Nepal Arrival

Checking in here, early Saturday morning, December 14, 2012.  Reading some very sad news from back in the US that is bringing a somber feeling this morning.  As we drove through the understated chaos on the streets of Kathmandu today, I asked Navan if crime was a serious problem in Kathmandu, with the densely packed population of about 1 million and little police or military presence.  "Daniel my friend, our culture is built upon peace and compassion.  We have been taught by our families respect each other, regardless of background, social level and religion.  And besides, surviving day-to-day is hard enough- why make it more difficult with hate and violence?"  I'm not here for social commentary, but in the three days that I have been here, I have felt a backdrop of peace and calm in the midst of what appears to be complete disarray in Kathmandu.

The author should not need to apologize, but as seems to be the case when I travel to a place like Kathmandu, I come with the goal of keeping a detailed account of observations, sensations and experiences and sharing those in real-time with people that care to follow.  As is typically the case, the over-stimulation and sensual overload of a new place leaves me overwhelmed and exhausted by the end of each day and unable to do a reasonable job of organizing thoughts into text.  We've thrown this poor Colorado farm boy out into a big world!

In addition, the purpose of this journey is not only to explore a new place and culture, but to enter into an indigenous community and to whatever extent possible, take part in the daily life of the people, learn about their way of living, and to use my knowledge and experience to help them to improve their quality of living while maintaining the tradition and culture.  While we are here to provide help and teach the people of Kumari, it will surely be the case that we will be the ones receiving help and knowledge.  Later this morning, we will load up in a beat up old Land Rover, and my friend Jagat Lama will take us to his home and welcome us into his community.  I enter with an open mind, a warm spirit, and a compassionate heart.  I hope to return having had a glimpse into a new culture, having made new friends, having gained new knowledge and wisdom, and having shared my limited experience to ease the daily struggles of the people of Kumari.

So far, this adventure has been a test of endurance, starting with the drive from Tribhuvan airport to the Mountain Volunteer House (MVH), where I am staying in Kathmandu.  After exiting the airport through the crowd of insistent taxi drivers and meeting Jagat and Usha, Jagat negotiated with a taxi driver and we loaded into the small, 4-door, white, hatchback and progressed into the city on a roughly paved road joining hundreds of other cars, trucks and busses with any and all gaps being filled by motorcycle, bicycle, pedestrian, feral dog and bovine animal!  And the adventure promptly begins!  A seeming free-for-all commenced, with each occupier of the road moving ahead and looking for a gap to fill and making liberal use of the horn to establish their presence.  The 25 hours of airplane travel prior to arriving in Kathmandu was easy compared to this!  Arriving at the MVH, Usha promptly prepared a Nepali black tea and I dropped my backpack and collapsed into a patio chair in the warm sunshine.  Jagat left me to rest and the sisters, Tina and Usha (16 and 19), who care for the house, showed me to my dorm room and helped me to settle in.  Namaste.

With Jagat Lama

The sisters in the courtyard at the house

I napped for a couple of hours then took the opportunity to explore the surroundings.  The mostly residential section, with tightly packed, 2-3 story stone and masonry homes and narrow winding roads/alleys, is directly adjacent to a large shopping complex with small outdoor vendors selling vegetables, handicrafts, cheap novelty gifts, knives, nuts and herbs.  Being outside of the tourist area, I immediately caught the attention of nearly everyone that I passed, but was often greeted with a meeting of hands and "namaste".  Dana, all 6 ft 4 in of him plus a large backpack and suitcase, arrived later in the evening after 2-days of travel, including an 8-hour stint in Guangzhou, and looked as though he had walked/swam from Salt Lake City.  We spent the next day in recovery incubation, with the sisters being most hospitable.  Jagat and Carolyn joined us at the house in the afternoon to discuss the schedule for the trip and necessary supplies and provision that we would gather for Kumari.  After a delicious, home-cooked rice, Thai noodle stir-fry, and vegetable curry dinner generously prepared by Usha.  Dana, I and the sisters sat around the living room, Dana and I catching up on happenings back in Utah and amusing ourselves with the excited conversation that the sisters were having which would frequently shift into Nepali song and laughter.  The small dog, Jimi, sacked out at my feet and oblivious to the whole scene.  This continued until 8pm, when the power load-shedding kicked-in.  Lights throughout the city immediately shut-off and the sisters retired to their room where they studied by flashlight, preparing for a busy day of school and work at the house the following day.

