out to the
event (not in the best part of town) and you make sure the buffet stays full.
But the best part?<o:p></o:p></div>
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It was for Redskins Games.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So while I had to slave over steaming hot trays of food for
other people - I also got to watch pro-football for free. I only did it once,
but it was pretty fun. And it was ironic to have people dismiss you as
"just the server" but be getting paid, then get up, put on my Big
Girl Suit and walk right into the White House complex -- and work for free.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And even after the White House hired me full-time, you never
seem to have enough money in this town. So I've supplemented my income through
the years with everything from part-time work at Golds Gym to getting paid to
sing harmony in a cover band, to selling merchandise on a music tour, living in
a bus with a bluegrass band (as I mentioned <a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2011/06/internal-homing-device-strikes-again.html" target="_blank">here</a>).<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So right now I just have the two careers
(consulting and the U.S. Navy Reserve) but maybe it's time to find a new random
gig again. Anyone need a weekend travel writer?....</span></span><br />
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DC Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985741031137722070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568028643301664772.post-74329518335903934272015-03-14T17:53:00.001-04:002015-08-26T13:43:19.251-04:00New Walls<h3 class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-stretch: normal; font-weight: normal; margin: 0.75em 0px 0px; position: relative;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">I still intend to eventually write a post on my adventures in the United Arab Emirates, but you guys -- life is<a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2013/07/now-life-is-living-you.html" target="_blank"> trying to mow me down again</a> and I just can't keep up with everything. On top of everything else, I've added physical therapy to the mix which involves daily activities like isolating butt muscles in order to keep my knees from going out of socket ...you know, the usual life stuff (more on <i>that </i>in another post...). So I haven't had the time or energy to write so I'm leaving you with an old post. And since I'm in a season lately where I feel like I might be coming up on some new adventures, the post below seemed to fit nicely. </span></h3>
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The Downward Spiral into Oblivion</h3>
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<i>(originally posted in 2013)</i></div>
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About a year ago, me, my friend Gina, and <a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2011/06/baby-snow-oxen-and-goldfish-poodles.html" style="color: #888888; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">The Other Goldfish Poodle </a>were all sitting around in a quaint little restaurant in West Virginia, when the topic of conversation shifted to - turning 30.<br />
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What proceeded out of my and Rod's mouths was nothing short of frantic vitriol being spat into Gina's face about how she should just stay in her 20's if at all possible because once you cross that threshold (and here's where one of my favorite Rod quotes is uttered) you enter a "downward spiral into oblivion."<br />
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Here's the thing. Rod and I LOVED our 20's. Being Goldfish Poodles, everything was so shiny and new and exciting. And everything felt like an accomplishment. Mom, I got a job! Mom, I have my own apartment! Mom, I decided <i>not </i>to eat the inside part of Oreo cookies for breakfast each day <i>even though I totally can. </i><br />
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I started worrying that nothing I did would ever be seen as an accomplishment again, because I assumed that once you are in your 30's, people just expected everything. Of <i>course </i>you should have degrees. Of <i>course </i>you should've been promoted by now. Of <i>course </i>you should be able to keep a house plant alive....<br />
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Rod had similar fears. He felt like his major accomplishments all revolved directly around age. He won honors and held leadership positions for things that you age out of. He was always the youngest to do this or that, so he too feared that his best days were left in his 20's. Our best days were still somewhere using plastic crates as furniture and wearing Forever 21 outfits to the office. (Ok maybe that was just me. ...and maybe I still occasionally shop at Forever 21...but you get the point.)<br />
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And before you start judging us: yes, he and I both knew we were being uber dramatic and First World Problem-y. But it was fun to commiserate and there really was some <i>tiny</i> level of apprehension around our 30s. (Tiny level of apprehension meaning - I literally woke up panicking in the middle of the night more than once during my 29th year. I should switch to decaf and get a life, I know, I know.)<br />
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Oh! oh! And the other thing! For <i>females, </i>I feel like this whole getting older thing is even more pressure-filled because we have those baby-producing expiration dates and all that. And we are bombarded with stories of men who only want "younger models" etc. I just felt like my "value" for marriage was decreasing like a car. A really fun sporty car that splashed through mud, but still. And yes, I know I could've just settled down with someone in order to check off the whole Marriage box if I really wanted to, but I physically can't stay with someone just to check a box. I actually really need to love the dude. UGH. <i>ANNOYING.</i><br />
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Anyway, Gina is laughing in our faces by this point while Rod and I are nearly making stoic suicide pacts over our chicken salad. At some point, Gina suggests that maybe Rod and I are climbing ladders of "success" based on wrong assumptions. That maybe we haven't reached the top of the ladders of our potentials, like we feared, but that we actually just need to find a new wall to lean the ladder on.<br />
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<i>Ok, I explained that really poorly so if anyone reading this has a psychology degree, maybe you can help elaborate.</i><br />
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Regardless, it helped. Sort of. Rod and I pondered the possibility of New Walls and in the end, he ended up making a very personal/potentially career altering announcement in a very public forum, and me?<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I JOINED THE MILITARY.</span></div>
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Well, I'm on my <i>way</i> to joining, anyway.(!!!!) A couple things need to take place first, but I was selected for something in the Navy Reserve.<br />
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And yes, I'm absolutely going to yell "<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Few_Good_Men" style="color: #888888; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">YOU CAN'T <i>HANDLE </i>THE TRUTH!</a>" every time I put on the uniform. I know that movie was about Marines, but yelling <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0092099/quotes" style="color: #888888; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">"MY EGO IS WRITING CHECKS MY BODY CAN'T CASH!</a>" is not as rewarding...</blockquote>
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So -YES! <i>That </i>is the thing I've been keeping from you (...and also my mother). The thing I went after like a <a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2013/09/i-hope-you-fail-post-wherein-i-quote.html" style="color: #888888; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">spider monkey. </a>The thing that had me running <a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2013/07/getting-hazed-at-pentagon_13.html" style="color: #888888; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">around the Pentagon</a> frantically.<br />
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It's <i>such </i>a long story as to how I arrived at this goal, but I'm just thanking the Lord for the journey because it's been amazing on many different levels. I'm sure I'll have more to share (just <i>imagine </i>the embarrassing possibilities awaiting me in a world filled with physical fitness tests, uniforms, and weaponry...). But you know <i>why</i> I was selected? Because I had years of experience behind me.<br />
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AKA -- I likely wouldn't have had the slightest chance at this if I were still a fresh little 22 year old. Take <i>that, </i>Past Dana! With your wrinkle-free face!<br />
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So, OK, fine. Maybe there <i>are</i> a lot more things to be done <i>even after </i>your 20's. Maybe there are higher walls that I didn't even realize existed when everything seemed so new and shiny and I still felt cute and naive enough to get away with anything.<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I'm now trying to look at 30's more the way<a href="http://www.glamour.com/entertainment/2013/08/olivia-wilde-s-advice-for-turning-30" style="color: #888888; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank"><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>Olivia Wilde talked about them in Glamour</a><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>(yes, I just quoted a Hollywood actress and referenced a fashion magazine. I may be joining the U.S. Military, but I am <i>not </i>turning in my Superficial Girl card, child please.<span class="apple-converted-space">) -</span> "Saturn has now orbited the sun once since you've been alive; make this next go-round whatever you want it to be. Consider your baggage (bad boyfriends, job setbacks, body issues) lost by the airline of life, leaving you empty-handed at your new destination with only one choice: Go shopping."</span><span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 25px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 25px;">I think I'll do just that, Olivia. Uniform shopping. (...and maybe some new stilletos...)</span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 25px;"> </span></span><br />
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DC Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985741031137722070noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568028643301664772.post-84574254180328470652015-02-22T16:16:00.002-05:002015-08-26T13:43:19.264-04:00Nepal 6: Namaste, Nepal <div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
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In the end our trek was about 28 miles total. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'I hiked stairs for four days and all I got was this ID card'</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222;">After we unloaded our gear at Kim's, we went out for more Kathmandu tourism.We learned more about the country, and passed vehicles with </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">interesting</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> spellings like "pik up" or "pawared by [fill in the blank]" </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Kim's family car was a motorbike called a "Unicorn." I thoroughly enjoyed the Unicorn.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">It was on the Unicorn that I had the </span><span style="color: #222222;">exhilarating</span><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> experience of riding on the back of a motorbike through the streets of </span>Kathmandu<span style="font-family: inherit;">, </span>literally<span style="font-family: inherit;"> so close to the traffic around us that at one point I hit my knee on another bike's </span>mirror<span style="font-family: inherit;"> while we navigated the city streets. This is how it looked at times:</span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">http://jaymepoisson.blogspot.com/2010/04/im-settling-into-this-wonderful-city.html</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">http://www.fotothing.com/Weesue/photo/eb096b153d858fe6f645125ec1fb937f/</td></tr>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">At another point, we had three of us on the bike, as Kim, her husband and I all "carpooled' to dinner.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We basically looked like this, but more cramped:</span></span><br />
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Christin's flight was before mine, so </span>before<span style="font-family: inherit;"> she left, we all </span>wandered<span style="font-family: inherit;"> around Kathmandu together. We rode a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rickshaw" target="_blank">rickshaw </a>to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thamel" target="_blank">Thamel</a>, and passed by the many "Northfake" (fake <a href="http://www.thenorthface.com/en_US/index.html?cm_mmc=Google-_-Brand%20Terms%20-%20Washington%20DC-_-Washington%20DC%20-%20Brand%20Core%20Terms_Exact-_-Northface&gclid=CJHUu4e_9sMCFdgMgQodAiwA-w" target="_blank">NorthFace</a>) stores. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Monks window shop too</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me in my rickshaw taking a photo of Kim in her rickshaw</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Streets around Thamel</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">We saw <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Durbar_Square" target="_blank">Durbar Square</a> again</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chillin' on the steps of "hippie temple" where rock legends used to hang out to find enlightenment</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from hippie temple of Durbar Square</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">And went to see: </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">The<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kumari_%28children%29" target="_blank"> Kumari</a>.</span><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-43KP4W20OoU/VOjVyZI4J3I/AAAAAAAAEmg/zlZSD0NapAw/s1600/IMG_3294.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-43KP4W20OoU/VOjVyZI4J3I/AAAAAAAAEmg/zlZSD0NapAw/s1600/IMG_3294.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Kumari is believed to be a "living goddess" in Nepal and the story fascinated me. From what I gathered, a committe selects a little girl through a series of tests (must have good family history, can't have any cuts, can't show fear when left alone in a scary building at night....interesting stuff.) And she becomes the Kumari until she's reaches puberty. She can't ever bleed, so she has to be carried everywhere outside so that she doesn't cut her feet or anything. She lives in a building in the square without her family and has keepers and teachers around her. At a certain time of day, people are allowed to catch a glimpse of her for just a second. It's considered kind of like getting a blessing from her. </span></span><br />
<span style="background: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I of course had to see this little Kumari.</span></span><br />
<span style="background: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The current one is about 9 years old I think. We weren't allowed to photograph her (although, don't be silly, you could <i>purchase </i>photos of her outside), but sure enough, at the time alotted, we all gathered in the inner courts of her house and were told to watch the upper center window. And all of a sudden, this small girl with elaborate makeup appeared in the window. She looked serious and almost bored. She looked around and then disappeared again. </span></span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wlEp07yTuyU/VOpGhHxS8QI/AAAAAAAAEo0/pNdWJvH2W_4/s1600/IMG_2654.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wlEp07yTuyU/VOpGhHxS8QI/AAAAAAAAEo0/pNdWJvH2W_4/s1600/IMG_2654.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">inner courts</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8VDLJtS6FEk/VOjUB-sROEI/AAAAAAAAEk4/mRMZukyUg0o/s1600/kumari.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8VDLJtS6FEk/VOjUB-sROEI/AAAAAAAAEk4/mRMZukyUg0o/s1600/kumari.jpg" height="242" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I did not take this photo! They did - http://asianitinerary.com/magic-kathmandu-basantapur-durbar-square/</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8QKekwgU1P0/VOjUBopExpI/AAAAAAAAEk0/L-s7nodgbRo/s1600/article-0-0F63CE6500000578-772_964x597.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8QKekwgU1P0/VOjUBopExpI/AAAAAAAAEk0/L-s7nodgbRo/s1600/article-0-0F63CE6500000578-772_964x597.jpg" height="247" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2084901/Extraordinary-life-child-Kumari-virgin-goddess-adored-thousands-religious-festival.html</td></tr>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I wondered what it must be like to be swept away from your family, told you were a god, then have that all yanked away when you got your first period and you then lived like a "normal person" from then on. One of the former Kumari's is now a software engineer in the U.S. somewhere. Crazy.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">Christin left and I spent my last day seeing more of Kathmandu. I saw another square: </span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PoN4FCxqhp0/VOjV1EcxVMI/AAAAAAAAEm4/KpHArhgUUIQ/s1600/IMG_3371.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PoN4FCxqhp0/VOjV1EcxVMI/AAAAAAAAEm4/KpHArhgUUIQ/s1600/IMG_3371.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HSNZitQWHi4/VOjV1191zpI/AAAAAAAAEnI/ytn7jWS8VRU/s1600/IMG_3375.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HSNZitQWHi4/VOjV1191zpI/AAAAAAAAEnI/ytn7jWS8VRU/s1600/IMG_3375.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://patan%20durbar%20square/" target="_blank">Patan Durbar Square</a> with a million of my closest friends</td></tr>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And again realized how much I really don't fit in Nepal:</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-trqmnY3w_iE/VOjXGnVkZxI/AAAAAAAAEnU/Frk5dQ2yTRU/s1600/IMG_3365.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-trqmnY3w_iE/VOjXGnVkZxI/AAAAAAAAEnU/Frk5dQ2yTRU/s1600/IMG_3365.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">oh HAI ceiling!</td></tr>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YrCe3YFJND0/VOjXG4I26aI/AAAAAAAAEnY/j1TqJUWFUbM/s1600/IMG_3366.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YrCe3YFJND0/VOjXG4I26aI/AAAAAAAAEnY/j1TqJUWFUbM/s1600/IMG_3366.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZEHgU7sS7FU/VOpQC7p7vXI/AAAAAAAAEpU/-qUdgr_8M4w/s1600/IMG_2657.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZEHgU7sS7FU/VOpQC7p7vXI/AAAAAAAAEpU/-qUdgr_8M4w/s1600/IMG_2657.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yep, mind your head indeed</td></tr>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And I also had a "Trekker's massage." I once again rode though Kathmandu streets with no helmet on the back of a motorbike with a man I just met (sure, it was Kim's husband, but still) - my parents would be so proud! -- and then arrived in front of a dusty building. It definitely didn't look like a typical "spa" from the outside, but hey, it was like a third of the price of a DC massage and it ended up being lovely. </span></span><br />
<span style="background: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white;">I had dinner with Kim and her husband before finally </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">boarding my plane around 10 pm headed to Dubai. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">...where a slew of new adventures awaited me during the 24 hour layover I would spend in the United Arab Emirates. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">More in the next post. </span></div>
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DC Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985741031137722070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568028643301664772.post-40404189999401417452015-02-21T14:26:00.002-05:002015-08-26T13:43:19.205-04:00Dubai <div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I went from seeing extreme poverty to seeing the most ridiculous wealth in a matter of hours.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I arrived in Dubai at 2 a.m. and had precisely 24 hours to tour around before boarding my last plane back to the states.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I made the most of it.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">After curling up in a chair near a coffee kiosk and setting my travel alarm, I woke up around 8 or 9 am and began to convert the women's bathroom into my personal dressing room. I put my contacts back in my tired eyes, changed lcothes and put on makeup. I left my bags and jumped on the city metro train bound for the Old City.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I rode an Abra to the Old City, hit the gold Souk,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">where I was immediatley pounced on by merchants. Ah yes, markets. This was not my first rodeo. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I steeled against the "you want purses?" undercover implorings at each intersection I crossed. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Where was the <i>gold?</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span>
finally saw AH! gold then decided I <i>did</i> want purses. so the hunted became te hunter and I set out to find a purse guy.<br />
<br />
It didn't take long. A man saw the .. in my eyes and began dragging me throught hte market.<br />
<br />
This may have caused apprehension, but I knew what this was. I was once pushed into a fak door ...chiniatown then shoved out of it when the cops were coming.<br />
<br />
I calmly and cheerfully let myself be run all over the market as if I were being kidnapped. This is all part of the game.<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> was draggged around by a merchant, hit the spice and textile souks, rode a boat back, hopped in a cab, ran to the Burj... for the most expensive lunch I've ever had, took a golf cart over to .. to see more opulence before taking a cab up town to the Burj in time fo rmy appointment to go up to the hight observation tower, looked around the Dubai mall, saw the fountain show, took the metro train back to the mall of the emirates to see the ski lift, then finaly made it back to the airport in time to grab my things, take a cab over to the proper terminal, eat a sandwich and finally board my flight home at 2am on Monday. Which was delayed because of a medical emergency on board. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Kentucky Derby winners are less tired than I was after that weekend.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">OR just list: saw<br />souk</span><br />
burj<br />
ski<br />
etc.<br />
<br />
took every form of transportaiton:<br />
Abra<br />
cab<br />
train<br />
<br />
I'm of the Go Big or Go Home school of thought.</div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">Saw seik going into gym. That whistle ring on every cell. Pretty sure I paid nearly 20 for sparkle water. Man in souk dragging me everywhere. Reminded me of China purse lady in nyc. "America supreme country. " how many territories?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222;">Don't understand ppl who can fly intl in nice outfits. I had yoga pants and a sweater that would randomly show way too much and I felt nicer than normal.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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DC Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985741031137722070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568028643301664772.post-32119775340141263562015-02-21T13:37:00.003-05:002015-08-26T13:43:19.202-04:00Navy CampOfficer training school.<br />
Like real world watching people come to the house the first time.<br />
<br />
isolated buttocks<br />
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Railroad sounds<br />
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"0-10!"<br />
