So I’ve been reading some Thich Nhat Hanh recently for my religion class with Fr. Julio, and to tell the truth it is quite interesting. One of the things the book mentions is to live in the moment and enjoy the little things. Instead of worrying about the future or dwelling in the past, be mindful of the present. Mindful living helps to relieve stress. This isn’t saying do random things spontaneously, but it is saying to live in the moment, because that makes the moment more meaningful than being absent minded. So I the past week before my trip to Cambodia, I’ve tried to practice this along with meditative breathing exercises, and I feel a lot more calm than usual, probably because usually I’m always planning ahead/worrying about the future. With my mindful exercise I did two things: do laundry and dance in the rain.

I had been putting off doing laundry for some time. It was high time I did it, because I was running low on clean clothes, and to recycle clothes was not an option. I was thinking about taking my clothes to a nearby shop, but then I read a line from The Heart of the Buddha’s Teaching which said something along the lines of, “Every chore done should not be done with monotony, because that chore is a miracle. Every moment is a miracle because you are simply alive. So breath deeply and rejoice for every dish you wash or floor you scrub.” With that, I put my book down and walked over to my overflowing hamper. “It is time” I thought to myself. I picked up the hamper and waked into the bathroom carefully (the first day I walked in casually and slipped because the bathroom is always wet because there is no separate shower, just a showerhead a few feet from the toilet and sink). I walked up to the large green bucket under the dripping faucet under the showerhead and began to run the water. As the water flowed I took the bag of detergent from atop the toilet and sprinkled some in. A few moments later I turned off the faucet and looked at the full bucket. The water reflecting my image amidst bubbles would not last long. It was time to get dirty.
I poured my clothes in from the hamper to the bucket and then ripped off my tshirt to join the mix. Now bare-chested I sat cross-legged on the floor and plunged my hands into the bucket and began to slosh around joyfully. About halfway through Nghiem came home from his class and approached me in the bathroom, “Do you want my help?” “Sure,” I said and gestured him to come over. He sat down and I sprung up, “I have an idea”, I walked over to my laptop and put on some American 80’s pop music. After that the laundry dance party commenced. Nghiem and I washed, wrung, rewashed, slapped, mashed, and hung a large amount of laundry while belting out vocals to high for us and bobbing with synth beats. It was so much fun. Bubbles flew and dirt was pounded and thrashed from clothes that had endured blistering days in Ho Chi Minh city and rural Viet Nam. Taking a simple chore and making it fun. Celebrating the mundane. I’m glad to have been reading that book, otherwise I wouldn’t have had this experience and would probably be sitting in stinky clothes.

My second instance of living in the moment was dancing in the rain. It went a little something like this:

It was only a few days before we would depart for Cambodia. It was a hot and lazy afternoon. Classes were over for the day and I had already visited Green Bamboo shelter. Most folks were sitting around. Nghiem and I were out on the upper lobby balcony reading: I was reading more about Buddhism and he was reading cultural anthropology (in English mind you). Between the two of us we were sharing a dragonfruit and some rice crackers. We were happily reading when Robbie came up the stairs, his shirt a little wet. “Is it raining?” I asked with a puzzled face. Sure there had been some breezes foretelling a storm, but that had happened so many days in a row followed by no rain I felt like the people in the boy who cried wolf story. It hadn’t rained yet in Vietnam and because it was still the dry season, I didn’t have much hope. However Robbie responded, “Yeah it was raining over near Koto (his volunteer organization), and its heading this way.” He walked past us and Nghiem as I looked excitedly at each other. It was going to rain. We both had smiles on our faces as we rushed back to our room to put away our things in preparation for the rain.
As I was putting away my books, my mind drifted away to India. Last summer during my stay in India was dominated by the dry season. I was living in Jaipur which is on the edge of India and Pakistan’s Great Thar Desert. Only in the last few weeks did the rain come, and when it came did it feel good. I remember the first rain in India. Boy was it special. It was an ordinary hot dry day and my Hindi classes had finished. I was sitting around Raja park at the local thread store run by two Hindu brothers Ramesh and Suresh, and helped by their attendant Faizal Khan, a seventeen year old Muslim from nearby Ajmer. I was practicing my Hindi and listening to a Punjabi MC song drifting over from a nearby barber shop. Suddenly, a fierce wind whipped up the sand and then the rain began to fall in huge sheets. Without even thinking, I ran out from the shop’s awning and began to dance in the rain in the middle of the street as camels and pedestrians ran for cover. My kurta became soaked and stuck to my body but I kept dancing. I kicked off my shoes and danced in the muddy sand. It was complete bliss. I hadn’t felt rain in months, so I extended my arms and just danced around. Just when I had had enough, Faizal threw me the key to unlock his bicycle. In a heartbeat I was on that sucker and peddled barefoot up an down the deserted streets as the rain kept beating down. I threw up my legs and yelled out whoops of joy as I sloshed threw puddles. I felt like a child. The store attendants smiled, holed up in their shops. It was such a great moment. Something I will not forget in my lifetime.