Gopi Lama, a friend of Jagat's, came with his car Friday morning at 10am, just as Dana and I were waking from an after breakfast nap.  We spent a thrilling day with Gopi and his friend Navan, navigating through the streets of Kathmandu, visiting beautiful Buddhist stupas and Hindu temples tucked into various parts of the city, ascending the stairs to the  Monkey Temple to take refuge from the heavily polluted air in the city, wandering through the narrow streets lined with outdoor shops in Thamel district, and meeting with Jagat and Carolyn to finish the day with a delicious traditional Nepali dinner and traditional dance.  An amazing tour of Kathmandu thanks to Gopi and Navan, and an incredible evening thanks to Jagat!  Being thoroughly exhausted, we returned to the house and immediately collapsed into a heavy sleep.  Tomorrow, onward to Kumari and a slower-paced, rural life.

It is almost certain that internet access will be non-existent in the villages, which means that I bid you all farewell for the next 3 weeks.

PS.  See this facebook album for more photos: 

http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10100757549736243.2632393.19200474&type=1&l=a5b2b3a50c

The yankee sails!

"To young men contemplating a voyage, I would say go."    -Joshua Slocum

Photos from a 5-day cruise in the Finnish archipelago aboard Iiris.

Our skipper, Dave, loads provisions onto Iiris, our 13 meter home for the next several days

Fellow deckhand enjoying the evening sun on deck before we depart

Kevin and Esa in the cockpit

A bit of wind, "Cut the engine and raise the mainsail!"

Greenhorn at the helm of Iiris in the archipelago

Ella takes the wheel as Laura watches on as we cruise the archipelago

Lying around in the cabin

Winds have picked up and we're keeled over

On land and out for a hike among the rocks

The small community on the island (pop. 10) hosted a midsommer party where 3 generations of musicians entertained a lively bunch of sailors and locals full of crawfish and schnapps

Boats landed at the harbor

Back to sea in the Baltic

Found a nice spot at the bow with the main and jib carrying us through back home to Naantali

Across the Baltic

As we rumbled into the Turku (Swedish: Åbo, "oh-bo") harbour, Silja line employees came around to each cabin on the boat.  A bit of a rude awakening, but very necessary to ensure a quick and efficient unloading of boats inhabitants.  Quick shower, load the packs, and out the cabin door just in time to make a quick exit, passing by a lone and forgotten men's, brown leather dress shoe in the hallway- probably an artifact from the previous night's festivities.

Exiting the mighty Galaxy, spilling out of the bridge with our shipmates onto the harbour where everyone quickly dispersed into the train station, taxis or cars with waiting friends and family.  We continued on by foot, first making a stop at Turku Castle, one of the oldest continuously used edifices in Finland dating back to the 13th century.  After a stroll around the empty castle grounds, we continued along the boardwalk next to the Aura River where retired tall-ships converted to fancy restaurants and bars were docked.  A boardwalk cafe was opening for the day so we claimed an outdoor table and enjoyed strong coffee and lax and hard-boiled egg sandwiches.  An older couple out for a morning walk with their nordic walking poles saw my backpack and kindly inquired about where we were coming from. "USA, Colorado/Utah area," I answered.  "Oh, a good ski place," the man replied.  I raised my cup, smiled and nodded as they continued along, poles in hand moving in stride with their footsteps.

As Turku was his home while he was a graduate student, Kevin reminisced about different places in town as we continued walking along the Aura and then into the city center where we stopped in at the tourist information center for a much needed bathroom, and then to the central market where vendors were beginning their day, selling fruit, vegetables, berries and mushrooms.  We scored a half-kilo of lingonberries and a bag of salmiakki candy, a peculiar black-liquorice candy with an overwhelming, tongue-numbing ammonium chloride salt powder core.  I called it good after one and rinsed my mouth out with a few handfuls of lingon.

With the sun shining brightly we crossed the bridge over the Aura and up a grassy hill to one of Turku's beautiful parks, passing markers along the path up the steep hill which indicated the sea level at different points throughout history (rise of land masses due to post-glacial isostatic rebound, about 1 cm/year in this area).  Without enough time for a thorough visit, we passed by the Luostarinmäki, a traditional Finnish village and now a museum exhibiting the fine, sturdy Finnish woodworking and architecture.  