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<br />
blizzards<br />
<br />
sickness<br />
<br />
knee<br />
<br />
Lunas saying she did 100 push ups because chief kept saying " you know who you are -- go destroy your body"<br />
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<br />
<br />
pool jump - her faceplanting and instantly inflating.<br />
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<br />DC Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985741031137722070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568028643301664772.post-9769430462427217342015-02-08T13:40:00.000-05:002015-08-26T13:43:19.278-04:00Nepal 5: Tea and RabiesI told you that my feet overheated on day 3, but I didn't tell you that I went to bed -<br />
<br />
at 7:30pm.<br />
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By day four, I was full on head-coldy and exhausted but I wasn't the only one struggling:<br />
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Those were Christin's feet. There's so much going on here, I don't even know where to start. At one point along the way, both she and I had the humbling experience of having someone else put bandaids on our trekker's feet after we realized our boots were giving us blisters. She had already lost a toe nail from her previous hike before this so she was definitely faring the worst.<br />
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But we had now reached our last day of the trek so we continued to <strike>hobble </strike>head down the stairs.<br />
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I called the fourth day Fern Gulley because while it looked similar to the Lord of the Rings days, it had less fog and more water. Welcome to the inside of my brain. It's scary in here, you should get out quickly...<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fern Gully day</td></tr>
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We passed a spot where trekkers were leaving little stone markers, kind of like an "I was here" type gesture. So we did too.<br />
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We passed more interesting sights, like this:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-II0qdAMLwPA/VLQGuFDFiBI/AAAAAAAAEWA/FsW2UF2odpk/s1600/IMG_3134.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-II0qdAMLwPA/VLQGuFDFiBI/AAAAAAAAEWA/FsW2UF2odpk/s1600/IMG_3134.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nothing to see here, just carrying some animal hooves....</td></tr>
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And passed more animals like this:<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_W1U7NRUFtU/VL5uNuHdlaI/AAAAAAAAEbI/pEX3TG0z4tg/s1600/IMG_3167.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_W1U7NRUFtU/VL5uNuHdlaI/AAAAAAAAEbI/pEX3TG0z4tg/s1600/IMG_3167.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
At one point, a mule passed gas right on me after I politely greeted it with a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Namaste" target="_blank">Namaste</a>. Since I was already sick and fairly exhausted by that point, it seemed pretty appropriate, really.<br />
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At some point, we strayed from the path in order to walk across a terraced field.<br />
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Me being obsessed with those things, I was very happy to be walking right in one:<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DinmWaNLEkA/VL5ylOhFvBI/AAAAAAAAEcA/ddoX4pD2Sp4/s1600/IMG_3153.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DinmWaNLEkA/VL5ylOhFvBI/AAAAAAAAEcA/ddoX4pD2Sp4/s1600/IMG_3153.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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..until I found out we'd need to go down a steep embankment to get back on our trail:<br />
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I ended up sliding down on my rear end. Vanity was long gone by that point.<br />
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We eventually made it back down to Terraced Fields scenery again, where I snapped a photo which shows so many elements that were normal sights for us:<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gF-viCdJbTY/VL5zQyTWm7I/AAAAAAAAEcI/H6UDsK36g8s/s1600/IMG_3201%2B1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gF-viCdJbTY/VL5zQyTWm7I/AAAAAAAAEcI/H6UDsK36g8s/s1600/IMG_3201%2B1.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
And another normal sight was Dom, our guide, looking back at me wondering if I was stopping because I was tired, taking yet another photo, or both. (usually it was both)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3A8mK9awqNE/VL5zQ8E0uzI/AAAAAAAAEcM/j4m7dVx3fto/s1600/IMG_3204.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3A8mK9awqNE/VL5zQ8E0uzI/AAAAAAAAEcM/j4m7dVx3fto/s1600/IMG_3204.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's Dom, looking back at me.</td></tr>
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Here are more of my pics from that last leg:<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WmrrkYBFCQE/VL5z-QIabjI/AAAAAAAAEck/ptz7ev26LfY/s1600/IMG_3224.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WmrrkYBFCQE/VL5z-QIabjI/AAAAAAAAEck/ptz7ev26LfY/s1600/IMG_3224.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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W<span style="font-family: inherit;">e m</span>ade it!<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KoyyR5tnauw/VL5z9y0SV1I/AAAAAAAAEcc/PukHd-YQEAg/s1600/IMG_3234.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KoyyR5tnauw/VL5z9y0SV1I/AAAAAAAAEcc/PukHd-YQEAg/s1600/IMG_3234.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">Well, almost. We finally made it back to down to the point where our driver would pick us up and take us into <a href="http://wikitravel.org/en/Pokhara" target="_blank">Pokhara</a>. We had "splurged' and reserved a hotel room for that night that included heat and our own clean, western style bathroom complete with a shower. When we walked in, we nearly weeped with joy.</span><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JUQBjfXAhoM/VL50m8bdYOI/AAAAAAAAEdE/_-IagplFEOc/s1600/IMG_3253.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JUQBjfXAhoM/VL50m8bdYOI/AAAAAAAAEdE/_-IagplFEOc/s1600/IMG_3253.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white;">It was Thanksgiving day back in the States, so we showered and headed out to enjoy dinner.</span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jNDIK_w4Cfs/VL51DR_iX3I/AAAAAAAAEdM/9EFYx-1f_JE/s1600/IMG_3266.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jNDIK_w4Cfs/VL51DR_iX3I/AAAAAAAAEdM/9EFYx-1f_JE/s1600/IMG_3266.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our Pokhara Thanksgiving meal<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; text-align: center;">We discovered that Kim had brought a surprise can of cranberry sauce for us to feel more like home, and that can was schlepped around in "Christina" for the whole dang trek.</span>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-O0389R09o3U/VL51bjoOOeI/AAAAAAAAEdY/ENkr4msej5A/s1600/IMG_3263.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-O0389R09o3U/VL51bjoOOeI/AAAAAAAAEdY/ENkr4msej5A/s1600/IMG_3263.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">...we could never find a can opener, however, so those cranberries are likely still in that can to this day.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white;">Nice thought, though.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white;">We looked around Pokhara for a bit:</span></span></span><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IP2DHcEHnLg/VL51uyzPijI/AAAAAAAAEdg/2K2kaueVDWk/s1600/IMG_3265.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IP2DHcEHnLg/VL51uyzPijI/AAAAAAAAEdg/2K2kaueVDWk/s1600/IMG_3265.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AbF27r4ZnTY/VL520UHB_wI/AAAAAAAAEds/sGI_I-q313Y/s1600/IMG_3262.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AbF27r4ZnTY/VL520UHB_wI/AAAAAAAAEds/sGI_I-q313Y/s1600/IMG_3262.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And it was here the we saw more other "<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 24px;"><a href="http://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/Appendix:English_terms_for_outsiders" target="_blank">bideshis</a>"</span> (foreigners) than we had our entire trip. The place was full of other western trekkers... and<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hippie" target="_blank"> hippies</a>.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ItJJZLKV-C0/VL57lM6oT-I/AAAAAAAAEe0/e5TfrC09Ukk/s1600/IMG_3268.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ItJJZLKV-C0/VL57lM6oT-I/AAAAAAAAEe0/e5TfrC09Ukk/s1600/IMG_3268.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No need, indeed.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rtD_0Miz-vg/VL57liL6QOI/AAAAAAAAEfE/nLUqrD5raH8/s1600/IMG_3329.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rtD_0Miz-vg/VL57liL6QOI/AAAAAAAAEfE/nLUqrD5raH8/s1600/IMG_3329.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I call this: Hippies on a stoop.</td></tr>
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And Pokhara was also full of interesting things like this:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--hZ0SM_1MRo/VL5219l6IxI/AAAAAAAAEeI/yXu_G84LGOQ/s1600/IMG_3270.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--hZ0SM_1MRo/VL5219l6IxI/AAAAAAAAEeI/yXu_G84LGOQ/s1600/IMG_3270.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No idea....</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">We went to bed and woke up early to catch our long ride back to Kathmandu (thanks to the air travel restrictions currently in place.)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white;">The morning was terribly foggy and having seen how traffic works in Nepal, Christin's first question when she got into the front seat of our taxi was "</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Should I wear a seat belt or just get thrown clear?"</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><br /></span><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white;">We all decided she'd probably fare better in an accident if she was just thrown from the vehicle. And with that, we all settled in for a potentially frightening, potentially long ride back.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Because of my tendency to become <a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2014/12/nepal-2-were-big-in-nepal.html" target="_blank">vomitting-goat-ish</a>, I ended up taking two </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222;">Dramamine before the ride. I didn't realize I should've only taken one until after I kept falling into unconsciousness and at one point dreaming that I had reached </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">transcendence. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><i>I guess the Buddhist culture had seeped into my subconscious and I distinctly remember, during the dream, thinking "this will be funny later"... and it was. </i></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Thankfully our driver was really cautious, and we drove through the fog safely, through traffic that included many giant trucks like this one:</span></span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xoqUE01y5Qg/VL592_SL8jI/AAAAAAAAEfQ/E0bVu6Vf2bg/s1600/truck%2Bfrom%2Bother%2Bblogger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xoqUE01y5Qg/VL592_SL8jI/AAAAAAAAEfQ/E0bVu6Vf2bg/s1600/truck%2Bfrom%2Bother%2Bblogger.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">(Pic found on <a href="https://dornonnepalmission.wordpress.com/2013/02/22/travel-in-nepal/" target="_blank">Hope for the Hills</a>)</span></td><td class="tr-caption"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><br /></span></td><td class="tr-caption"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><br /></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">These colorful trucks typically are used for carrying in goods from India. They all had amusing sayings on the front like "Speed Control," or "See You," or "Road King." I was hoping our driver did indeed, see those road kings in the fog.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I also hoped he took this Nepali motto to heart:</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hQX5fNypzxk/VL57jiXo2KI/AAAAAAAAEew/6xR4-6CtSho/s1600/IMG_3249.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hQX5fNypzxk/VL57jiXo2KI/AAAAAAAAEew/6xR4-6CtSho/s1600/IMG_3249.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Slow Drive. Long Life.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">I recall waking from my enlightenment coma long enough for us to have tea along the road at an establishment that included some type of animal running around. I honestly can't remember if it was a dog or a cat, but I just remember us girls joking that we were stopping, you know, for "some tea and some rabies."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">That type of joke occurred more than once as we passed animals that truly appeared to be just waiting to give us diseases. At one point, when we were surrounded by pigeons, Kim - the local - dead panned "aaaaaand: Typhoid." In such situations, you just have to matter-of-factly laugh and keep it moving.</span><br />
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<span style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Asphalt<span style="font-family: inherit;"> was an elusive commodit</span>y during our ride back, </span>disappearing<span style="font-family: inherit;">, then reappearing at will. Sometimes in a wide enough strip to pass another car on, sometimes not....</span></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Hx-aFqn3Lz0/VL57jylS2gI/AAAAAAAAEek/gdoJH8kjEm0/s1600/IMG_3250.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Hx-aFqn3Lz0/VL57jylS2gI/AAAAAAAAEek/gdoJH8kjEm0/s1600/IMG_3250.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
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More typical "traffic"...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kpF49DgSbIQ/VL57kmTizaI/AAAAAAAAEeo/u349Lps4QY8/s1600/IMG_3251.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kpF49DgSbIQ/VL57kmTizaI/AAAAAAAAEeo/u349Lps4QY8/s1600/IMG_3251.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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We finally made it back to Kathmandu around lunch time and, after unloading our things at Kim's, we headed out for more sightseeing.<br />
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I'll tell you about getting a "trekker's massage" and seeing a living "Goddess" in the next post. </div>
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DC Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985741031137722070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568028643301664772.post-9416789211493299222015-01-12T14:40:00.000-05:002015-08-26T13:43:19.275-04:00Nepal 4: The post with all the photos of spectacular mountains (...and one of me wearing a Scrunchie)<br />
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The terrain changed on Day 2, and we moved away from the outer edges of the mountains lined with terraced fields and moved into more wooded areas dense with fog. It was here that I felt like I was wandering around some Lord of the Rings set, all mysterious and forbidden.<br />
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But don't be silly, we still had those darn stone stairs.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8Tq1PpJ7Y1A/VJdaMtAdzyI/AAAAAAAAETM/pNeJ2RJ9kvk/s1600/IMG_2826.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8Tq1PpJ7Y1A/VJdaMtAdzyI/AAAAAAAAETM/pNeJ2RJ9kvk/s1600/IMG_2826.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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This day was longer than the first, and we ended in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ghorepani" target="_blank">Ghorepani</a> village about 1000 feet below our final climbing point. The plan was to wake up on the third day and summit Poon Hill before dawn to watch the sun rise over the Annapurna range.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_iipucalHv0/VLQGrTgNtLI/AAAAAAAAEVg/Wz1dBKyT9As/s1600/IMG_2836.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_iipucalHv0/VLQGrTgNtLI/AAAAAAAAEVg/Wz1dBKyT9As/s1600/IMG_2836.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Arriving in Ghorepani</td></tr>
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We hung out in Ghorepani for a bit before going to bed early. We had fog pretty much the whole way thus far so we prayed it would clear before our summit the next morning.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4RbkXJJtrkM/VLQGrQOnVXI/AAAAAAAAEVo/BFloUa6ymEA/s1600/IMG_2856.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4RbkXJJtrkM/VLQGrQOnVXI/AAAAAAAAEVo/BFloUa6ymEA/s1600/IMG_2856.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If those clouds would juuuuust move over a tiiiiiny bit, we could see the whole peaks up there in the sky....</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KHMNgfFnziY/VLQGsplyzyI/AAAAAAAAEV4/hl54Rl8m2FM/s1600/IMG_2865.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KHMNgfFnziY/VLQGsplyzyI/AAAAAAAAEV4/hl54Rl8m2FM/s1600/IMG_2865.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The peaks teasing us more behind the village.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nmVZISFVcV0/VLQGrhEG8QI/AAAAAAAAEVk/yqDB-ZgwNQ8/s1600/IMG_2850.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nmVZISFVcV0/VLQGrhEG8QI/AAAAAAAAEVk/yqDB-ZgwNQ8/s1600/IMG_2850.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">and a bonus pic of a mule train outside my window because: cute mules</td></tr>
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That night was the coldest we'd had and we all gathered around the stove burning in the main room, sipping our masala teas, until a large group of Indian tourists sidled up next to us and began drying out their trekking socks by hanging them next to the stove.<br />
<br />
That smell is now seared into my soul for eternity.<br />
<br />
We moved away from the stove.<br />
<br />
I ended up sleeping in my hat and gloves inside Kim's thermal sleeping bag under two heavy blankets. And I still shivered.<br />
<br />
We woke before dawn and after putting on several layers (before, naturally, taking off half of them 20 minutes into the hike) we took off in a near sprint behind our guide up the hill in front of our tea house to climb the remaining 1000 feet to the top of Poon Hill.<br />
<br />
It was dark, so we used our headlamps and the most brilliant, plentiful stars I've ever seen to guide our way. And we were definitely not alone.<br />
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We followed a long trail of other pre-dawn trekkers, passing by a couple faces we had already encountered the day or so before. One of those faces belonged to a Chinese tourist who went by "Steve." Steve is the smiliest, exhausted looking guy you'll ever meet and we frequently saw him along the trail panting and resting (but you know, happily). We also saw an older women we'd met the day before who was attempting to leave a stone memorial for her deceased daughter in the exact same place in Nepal that the daughter's boyfriend had left it some time before.<br />
<br />
(This is part of the reason I love travelling. You meet such a wide-variety of people and learn pieces of their stories along the way. At one point in our trek we passed a group of people from Malaysia saying hi to a group of people from Singapore, then as we passed another group, the leader started with "Hi," then "Namaste," then finally "Bonjour!" as we all trekked past each other, not knowing what languages we all spoke but still feeling a part of the same adventure nonetheless.)<br />
<br />
<br />
We arrived at the summit of Poon Hill with just enough time before sunrise to buy masala tea and secure a spot to sit. And with our feet dangling over the edge, and our faces being warmed by tea steam, we watched - this:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">*angelic choir sings*</td></tr>
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No fog!!! Hooray! We made it to our goal and were actually able to see the glorious range.<br />
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Our guides practically had to physically pull us away from the view after an hour or so in order to get us going on our day. We would hike about 9.5 miles by the end of that day and needed to get started.<br />
<br />
It is here that I'll note that we were pretty happy with our fitness levels the first half of the trip. Kim understands Nepali and told us she overheard our guides saying we were "cheeto" (I'm sure that is not how you spell that word but that's how it sounded) which means "fast." They also said we were "strong" and kept telling us to slow down.<br />
<br />
But things took a big turn when we started our descent. Christin and I both have knee issues and we quickly began to look like nursing home patients hobbling down the stone stairs on our walking sticks.<br />
<br />
We had become decidedly un-Cheeto.<br />
<br />
By the time we finally got to our tea house at the end of the day, my feet were steaming when I pulled my shoes off;<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I wish you could see the amount of steam coming off. And it went on for like 15 minutes. </td></tr>
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My feet had literally overheated. That was a first.<br />
<br />
And by that point, I had started to feel very head-coldy and run down in general. So by the time we got close to the end of our day, we suspect our guides made the executive decision to board us <br />
in a tea house that was closer to us than their original plan. And their new choice was the most...rustic.... we'd seen yet.<br />
<br />
It was perfectly fine and we enjoyed a good meal in the warm main area before going to bed. However, we discovered our light didn't work (fine, we had head lamps - and actually our guides helped rig up a half-working light for us in the end) and that the only bathroom was outside around the corner and it was a western style toilet.<br />
<br />
And it locked <i>from the outside.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Naturally I assumed someone was just waiting to trap me forever in the toilet so I prayed that I wouldn't need to use it during the night.<br />
<br />
And while you might think having a "regular" style toilet for us would be a nice change from the Squattie Potties - you'd be wrong. Because water pressure is not high enough there to flush the toilet, you have to take a bucket, fill it from a spigot (all of this still inside the bathroom where someone may or may not be locking you in from the outside) and then hurl that bucket of water down the toilet to flush it. Which leaves water all over the seat, floor, you....<br />
<br />
I took to rolling up my pant legs whenever I went in and trying to stand as far back as I could when I "flushed," while trying not to think of the post-toilet-using hands that had touched the spigot and bucket before me.<br />
<br />
The next morning, Kim snapped one of my favorite photos of the whole trip which aptly captured my state of being by that point: Pants rolled up, headlamp still on, wearing a puffer coat and a <i>scrunchie </i>to hold my hair back, brushing my teeth with a bottle of water, holding the toilet paper roll we brought with us, outside the scary outward-locking bathroom.<br />
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Travel. It ain't all glamorous, friends.<br />
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We finish up the trek and get to Pokhara in our next post.<br />
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DC Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985741031137722070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568028643301664772.post-32101186672266355432014-12-30T12:02:00.002-05:002015-08-26T13:43:19.199-04:00The “I did it my way” Award (New Year's Reflections)I'm interrupting my Nepal chronicles to reflect on the closing of 2014. This year was absolutely full for me, from having major surgery, to officially graduating with my Master's, to commissioning into the U.S. Navy, to side-stepping animal dung all around the Himalayas. I was musing about my "plan" for 2015 and couldn't help but remember a post I wrote last year which describes the way I've always "planned" my life. Not to discount the merits of writing down goals and going after things tenaciously and all, but I still feel like this approach works pretty well too. Thoughts?