But back to the present! Live in the moment, right? So I snapped back from Jaipur and threw on some shorts. I ran back down the stairs as the rains began to roll in. The other American students cheered as thunder clapped and lighting hit the sky. Leon, a CIE student, asked, “First Viet Nam rain?” All the Loyola students replied with a resounding, “Yes!” “I can tell. It’s an experience huh?”
Everyone was gathering at the balcony to watch the rain. Within minutes the power went out and Ho Chi Minh City went dark. It was a cool feeling. But enough with watching, I had to go dance. Monica, a Cambodian-American, Emily, a Chinese-Americam, and myself ran out into the rain and began to dance around, hop up and down, and slosh in puddles. It was great. Like Jaipur, I lost myself in the moment and just smiled in the rain, something I take for granted back stateside, but something to be valued in pre-monsoon season Asia. Gabe, another Loyola student soon joined us and we continued to dance in the downpour. I had a big smile on my face. It was so nice to have all that water just pouring over everything, to hear the thunder rumble, and see the Vietnamese enjoy watching us silly Americans making fools out of ourselves. But hey it was worth it. Soon the other Americans grew tired and went to go dry off, but I kept going. I left the alley and went out onto the main street where traffic was at a standstill and the street vendors had disappeared. I ran up and down, with the cool water falling over my body, arms outstretched and head cocked towards the heavens. Vietnamese students across the street in the University smiled and waved. The little things in life can be the best. You don’t need fancy things if you can find joy in life’s simple things, like rain or doing laundry. Everything we have is a miracle from God, so love the little things. Life is a gift, one that won’t last forever. Don’t let precious time slip by, live in the moment. Be PRESENT! So next time it rains, consider dancing, and when you can, share a smile!

So in 2006 the creation of a US-Oman free trade agreement was approved. It finally came into action in January 2009 in addition to all the amenities that come with traditional FTAs (no tariffs and trade barriers), it also created certain – perks to help facilitate American foreign investment in to Oman.

Because of the FTA, American-owned businesses that are started in Oman are given the same treatment as Omani-owned businesses. Also – the standard initial investment need to start a business in Oman is like OMR 60,000 ($150,000 about) but for American businesses this amount is reduced to only OMR 20,000 ($50,000 about).

So here’s what you do. Just because you are an American you immediately have explicit advantages over other nationalities looking to invest in Oman. So you find a foreign company – tell ’em, “hey, I’m an American, I can get a market for your product started in Oman right quick. Plus – I know the culture, speak the language, and can find my way around the city and the government – just give me 5% and you’ll have three million new potential customers”

After my time in Oman I plan to study at the Beijing Center in China. My goal at graduation is too be an expert in the Middle East, East Asia, Economics, and local languages (I speak French, I’m learning Arabic now, and soon will know Mandarin). If I can find a Chinese corporation looking to expand, and can give them the inherent advantages of my nationality in Oman as well as my knowledge of the region – boom. I’ve done it.

So there’s that. Insha’allah.

An Irish Spring Break Getaway.                        March 4^th-13^th, 2011

After a week of midterms I was more than ready for spring break. Me and my friend Melody backed our bags for an adventure to Ireland. We woke up at 6:30 to get to the airport to catch our flight. We were so excited to experience new adventures and just get to Ireland and do the things we had planned… that didn’t last long. Our plane was late taking off which made us have a really tight connection in London. After taking off 45 minutes late and having to spend 35 minutes in a line for immigration we missed our connection.

After spending 100 pounds which is equal to 160 American dollars and redoing our whole schedule we got a new flight and  we were back on our way to Ireland… after a 10 our layover in the London Gatwick airport. After finally getting on the plane we arrived very late in Dublin and just went straight to sleep.

The next morning we woke up and decided to do a little bit of window shopping and explore Ireland. I loved Ireland the second we stepped off the plane. I am 100% Irish so I loved being there. We window shopped for a little bit because we were ending our trip in Dublin and didn’t want to explore everything just yet. We ended up finding a pub called O’Neill’s which I absolutely love because its my last name… so of course… I took a picture in front of it.

We wandered around Dublin and eventually met up with some other girls and took a 6:00 night bus to Galway. All of us ending up wandering around Galway and going to bed early because we were getting up early on Sunday to bike the Aran Islands.

While we were in Galway we stayed at a really cute bed and breakfast located in the center of Galway. We got up early to have breakfast before catching the ferry to the Aran Islands. We decided to be adventurous and try a traditional Irish Breakfast. IT WAS SO GOOD. After our breakfast we quickly headed to the bus, which took us to our ferry. It was very chilly that day so we were kind of skeptical of renting bikes but decided to do it anyways.

We quickly jumped on the bikes and began our tour of the main island Inis Mohr. It was absolutely beautiful. Although most of the route was up hill it was so pretty and the weather actually improved to where it was warm and the sun was out. We biked for a couple hours and covered the whole island. Although some of the sites where closed because it was their off season we were able to see most of the sites along this island. My favorite site was the Dun Aonghasa. It was a celtic stone fort, which gave you an entire view of the Island. They were absolutely beautiful and it was so cool to see because you could walk right up to the edge and hang your feet over the side. We stayed there for a good half an hour and hopped right back on our bikes and headed back to the main port.

Cliffs

We arrived at the port and grabbed a quick bite for lunch and grabbed the ferry back to Galway. Once we got back we quickly showered and met up with some of our friends who were also staying in Galway. We intended to go out but being a Sunday most people were not out. We ended up going to bed early because we were getting up to do the Cliffs of Mohr the next day.