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">The "I Did It My Way" Award</span></b><br />
<i>Original Post: June 10, 2013</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
In Japan, a couple of my friends made some poignant
assessments of me that stuck in my head.<br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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1. While we were all discussing my knack for strange things
to constantly occur in my life, my friend Sean mused something to the effect
of,“ it’s like you aren’t compatible….” To which I asked “not compatible with
what?” And, in confused amusement, he finally answers
“….with….everything…..else.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Ha! I think that’s pretty accurate, actually.<o:p></o:p></div>
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2. While my friend Rebecca was explaining to her mother the
reason why she ended up naked in a public bath that electrocuted her, she began
with “well Dana is the kind of person that once she knows something exists, she
has to try it….”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Again, pretty dead-on.<o:p></o:p></div>
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3. I can’t even remember what we were discussing but at some
point Rebecca joked about me being bull-headed and I proudly announced that I
did, in fact, earn a “I Did it My Way” superlative during my semester abroad in
college. To which she, without hesitation, agreed, “of course you did.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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And I really did. After nearly four months living in Europe
with a group from my University (detailed in the posts starting <a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2011/08/semester-in-europe-part-one.html" target="_blank">HERE</a>), we had a
little ceremony before heading back to the States where we all were given cute
little awards describing traits that were seen in us throughout the
semester. And to my confusion and
surprise, mine was called “I did it my way.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Perhaps it was because my professor was just as bull-headed
as me and at times, just as immature, which I pounced on. Perhaps it was my
little stubborn stint of “finishing” my homework in order to go to Spain for
the weekend (homework written in three different handwriting styles given that
my friends sat in the floor and scribbled with me furiously while the cab was
on its way to pick us up). Perhaps it was jokes I made, like when the professor
left a little snarky note in our living area that said “there is no
dish-washing fairy so wash your dishes,” and I later realized the name of the
dish soap we had was “Fairy,” leaving me no other choice than to point out that
there was, in fact, a dish-washing fairy….<o:p></o:p></div>
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Or perhaps it was because I ended up getting a grade below
what I thought I deserved and I fought for so long with that professor about it
that she actually hung up on me during our last phone conversation. In any
case, after seeing various traits in other people, she saw in me –
determination to go my own way.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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But regardless of the reason I end up doing things “my way”
– be it that I’m just being stubborn or because it just doesn’t occur to me to
do things “normally” – I feel like it usually works out. But that can be
difficult to explain to other people. Like everyone these days pushing bucket
lists and "<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coaching#Life_coaching" target="_blank">life coaches</a>."<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I feel like I’m constantly being pressured to tell people my
“plans.” What do I want to do “next”? What are my “goals”? What’s my personal
“development strategy”? I always end up
sitting there looking back on how my life has “developed” thus far and the only
way to describe it is how most people describe my
“not-compatible-with-other-things” life in general: Random.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I ended up in my career because I was tired of being in
small towns and my friend told me she spent a semester in D.C. – so I did that.
Even though I knew nothing about D.C. or politics or cared. I just went on a
whim in order to get to a big city.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I ended up in grad school because my ex-boyfriend wanted his
Master's and didn’t want to go alone. So I did it too.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I ended up in a band because I got bored one day and started
perusing <a href="http://washingtondc.craigslist.org/" target="_blank">Craigslist </a>for some kind of creative outlet. Even though I'd never
sang in public before outside of church or school choirs. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ve “ended up” in a million different places that turned
out great just because a door opened and I happened to be curious. I feel like
I trip into things, rather than laying out plans and steps to get there. Like
how my friend ended up a helicopter pilot because she fell off an elephant
playing polo in Thailand and was air-evac’d to safety, making her think on the
ride “huh, I bet I could fly one of these things….”<o:p></o:p></div>
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(I freaking love that story….)<o:p></o:p></div>
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But how do you explain ‘elephant polo accident-like events’
as your only “plan” for figuring out your future? “I’ll know it when I see it”
also doesn’t seem to work when serious people ask what your ideal next step is.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So I end up stammering in general terms about wanting to
“hone the skills I’ve developed” and “use my experiences to create world
peace”...etc. etc. And in the end, I figure I’ll just do it my way, and see
what happens. After all, I did win an award for that approach....<br />
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DC Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985741031137722070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568028643301664772.post-64457853624542092272014-12-22T09:47:00.005-05:002015-08-26T13:43:19.236-04:00Nepal 3: Stone stairs and animal poo: My Himalayan journey<br />
Monday was Trek day. Kim's husband helped us pack most of our things into one giant pack the night before:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_QM1FOs_kXw/VJQ-G07c5fI/AAAAAAAAEO4/APovSKzF0QA/s1600/IMG_2692.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_QM1FOs_kXw/VJQ-G07c5fI/AAAAAAAAEO4/APovSKzF0QA/s1600/IMG_2692.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here Kim is wearing our pack</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VdaAuZTdCJU/VJQ-Hs2zxGI/AAAAAAAAEPA/4W4rR52X-rY/s1600/IMG_2691.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VdaAuZTdCJU/VJQ-Hs2zxGI/AAAAAAAAEPA/4W4rR52X-rY/s1600/IMG_2691.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And here is a comparison to a normal backpack on Christin</td></tr>
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We hired a guide and a porter (A "<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sherpa_people">sherpa</a>," if you will, though Sherpas are actually a specific people group that live at a very high elevation and they are the ones who take folks up to Everest. We were definitely not going that far so our porter was of the non-Sherpa variety but most people call all porters Sherpas, so I digress...). Our porter would be carrying our pack throughout the trek so we kept everything under 50 lbs total. Which, as you can imagine, meant we weren't taking much - we basically all had one outfit (with one to spare for emergencies) and no plans to shower (which was fine since I'd already scalded all my sweat glans off in Kim's shower in Kathmandu).<br />
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To begin our trek, we had to fly to <a href="http://welcomenepal.com/promotional/tourist-destination/pokhara/">Pokhara</a>, so our first adventure was exploring the domestic air travel procedures. The airport basically resembled a construction site on the outside, and a warehouse on the inside. There was one row of kiosks representing each domestic carrier and the airlines were named things like "Yeti" and "Buddha Air." This was exactly the aesthetic I wanted going into a Himalayan adventure. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1GtwOo3sgHg/VJQ-NupmVVI/AAAAAAAAEPI/sSdL1JzguMM/s1600/IMG_2694.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1GtwOo3sgHg/VJQ-NupmVVI/AAAAAAAAEPI/sSdL1JzguMM/s1600/IMG_2694.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Walking into the airport</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZkJyFsvN-TU/VJRAyUSX5NI/AAAAAAAAEPc/O1z-l2DyPyc/s1600/IMG_2693.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZkJyFsvN-TU/VJRAyUSX5NI/AAAAAAAAEPc/O1z-l2DyPyc/s1600/IMG_2693.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">front door</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-55sDF0nH_5M/VJRAzjwuLmI/AAAAAAAAEPk/YLMfqgD5MzA/s1600/IMG_2696.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-55sDF0nH_5M/VJRAzjwuLmI/AAAAAAAAEPk/YLMfqgD5MzA/s1600/IMG_2696.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">inside</td></tr>
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Our plane was a small propeller filled so full that a poor guy had to ride in the jump seat, awkwardly staring at the other passengers.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EmtzVDf4sKw/VJRBrqzVVVI/AAAAAAAAEPs/xKkJlD72dds/s1600/IMG_2707.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EmtzVDf4sKw/VJRBrqzVVVI/AAAAAAAAEPs/xKkJlD72dds/s1600/IMG_2707.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">hey buddy! you're going the wrong way!</td></tr>
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The flight was short and it gave us our first glimpse of the peaks.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dXmwv0LzQWo/VJRB8lYma_I/AAAAAAAAEQE/DgTHNej0IWo/s1600/IMG_2706.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dXmwv0LzQWo/VJRB8lYma_I/AAAAAAAAEQE/DgTHNej0IWo/s1600/IMG_2706.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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We landed in Pokhara and walked towards baggage claim, which ended up being this:<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2ABJDALUDCI/VJRCWPnY-RI/AAAAAAAAEQM/WXxSyOQplFc/s1600/IMG_2713.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2ABJDALUDCI/VJRCWPnY-RI/AAAAAAAAEQM/WXxSyOQplFc/s1600/IMG_2713.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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Where someone handed our bags to us through the front window like a Taco Bell order.<br />
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We gathered "Christina" (the name we gave our giant bag after realizing we had a ticket for "Christina" instead of Christin. Thankfully no one cared that Christin's ID didn't match her ticket and both Christin and "Christina" were able to get on the flight) and headed out to find our guide.<br />
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Our guide's name was Dom. There was a group of Nepali men who we assumed were guides standing around at the gate and we spent a few minutes awkwardly staring at them before finally hesitantly inquiring "Dom?" in various directions to see if he was there.<br />
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He wasn't.<br />
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Though fortunately we didn't have to wait long for him to drive up and after quickly making a shocked face upon taking in the height of Christin and I, he grabbed Christina and we all took off in his jeep. We drove towards the trail head, <span style="text-align: center;">catching glimpses of "<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mount_Machhapuchchhre">Fishtail</a>" mountain along the way, </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KticZ4pl3Zo/VJRDxnRhX6I/AAAAAAAAEQY/NzfASN5fpRc/s1600/IMG_2726.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KticZ4pl3Zo/VJRDxnRhX6I/AAAAAAAAEQY/NzfASN5fpRc/s1600/IMG_2726.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That pointy cloud in front of us is actually Fishtail. The peaks looked fake because they were so tall and cloud-covered. </td></tr>
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and stopped to have the first of many Masala teas (which was a relief to me since the drive was making me a little <a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2014/12/nepal-2-were-big-in-nepal.html" target="_blank">vomiting-goat-y</a>...).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mdUXd511g6A/VJRDyOCV0CI/AAAAAAAAEQg/IC1C0prBY5E/s1600/IMG_2728.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mdUXd511g6A/VJRDyOCV0CI/AAAAAAAAEQg/IC1C0prBY5E/s1600/IMG_2728.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me, my tea, and a gorgeous river.</td></tr>
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We took our jeep up as far as vehicles could go, then we got out and finally started our journey on foot.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-n9tepgbfFYI/VJRDx5nGCWI/AAAAAAAAEQc/XQTRjHOCxno/s1600/IMG_2729.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-n9tepgbfFYI/VJRDx5nGCWI/AAAAAAAAEQc/XQTRjHOCxno/s1600/IMG_2729.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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And here's how our trek proceeded from here on out: Every time we started walking, Christin and I (the un-experienced hikers) would put on several layers of clothes, hike for 20 minutes, then ask Dom to hold up so we could stop and take off some of our clothes.<br />
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Every. Time.<br />
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So after our de-layering, we continued the start of our trek.<br />
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The terrain changed throughout the journey, so I've bunched everything into four main categories in my brain:<br />
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"Terraced Fields"<br />
"Lord of the Rings'ish"<br />
"Everest-y"<br />
and<br />
"Fern Gulley-esque"<br />
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We started with Terraced Fields. I had seen photos somewhere of Bali years ago and all I remember were these gorgeous hills where the landscape was in terraces, stair-stepping down the hills and I always wanted to see something like that. When I learned that there were fields like that all over Nepal, I was stoked. (And I also decided I probably never needed to go see Bali then. Sorry, Bali! This is awkward...)<br />
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Our trek<strike> started out as a series of stone stairs. </strike> -- the whole dang trek ended up being stone stairs. Like, seriously. There were very few moments where we were not in the process of going up or down a stone stair the entire four days. I marvelled at the fact that there are entire communities all the way up in those mountains because there is no level ground to be had. They call it "Nepali flat" - you're pretty much always going up or down.<br />
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And because there were no cars around now, things were moved by mules. And the villages usually had water buffalo, goats, and various other pets roaming around as well. So our stone stairs were often the bathroom of choice for these animals, so there wasn't a day that went by that didn't involve stairs and manure.<br />
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But -- the <i>views</i>. I felt like I was already at the top of the world on the first day because we headed straight up the sides of mountains (of terraced fields) and you quickly couldn't even see the bottom of the valley below, just a giant crevasse between you and another giant mountain (of terraced fields).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FATHamZAuy4/VJRHUBYtqeI/AAAAAAAAEQ0/pmd_5d3qUB8/s1600/IMG_2734.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FATHamZAuy4/VJRHUBYtqeI/AAAAAAAAEQ0/pmd_5d3qUB8/s1600/IMG_2734.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">a village in terraced fields</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jdJLVK2isTI/VJRHXEsteQI/AAAAAAAAERM/UpBOUqMp3Z4/s1600/IMG_2769.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jdJLVK2isTI/VJRHXEsteQI/AAAAAAAAERM/UpBOUqMp3Z4/s1600/IMG_2769.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">more fields up close</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FzBRp7KRSPw/VJRHVe6EmuI/AAAAAAAAEQ8/VRFkHtTyUfk/s1600/IMG_2738.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FzBRp7KRSPw/VJRHVe6EmuI/AAAAAAAAEQ8/VRFkHtTyUfk/s1600/IMG_2738.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">stone stairs among terraced fields</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8yHAmgvPGzE/VJRIXk1D88I/AAAAAAAAERw/Z42impiHoc0/s1600/IMG_2743.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8yHAmgvPGzE/VJRIXk1D88I/AAAAAAAAERw/Z42impiHoc0/s1600/IMG_2743.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">stone stairs heading up the side of the mountain...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SayL5QUD4SI/VJRIYIWfmnI/AAAAAAAAER0/SwAzYsfqt_o/s1600/IMG_2756.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SayL5QUD4SI/VJRIYIWfmnI/AAAAAAAAER0/SwAzYsfqt_o/s1600/IMG_2756.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">....stone stairs looking down into the valley....</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_bNZ2ZKhuKA/VJdf9rTz40I/AAAAAAAAETg/cfmIca4p0oc/s1600/IMG_2812.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_bNZ2ZKhuKA/VJdf9rTz40I/AAAAAAAAETg/cfmIca4p0oc/s1600/IMG_2812.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">..stone stairs by a typical restaurant....<br />
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stone stairs in my sleep. stone stairs in my dreams....<i>stone stairs in my soul!...</i><br />
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I mean, seriously. We climbed <i>all </i>the stairs. All of them. All of them ever made.<br />
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But I wish you could understand how crazy high and open it all felt. Breathtaking.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--RxcV-VtNMk/VJRHXuOBCxI/AAAAAAAAERQ/XkW_z_AIcJA/s1600/IMG_2767.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--RxcV-VtNMk/VJRHXuOBCxI/AAAAAAAAERQ/XkW_z_AIcJA/s1600/IMG_2767.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
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We stopped and ate <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dal_bhat">Dal Bhat</a><br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0OR7bsSGkNQ/VJRH0nxUXoI/AAAAAAAAERc/qg6uRXdict4/s1600/IMG_2735.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0OR7bsSGkNQ/VJRH0nxUXoI/AAAAAAAAERc/qg6uRXdict4/s1600/IMG_2735.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
and ended the day arriving at our first Tea House:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QbuqK2DfduI/VJRH41HW46I/AAAAAAAAERk/rgoWSY6GKrU/s1600/IMG_2761.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QbuqK2DfduI/VJRH41HW46I/AAAAAAAAERk/rgoWSY6GKrU/s1600/IMG_2761.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sitting outside our tea house overlooking this amazing expanse of pure World</td></tr>
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Tea houses are all along the trekking routes and they provide a room with a bed and heavy blankets, a public toilet (which is typically a hole in the ground that we lovingly refered to as the "squatty potties") and they offer meals. They aren't heated, so we also brought small sleeping sacks to cocoon ourselves up in under the blankets. Everything is incredibly inexpensive (like 4 bucks a night to stay) and you meet other trekkers along the way, so it's a really cool experience.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9-8KHihYdFA/VJRJ6TcOaQI/AAAAAAAAESI/kbQ_JFsYW7g/s1600/IMG_2760.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9-8KHihYdFA/VJRJ6TcOaQI/AAAAAAAAESI/kbQ_JFsYW7g/s1600/IMG_2760.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Outside of the tea house</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9Rvz3-YSI0s/VJRJ6f9ShUI/AAAAAAAAESE/8nzGsa6UXMg/s1600/IMG_2763.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9Rvz3-YSI0s/VJRJ6f9ShUI/AAAAAAAAESE/8nzGsa6UXMg/s1600/IMG_2763.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of our rooms (which also had incredible views)</td></tr>
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I fell asleep that first night to the sound of mule trains outside my window, where people led lines of mules with tinkling bells on their collars to transport goods. It's like the high altitude version of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/CSX_Transportation">CSX.</a><br />
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We got up early the next morning, had breakfast and masala tea, then headed out again.<br />
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<i>Putting on our clothes, hiking 20 minutes, then taking half of them back off...</i><br />
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At some point we stopped to buy souvenirs because how often do you get the chance to haggle over jewelry on the side of a mountain? Here I am, mid-negotiation:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-APg87FYgSQA/VJdXMv1NMDI/AAAAAAAAES8/VnXNdW4UndQ/s1600/IMG_2786.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-APg87FYgSQA/VJdXMv1NMDI/AAAAAAAAES8/VnXNdW4UndQ/s1600/IMG_2786.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even at high altitudes, shiny things=girl magnets<br />
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We had about 5-6 more miles of stone stairs ahead of us so we bought our things and headed into Lord of the Rings territory.<br />