Monday morning we woke up and again had our traditional Irish breakfast and headed on our way to the bus station to catch our tour to the Cliffs of Mohr.  We had a long bus ride to the cliffs but it was absolutely beautiful. The scenery we got to see along the way was so nice. It was completely different from anything I have ever seen. If you don’t believe me…. Look for yourself!

After spending the day at the cliffs we came back and caught a bus to Cork, Ireland. We ended up getting in fairly later so we ended up just getting something to eat and going to bed.

The next morning we woke up and headed out to the Blarney Castle where the Blarney stone is located. To get there we took the local bus, which dropped you off only a block away from the Blarney stone. The Blarney stone was a very pretty castle. Of course we went to the top of the castle and kissed the Blarney stone and continued on to walk the gardens which were beautiful.

Kissing the Blarney Stone!

(one of the things on my bucket list!)

One interesting thing about the gardens is that they have a set of stairs called “The Wishing Steps” and if you are able to walk up and down with your eyes closed your wish will come true… of course we did that. It then started to rain so we decided to go back into Cork and get lunch. My friend Melody and I went to a burger place in the center of Cork and it was amazing one thing interesting about Italy is that they never put real meat in there food so it was a great change from what we were eating.

Julie and I on top of Blarney Castle

Me, Julie and Brigid exploring the gardens

Me climbing the wishing steps!

Later that night Melody and I decided to go to a traditional Irish Pub and it was fabulous! We met new people, heard Irish music and drank Irish cider. We ended up staying out way to late and were so tired we went straight to bed when we got home.

Cork

The next day was pretty low key we did some window shopping and Melodys suitcase ended up breaking so we had to get a new one so we spent most of the day looking for the perfect suitcase. Later on that night we decided that we wanted to go see a movie. We went and saw No Strings Attached. It was actually very cute movie. We later returned back to our hostel packed our bags and went to bed because we were leaving early in the morning to go to Dublin.

Our alarm went off at 6:30am and we quickly changed and headed out to the bus station to catch a bus to Dublin that left at 8:00. Our bus ride ended up being four hours which put us in Dublin around 12. We quickly went to our hostel where we met Emily, Jackie and Carrie and headed out for horse back riding. Our horse back riding ended up being 30 minutes outside of Dublin in Wicklow. We arrived at the horse back riding place and got on our horses and were trained for about 30 minutes and then began our ride. We were taking up through the different forests of Wicklow and views were absolutely amazing. Our ride lasted about an hour and we then made our way back to Dublin where we had dinner. After having dinner we walked around a little bit then decided to go back and get some sleep because we had to get up early for a day tour.

We woke up early the next morning and did a tour of Wicklow National Park and different small towns surrounding Dublin. My favorite part of the trip was when we went to the location of where part of the movie P.S I Love You was filmed. That is one of my favorite movies so I was very excited to see this.

Melody, Me and Emily

Emily and I on the P.S. I Love You Bridge

Later on we got to see the land where the owner of Guinness lived, which is conveniently located just off Guinness lake.

Guinness Lake

Fun Fact: The owner of Guinness does not have any children and spends half his time in Ireland and the other in India (his wife is from there).

We stopped for lunch in this small little town called Avoca. After having lunch we then went to the Avoca Handweavers which was built in 1723 and is the oldest mill in Ireland. It was very cool and I ended up splurging and buying a pink and green blanket. After buying my gift for myself we then returned back to Dublin.

Avoca

Part of the wool mill

Later that night we went to an Irish Dance at a local hotel. I highly recommend going to one. We went to the Irish Dance at the Arlington Hotel. It was so good before the dancing they had an irish band and then they were followed by the dancers. The dancers were so fantastic and I even got pulled up on stage!!

The Irish Dancers

Me on stage

After dancing we went out to explore the nightlife in Dublin and went to this place called the Temple Bar. If you are ever in Ireland go to Temple Bar you will not be disappointed. They had live bands performing and it was actually a huge bar. We ended up spending most of the night in Temple Bar and made some friends!

Me and Melody!

Melody, Me, Emily and our new friend Jessica

(jessica was in our hostel room with us!!)

The next day was our last day in Dublin and we spent it at the Guinness Factory. We took the Dublin tram, which dropped us off about 2 blocks away from the factory. The Guinness tour was a self-guided tour to see how they make Guinness Beer. It was actually very interesting and throughout the tour they had little demonstration videos showing the process. At the end you were able to see if you could pour the perfect pint of Guinness. Needless to say Emily and I perfected the perfect pint!

Emily and I poured the perfect pint!

We then returned for an afternoon of shopping and packing. We were very sad to leave Dublin but before we left we needed one night out before leaving. Our flight left early on Sunday morning so we decided that it was best that we do not go to sleep so we stayed out until 3 in the morning exploring the different pubs of Ireland. Finally at 4 we checked out of our hostel and walked up to O’Connell street where we caught the bus to the airport. We arrived at our gate and boarded it back to Rome.

Overall, Ireland was a fantastic and I encourage anyone who is studying abroad to visit it. This coming weekend I am staying in Rome however next weekend I am meeting my friends who are studying abroad in Madrid in London. I am very excited!! However, before I can get to this weekend I have take an Italian midterm… I realized that I am not good at Italian so this might not work out too well.

-All for now

Erin.

Ciao regazzi!

I’ve been granted my freedom, finally. But more importantly, I’ve got a clean bill of health (well for the most part.) No infection, I’m not going to be starting a pandemic anytime soon which is great. It has been a real though past two weeks. But I made it, it was quite a test but I think I did alright. I want to thank everyone who had me in their thoughts, couldn’t have done it without all of you. My family was a great help too. I know you may all be asking what exactly happened; well it was all such a blur and took a lot out of me so I would rather not get into it now. I think it is best for me to used this experience to become an even more patient person and move on.

Alora, on to bigger and better things.

Intramural calcio was cancelled once again, just like it was before spring break. I wasn’t planning on playing, need to get my strength back. But I was looking forward to cheering my team on. Oh well, next week I’ll be back out there. It’s a lot of fun and its a good way to build bonds with the people here, and everyone likes to be competitive.

Well my dad is still here, and he decided it would not be worth it to fly back just to turn around and fly back on saturday with my mother, grandma and grandpa and aunts and uncle. This brings me to my next point. My family is coming to visit! They get here sunday AM and I’m going to head to the airport and meet them before they fly off to Bari to visit where my grandpa was born. They’ll be back in Rome on thursday and I will be able to see them more extensively and show them around, and of course get a few free meals out of it. I am so so excited to see them, for one I don’t get to see my mom’s side very often and it will be a nice break, not that I don’t love my friends here, I do, but I’ve always held my family dear to me.

Well luckily I didn’t miss too much school wise, and I plan to use this weekend to catch up. I am planning on showing Dad around the Vatican on Friday and then on Saturday he is going to be tagging along on a day trip to see some WWII sites near Rome. It will be great, some father son bonding…so really what they say is true, every cloud has a silver lining. Out of pain, can come happiness.

I will do my best to make up for the blogging I missed, well, I have to do some more interesting stuff first. Which I will. I’ve still got plenty of time left here in Rome, and I plan to make the best of it. Though my money is running low, there are still low cost ways to have fun.

Well thanks again for reading, I heart all my fans! haha. As always stay classy and ci vediamo dopo!

Welcome to my mother, 2 aunts, uncle and grandma and grandpa. They arrived this morning to begin their Italian vacation, and of course to see me.

Since my dad was already here, we headed over to the airport bright and early to greet the travelers. There was not a whole lot of time for chit chat as they had to head to the other airport in Rome for their flight to the Amalfi coast to visit my grandpa’s birthplace. They’ll be back in Rome on Thursday for a handful of days, so I will be doing stuff with them at that time. I’m planning on showing them the good restaurants of Rome, mainly to get a free meal but you know…a guy’s gotta eat.

To recap the last few days. Thursday was my “triumphant” return to class…I only had one class, so it was quite the easy day. Then it was the weekend, so really I got an extended Spring Break. Thursday night I went over to the hotel where my dad was, and since it was St. Patty’s day we had pre-dinner drinks at the bar and ate dinner at the attached restaurant. It was quite good…spaghetti carbonara and some antipasti.

Friday we headed back to campus, did some laundry (since he had only packed for a few days but ended up having to stay). Had lunch with Vice President Emilio Iodice and a few others. I can’t say enough good things about the staff here, they went above and beyond the call of duty and I thank them for that. That afternoon then, my dad and I headed down to the Vatican City (after waiting 40 minutes for the darn bus, I miss the CTA). I showed him the ins and outs of the VC, unfortunately the Pope was busy at the time and could not come to meet us. So we walked along the river for a ways. It was starting to get to be dinner time, so we headed back to campus. There is a very good restaurant not too far from the JFRC and we decided to eat there. Of COURSE I had suppli as my antipasti…(Quite note on suppli: If you don’t know, they are fried balls with rice and good stuff on the inside, about the size of a clementine). Mi piace molti suppli! Annd for my main dish I got a pizza with shredded radishes and gorgonzola cheese (YUM).

Saturday, was a day trip to Anzio for a little tour of a few WWII cemeteries. We saw a German and US Cemetery. The US one was a lot bigger, even though it has fewer soldiers buried there. It was a cool site, the weather was great but it’s still something to think about; a lot of good men gave their lives to make the world a better place…and what have we done with the opportunities they’ve given us? Afterwards we  ate a very good 5 course lunch. It was so much food, but it was so good…capped off with Tiramisu for dessert. The last stop of the day was a museum home to the largest collection of WWII era artifacts (Both war items and toys and such from that time period). All in all a really cool day, I learned a lot that I did not know about the fighting in Italy.

I realize that it wasn’t the most exciting weekend ever, but then I keep remembering that I’m still IN Italy, so even a boring weekend here is still pretty great.

This coming week will be good, I can feel it…hoping for NO RAIN on wednesday so we can get back out on that calcio field. But I’m really looking forward to spending time with my family this weekend. I am certain I will have exciting things to report on about that.

Only 7 weeks left here! Ahh crap…gotta stop counting down the days. I have a feeling it is going to go fast…I’m not sure how I feel about that.

So this past weekend we went to Oman’s second city, Salalah. It’s a pretty small city, only about 150,000 or so, but it has had major significance in both the past and the present. The culture of Salalah, and the rest of the Dhofar region (the area in the south of Oman, bordering Yemen) has a culture, people, language, and climate separate from the rest of the country.

People in Salalah are taller (generally), speak Jabali (the montain language – not even a dialect of Arabic, it’s actually it’s own language), and generally see themselves as separate from the rest of the Gulf.