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More in the next post.</div>
DC Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985741031137722070noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568028643301664772.post-5284487774592751142014-12-18T10:25:00.000-05:002015-08-26T13:43:19.219-04:00Nepal 2: We're big in NepalWe left off as I finally landed in the country I intended to get to.<br />
<br />
I was exhausted and learned that I needed to traverse the airport by a crowded, slow moving shuttle bus that was filled with everyone in Nepal, including their women's soccer team (that part isn't an exaggeration -- apparently they'd just come back from winning some tournament in Pakistan so that part was kind of cool...had I not been so tired and squatting on top of my own carry-on at that point, it would've been even cooler.) It was then that I first started to realize that I definitely don't fit in Nepal. Physically. As in I basically tower over everyone like this:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SlKkUawyBWU/VJL7OdJmD6I/AAAAAAAAEOg/V1Ku1ZLkiNY/s1600/lostintranslationelevator.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SlKkUawyBWU/VJL7OdJmD6I/AAAAAAAAEOg/V1Ku1ZLkiNY/s1600/lostintranslationelevator.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0335266/">Bill Murray -Lost in Translation</a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">and I was blatantly stared at during the shuttle ride.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">After finally entering the airport, there was a whole slew of things I needed to figure out I had to do involving forms and lines and photo machines and passport stamping and there were no pens anywhere to complete the forms with, and long story short at one point I directed all my exhaustion and exasperation at one single man when I approached him with what I can only imagine were Crazy Eyes and asked for his pen. He wouldn't give it to me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">That man is lucky to be alive.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I eventually do obtain a pen and make it through customs and find Kim and her husband patiently waiting, and we head to their house where Christin, the other girl who is on this adventure, has been sleeping because her flight from London arrived at a humane hour earlier that day.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I finally get to sleep myself and the three of us girls get up the next day to start our trip. Kim explains to us that we are arriving right as the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/South_Asian_Association_for_Regional_Cooperation">SAARC</a> summit is about to take place, which led to some unexpected hilarity for us because Nepal decided at the last minute to spruce the place up a bit for company.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--MGV-RxcZlU/VJGsNoluNAI/AAAAAAAAEMw/2q3EY7l8wCU/s1600/IMG_2680.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--MGV-RxcZlU/VJGsNoluNAI/AAAAAAAAEMw/2q3EY7l8wCU/s1600/IMG_2680.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nothing to see here, just painting the curbs real quick before Bangladesh and Afghanistan arrive....</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">People were painting, broom-sweeping streets, <i>power washing trees...</i> at one point, our cab driver bursts out laughing and points to a large area of dirt partially surrounded by a makeshift fence of blue material. He explained that the government had intended to landscape that area but didn't get around to it in time so they just put up the fence instead. It's like the nation-state version of shoving your dirty clothes under the bed so your mom doesn't know they still exist.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />The summit also caused us more than confused amusement: it changed our travel plans. For some reason no one could explain, Nepal shut down all air traffic during the summit so what should've been a less than an hour flight back from our trek was now going to be a potentially 6-8 hour drive back in an SUV.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
Which, I must say, is a heck of a lot better than travelling by bus, as I learned.</span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>And here's where I interrupt my own story to tell you someone else's. Kim explained to us that because most people don't typically travel in cars around there (most have motorbikes - if you saw the traffic, you would too), they often get motion sickness when they have to travel by bus. She went on to tell us of a particular ride she took once, wherein the person in front of her had brought their goat for the bus ride. And that's the day Kim learned that animals can also get car sick, as the goat began vomiting at regular intervals. The bus doesn't stop for vomiting (or defecating...) animals, so after awhile Kim had had enough and asked her friend to switch seats for a bit to get Kim away from Vomiting Goat. And what happens as soon as Kim changes seats? Well, her new seat is by an open window and apparently there are also people riding on top of the bus -- who are also getting car sick.....(you see where this is going) and all of a sudden: Kim has vomit on her lap out of nowhere. It had come through the window from above. Like magical snow flurries of vomit. She should've stayed with the goat.... (incidentally, I also get motion sickness as seen <a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2011/08/you-may-not-want-to-read-this-one_02.html" target="_blank">here</a>, so I took to using phrases like "I'm feeling a little vomiting goat-ish" whenever my fellow passengers needed to know to roll the window down or feed me.)</i></blockquote>
So we now had a long car ride to look forward to after we traipsed around the mountains. Before we headed out for our trek, we got settled into Kim's place a bit. Kim explained that we'd need to use bottled water for everything -- drinking, brushing teeth, etc. Which of course we had a hard time remembering so we were constantly plagued by the fear that we'd end up like <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mnUfDpO87Y0">Charlotte in the Sex in the City trip to Mexico</a>. Kim also explains that the electricity often goes out without warning and that while there is a water heater for the shower, there's no way to control it so once you start using it, you better shower in a hurry as it will continue to increase in temperature until you melt your own flesh off. My final initiation into settling in was drinking coffee with buffalo milk as creamer. Kim stopped me before I added it to smell and make sure it hadn't gone bad. She said it was fine.<br />
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I sniffed and couldn't understand the difference.<br />
<br />
But thankfully it tastes better than it smells and with caffeine in my veins, I was ready to take on Nepal.<br />
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Kim took us to all the favorite tourist spots in Kathmandu like the Swayambhunath (the "<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Swayambhunath" target="_blank">Monkey Temple</a>"), <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kathmandu_Durbar_Square" target="_blank">Durbar Square,</a> and hippie-mecca <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thamel">Thamel.</a> We'd have some time to do more sightseeing after the trek so I'll post more about those places later, but for now I'll leave you with some shots from Monkey Temple because those guys were just so darned cute.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SM_hLByAndI/VJG4dFH-PtI/AAAAAAAAENE/un2tHZt3yrw/s1600/IMG_2585.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SM_hLByAndI/VJG4dFH-PtI/AAAAAAAAENE/un2tHZt3yrw/s1600/IMG_2585.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View of the temple from our drive up </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fUKFRzczvOI/VJG4dRzr8HI/AAAAAAAAENI/X7WclOYzqnw/s1600/IMG_2602.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fUKFRzczvOI/VJG4dRzr8HI/AAAAAAAAENI/X7WclOYzqnw/s1600/IMG_2602.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">The actual "Stupa"of <span style="text-align: start;">Swayambhunath </span></span></td></tr>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-z7OLWi1XkkI/VJG4c_brpuI/AAAAAAAAENA/c3iR9sMy3XQ/s1600/IMG_2608.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-z7OLWi1XkkI/VJG4c_brpuI/AAAAAAAAENA/c3iR9sMy3XQ/s1600/IMG_2608.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gsscpCCRep4/VJG5IdwpkbI/AAAAAAAAENs/szLbxUXTrK0/s1600/IMG_2603.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gsscpCCRep4/VJG5IdwpkbI/AAAAAAAAENs/szLbxUXTrK0/s1600/IMG_2603.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Buddhist monks during prayer rituals</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fMd3GBzafxE/VJG5IVgighI/AAAAAAAAEN4/lg4SxPCcflc/s1600/IMG_2605.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fMd3GBzafxE/VJG5IVgighI/AAAAAAAAEN4/lg4SxPCcflc/s1600/IMG_2605.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our crew</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4oRE2DfRBO4/VJG5H3_UoqI/AAAAAAAAENo/XupKAkpbTaw/s1600/IMG_2611.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4oRE2DfRBO4/VJG5H3_UoqI/AAAAAAAAENo/XupKAkpbTaw/s1600/IMG_2611.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taken right before that little guy tried to steal something from Christin. The monkeys there are considered holy so there's not a lot you could do. Not that there's ever much you can do to a monkey thief. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iOatl--FTug/VJG4e-Hk27I/AAAAAAAAENg/a835qy-7TgI/s1600/IMG_2635.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iOatl--FTug/VJG4e-Hk27I/AAAAAAAAENg/a835qy-7TgI/s1600/IMG_2635.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Because: Monkey Butts</td></tr>
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Monkeys are a theme in my travel adventures so I was delighted to find some in Nepal right off the bat. We'd go on to see "street cows," mule trains, and Water Buffalo, but that's all later.<br />
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One last funny thing we encountered before starting our trek was: <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Big_in_Japan_%28phrase%29">We're Big in Nepal.</a><br />
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Like, literally, and also as in we were like celebrities because we are giant pale women.<br />
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We were swarmed by what felt like paparazzi while touring the Monkey Temple and what started as a couple young girls asking for a photo with us ended up being a time-consuming full-on shoot where everyone switched in and out to take pictures with these crazy looking westerners.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fXT4EeEwvG4/VJG7Y9HCb9I/AAAAAAAAEOE/NjCtexcK46w/s1600/IMG_2616.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fXT4EeEwvG4/VJG7Y9HCb9I/AAAAAAAAEOE/NjCtexcK46w/s1600/IMG_2616.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I stepped away to document the madness</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 18px;"><br /></span>
Next post: The Trek Begins.<br />
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<br />DC Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985741031137722070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568028643301664772.post-11256254913932240772014-12-16T15:35:00.001-05:002015-08-26T13:43:19.188-04:00Nepal 1: Getting there is half the fun... right?...Well I made it back from my Nepal adventure, and it's taken me a while to get the energy up to write a new post because I caught a nasty virus during my trip and I've had things to catch up on like tap water, daily showering<i>, </i>etc. but: here we go!<br />
<br />
I left for <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kathmandu" target="_blank">Kathmandu</a> and had a layover on the way in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dubai" target="_blank">Dubai</a> for 8 hours, so I decided boredom and <a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=fomo" target="_blank">FOMO</a> would definitely not let me stay in the airport that long, so I ventured out.<br />
<br />
Actually, first I ran into a friend of mine on the plane <i>who lives in Ethiopia. </i>As in, I hadn't seen this man in person in years (<i>because he lives in Ethiopia</i>) and sure enough, there he comes down the aisle of my Emirates airplane, NBD. I get his attention across the middle row of seats and he's like "what are you doing??" and I'm like "going to Nepal!" and he just says...."of course you are!"<br />
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I love how small the world is.<br />
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So back to Dubai. My friend and I get off the plane after the 14 hour flight (wherein I proceed to not sleep at all, but I <i>do</i> finally discover <a href="http://www.ifc.com/shows/portlandia" target="_blank">Portlandia</a> and read several chapters of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Everyone-Hanging-Without-Other-Concerns/dp/0307886271" target="_blank">Mindy Khaling's book, </a>so not such a loss) and he's been to Dubai before and says it's totally safe and easy to get around during my layover, so he goes off to his connecting flight, and I:<br />
<br />
discover how ridiculously gigantic and overwhelming the<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dubai_International_Airport" target="_blank"> Dubai airport </a>is. (8,500 acres gigantic, to be exact. I know this. Now.)<br />
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Oh my gosh, you guys. I walked <i>at least</i> a couple miles and I still wasn't anywhere helpful and people kept telling me "no, you need to go to @#*%@ *%115688 XZOO" (which is what it sounded like to me because they mentioned so many different areas of the airport and different terminals that my brain broke). And I couldn't find a place to drop off my heavy carry-on, and I couldn't figure out where I needed to be to board my next flight 8 hours later, and I was already getting blisters on my feet <i>before (!) </i>my trekking adventure in the Himalayas, and finally I just sat down and tried to gather my wits. And prayed. Prayed for discernment in my sleep-deprived state of being in that giant city of an airport.<br />
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Then I eventually found the ONE (<i>one</i>! in allll of the airport kingdom) location where I could drop off my bags.<br />
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Then I remembered I was supposed to ask my airline for a food voucher since my layover was so long.<br />
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Then I remembered how far back my airline counter was.<br />
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And I immediately let that food voucher go.<br />
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After another moment where I just had to sit and gather myself, I finally drop my carry on off and find out how to jump on their public rail system to begin my own self-guided tour of the city.<br />
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I'm able to purchase a Metro ticket pretty easily, hop on the train, and settle into the Universal Language of public rail systems: Staring silently up at the rail map while acting like you don't care about anything. Ah good, I fit in here.<br />
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I head to what I originally was going to see - the<a href="http://www.thedubaimall.com/en/Index.aspx" target="_blank"> Dubai Mall </a>(which I thought had a ski resort in it. We'll get to that way later). But then I realize the train goes above ground quite a bit, allowing me to just take in the city views, so I abandon my first plan and decide to take the train as far as I can and just get a feel for the city. (Because what I haven't mentioned is that I also have a layover in Dubai on the way back home from Nepal -- a 24 hour layover. We'll get to that eventually).<br />
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Here are some of the sights I was able to take in:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-03h75VdBPlg/VJCN3AHFv8I/AAAAAAAAEME/wkODp480lj8/s1600/IMG_2576.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-03h75VdBPlg/VJCN3AHFv8I/AAAAAAAAEME/wkODp480lj8/s1600/IMG_2576.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crazy cool buildings</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9tyw96Rrod8/VJCMbFhiukI/AAAAAAAAELY/tea4BG1oF0M/s1600/IMG_2512.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9tyw96Rrod8/VJCMbFhiukI/AAAAAAAAELY/tea4BG1oF0M/s1600/IMG_2512.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The <a href="http://www.jumeirah.com/en/hotels-resorts/dubai/burj-al-arab/?kTckId=141216204916511448&cm_mmc=Google%20PPC-_-MID-AE-Burj%20Al%20Arab-SN-BR-AME-US-EN-_-BR-BAA%20Hotel-Exact-_-burj%20al%20arab&gclid=CKqp57uqy8ICFQ_l7AodEAgAlQ" target="_blank">Burj Al Arab</a>, AKA the "Sailboat Hotel" AKA "the only '7 star' hotel in the world"</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--8mkexKvzn8/VJCMbOtyvoI/AAAAAAAAELc/zEyXMYNP8no/s1600/IMG_2509.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--8mkexKvzn8/VJCMbOtyvoI/AAAAAAAAELc/zEyXMYNP8no/s1600/IMG_2509.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">aaand -<a href="http://www.burjkhalifa.ae/en/" target="_blank"> The Burj Khalifa.</a> !!! Tallest building in the world. Yes, those are sky scrapers that it is towering over.</td></tr>
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I wanted to see the famous man-made <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Palm_Islands" target="_blank">Palm Island</a>, so I start to try to figure out where I could take the train to get near it when I realize the group next to me are pointing to a map. I don't understand their language but I finally ask one of them if they speak English. They do - hooray! And they, too, are trying to go see Palm Island. Travel buddies!<br />
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Turns out they were a group of very kind Polish people who ended up taking me along with them all the way out to the tip of the Island, having to stop and help me when my metro ticket stopped working, and slightly changing their plans to accommodate my schedule. I loved them.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LQT0XYWUbDw/VJCN2E4BRlI/AAAAAAAAEL4/04I3UbB2DCs/s1600/IMG_2553.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LQT0XYWUbDw/VJCN2E4BRlI/AAAAAAAAEL4/04I3UbB2DCs/s1600/IMG_2553.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here we all our on the Persian Gulf. Me, my Poles, and the thin glorified Fanny Pack I'm wearing under my shirt that makes me look slightly pregnant with cardboard. Lovely. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EuXRi8GA3eY/VJCN1J3HDgI/AAAAAAAAELw/u9Ykx-LMzC0/s1600/IMG_2525.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EuXRi8GA3eY/VJCN1J3HDgI/AAAAAAAAELw/u9Ykx-LMzC0/s1600/IMG_2525.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here we are riding the Monorail that goes out onto the Palm - and those are rich people's houses.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XqR3obJo5CE/VJCN2hHMlOI/AAAAAAAAEL8/8GELVxUNtx0/s1600/IMG_2543.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XqR3obJo5CE/VJCN2hHMlOI/AAAAAAAAEL8/8GELVxUNtx0/s1600/IMG_2543.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There is the Atlantis resort where rich people vacation when they get sick of their own private beaches and nice houses. </td></tr>
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The Island is interesting, because it's totally man made and apparently looks like a giant palm tree out in the water, though I couldn't tell at the time since I wasn't seeing it from the air. But ridiculously rich people buy houses out there and the Atlantis hotel is out there, so it was fun to see. I finally had to leave my Poles and begin my journey back to the airport.<br />
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And good thing I did, because after I returned to "Terminal 1" where my bag was, I asked where I should go for my next flight and was told: "Terminal 2...you can take a $25 taxi there."<br />
<br />
I'm sorry, what was that? Terminal 1 and Terminal 2 are so far apart that I have to take a cab that costs five Starbucks beverages? And why am *I* paying to get around *your* airport? You can pay to form islands in the shape of landscaping and you all don't have shuttles??<br />
<br />
(Side note: Apparently Dubai Airport is hoping to become the "best airport in the world" - I have some not so subtle suggestions for them as they attempt to achieve this...)<br />
<br />
So I skeptically jump in a cab and travel to this elusive Terminal 2 and lo and behold, it <i>does</i> cost that much and that <i>is</i> where my next flight leaves from. How convenient.<br />
<br />
I manage to board my 5 hour flight to Kathmandu in time to completely pass out, waking only when we land around 10:00 pm, nearly two days after I originally left D.C.<br />
<br />
I'm so tired by that point that I practically maim a man for not giving me his pen to fill out the several customs forms I need when I land, but more on that in the next post.<br />
<br />