However, Salalah has had a major impact on world history in the form of Frankincense. The luban form of Frankincense – the real stuff – really only grows in the Dhofar region in Oman. So for thousands of years Omanis made bank by shipping the stuff to the Romans, the Greeks, the Chinese, and pretty much every other culture. People couldn’t get enough of the stuff.

This also explains how Oman became known as a nation of seafarers and how they first got their feet wet (ha!) in maritime trade. Their boats, the most prominent of which is the dhow, were shipping stuff all over the world for thousands of years. The first Arab boat to dock in the United States was an Omani ship which arrived in New York in 1840.

Anyway – Dhofar. Because of this sense of separatism, along with numerous other encroaching factors (neglect from the Sultan, communist insurrection) the Dhofaris staged a rebellion during the early 1970s. The rebellion managed to be supressed by the Sultan and since then the Dhofaris have slowly become more connected with the Omani identity.

Today the Sultanate has investments massive amounts of capital into the Salalah area. The biggest is the Port of Salalah which has been successful because of its premium location. Also in Salalah is the Salalah free zone. This is located right next to the port and allows foreign companies to operate free of corporate tax. Currently the zone has only six foreign companies but there are several more on the waiting list.  However because of the massive utility requirements of these facilities progress has been slow in establishing new companies. I got a lot from the trip to Salalah, enough to possibly change my ISP topic – the proposal for which is due the day after tomorrow.

It’s a different dynamic in Oman. Here families aren’t just the people you see during holidays – they’re basically the only people you do anything with. I found out a little while ago that all of the kids that are always running around my house are actually all cousins of my host family’s kids. Also at least 99% of the people my host dad and I hang out with are either brothers, or cousins, or uncles (sometimes the nephews are older than the uncles – which is kind of wacky). I think the only guy my host dad is friends with that isn’t from the family is a guy from Zanzibar – but they’ve worked together for years and years.

That may sound kind of impractical from an American perspective – but families in Oman aren’t like families in the States. First of all polygamy is everywhere – it’s just like a thing people do. One of my professors here has twenty – two-zero – brothers and sisters from three different mothers.

This brings me to my next point – there’s a buttload of kids here. There are three things that are everywhere in Oman. Cats, goats, and children. Half of the population here is under twenty. A conservatively small family in Oman is two sons and two daughters –  a big family in America. This leads to a huge interconnectedness between people in Oman.This is even truer in the south. When I was in Salalah last weekend, I was told that the first things Dhofaris do after meeting for the first time is establish a familial link between them. If someone wanted to meet the Sultan, the best bet would try to go through family members until he finds one who works with His Majesty.

This is, in my opinion, the leading cause of the rampant nepotism in this country. If the way people do everything relies on going through family members, why would employment or appointment be any different? Corruption is a similar story. “My nephew works under me so I will re-direct more money to his department – some of which might be skimmed off the top.” I heard a story in Salalah about how the Sultan ordered the construction of an OMR 4 million (about $12 million-ish) theatre in Dhofar. The foremen threw together a place with poured cement seats, pipes everywhere, and the foundation cracking. They spent OMR 1 million and pocketed the rest. They then sent pictures of a theatre in Kuwait to the Sultan and told him that that was what they made. The Sultan announced an unexpected trip to the grand opening of the theatre – when he got there…….stuff hit the fan.

But seriously -this kid stuff is out of control. There are three things in Oman which are just looming, inevitable problems – the depletion of oil, the (death) of His Majesty (we don’t talk about it), and the million kids which are gonna grow up soon and need jobs. It also doesn’t help that these all are happening at around the same time (even if they were 5-10 years apart that’s still pretty close). For practical purposes, Omanis just need to stop having so many kids.

Yesterday we had a surprise party for one of the girl’s 21st birthday. While we were at her house I found out that her host brother is a bodybuilder. He was big, but since he was fully clothed it was hard for me to judge just how bodybuilt he actually was.

After the party he opted to give me a ride back home in his giant hummer.

Okay – I got to go on all little tangent here just to describe this automotive beast. First of all it was massive. It probably had a clearance space of over 3 feet easily – and moreover the dude took off the step on the side of the car that makes it possible to step in without hurling yourself into the backseat (since the guy was a bodybuilder he kind of just lifted himself up with one hand and plopped in the seat). It was flashy gold, and on the back there was a bumper sticker that just read ‘Kool Kar’. The inside was like the Enterprise or something. 12-inch hi-def touchscreen that showed music videos, sunroof, LED dashboard. We asked him if he ever took the thing wadi-bashing and he was like “What? This car has too much electronics, I would never”

so yeah…it was a big car.

But while he was talking about his bodybuilding career I started to realize -Hey, this guy is no joke. He’s number one in the Middle East and Asia. I asked him if he had ever been to America and he was like “Yeah, I went first time to Ohio this month,” (I thought that was cool ’cause I’m from Ohio)

Turns out he went to the Arnold Classic in Columbus. At first I thought he meant he just went to see the exhibition but turns out he actually was in the Amateur bodybuilding competition.

Okay – tangent number two. When I asked him if he was professional or not he said no. At first I thought he was saying that he didn’t do pro because there are no drug tests and he doesn’t like steroids, but it then I found out he was saying the exact opposite. He loves doing steroids. When I asked him what his supplements were – creatine, protein, etc. – he was like “Creatine is kids stuff” So yeah, he loves himself some drugs.

Anyway, the Arnold Classic is a big deal. There’s far more money to win than at Mr. Universe and it’s almost just as prestigious. The guy got fifth place. Fifth place. That means that of all the body builders in the world, there is only a small handful that are better than this guy. And he’s in Oman. And he’s driving me home. And he’s got a big hummer. And he went to Ohio.

I wish I had known he was going to Ohio before he left – I would’ve told my Ohio State friends to cheer him on during his performance.

But yeah, his name is Ahmad Salim Saleh al-Harthi, and this is what he looks like. http://gallery.rxmuscle.com/index.php?bodybuilder=15494

For my religious studies class in Vietnamese Religions, Fr. Julio invited Gabe and I on a day trip to Da Lat, a city nestled in the mountains of Vietnam’s central highlands, called Tay Nguyen in Vietnamese. For our trip we would go to Da Lat’s famous Zen monastery and pagoda to get more hands on experience with Vietnamese Buddhism by talking with some of the monks there. We would also be touring the city and meeting several nursing masters students attending Loyola’s new nursing campus opening up in Vietnam as part of Loyola’s web of projects in the region. This trip had been in the plan for weeks and had been nestled between our Taku and Northern excursions. A week or so before our trip Fr. Julio opened up the possibility for the rest of the students to join us, which they gladly did. So, shortly after Vietnamese class on Friday the five of us Loyola students met Mr. Ky, Fr. Julio, and our driver outside the university gates. We all greeted each other, hopped in the Mercedes sprinter van, and headed north on our way to Da Lat.
On the way we saw may cool things. One town was filled with giant boulders. There would be a stretch of houses and then a boulder, there was a factory buil around a boulder, and one bolder even had a giant Buddha statute fixed on top of it. That was interesting. Later on we saw miles and miles of thin trees lined up perfectly and extending as far as one could see in columns on both sides of the road. Fr. Julio commented that these were trees used for rubber, and that the French had planted these huge rubber plantations centuries ago. After a stop a gas station for a quick lunch, we continued on our way.
Crossing the vast plane of rice paddies we eventually came upon a river. This river was quite remarkable because there were house boats stretching along both banks of the winding river as far as we could see. The river emanated from the highlands, which we were about to enter.
Upon entering the foothills, Mr. Ky, a devote Roman Catholic, asked Fr. Julio if we could stop at a shrine of the Madonna to pray for protection during our upcoming journey in the mountains. Fr. Julio agreed, saying it was a good idea, and just as the road began to rise and twist we found ourselves at a little roadside shrine. We pulled over to pray and have a little refreshment before the real arduous part of the journey began. I climbed up several steps to a large stone statue of Mary in the center of a large brick platform overlooking the mountain pass. I silently offered a pray to the Virgin Mary as several Vietnamese children approached waving incense sticks and placing them in a large stone urn filled with sand at the feet of the statue. This practice looked almost identical to what I have seen with prayers done I front of statues to the Buddha or bodhisattvas. I remembered a professor I had freshman year, Kim Searcy, and his quote about the spread of Islam across the globe, “Islam is like a river. It runs through many countries and although the water, the teaching, is the same, it picks up the colors, the culture and practices, of whatever country it flows through.” I smiled and thought that for sure this same ideal was true for Catholicism. I continued my prayer and then began to notice the sound of rushing water that reminded me of a certain place in northern Michigan called Roaring Brook. I grew excited, and ending my prayer, I walked past the statue and up into the hills to look for the water.
I found it in a little stream rushing down the hills. I went down to the waters edge and put my hand in the cool water down into the soft sand and then rubbed my fingers over the smooth stones. I was instantly transported to the city of Harbor Springs in northern Michigan, a place where I spend my summers. The cool air, greenery all around, and this little stream were almost identical to what I live to experience every summer.
I was summoned out of this trance when Gabe approached behind and said everybody else was getting a snack at a little shack below the shrine. So, pulling my fingers out of the water and my mind out of my memory I crossed a little arched stone bridge and approached the canteen. All of us had a simple coffee or tea and then we were back on the road, heading up winding paths that would rock from side to side with our windows filled with the reflections of the awe inspiring mountains that loomed above us.
Hours passed as we rolled by giant mountains and little towns clinging to the edge of the road and straddling cliffs and sharp plummets. Tea plantations began to pop up and the simple rolling hills and steep mountains began to be terraced, offering structure to the wilderness we had been witnessing for so long. Terraced tea hills were dotted with dark green tea plants and packed with reddish brown dirt all the way down to the valleys which were covered in bright green rice paddies. Among all this, medium green palm trees dotted the entire scene. This array of vegetation and shades of green was very pleasing to the eye.
Sunset hit us a few minutes before we hit Da Lat on the final incline. The sun set among the mountains between the summits and the clouds. The effect was quite stunning. The sky remained light blue as the burnt orange setting sun hit the puffy clouds mixing white and orange as the greenery of the mountains grew darker. It was truly a unique sunset. Finally the sun disappeared below the mountains as we rose over the final hill into Da Lat.
Beautiful. That’s all I can say. When we crossed that last hill we entered into a little European enclave in Asia. I could have mistaken Da Lat for Alpine Switzerland. Pine trees were everywhere and French colonial villas surrounded a large central lake. Thousands of houses were nestled in the slopes comprising this large bowl at the top of the mountain and church steeples were prominent among the city skyline. I was in awe.