<br />DC Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985741031137722070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568028643301664772.post-71760263104773641432014-11-17T10:38:00.001-05:002015-08-26T13:43:19.248-04:00It's near Italy, right?<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">About a year ago, I got a Facebook message from one of the girls from my <a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2011/07/asp.html" target="_blank">Semester in DC in 2001 </a>(AKA the semester where I spent 9/11 in the White House, watched a robot come into my office to </span>dispose<span style="font-family: inherit;"> of a potentially harmful package days later, and could have possibly been exposed to anthrax along the way -- so you could say those of us who were in the same school program <i>probably </i>bonded a little more than usual.) She and I had not spoken or seen each other since that semester, we'd just been silent Facebook friends over the years. The message simply said she wanted to let me know she enjoyed my posts and it made her miss D.C.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">...and that she now lived in <a href="http://welcomenepal.com/promotional/">Nepal</a> with her husband and I had a place to stay there if I ever wanted to visit.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">W<span style="font-family: inherit;">ell that's all I needed to hear. Nepal was not on the top of my traveling list, heck it wasn't on the list at all, truth be told. But one of my favorite things to do in life is to jump into something and just give myself over to the ride, </span>throwing my hands in the air with abandon and just watching what happens.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">So I decided to go to Nepal.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span><a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2014/06/whichever-ways-fastest.html" style="background-color: white;" target="_blank">As I've mentioned before,</a><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"> I really know nothing about the country. I've heard of Kathmandu, and I've heard of Mt. Everest and the Himalayas, but I probably didn't know all three of those things were in the same country until recently. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">And I wasn't alone in my ignorance. Below are some of the questions I've endured from friends, strangers, and family: </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">"Where's Nepal? Is it part of India?"</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">Me: "No, it is not. It's a separate country."</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><i><br /></i></span></span>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">"Is that where the Dalai Lama is?<i>"</i></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">Me: "Nope, that's Tibet. Different country." *makes mental note to confirm that Tibet is, in fact, a different country* </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">"Then where is it?"</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">Me: "Near India" *makes mental note to check a map and confirm that it is, in fact, near India.*</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">"Isn't that a really long flight?"</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">Me: "Eh, I've flown to Japan and stuff and that wasn't bad" </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">*makes mental note to check a map and confirm that that statement made sense at all.*</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white;">Then I had my parents ask me three separate times when I was leaving for my trip to:</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white;">Italy</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white;">India</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white;">Madascar</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white;">Sigh.</span></span><br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1fSw6X1ypxY/VGkeNmCHuKI/AAAAAAAAEJ4/-9WuqEDnX8M/s1600/map.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1fSw6X1ypxY/VGkeNmCHuKI/AAAAAAAAEJ4/-9WuqEDnX8M/s1600/map.jpg" height="252" width="400" /></a><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white;">Finally my dad sent an email that basically said "well your mother said it doesn't matter where you are going, </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">we no longer have any
daughters."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">(This was in retaliation for the fact that my sister is missing Thanksgiving for a vacation with her family, and I'll be missing it to be in Nepal) </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Earlier, my mother took to reporting all possible threats to me regarding my trip.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"You know those hikers were killed in the same place that you're going, right?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"You know they are kidnapping and beheading Americans all over now, right?"</span><br />
"You know they are shooting planes out of the sky, don't you?"<br />
<br />
In response to that last statement, I asked her if she was planning to shoot my plane down herself since she was so upset that I was going.<br />
<br />
My dad told me later that she said she was "looking for a rocket launcher".....<br />
<br />
Happy Thanksgiving, indeed.<br />
<br />
An<span style="font-family: inherit;">d if hearing Doom and Gloom from my mother wasn't enough, my travel doctor didn't help matters. When I walked in, she started with "what else could we possibly put in you??" referring to the many random vaccines and meds I've gotten through the years when I've gone to places like Ethiopia, Nicaragua, and Iraq. Turns out the winner that day was Hep. A and <a href="http://wwwnc.cdc.gov/travel/yellowbook/2014/chapter-2-the-pre-travel-consultation/altitude-illness">altitude sickness</a> meds. She had a student nurse observing, so she started to explain to the student that "Dana is what is called an 'adventure traveler' which means there are more opportunities for her to end up in a hospital..." then shoots a sheepish look at me like, "um, I mean..." Harumph.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">At least the helicopter evacuation insurance I had to have in order to go on the 4-day trek I'm planning to do in Nepal brought some humor. The exhaustive list on the<a href="http://service.worldnomads.com/customer/portal/articles/1672733-activities-sports-adventures-list?_ga=1.94833052.1086073205.1416173521" target="_blank"> insurance website </a>that detailed <span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px;">"what qualifies as an Adventure Sport" brought up a whole slew of questions:</span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px;"> Badminton is an adventure sport? What is "ski joring"? "Tramping"? "Capoeira dancing - non contact?" (and does that mean I'm NOT covered if I Capoeria dance WITH contact? ...) Why are "Sleigh Rides" on the same list as "Base jumping?" Where exactly can I "war game" on vacation? ...</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">And I'm not even sure I </span></span><i style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px;">like</i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"> hiking for 4 days, truth be told. Yet here I am, packing anti-</span></span><span style="line-height: 20px;">diarrhea</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"> pills and headlamps and getting on this roller coaster nonetheless.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #37404e;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px;">I was hanging out with some girlfriends this weekend and they were asking me why, again, I even wanted to go on this trip.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #37404e;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #37404e;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">You know why? Because at the end of life you don't say "I wish I'd stayed home more and did less stuff." Whenever I've visited another country, my life expands, and my heart and world gets bigger. That country and it's people become a part of me and I take them with me throughout the rest of my life. And even if you don't travel overseas, you can still find unexpected adventures all over -- but you have to create the space for those things to happen. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #37404e;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="color: #37404e;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">I've heard people explain experiences as if they are creating grooves inside our hearts or minds. And the more grooves you have, the more area you have to hold joy, because you have these deep places where you can feel things more profoundly. I probably didn't explain that well, but it made sense to me.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #37404e;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #37404e;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">And I can't wait to put a few more grooves in my heart in a few days. </span></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9kzWj8iTXIM/VGoVNcMWYqI/AAAAAAAAEKI/y_nGGELNWEc/s1600/heart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9kzWj8iTXIM/VGoVNcMWYqI/AAAAAAAAEKI/y_nGGELNWEc/s1600/heart.jpg" height="333" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>DC Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985741031137722070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568028643301664772.post-5954294676457518002014-10-23T19:36:00.002-04:002015-08-26T13:43:19.233-04:00On VulnerabilitySeveral things have come at me lately and a common theme has emerged from them: being vulnerable.<br />
<br />
I've been chatting with people about my fear of commitment -where it might come from, how can I overcome it - and I've simultaneously been trying to grow as a leader in my career(s) as well. (Yes, I now have two of them. Yes, I take on a lot of activities, don't psychoanalyze me. There'll be plenty of time for that as you keep reading...).<br />
<br />
So I took a course recently that included receiving feedback from people who report to me at work. And that feedback, along with things I'm learning about how I date, all point to the fact that: I might have some walls up.<br />
<br />
And I actually believe I'm one of the more open and authentic people you'll meet. I mean read any posts in this blog, for example, and you'll see I have no issues sharing my<a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2011/06/wardrobe-malfunction.html" target="_blank"> embarrassing moments</a> and <a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2014/01/naughty-kitty-pants-vs-cheetah-pants.html" target="_blank">reflections on life</a>. I cry whenever I feel like it -whether I'm at a friend's house or in a public Mexican restaurant after a breakup... (Sorry Sean, Rebecca, and anyone else who have had to sit there while I cry in a public Mexican restaurant after a breakup...) -and I do share things I'm going through. I mean, I'm an extrovert: we have to share <i>all </i>the feelings with <i>everyone.</i><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GDQ3jgOIz0U/VDf3NDT6MiI/AAAAAAAAEHE/XDG1ohoV5e8/s1600/buzz.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GDQ3jgOIz0U/VDf3NDT6MiI/AAAAAAAAEHE/XDG1ohoV5e8/s1600/buzz.png" height="303" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/jessicamisener/frustrating-things-about-being-an-extrovert#2zkjp0u" target="_blank">Buzzfeed</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
But I definitely have fought fear of commitment in relationships (which I never realized until I was chatting with a male friend about dating and I said something about "weakness" in a guy being a huge turn off for me, to which he surprisingly came back with "man are <i>you</i> afraid of commitment!" I just sat there blinking, not able to connect the two things in my <a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2011/06/baby-snow-oxen-and-goldfish-poodles.html" target="_blank">Goldfish Poodle</a> brain. But now, years later, I'm hearing that message again...) So I'm willing to go down the path of self-discovery. <i>For a little while. </i>Like a quarter mile. Like half the distance I'd walk for Starbucks. Because, hey, why not try a new paradigm?<br />
<br />
When I was growing up, I somehow found myself playing "responsible" roles at times, being a strong little calming force and voice of reason in situations, even around adults. I liked it. It gave me a role to play and it made me feel strong and capable as I grew up. But <i>apparently</i> stuff like that can really tick off your "inner child" or something<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="288" mozallowfullscreen="" src="//giphy.com/embed/jqYbk3Vy6NO3C" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="480"></iframe>
<br />
<br />
<br />
...and then that kid rises up and acts out in various ways in your adulthood.<br />
<br />
(which is probably why I end up doing things like <a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2011/06/because-i-hadnt-done-it-before.html" target="_blank">This</a>.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bw5V88rhSzA/VEmIpOScBtI/AAAAAAAAEIQ/v0akyyiGnz8/s1600/zorb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bw5V88rhSzA/VEmIpOScBtI/AAAAAAAAEIQ/v0akyyiGnz8/s1600/zorb.jpg" height="232" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
....Or This.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-F56HPp6Zmcw/VEmIw0BLG6I/AAAAAAAAEIY/tOfpb8Qlm8U/s1600/glow.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-F56HPp6Zmcw/VEmIw0BLG6I/AAAAAAAAEIY/tOfpb8Qlm8U/s1600/glow.png" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Yes those are fairy wings. No I don't want to explain.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
But, is that <i>really </i>a "problem"? Heck, some people smoke cigarettes to deal with stress. I don day-glo makeup or bounce around in human-sized gerbil balls with other "adults." Live and let live!<br />
<br />
And here's my other issue: I don't know that I <i>want</i> to be "fixed" of my lack of vulnerability/angry inner child-ness if it means changing who I am.<br />
<br />
DC is a vacuum for Type A over-achievers. <i>Many</i> people here have walls up. This city would make Home Depot jealous with all the dry wall walking around, protecting us, holding in all our Crazy. No one wants to show vulnerability. When I first started working at the White House a guy literally told my coworker that it was "sink or swim around here!" (that guy went on to be a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/United_States_Navy_SEALs" target="_blank">Navy SEAL </a>so clearly he's very good at not sinking, but still. A little dramatic to hear fresh out of college...). Who wants to show weakness in a town where that's the environment? You'll sink.<br />
<br />
So I and my walls fit right in here. I'm hesitant to "fix" them -- what if they are what drive me forward??<br />
<br />
So many people achieve things because of some belief that they need to prove something -- maybe it's just to themselves, but still. That drive often comes from lacking something (perhaps the ability to be vulnerable). But so what if that is what gives you drive? At least you <i>have</i> drive, right? (I can see some of your horrified expressions now. <i>She will never have meaningful relationships....) </i> But really, what if I go down a path of self-discovery, only to come out on the other side a neutered lamb content to stay indoors and never do things like <i>this </i>again?<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Bso7VZpETHk/VDf5GuouO1I/AAAAAAAAEHQ/UEu8qJ8rZCE/s1600/tm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Bso7VZpETHk/VDf5GuouO1I/AAAAAAAAEHQ/UEu8qJ8rZCE/s1600/tm.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2012/09/tough-mudder-why-do-we-pay-to-do-these.html" target="_blank">DC Dana: Tough Mudder</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i>That would be tragic!</i><br />
<br />
What if this lack of vulnerability is what constantly sends me straight into some really fun adventures? Maybe it's why I loved disaster response work, or why I wanted to join the military and am not hesitant to enter conflict zones.<br />
<br />
And don't we <i>need</i> people with that desire? Wouldn't we have countless open jobs for things like air evacuation EMTs, firefighters, and Special Forces if everyone was tapped into vulnerability? Maybe every person in those roles are driven by their really angry inner child. Is it opening Pandora's box to try to get everyone to be more vulnerable?<br />
<br />
I'm taking a risk and hoping not. I've listened to <span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://brenebrown.com/" target="_blank">Brene Brown</a> praise vulnerability and I'm willing to see if she's on to something (See her awesome TED talk below). And now if you'll excuse me, there are some things I'd like to mark off my To Do list before I get too in touch with my inner child and potentially</span> lose all of the ambitious drive I currently have for everything.... (Just kidding. Sort of.)<br />
<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" mozallowfullscreen="" scrolling="no" src="https://embed-ssl.ted.com/talks/brene_brown_on_vulnerability.html" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="640"></iframe><br />
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<br />DC Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985741031137722070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568028643301664772.post-83819093146163156222014-10-20T11:59:00.001-04:002015-08-26T13:43:19.261-04:00Marathon TruthI haven't had time to post much lately, but I will leave you this week with this gem. Because,<a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2011/06/adventures-in-running.html" target="_blank"> having completed a marathon before</a>, I can say -- this is pretty accurate. Enjoy. And watch those nips, men....<br />
<br />
<br />
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DC Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985741031137722070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568028643301664772.post-17042530342925220222014-09-30T11:16:00.000-04:002015-08-26T13:43:19.191-04:00We Must Learn to Sail in High Winds....<span style="font-family: inherit;">One of my favorite quotes is from <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aristotle_Onassis" target="_blank">Aristotle Onassis</a>: </span><br />
<i><br /></i>
<br />
<div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<i>"We must free ourselves of the hope that the sea will ever rest. We must learn to sail in high winds."</i></div>
<div class="bq_fq_a" style="line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I think of this often when I'm trying to get something done and things just aren't going well. Like how most of my days go, which is why I have my <a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2011/07/whats-with-today-today.html" target="_blank">tagline</a>, and why I so frequently</span> question if I really exist, or if I'm just actually a real life <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0120382/" target="_blank">Truman Show</a>...<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">My life has gotten exceptionally out of control yet again (my chronic case of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fear_of_missing_out" target="_blank">FOMO </a>insists that I say yes to <i>all</i> the things....) so I'm in a place where I have so much I want to get done in a day, that there is no room for anything to go wrong.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
So of course things <i>do</i> go wrong and I end up feeling like I will surely perish at the hands of my own To Do list.<br />
<br />
Like Sunday, for instance:</div>
<br />
-I head to church and have already made a list of errands for myself that are located around church because if I don't multi-task MY WORLD WILL END.<br />
<br />
-I leave church and head to my first stop: buying new running shoes.<br />
<br />
-skip to two stops later: returning an item at <a href="http://www.target.com/" target="_blank">Target.</a> Except I get distracted (as I always do) by the clothing racks (because: clothes.) and I end up finding things I want to try on (because I <i>need</i> <a href="http://www.wikihow.com/Wear-Harem-Pants" target="_blank">harem pants</a>). So I walk to the back of the store, enter the dressing room, glance at my reflection in the mirror and:<br />
<br />
realize <i>one</i> of my pant legs is inexplicably rolled up.<br />
<br />
I must've done that while trying on running shoes two stores back and I'm so focused on my To Do list that I didn't even realize it.<br />
<br />
Yes. <i>Two </i>stores. As in, I've not only walked all around Target looking like an old-school gang member, but I also walked all around <i><a href="http://www.staples.com/" target="_blank">Staples</a> </i>that way. Because stop number two was to have computer nerds help me find the printer toner I needed. So I walked all over an office supply store with one pant leg to the ground and the other rolled up like that half of my body had just waded through a river.<br />
<br />
Sigh.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>I will say though, that my Target experience was at least salvaged by the fact that after I emerged from the dressing room, I walked past a lady who was scolding herself - out loud - to "focus!" because she too had succumbed to the siren song of the clothing racks. The struggle is real. </i></blockquote>
<br />
-I head home (getting gas on the way because: multi-tasking) and I proceed to dealing with the next task: ordering a new phone.<br />
<br />
And here's where the wind in my day picks up. And also where my technology anxiety gets 47% more intense.<br />
<br />
I hate online stuff. I mean, yes, it's convenient - WHEN IT WORKS - but every time I go to log into things, I don't have the right password, or I'm using the wrong browser, or the security on my computer won't let me through, or the screen freezes, or aliens abduct me and when I come back my information needs to be re-entered...<br />
<br />
It's seriously one thing after another. These days I nearly have a panic attack just hearing the words "you'll need to log in...."<br />
<br />
So long story short (and I do mean long story - I end up working on this for over 2 hours and may or may not have been in tears at one point) I have <i>multiple </i>issues ordering my iPhone, then ordering the accessories, then trading my other iPhone in, then talking to multiple customer service people online, then talking to another one over the phone, then curling into the fetal, then cursing the day computers were born.... and I finally get it ordered.<br />