When we reached the hotel, we were greeted by several Vietnamese attendants in parkas. Yes, PARKAS! Even I had trouble believing it when I first saw it, but didn’t after a few moments outside the van. I was wearing gym shorts and my ‘Vote for Dave’ T-shirt that tightly hugged my upper body. I began to shiver. The air was temperate by American standards, but having lived in Saigon for the past few months, my body had not experienced this kind of ‘cold’ in so long I was not used to it. “Wow, I’m shivering in Viet Nam… this is odd”, I thought to myself.
We checked into our rooms and after a little half an hour break we met in the lobby for dinner, and were met by around twelve nursing students and two doctors from Loyola’s Vietnam medical school based in Da Lat. Fr. Julio introduced all of us and we were ushered into the hotels dining room to eat a large Vietnamese feast, including a hot pot of beef, squid, and shrimp. During our conversation, a woman named Tuyet, which means snow in Vietnamese, began to tear up. A woman sitting next to her asked what was wrong, and Tuyet said that I reminded her of her son, who was also twenty because I acted like him. I smiled and she smiled. We continued our dinner and Fr. Julio clinked his wine glass with a spoon and stood up, raising a toast for this to be the first of many dinners between Vietnamese students and Loyola students studying abroad and for increased friendship between those studying through Loyola in Vietnam, and those coming from Loyola to study in Vietnam. We all raised our glasses and drank the sweet pink wine produced locally from vineyards in Da Lat. We also enjoyed the distinctive Da Lat tea, which is based on artichokes. It was a very subtle, and yet sweet flavor.
When dinner was concluded we bid the Vietnamese nursing students goodnight, Betsy headed off for bed, and all us guys headed off into the city to wish Robb a happy birthday by hopping around bars. The first bar we came upon was called ‘Why not?’ All three of us looked at each other and said simultaneously, “Why not?” while shrugging out shoulders and laughing. Upon entering and climbing upstairs we found a white floor and multicolored walls with different colored orbs. Behind the bar Disney channel was playing on TV and the DJ was playing techno that reminded Robb of German clubs. Several young Vietnamese were drinking on the balcony and we sat down for a drink inside. After our drink we head out into the city center to find a lively night market of old folks frying things on charcoal stoves, little kids playing, and people eating little fritters on the classic Vietnamese ‘kindergarten table and chairs’ that are ubiquitous across the country, all wrapped in parkas and woolen caps mind you. Some of the old women stooped over cooking reminded me of my adopted Bhutanese refugee family I work with, and the grandma Bhagi, who is always wrapped up, not used to the Chicago cold. A little boy in a baseball cap ran out and quickly rubbed my belly before asking us to have a warm milk at his families stall. We opted not to and kept going. That was the first time I had my belly rubbed. I’ve had my stomach patted by a Buddhist monk, a old woman on the street, and one of the cleaning ladies at the dormitory I am living in. I have no idea why this keeps happening. I wonder if its good luck or something, but nobody has given me an answer yet. Anyway we found our next bar and had another birthday toast to Robb, who turned 21. Not too too late we arrived home and went to bed. We had a packed day a ahead of us, and needed some sleep.
I awoke promptly at 5:30 and lay in bed until around 6 when I got up to take a shower. I dressed in clothes appropriate for a pagoda, and woke up Robb because he is notorious for sleeping in. After that I descended from the stairs to an almost empty dining room and grabbed some fried eggs, dragonfruit, pineapple, and a soft baguette. Sitting down to eat and looking out the window to the little mountain get away, I began my breakfast very content. I was soon joined by Alex who returned from his morning walked and we ate together. I sipped the local artichoke tea until we were eventually joined by our other friends in succession. Julio informed us this was a big morning for the hotel because today it was being upgraded from the rank of a two star to a three star hotel. Pretty cool huh? There were a few banners, some communist party members, photographers, and bunches of flowers. Activity picked up farther into breakfast. Eventually we all finished and packed into the van, heading off to the Zen Pagoda.
We arrived at what looked like a Japanese castle with stone walls, gates, and little buildings with the iconic sloped roof separated from each other by gardens, stone walkways, and many saffron and orange clad monks scurrying around. We entered the monastery and followed Fr. Julio to the chambers of one of the monastery’s senior monks. I never really learned his name because all of us simply called him teacher. We all greeted him with pressed palms and Fr. Julio shook hands with him. The monk was older, very lean, had a shaved head, and had a very charismatic smile that lit up quite often. We were led into a small library around a large table and were served fresh tea grown right in the monastery by a novice monk. After settling in and sipping our tea, the elder monk began his talk with a great smile. The talk went on for quite some time and he emphasized clearing our mind of distractions, being mindful of what we do, and showing the greatest compassion to others. The monk said there were three levels of compassion: 1. Realizing that there is compassion. 2. Having compassion for ourselves. 3. Sharing and outpouring unlimited and boundless compassion with the world. I wonder what stage of compassion I am at? That is a good question to ask yourself too reader… At any rate, the monk concluded his talk by offering advice to us students saying, “The most important thing now is to stop learning so much, and to actually do something.” I’m sure many students at Loyola can relate who take a full slot of classes and continuously find themselves holed up in the IC day after day studying and studying. DOING something would be a breath of fresh air. I think that study abroad is actually doing something. So Loyola students reading this: Consider Vietnam, Rome, or Beijing next fall or really any semester at Loyola you think you are ready for. See the world while you are still in school. Do something!