<br />
And the ONLY reason I'm even doing this is because my current phone is freaking out, and apps aren't working right, and the screen freezes, and the battery sucks, etc. etc. More reasons to hate technology...More wind in my day....<br />
<br />
But whatever, the phone ordering is done and I'm now trying desperately to move on to my next 14 tasks, which include doing some work for my regular job, doing some work for my Navy job, doing some different work for my company, training for the <a href="https://www.armytenmiler.com/" target="_blank">Army 10 Miler</a>, logging my miles for charity in an app on my phone, doing laundry, giving my cat a "<a href="http://catgroomingcharlotte.com/sanitary-and-belly-shave/" target="_blank">sani-clip</a>" for reasons I will let you <a href="http://google/" target="_blank">Google </a>"sani-clip" to understand.....<br />
<br />
Did I mention this is <i>Sunday? </i>As in The Day of Rest? High winds indeed...<br />
<br />
I go for my run --<br />
<br />
and my running app won't work.<br />
<br />
I need to scream now.<br />
<br />
I finally give up and finish my run without the app (because: see! still sailing, Aristotle...) I go home, shower, and sit down at my computer. And I have this little security token thingy that I have to use every time I log into one of my email systems. So I use it, log in, and am starting to get work done, but then -because technology hates me - I realize I can't do something because I'm using an Internet browser that this particular system doesn't agree with. *angry words!!* So I open a new browser, go to re-type my security token thingy and realize:<br />
<br />
I don't have it anymore, because about 10 minutes ago, I threw it across the room as a diversion for my cat who had perched herself on my desk,clawing at my hands and changing my Touch screen with the presence of her tail. I couldn't find anything for her to play with so in a desperate attempt, I threw the first little thing I could find.<br />
<br />
And she apparently batted that thing into oblivion because I didn't see it anywhere. She somehow sensed that my work life depended on it, so she made sure to thoroughly hide it and I was so focused on my To Do list that I didn't even notice. *Hurricane force winds*<br />
<br />
So now it's 10 p.m. and I'm on my hands and knees, crawling around my living room as my To Do list mocks me from the corner. I finally find the token thingy -<i>in a completely different room </i>- and I'm able to finish the day out in my own personal funnel cloud of issues.<br />
<br />
Oh, Onassis. I appreciate that you remind us that we all have to keep sailing, but surely even you would agree that some days maybe it's better to just run for the tornado shelter...<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />DC Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985741031137722070noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568028643301664772.post-87430922019410804962014-09-22T20:39:00.000-04:002015-08-26T13:43:19.268-04:00This is a Fairly Safe Neighborhood...I had signed up to pull a plane...<br />
<br />
the week before, one of the friends had to drop out<br />
<br />
The mroning of - the other friend called sounding like one of Marge Simpson's sisters. She was ill.<br />
<br />
BUT - she was a trooper and came anyway.<br />
<br />
11:00 am we head out to the Dulles airport.<br />
<br />
12:30 PM we see <i>these </i>guys.<br />
<br />
There's no way we are beating those guys.<br />
<br />
12:45 PM we see the other teams around us putting on gloves and chanting.<br />
There's no way we are beating those guys. Either.<br />
<br />
2:00 PM We finally get our chance to pull this 1. xxxx ton plane. My friend and I take our place and start to prepare....<br />
<br />
2:01 PM We feel a tug on our sleeves and hear a shrill "ladies! ladies! we have too many people!"<br />
<br />
Some other woman on the team ...<br />
<br />
<br />
I head to meet my friends at the H Street Festival.<br />
<br />
4:00 PM text friends to see where they are<br />
<br />
4:15 PM all the gauges on my car freak out and I feel like I'm imploding. I pull over, park illeagally, turn my engine off -<br />
and can barealy get out of my door.<br />
<br />
What the? What on earth would cause my <i>door </i>to suddenly stop fitting my car?<br />
<br />
I get out -- because whatever is happening is clearly a John Grisham type bomb under my hood that someone put there because I've suddenly become someone powerful with secrets -- close the door to see if it will close properly. Walk around the car looking for I don't even know what, get back int eh car, turn the ignition (while bracing for the explosion that is obvioulsy going to ensue)<br />
<br />
...and my car just makes a strangling noise and won't turn on.<br />
<br />
4:20 PM "Never mind. Car just broke down. Have fun!"<br />
<br />
Ugh.<br />
<br />
4:25 call my father for advice<br />
<br />
4:30 call a tow truck<br />
<br />
4:35 call my insurance because apparently they have to call the tow truck<br />
<br />
They verify my address and I tell them I'm not sure that's right and don't see an address but I give them my exact cross sttreets. They <i>sound </i>like they understand...<br />
<br />
5:05 I get a call from the tow truck. He's in the wrong place. He's now mad at me because the insurance people gave him the wrong address.<br />
<br />
Then he hangs up.<br />
<br />
No "I'm still on my way," no "don't worry, I'll be there soon." Just - silence.<br />
<br />
5:06 I call my insurance back<br />
<br />
And I forgot to mention that the On-Hold music they keep using is <a href="http://teletubbies/" target="_blank">Telletubbie</a>-esque. So I didn't lose my cool when my car acted like it was going to explode. Nor did i lose my cool when my tow truck was sent to the wrong place after I waiting 30 minutes. But what may finally push me over the edge?<br />
<br />
The Telletubbies.<br />
<br />
<i>Why </i>would that be the music of choice? Are they trying to push already-stressed out Roadside Assistance victims over the edge completely? Do they believe that children call in the majority of vehicle emergencies?<br />
<br />
Whatever the reason, it was not helping.<br />
<br />
My tow guy finally arrives, barely says anything to me but continues to talk seemingly to himself on a blue-tooth while he hooks my car shamefully up to his truck as people around us look at me like <i>"what did you do???"</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
He asks me if I'm "ridin' with it." Uh. I don't know how this normally goes. Do you not just take it somewhere?<br />
<br />
He tells me he doesn't know if the garage is open this time of day, so I choose to ride with it. We get in and I'm fairly certain I smell marijuana.<br />
<br />
"you don't know where yo car is going?"<br />
<br />
<br />well *I* wouldn't leave *My* car just anywhere....<br />
<br />
I fix it myself..<br />
<br />
Oh dear. ..<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />DC Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985741031137722070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568028643301664772.post-47716550571118495952014-09-18T12:41:00.000-04:002015-08-26T13:43:19.216-04:00Reminiscing about painful awesomeness<br />
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<span style="color: #222222;">I promise a new post soon, but today I'm reminiscing about doing Tough Mudder a couple years ago. You can read the original post <a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2012/09/tough-mudder-why-do-we-pay-to-do-these.html" target="_blank">here</a> as well as read the subsequent posts about our adventure<a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2012/09/tough-mudder-part-two-you-want-me-to.html" target="_blank"> here</a>, <a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2012/09/tough-mudder-part-three-what-did-i-just.html" target="_blank">here </a>and <a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2012/09/tough-mudder-four-finaleand-then-couple.html" target="_blank">here</a> (it was a really long day, you guys.) </span></h2>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; letter-spacing: inherit; margin: inherit; padding: inherit;">S</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; letter-spacing: inherit;">unday, September 9, 2012</span></h2>
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="3817650108970981752"></a><h3 class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="font-size: 22px; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0.75em 0px 0px; position: relative;">
Tough Mudder: Why Do We Pay To Do These Things?</h3>
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<div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-3817650108970981752" itemprop="description articleBody" style="font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 570px;">
I'm going to attempt to post about my experience in <a href="http://toughmudder.com/" style="color: #888888; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Tough Mudder</a> yesterday, but it'll probably take a couple posts because: A. A lot happened; and B. It's difficult to type given no comfortable position exists for my body any longer.<br /><br />I'm trying to rest my elbows on the table, but they are both scratched. I prop my feet up and rub the cut on the back of my ankle from where pebbles got stuck in my sock the whole race. I try to cross my legs, but I have bruises on the side and backs of them and scratches down the front. And every now and then, I accidentally graze the bruise on my hip and fondly remember torso-planting on the side of a muddy bank.<br /><br />In other words - the race was Awesome.<br /><br />I stand corrected. In the words of Tough Mudder, it is not a race, but a "challenge." And it's a good thing it's not a race, considering it took my team just shy of <em>four hours</em> to go a little over 10 miles. Granted, we took our time, stopped for photos, lost each other at one point, etc. but it adds to the "challenge" because that's four hours of being wet and caked with mud, four hours of squinting in the dust and sun running around farmland, and four hours of waiting in nervous anticipation of this:<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lAvtFiHv-IM/UEzzi_2BvgI/AAAAAAAABEY/71yulEMLb-4/s1600/251781_10151215645862790_830629711_n.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="color: #888888; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" hea="true" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lAvtFiHv-IM/UEzzi_2BvgI/AAAAAAAABEY/71yulEMLb-4/s320/251781_10151215645862790_830629711_n.JPG" style="-webkit-box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 1px 1px 5px; background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 1px solid rgb(238, 238, 238); box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 1px 1px 5px; padding: 5px; position: relative;" width="320" /></a></div>
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That's Everest. And for whatever reason, that was one of the obstacles I feared most and it's the second to last thing you are asked to do by Big Mudder. Please don't focus like the camera on the nice spectators sitting under their proper umbrellas. But look under the arrow - yes, at all those silly humans running <em>up </em>a <em>wet </em>half pipe, then <em>launching</em> their bodies towards the hands of strangers, hoping they are caught and held.<br /><br />And believe me, soooo many were not. But more on that later.<br /><br />So that was on my tired, mud-filled mind the whole four hours. You know what else was on my mind? Congestion. Because not only will I pay to endure torture, but I'll do it when I'm sicker than I've been all year. And let me tell you, besides not being able to breathe normally, it's not easy going through a race where everything is muddy and you need to blow your nose.<br /><br />I used a <em>banana peel </em>at one point, people. Not cute.<br /><br />But let's back up to the beginning. Per usual, I start psyching myself out by reading reviews and looking through photos online of the race beforehand. Reviews like "<span itxtharvested="0" itxtnodeid="3"><a href="http://www.letsrun.com/forum/flat_read.php?thread=3946743" style="color: #888888; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">The worst that those wires will do is shut down your body and make you poop yourself. Otherwise, you're all good."</a> And photos like this: </span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="-webkit-box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 1px 1px 5px; background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 1px solid rgb(238, 238, 238); box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 1px 1px 5px; color: #222222; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 5px; position: relative; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JZgIIb-T4ew/UEzRwO3U0SI/AAAAAAAABCA/4rZZztxwIRY/s1600/387032_10151215647547790_352116742_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="color: #888888; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" hea="true" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JZgIIb-T4ew/UEzRwO3U0SI/AAAAAAAABCA/4rZZztxwIRY/s400/387032_10151215647547790_352116742_n.jpg" style="-webkit-box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 0px 0px 0px; background: transparent; border: none; box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 0px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; position: relative;" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 10.9090909957886px;"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/toughmudder" style="color: #888888; text-decoration: none;">http://www.facebook.com/toughmudder</a></td></tr>
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So I was good and <strike>terrified </strike>excited by the time yesterday rolled around. I layed out my clothes the night before and think "remember, the gloves you bought are in your car - don't forget them in the morning." (<a href="http://www.mechanix.com/?gclid=CMCXtd6EqbICFUGo4AodsAsAGg" style="color: #888888; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">mechanix</a> -- pink of course.)<br /><br />5:00 am: I wake up and take my 4th dose of <a href="http://www.airbornehealth.com/" style="color: #888888; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Airborne </a>in 24 hours and get ready to meet my team.<br /><br />6:30 am: Riding down the interstate in my teammate's car, I realize -- I forgot my gloves. Awesome.<br /><br />8:30 am-ish: we finally get through <em>heinous</em> traffic, get parked, and head to registration before our 9:20 start time.<br /><br />9:00 am: One teammate is still stuck in a registration snafoo.<br /><br />9:20 am: We watch our heat start the race. Without us.<br /><br />It's fine. We'll just go with the next heat. Some of the girls on our team start people watching and see racers like this:<br /><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="-webkit-box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 1px 1px 5px; background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 1px solid rgb(238, 238, 238); box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 1px 1px 5px; color: #222222; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 5px; position: relative; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2gvbrlKZhMo/UEznQ4AYZLI/AAAAAAAABD4/DRsVRdUhrrg/s1600/253440_10151215632092790_1610848265_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="color: #888888; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" hea="true" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2gvbrlKZhMo/UEznQ4AYZLI/AAAAAAAABD4/DRsVRdUhrrg/s400/253440_10151215632092790_1610848265_n.jpg" style="-webkit-box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 0px 0px 0px; background: transparent; border: none; box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 0px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; position: relative;" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 10.9090909957886px;">That bonnet is sooo not staying on through the race</td></tr>
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Then we watch as people do warm up exercise, make comments to each other that we'll be doing that next, then the rest of our team joins us and - we all start running.<br /><br />Like, right then. Towards the start line. Wha?? We look at each other like "that's it? No warm up? No gun going off? Guess we're starting!"<br /><br />It was like de ja vu from when I<a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2011/06/adventures-in-running.html" style="color: #888888; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank"> tucked and rolled out of a car to sprint to my marathon start two years ago</a>. We make comments about how anti-climatic it was when we realize we were running<em>to</em> the start line, where a large group of other runners already were receiving final words (that means more when you've literally just signed a death waiver) from our race MC. Good thing someone on our team was paying attention!<br /><br />9:40am: We get the best pep talk I've ever had before a race that included compliments about our braveness, and praised the <a href="http://www.woundedwarriorproject.org/" style="color: #888888; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Wounded Warrior Project </a>for which the race raises money for. We have several rounds of yelling "Hoorah" at various statements and at one point we are waving our hands collectively, Hip Hop Hooray style, and chanting things. The MC calls out different folks as examples of what Tough Mudder is all about, like <em>this</em> guy who was behind us:<br /><span itxtharvested="0" itxtnodeid="3"></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="-webkit-box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 1px 1px 5px; background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 1px solid rgb(238, 238, 238); box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 1px 1px 5px; color: #222222; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 5px; position: relative; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WomE9SfHufA/UEzZL2ZdQQI/AAAAAAAABCk/F9xTY40OZx4/s1600/547994_10151215632142790_804746145_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="color: #888888; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" hea="true" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WomE9SfHufA/UEzZL2ZdQQI/AAAAAAAABCk/F9xTY40OZx4/s400/547994_10151215632142790_804746145_n.jpg" style="-webkit-box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 0px 0px 0px; background: transparent; border: none; box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 0px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; position: relative;" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 10.9090909957886px;">Those horns are sooo not staying on through the race</td></tr>
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And at one point, we're told to "take a knee" and the motivational speech continues. But intermixed with all the pump-you-up accolades from our MC are his buzz-kill warnings:<br /><br />"be careful out there - we've already had people hurt."<br /><br />"Already seen sprained ankles, dislocated knees..."<br /><br />"If you can't swim - SKIP THE WATER OBSTACLES. you all laugh but there'll be someone who does it anyway- and you will need to pull that person out."<br /><br />"We write your number on your forehead and arm so that people can identify your body later"<br /><br />"enjoy this time now- cuz pain's coming!"<br /><br />Um, I think I've had enough motivation now, sir. Can we just start now, please? Before we change our minds?<br /><br /><span itxtharvested="0" itxtnodeid="3">And with a flume of orange smoke rushing at us -- that's exactly what we did. </span><br /><br /><span itxtharvested="0" itxtnodeid="3">More in the next post.</span></div>
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DC Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985741031137722070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568028643301664772.post-40595863776763666962014-09-15T15:54:00.000-04:002015-08-26T13:43:19.210-04:00Insight into typical text conversations with one of my BFFsI like my friends to have big hearts that are nearly totally shrouded in sarcasm and a bit of irreverence. Below is a snippet of today's text discussion with a friend I've had for over a decade. I think we make good adults, don't you?<br />
<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Me: Some company in Oak Ridge just called for a reference FYI. </i><br />
<i>Are you gunna work with nukes? Cuz that'd be cool.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Her: I've applied to so many jobs I genuinely have not idea</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Me: I'm going with nukes then. Good thing I told them you'd be really good at nukes. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Her: Yeah, good thing!</i><br />
<i> I mean its oak ridge...do they do anything else there?!</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Me: not since the mall closed...</i><br />
<i>The <a href="http://www.oakridgeboys.com/" target="_blank">Oak Ridge Boys</a> still exist. Maybe it was to be a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Road_crew" target="_blank">Roadie</a>! Crap, the nukes thing probably won't help you then. Sorry yo. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Her: I hope I get super powers. Like spider man or batman or something.</i><br />
<i>Blast! Get with it! You have one job! to make me sound awesome at all things!!!</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Me: Ugh. I was distracted by her ridiculously thick accent</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Her: Thick foreign or thick <a href="http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/backwoods" target="_blank">backwoods</a>? Cause thick foreign could still be nukes!</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Me: Ha! Good point. But thick backwoods.</i><br />
<i>...soooo probably roadie. Dang it.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Her: Well, I'm probably more suited for that anyway....</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<br />
End Scene.<br />
<i><br /></i>DC Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985741031137722070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568028643301664772.post-71741274325735326462014-09-12T15:54:00.000-04:002015-08-26T13:43:19.244-04:00Hopefully not the Air Show of Confusion<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">I'm planning to head to Baltimore tomorrow to watch my <a href="http://www.blueangels.navy.mil/" target="_blank">Navy Blue Angels</a> perform for the first time. The air show is part of a <a href="http://www.starspangled200.com/commemoration-events/star-spangled-spectacular/" target="_blank">giant event</a> commemorating the birthday of the Star-spangled banner. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">And it looks like it might be a logistical nightmare.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">Which makes me think of the last time I was in Baltimore in a logistical nightmare: The Baltimore Grand Prix.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">So I'm re-posting my account of that again below. Enjoy. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;"><br /></span>
<strong style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">The Grand Prix of Confusion (originally posted 2011)</strong><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">This weekend I attended the Inaugural! Baltimore! <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grand_Prix_of_Baltimore" target="_blank">Grand Prix</a>!</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">The race itself was awesome. The whole getting there and getting back, however, was less than a smooth ride.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">My friend J took me and I was put in charge of reading the directions from the website. And because the Grand Prix is a car race THROUGH the downtown of a city, they set up shuttle busses from satelite parking areas to get people to the race. </span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">The directions were fine until the last task of "take the second right at Light Street."</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">We couldn't find a Light Street so ended up driving into an old Walmart shopping center where we saw a lot of cars parked, but no signs about why. Our directions said "the shuttle bus area will be clearly marked and there will be volunteers to help you."</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">i.e. "You'd have to be an IDIOT to miss this, it will be so obvious"</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">We see two young guys handing out flyers so we ask them. "Do you know where Light Street is? Or where we pick up the shuttles for the race?"</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">They hand us a $5 dollar off coupon for "Nick's Fish House" and tell us Light Street is across town.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">Okaaay. This </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">looks</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;"> like a parking lot for something since there are cars PARKED ON GRASS everywhere, but we'll try this again. So we leave, drive around, make U-turns, finally find a lot that says it's for the race, and we pull in. And the guy asks for $20 bucks. </span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">Huh? It's supposed to be free, this must not be the right lot. So we ask him where Light Street is. </span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">He says it's across town.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">So we nearly just pay the 20 bucks just so we can stop driving around but J and I are both of the "I'll walk 5 miles before I pay for parking" type so we decide we'll give it one more try before conceding.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">So we head back to Walmart. </span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">And get offered a coupon again.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">But this time, we see shuttle busses and ask one of the drivers "do these take us to the rac..." </span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">"Get on that one!"</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">We obey, and I start to show THAT driver my Grand Prix ticket and he waves me off with a "I don't need to see that."</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">So J and I take our seats, passing by rows of interesting looking people (some slumped over) and think "Ok! We're getting somewhere now!"</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">(...ooor we just jumped on a random bus that will take us Who Knows Where! Either way, it'll be an adventure, right?)</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">So we drive for a bit and the bus finally stops - and no one does anything. The driver doesn't say anything, the people don't move. Finally a lady yells "is this where we get off?" And the driver says yes. But still most of the bus doesn't move (particularly the slumped over ones). But whatever, J and I are getting off! </span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">We look at our tickets which say Gate D. And there's a sign in front of us that says Gate C. So we figure that's close enough and start heading that way. </span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">Our tickets were to get us into the "Infield", which is the large area of downtown that is in the middle of the course the cars are running around all day. And we can HEAR race cars, but can't SEE them yet, so we walk around trying to get "in" and No One Can Help Us. We ask no less than 5 different people how we just get IN, and we are pointed to a different place each time. We finally realize we have to go </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">in a building</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">, up escalators </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">in a mall</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">, and over a pedestrian bridge to finally get "in" the infield. (which is outside). </span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">And after waiting in line, we finally get on the bridge and see a line of complaining people being held up by metro cops, going the other way. So J and I keep going our direction, and now we wonder "after all this to get in, are we not allowed to get OUT??" and that's when I hear a volunteer tell someone that the bridge isn't built to hold all the people that are currently trying to use it.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">Oh neat! Good planning, Baltimore!</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">Needless to say, J and I picked up the pace.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">Once we finally got IN, we relaxed a little, bought lemonade, and tried not to worry about how we were later going to have to get OUT. Whatever! We are here now! Onto the cars!</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">We stake out ground right in front of the start line and realize we are allowed to go down on the track to meet the drivers. So of course I have to take photos. And I really know nothing about this sport. But I get a photo with a car anyway. But that's not enough. I need one with a driver. So we find a guy who is half wearing a race jumpsuit thing, so I pounce.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">Me: Can I take a photo with you? </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">Him: Oh, I'm not the driver</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">Me: Can you pretend to be? </span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">So here's Fake Driver:</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-onvYlnKbXI0/TmZOqy5jUWI/AAAAAAAAAnc/I7LkUjvA3tE/s1600/DSCN0438.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="color: #888888; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-onvYlnKbXI0/TmZOqy5jUWI/AAAAAAAAAnc/I7LkUjvA3tE/s400/DSCN0438.JPG" height="300" style="-webkit-box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 1px 1px 5px; background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 1px solid rgb(238, 238, 238); box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 1px 1px 5px; padding: 5px; position: relative;" width="400" /></a></div>
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">(Then I found a REAL driver right as the race organizers were pushing us off the track and I pounce on him too. So here is Real Driver:)</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-G44y49JQ4y8/TmZQNjPF8KI/AAAAAAAAAnk/XgB-MsLkycQ/s1600/race%2Bdriver.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="color: #888888; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-G44y49JQ4y8/TmZQNjPF8KI/AAAAAAAAAnk/XgB-MsLkycQ/s400/race%2Bdriver.jpg" height="300" style="-webkit-box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 1px 1px 5px; background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 1px solid rgb(238, 238, 238); box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 1px 1px 5px; padding: 5px; position: relative;" width="400" /></a></div>
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">So then J and I take our place outside the protective fence and the cars start up and take off.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">And here's where I black out from happiness because those cars are LOUD and FAST and I have a ridiculous half-mouth-open, half-goofy-grin expression on my face for the next few laps.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">And I'm not alone. The people around me have similar expressions and it's funny how Mutual Excitement! makes everyone feel like we all know each other. So the little guy standing in front of J and I turns to look at us like "Do you see that man!!! Do you see that!!" Except we can't actually understand him, he's just excitedly mumbling and HITTING J repeatedly.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">So I'm still gazing in awe at the cars, and J's trying to pry this man off of him, and the lady next to me feels she needs to let me know which car she loves the most, and the man next to her is yelling "oh he has that WIIIDE open, that is WIIIIDE open!!!" </span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">So that's the little scene of our spectator group. I then attempt to actually photograph the cars. But did I mention they are FAST? Here is what I ended up taking like 6 photos of:</span><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-22GN6pJwi1k/TmZSJMjdFyI/AAAAAAAAAns/EZA0JJqkhao/s1600/DSCN0452.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="color: #888888; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-22GN6pJwi1k/TmZSJMjdFyI/AAAAAAAAAns/EZA0JJqkhao/s400/DSCN0452.JPG" height="300" style="-webkit-box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 1px 1px 5px; background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 1px solid rgb(238, 238, 238); box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 1px 1px 5px; padding: 5px; position: relative;" width="400" /></a></div>
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">Yep. You can't actually see a car in the photo at all. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">I eventually got a little better at it:</span><br />
<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vMJw-SX9u9c/TmZS3DPlHbI/AAAAAAAAAn8/9Ah6q-uXfo8/s1600/DSCN0457.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="color: #888888; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vMJw-SX9u9c/TmZS3DPlHbI/AAAAAAAAAn8/9Ah6q-uXfo8/s400/DSCN0457.JPG" height="300" style="-webkit-box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 1px 1px 5px; background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 1px solid rgb(238, 238, 238); box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 1px 1px 5px; padding: 5px; position: relative;" width="400" /></a></div>
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">And seriously, besides the poor logistics (and the whole possible bridge collapse thing) this was a fantastic event. And we stayed for hours before finally heading back home....</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">...then we realize: How do we GET back home?</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">By now, we've wandered around the "infield" so much we don't know how to get back to where the bus dropped us off. So I remember we were near Gate C and we look at the map-</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">And there is no Gate C.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">So we see a Gate A, and head for that. Eh, it'll lead OUT somewhere, right?</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">We ask YET ANOTHER PERSON to help us and after a long process, we finally find random busses picking people up in a parking lot.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">So we start to get on one and I realize -- these are City busses. Not so much Free Shuttles. And I have no idea where they are going, since I don't </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">live </i><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">in Baltimore.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">So I'm trying to explain things to the driver, who is giving me the "Blink....Blink...." face like he has no clue what I'm saying and </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">thankfully</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;"> two guys FROM NEW JERSEY that are sitting on the bus tell us they know exactly what we are saying, they are going to the same place, and to just get on.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">So we all bond, talking about how poorly organized this whole thing was and how we all got lost getting into the event, and the bus starts driving into a part of town J and I have not seen.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">But the Jersey guys are adamant and they assure us "it's fine, he's going to drop us off at the corner, then we walk to another corner and get on </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">another</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;"> bus..."</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">Oh dear. But since J and I don't have a better plan, we follow along. And guess where the random corner in this random part of town is that the bus drops us off at?</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">Light Street.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">So we've now come full-circle in our frustration. And we head to this elusive Other Bus --</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">And we walk RIGHT INTO THE ORIGINAL PLACE THE SHUTTLES DROPPED US OFF AT EARLIER AT NON-EXISTENT GATE C.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">No freaking way! We really just took a bus across town...to just get around the infield. Sigh.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">Nonetheless, surely these HAVE to take us back to our cars, right? And we see a sign that says "Port Covington".</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">What tha? We aren't trying to go to A PORT, we are trying to go to the street -that isn't Light Street- where the old Walmart -AND OUR CAR- is!</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">But once again, J and I have no other plan. So we hop on.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">And lo and behold, we DO end up back at the Walmart -- which we realize is part of the "Port Covington Shopping Center." Ah, nothing like labeling things in a way WE COULD UNDERSTAND, like, I don't know, "Shuttle Parking Lot A"??</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">And as the bus is driving, we pass ...."Nick's Fish House". </span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">Ha! We really have come full-circle.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 16.7999992370605px;">So we take our coupons and eat at that darn fish house and happily finish out our day of confusion.</span>DC Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985741031137722070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568028643301664772.post-55981602667128404012014-09-03T16:06:00.002-04:002015-08-26T13:43:19.229-04:00My 9/11 Story<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-weight: normal; margin: 0.75em 0px 0px; position: relative;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 1.4;">This time each year, I'm reminded of when I first moved to this city. I've been in D.C. 13 years now and I'm still so in love with it - which is surprising, given how my time here began: with <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/September_11_attacks" target="_blank">9/11</a>.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 1.4;">I've posted this before, but here is my personal story of being at the </span><a href="http://www.whitehouse.gov/" style="color: #888888; line-height: 1.4; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">White House</a><span style="line-height: 1.4;"> when that happened. I in no way want to belittle the tragedy, loss, symbolism and heroism of that day and I'm so grateful that everyone I know was kept safe. But below is what happened to me, humorous parts and all.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 1.4;">During my Semester In D.C. (told briefly about </span><a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2011/07/asp.html" style="color: #888888; line-height: 1.4; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">here</a><span style="line-height: 1.4;">), our school work consisted of half in-class work and half internship work. By some miracle, my internship ended up being at the White House, where I later got hired full-time as a </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_United_States_political_appointments_across_party_lines" style="color: #888888; line-height: 1.4; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Political Appointee</a><span style="line-height: 1.4;">.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and the other interns in my first office</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.4;">But my internship started on 9/10/01....</span></div>
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So the next day - aka My Second Day on the job - I came in early to open the office. We quickly heard reports of the first plane hitting the tower in NYC and everyone just thought it was an unfortunate accident.<br />
<br />
When the second plane hit - we all knew something bigger was happening and we felt like we were likely going to be a target.<br />
<br />
Everyone wore worried expressions but kept working and kept an eye on the news. After the third plane hit, I distinctly remember standing on the balcony of our office, watching the smoke rise from the Pentagon.<br />
<br />
But we continued to stay.<br />
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After a little bit, the headline on television read "White House Evacuated." To which we understandably were like -<br />
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<div -="" br="" class="post-body entry-content" evacuated.="" house="" id="post-body-3200199629307394234" itemprop="description articleBody" like="" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative;" to="" understandably="" we="" were="" which="" white="">
<br />
"Huh?"<br />
<br />
Because we were still there and hadn't heard anything outside of our office either. I stepped out into the hallway just to see if anyone looked like they might be scurrying away and further down the hall was a Secret Service agent in bomb-squad gear. And he saw me and yelled:<br />
<br />
"What are you doing! This is real!"<br />
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To which I kind of slunked sheepishly back in my office with a timid "uh, guys? I think we're supposed to leave...."<br />
<br />
Being the Type A go-getters that us interns were (there were 3 others besides me) we, of course, were not going to be the first ones to freak out. We were going down with the ship too, dang it! So even after I convinced most of the office to leave, another intern kept typing away before someone forced her to also get out.<br />
<br />
<blockquote>
<i>This is how crazy people in D.C. are. Our lives are at risk, sure, but let's try to go ahead and finish that press release anyway...</i></blockquote>
<br />
It was weird because we didn't run. It felt so much like a dream that it was hard to get all that excited. I remember exiting the building and into the sunshine -- that day was gorgeous in D.C. Later, we would all comment on the sick juxtaposition of having such a horrible act take place on such a beautiful day...<br />
<br />
The streets. Were. Gridlocked. And I remember people incessantly honking as if that would make anyone move faster. There was no place to move. Cars had already swarmed the streets, there were erroneous reports of fires on the National Mall, fires in the Metro trains, car bombs at the White House, etc. No one know what was going to be hit next.<br />
<br />
Thankfully, a staffer in our office lived not too far away in Georgetown so a few of us walked a couple miles with her, passing by places like The World Bank which made me look up warily like "are YOU next?"<br />
<br />