Anyway after the monk’s talk we went on an exclusive private tour of the monastery beyond the gates baring tourists. We were able to see private libraries stacked with books, meditation halls with giant gold Buddhas and murals of bodhisattvas, stautes of Bodhidharma abounded, and beautiful flower gardens of lotus flowers, roses, and hydrangeas among many exotic plants and bonsai trees in rock gardens following the Zen tradition. It was very peaceful as we walked around quietly, the monk smiling and using his umbrella as a cane as we paced behind him every so often asking a question. After seeing the men’s meditation hall we walked to a railing overlooking a river flowing down from the mountain and observed what the monk called ‘personal retreat centers’ which were little one room cabins spread out along the river. The monk said that these little cabins would be used by a monk for personal retreat in silence for reflection, and would be separate from the rest of the community from a few weeks up to several months. The monk then told us he once spent over three months in personal retreat. I was impressed by this. I’m not sure I would mentally be able to handle isolation for that long. Besides silent retreat, all the monks gather together for meditation at 3:30 to 5:30 AM, 2:30 to 4:30 PM, and 7:30 to 9:30 PM. Can you imagine six hour spent meditating a day. I feel like I’m lucky to get in half an hour, let alone six. The monastery life sure is different from that of a busy Loyola student.
After our private tour, Teacher let us wander around the monastery while lunch was being prepared. So we all split up and independently explored the terraced gardens, a prayer room, and the little buildings holding large gongs and Asian drums. Russian tourists and Vietnamese pilgrims were among us as we checked out the different places. I removed my shoes at the prayer room and was offered a lit incense stick by a monk so I did a little prayer. I then proceeded to the garden and smelled red flowers when Robb called everyone to eat. The meal to follow was one of the most memorable of my life.
We gathered around a table. We students sat with novice monks at one table, and several other tables were filled with other monks. We said a little prayer and then sat. Then we pressed our hands together and said another prayer. Silence followed and a monk whispered to us, “Use the chopsticks only for picking food up in your bowl from the table, do not eat with them. For that, use your spoon.” Then the monks all picked up their bowls with their right hand and with their left put their fingers into a seemingly ‘rock on’ gesture with the thumb over the two middle fingers and said another prayer. Following this prayer a little bell was rung by teacher, who changed out of the standard saffron robes and was now wearing bright yellow robes. The meal had begun. The novice monks heaped chunks of rice into our metal bowls and we all proceeded to pick up tofu, spinach, and cucumbers for ourselves with our chopsticks. We also had the best squash soup I’ve ever had. It was very zesty and full of squash and a kind of lentil. By the end of two little bowls eaten mindfully and in silence, I was full. But there was still a tray of watermelon to eat! So I grabbed my chopsticks and plopped a cube of watermelon in my bowl. There was enough melon for each person to eat a cube, so it was expected we each ate a piece. While eating my watermelon most monks poured tea into their bowls and were finishing off their meals/cleaning their bowls with the tea. I picked up the pace of my mindful eating so we all wouldn’t have to wait in silence while only I ate. I hastily (but politely Mom, incase you are reading) ate my watermelon and a few seconds after I finished the monks said another prayer breaking the long silence of only clicking chopsticks, clinking spoons, and chewing food. After the solemn melodic prayer the little bell was rung again and the monks instantly got up and began to clean the tables. They were very surprised when we offered to help. We picked up dishes and took them back into the kitchen with the myriad of smiling monks. Loyola students stood apart from the average tourists once again.
After lunch the old teacher monk wished us farewell and gave us several books on Buddhism which will be a great read I’m sure. After shared smiles and pressed palms, we departed the monastery and headed back into Da Lat proper for one more attraction before hitting the road and ending our day trip. Fr. Julio and Mr. Ky had more business to attend to, so we split paths, but not before Fr. Julio gave us some money to cover dinner and snacks for the way home. It was very nice of him and good for me since I’ve been trying to keep my spending to a minimum.
Our last pit stop before the long journey home was Da Lat’s ‘Crazy House’. Formally known as Hang Nga guesthouse and built by Dang Viet Nga it is very crazy indeed. It is five stories tall, comprising a central core house and large constructed trees and mushrooms that wrap around and go through the house. It is very bizarre with strange animals like giraffes popping out of places, ladders everywhere, little bubbled cubbies in tiny hallways, and multiple staircases going up and down in every direction. There were lots of purple flowers all over the place, and the top provided a great view of the city. It was…interesting. Not really my cup of tea, but a cool experience nonetheless. After about 45 minutes of exploring that odd place, we regrouped in the central garden and ordered coffee from a smallish log cabin covered in moss. I then had probably the worst coffee of my life. It was basically brown water. Blech. Oh well. So ended our night and half day in Da Lat! It was a crazy little adventure. Even though we really didn’t spend a whole day there, I guess I’ll call it a Day Trip.
With that we hopped back on the private bus and sped of down the mountains on our seven hour journey home. I simply laid back and watch the mountains and clouds roll by. I find myself increasingly busy in Saigon with a flurry of papers popping up, Vietnamese getting harder, scholarship deadlines to deal with, and of course volunteering on top of that. So, before I threw myself back into the craziness I simply sat and enjoyed the ride. When else do you get hours of mountain trail to enjoy?

Peace,

Jimmy