Somehow I was able to call my mom on my cell - which was a miracle in itself because the phone lines were jammed by that point - and I remember her tearfully telling me to "just come home." Of course I didn't consider that, though other people in my school program did and the school itself considered sending all of us home. That all happened later though. Right now, I was planning to stay in Georgetown until we could figure out how to get me back to our school's building on Capitol Hill.<br />
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A group of people ended up at the staffer's house and I remember being glued to the news (that was before the networks stopped showing the more graphic images of the towers) and some of us prayed, others were on the phone with their doctors proactively getting prescriptions for <a href="http://www.fda.gov/Drugs/EmergencyPreparedness/BioterrorismandDrugPreparedness/ucm130709.htm" target="_blank">Cipro</a> (again...type A-ers don't mess around...) and the staffer, me, and another intern (who would later become one of my best friends and incidentally was part of the Slap Game and created Henrietta the Turkey <a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2011/09/my-friends.html" style="color: #888888; text-decoration: none;">here</a>) decided to go buy supplies - just in case.<br />
<br />
Here's where it gets humorous because we were PARANOID. And granted, no one knew what was happening at that point or whether there had been any sort of bio or chemical agents released, or how long these attacks were going to continue, etc. But even still, we <i>may </i>have gone a bit overboard....<br />
<br />
So the three of us - me, the other intern and the staffer - set out to buy food and bottled water. You know, just in case we needed to build a fallout shelter in the nicest neighborhood in D.C. And we think "what if there IS some kind of biological something in the air?"<br />
<br />
So we put on sunglasses.<br />
<br />
And bandanas.<br />
<br />
...on our <i>faces.</i> So now we are tredging out of the staffer's home - <i>in posh Georgetown</i> - and we look like bandits.<br />
<br />
And we head to what was referred to as the Social Safeway.<br />
<blockquote>
<i>Side Note: D.C. has had several Safeway grocery stores in different parts of the city that were nicknamed for their various qualities. "Social Safeway" was in Georgetown where the cool kids went. "Unsafe Safeway" (the one *I* had to use by my school) was in a bad part of town on Capitol Hill. "Soviet Safeway" was so named because it had long lines and little options...and so on and so on. (Have I mentioned I love this city? Such character.)</i></blockquote>
<br />
So we stop by an ATM on the way to Social Safeway and we realize we look like we are going to rob a bank. So then we just look at each other, burst out laughing, and take off our ridiculous terrorism prevention "gear".<br />
<br />
We bought some things and returned to the house where we stayed the rest of the day until the roads cleared and I was able to be driven back to my school.<br />
<br />
The next day - we went back to the White House. And that always struck me because everyone went back. We still didn't know for sure what was going on or if the attacks were over, but no one let fear stop their lives. The President himself came around later to personally thank people for coming back to work. It made me feel good to see that and also hear the stories of how people had helped each other the day before. And we continued to help in whatever way we could over the next few weeks, even if just in little ways, like buying coffee for the National Guard troops and extra security personnel who quickly moved into our city to protect us, or serving food to the workers cleaning up the Pentagon.<br />
<br />
The next several months held other interesting events as well (false alarms of more attacks, anthrax, snipers, etc.) but now you know what memories go through my mind on 9/11 every year. DC changed so much that day, with road's being closed and security ramping up, but of course our country and the world changed in much bigger ways as well.<br />
<br />
Each anniversary, us staffers used to go to the South Lawn of the White House to have a moment of silence with the President before he headed over to do the same at the Pentagon at the exact time it was hit. Now, I usually hold some sort of my own moment of silence for not only that day, but in gratitude for my own safety and for the people, many of whom I'm proud to call friends, who have continued to work in intelligence and military operations to make sure that hasn't happened again.<br />
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We will never forget.<span id="goog_657523331"></span><span id="goog_657523332"></span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/"></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Part of a candle-light vigil outside the Capitol after the attacks. (All of my photos from that time are hard copies so forgive the poor quality)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9N1T6R11l64/VAd2ly82y1I/AAAAAAAAEE4/Ij7AusRtXLA/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9N1T6R11l64/VAd2ly82y1I/AAAAAAAAEE4/Ij7AusRtXLA/s1600/2.jpg" height="378" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5px; line-height: 7.392000198364258px;">Anti-war protest that formed a couple weeks later</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Police cars and police in riot gear filled the streets</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After serving food all night to the workers cleaning up the Pentagon, I met this man who was bringing signs school children had made for the makeshift memorial there. More of that memorial below: </td></tr>
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DC Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985741031137722070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568028643301664772.post-18852859320882647402014-08-22T14:51:00.000-04:002015-08-26T13:43:19.194-04:00Giving is Selfish (And I recommend it)<div class="MsoNormal">
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In the wake of the<a href="http://www.alsa.org/fight-als/ice-bucket-challenge.html" target="_blank"> ALS challenge</a>, there has been much discussion on the effectiveness of such a campaign. Some call it <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/ben-kosinski/icebucketchallenge-why-yo_b_5656649.html" target="_blank">Slacktivism</a>, others are just annoyed that the videos are filling their Facebook Newsfeeds, displacing important cat memes (*raises hand sheepishly*), others even argue that it's just self-promotion.<br />
<br />
And honestly, I myself have had reservations about the challenge. First -- the whole water thing was originally meant as a punishment for <i>not</i> giving but somehow it turned into what everyone did in addition to giving (which kind of makes giving miserable, which kind of seems like the wrong message to send if you are trying to make people want to give to charities...) But seriously, I get the idea. But at this point I think it's gone on so long that we've passed the point of Raising Awareness and are solidly moving into the "If I see one more video I will vow NOT to give to charity until they stop" territory.<br />
<br />
But you can't say that it hasn't raised money and awareness. I didn't know what ALS stood for before this! (and since my friend accidentally said she was donating to "ASL," maybe even the American Sign Language organization is getting money out of this deal too!)<br />
<br />
Have the videos made me pick this up as a new pet cause? No. But maybe for some people, it did.<br />
<br />
(and as a bonus, the world was also given the gift of<a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/daves4/just-donate-the-money" target="_blank"> these gems</a>. *giggle*)<br />
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And there's a behavioral science lesson that teaches that the act of making some gesture -- like signing a petition - actually changes our self-perception and we begin to see ourselves as someone who <i>does </i>things. Which in turn, makes you take a bigger action the next time. That's why people still use petitions. The piece of paper itself likely does absolutely nothing, but they've pulled a<a href="http://scifi.about.com/od/starwarsglossaryandfaq/a/Star-Wars-Glossary-Jedi-Mind-Trick.htm" target="_blank"> Jedi mind trick</a> on you so that when they come back in a month or so and ask you to join a protest or donate money, you are more likely to do so. Because you signed a paper. That makes you someone who<i> joins causes.</i> Someone who<i> takes action</i>. So if you ignore a cause now, you're going against <i>who you are as a person.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Sneaky, right?<br />
<br />
But brilliant. So who knows, maybe many of the people who made these videos now subconsciously see themselves as someone who does things, which may spur them on to other charitable acts in the future.<br />
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But isn't it also inherently self-promotional to post a video of yourself giving to charity?<br />
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And self-promotion aside, you also get to feel good after you support a cause - which makes giving kind of selfish, right?<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>There’s a<a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0108778/" target="_blank"> Friends</a> episode where Phoebe tries to prove to Joey that
there are purely selfless acts in the world, but she fails. She goes as far as donating money to <a href="http://www.pbs.org/" target="_blank">PBS</a>, which she hates (because the Sesame Street characters never wrote her a letter, so completely understandable) and feels like she has finally done something completely unselfish because she got nothing in return -- until she realizes how happy giving made her. </i></blockquote>
So yeah, it would seem we always get something in return. You get to feel good (and with the ALS challenge, you also get recognition, whether you wanted it or not.)<br />
<br />
Should those inherently selfish incentives keep you from supporting charities?<br />
<br />
Of course not.<br />
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By posting things about your support, you may really raise awareness and spur someone else to get involved. And yes, you will always get something out of giving: I think that’s God’s incentive for
us to treat each other well – we get to feel happy afterwards.</div>
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So I guess my point is: don't shy away from raising awareness for causes just because you accidentally get recognition in the process. And don't feel like charity has to be miserable! You will always get something in return, that's just part of the deal.<br />
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Recently, I was told by one of my employers to record my hours of volunteer service for the year. I started thinking of what that would include and I remembered that I <a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2014/04/the-run-now-relay-now-what-am-i.html" target="_blank">volunteered </a>to run from D.C. to Boston <a href="http://runnowrelay.org/" target="_blank">to raise money and awareness for the Boston Marathon bombing victims.</a>
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And my first thought was: I can't count <i>that. </i>That was <i>fun! </i>Then I realized - well I did donate time gathering sponsors and coordinating an awareness event in D.C., then I ran the thing, which entailed giving up more time, sleep, and - at times - sanity (although that's hardly quantifiable, because who really knows how much sanity I had to begin with...) and I gave physical energy...huh. I suppose that probably <i>does </i>count as philanthropy!<br />
<br />
But you know what -- I <i>wanted</i> to do it. I <i>paid </i>to do it. <i>I gave up Starbucks to do it! </i>Because the cause was important to me -<i>but it was also fun</i>! It was an adventure that I'll tell my grandkids about. I looked forward to that "service" as much as I look forward to vacations. It was very much selfish while simultaneously being very much philanthropic.<br />
<br />
I feel this way whenever I volunteer at the <a href="http://www.wrnmmc.capmed.mil/SitePages/home.aspx" target="_blank">Walter Reed </a>military hospital too. I <i>always </i>leave more
hopeful. You would think it’d be the
opposite, but watching people triumph over circumstances reminds me that so much more is possible in life. I selfishly look forward to going there. I walk away with more than I walked in with - every time.<br />
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It's the same when you do small things, like stopping to help someone who dropped something, <a href="http://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation/2014/08/21/378-people-pay-it-forward-at-fla-starbucks/14380109/" target="_blank">or paying for the Starbucks order of the person behind you.</a> You end up feeling really good, and heck, sometimes you do even get recognition for it and people look at you as someone who <i>does </i>things.<br />
<br />
Do it anyway.<br />
<br />
I'm certainly not saying you should do things out of pride, and I'm not even saying you should give just to feel good, but I am saying you <i>will</i>
feel good<i> </i>and on some level our
subconscious learns that and we want to do more good and we feel even more
happy and it starts a really great cycle of meeting someone else’s needs while
also meeting our own accidentally in the process.<br />
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So maybe publicly dumping water on yourself for ALS isn't your thing (or maybe <a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/daves4/just-donate-the-money?sub=3421136_3616980" target="_blank">you don't know how buckets work</a>):<br />
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<br />
<a href="http://gifsoup.com/view/5095347/als.html" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://stream1.gifsoup.com/view5/20140822/5095347/als-o.gif" height="400" width="400" /></a><br />
<a href="http://gifsoup.com/" target="_blank" title="GIFSoup">GIFSoup</a>
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<br />
<br />
but I recommend that you consider finding some cause or random act of kindness that <i>is</i> your thing.<br />
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You know, selfishly.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">http://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation-now/2014/08/12/ice-bucket-challenge-als-association/13940323/</td></tr>
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DC Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985741031137722070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568028643301664772.post-45275635978752861512014-08-11T14:18:00.000-04:002015-08-26T13:43:19.213-04:00What I saw in Iraq<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">With <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2014/08/11/world/middleeast/iraq.html?action=click&contentCollection=Middle%20East&module=RelatedCoverage&region=Marginalia&pgtype=article" target="_blank">the situation </a>taking place right now in Northern<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iraq" target="_blank"> Iraq</a>, I started re-reading my thoughts after visiting there last year. I thought I'd re-post some in the hopes that it helps personalize some of the human experience there or gives a little more context into what people living there have already endured before this latest blow. I'm definitely not an expert, but I figure most Americans have not visited that particular country for "fun" so I might as well share what I saw. Another place to find some beautiful context is on the <a href="http://www.humansofnewyork.com/" target="_blank">Humans of New York</a> site or <a href="https://www.facebook.com/humansofnewyork" target="_blank">Facebook page</a>. He is there now, visually capturing human experience in the midst of such conflict. </span><br />
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<i style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">(from original post in April 2013)</i><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">It's hard for me to describe what all we experienced in Iraqi Kurdistan because so much of the Kurds' experience is so foreign to our experience as Americans. There, it's very common for someone to be mid-conversation and casually mention "yeah, so then I was in the 3rd grade...and that's when my father was buried alive by Saddam...and then we went to fourth grade..." They don't miss a beat, it's so common of an experience there to have lost one or both parents, or to have been imprisoned or been tortured. Just in our short time there, we had the following occur (along with many other similar encounters):</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">1. While we were in mid-conversation with a Christian pastor in his living room, our host stopped him and said "well, *Pastor X [I'm not using actual names in these posts because many people there could be in danger, either for their beliefs or because they fled another country, etc.] weren't</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">you</span></i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> put in prison as well?" And he</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">laughs</span></i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> and says "oh yes! It was a wonderful time in my ministry because so many people in Iraq end up in prison at some point so I had a captive audience!" <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">The fact that he was in prison didn't even cross his mind though. That's how normal it is.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">2. While we were hanging out with Arab youth studying English in a park at the site of one of Saddam's old torture centers, we found out that the most gregarious kid of them all, one who happily told us of his plans to go to America and be in the creative arts, had had a brother shot and killed inside the torture center we toured a couple days beforehand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">3. The owners of the English learning center where these kids attended, casually mentioned that they give discounts to families in need and "martyrs." I later asked our host what they considered a martyr and she said it meant they helped anyone whose parents had been murdered by Saddam. They had a discount for that, it was so prevalent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">4. During a church service, where you'd normally hear prayer requests like "oh, I'm thinking of switching jobs so pray for wisdom" or "oh I'm having car problems, pray for that," we literally heard requests (translated for us) for things like "pray for church member X whose father was just kidnapped and held for ransom," "pray for all those across Iraq who are in prison with no justifiable cause." Such an eye-opener....<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">But the resiliency of the people there. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Wow.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Part of the reason I was so excited to come on this trip was because I've struggled with my own faith the last few years and I really wanted to hear from people who would inspire me again. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18px;"><i>And I know a lot of people who read this blog do not subscribe to faith in Jesus, but ya'll know I do and I was visiting with fellow "believers" most of the time I was in Iraq so a lot of my stories will be about them. Deal with it. :) No, in all seriousness, I hope you keep reading anyway. If not, I'll come find you.... </i> </span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Anyway, I actually think the U.S. might be a more difficult place at times than other countries to have a true, meaningful Christian faith because we are so spoiled, or because Christianity is so well-known and played off as simple-minded, or because many people feel like it's enough to just go to church once a year or say you "believe in a higher power" and that's it. I think true belief in God/Jesus/The Bible requires discipline and some sacrifice and permeates your whole life, not just enters it every now and then when it's convenient. It's tough to live that way, and to find a ton of other people who also live that way, but in some African, Latin American, Middle Eastern, etc. cultures, I've seen such an intense awe of God, such a raw belief that I start craving that again and end up travelling again every few years to find it. I was searching for that when I headed to Iraq and I definitely found it. We heard many stories of people from all backgrounds explaining that they'd had visions or recurring dreams or experiences that for whatever reason made them know Jesus is real and that they needed to believe in God's sovereignty. Stuff that you can't just chalk up to coincidence or influence from someone else. Things that happened to them that they just couldn't deny.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">It was remarkable to experience the raw faith in God and sense of hope these people had after going through so many horrific things. There’s no indication of bitterness or loss of faith in a “good God” because of what they’ve experienced. I find that remarkable and feel like that’s a supernaturally-given strength and peace that I could use myself sometimes. Even though my situations where I question God pale so much in comparison to theirs.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">In that same city, we heard a first-hand account of someone’s torture experience in one of Saddam’s old prison/torture centers. I’ll tell you about that next post.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">(you can read the next post now <a href="http://dcdana.blogspot.com/2013/05/iraq-part4-still-sulay.html" target="_blank">here</a>, or I'll re-post it soon.)</span><br />
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DC Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985741031137722070noreply@blogger.com0