Now, with my stomach rumblin' and nearly ready for feeding, we made our way toward the university campus, first making a stop at the Turku Cathedral, the mother church of the Evangelical Lutheran Church of Finland, originally constructed in the 13th century.  We popped inside to muse at the cavernous interior and listen to the church's organist, who was apparently practicing for the coming weekend's service.  A very impressive structure, especially given the age and the fact that it had been partially destroyed during the Great Fire of Turku in 1827.

The campus at Åbo Akademi University was quiet, as the new semester was still one week away.  We made our way to the department of chemical engineering just in time for fika (coffee break!), where several of the graduate students, administrative staff and professors were gathered around large tables in the break room, chatting over coffee and homemade pastries.  The entire room immediately looked up at the two ripe vagabonds, several recognizing Kevin, and welcoming us to join them.  We filled cups of coffee from the automated machine, which I fumbled through not being able to interpret the numerous options available.  Within five minutes most of the room had cleared out as fika abruptly ended with only a few folks hanging around to chat with us.  I entertained Levenspiel's theory of atmospheric pressure during the time of the dinosaurs while Kevin caught up with former colleagues until we had the pleasure of joining Professor Mikko Hupa, renowned expert on biomass utilization for energy and fuel production, for a delicious Finnish buffet lunch complete with mashed potatoes and various types of pickled fish.

We finished our visit at the university, wielded our backpacks and walked into central Turku to rendezvous with Kevin's friend Dave to begin what would be another great adventure over the coming days on the Finnish Archipelago.

Introduktion: Stockholm

I was up early with my body still on Colorado time (if there is such a thing).  The air was cool and wet, reminded me of Venice in November (haha, I can say that!)- damp sheets and everything cool to the touch.  Skyped for a bit, attempted to force myself back to sleep and then succumbed when I heard people stirring upstairs.  A quick breakfast of soygurt, muesli and strong, black coffee (the Swedish way) and we were on our way, first boarding the Pendeltåg into the Stockholm city center.  The train was relatively full with commuters, both workers and students (college and younger), most with their noses in their iPhone.  We arrived in the central station (Stockholm C) and made our way from the train platform to the surface and out onto Sergel's Torg ("ser-yells tor-ye", Sergel's Square), a bustling, modern city square in downtown Stockholm- site of sporting victory celebrations, regular protests and demonstrations, and apparently, drug dealing.  The area was quite busy, with folks on their way to work and tourists like myself, wandering around obstructing the flow of pedestrian traffic.

While in the neighborhood, I figured I would make my first visit to my new friends at the Swedish Fulbright Commission on Vasagatan (gatan = street) just down the way from Sergel's.  A ride up a very Swedish elevator (just big enough for the two of us) and we arrived at the office.  Eric and Monica were very welcoming and gave me a quick rundown on the preparations that they had made, including a Swedish bank account (not easy to get apparently) and personal ID number (also difficult to obtain).  In addition, they have organized monthly social events during which the Fulbrighters will gather.  I'll be bugging these folks quite a bit over the next year, thanks Eric and Monica!

We wandered hastily around the city center for a bit, walking past modern clothing stores and office buildings.  As we continued about I noticed a couple of things about Stockholm that seemed different from other cities that I have seen.  Everywhere we went things seemed very clean and orderly.  No trash in the gutters, cigarette butts on the sidewalk, even the garbage cans and surrounding areas were tidy.  There was some amount of vehicle traffic, and by this time presumably most people were already at work, but I didn't see backed up traffic or even large numbers of cars that we might see near the business center of an American city.  Much of the vehicle traffic appeared to be municipal and service vehicles: garbage trucks, delivery, taxis.  Most people were on foot or bicycle, and the folks that were driving were very courteous to us non-motorized cats.  These, along with the docile and unobnoxious people, made Stockholm a comfortable and welcoming place, which was quite nice given that I had been in the country for just over one day.   Lastly, there didn't appear to be any homeless or pandhandlers, or maybe just not in the city center.  Possibly all products of high tax rates and a generous welfare system?  I have much to learn.

Continue.  We sauntered into Hötorget ("huhr-tor-yet", haymarket) where a vibrant fruit and vegetable market greeted us with lingonberries and bounties of bright yellow kanterella mushrooms.  We pecked on some berries in front of the Konserthuset (Stockholm Concert Hall), which was housing a Banksy exhibition and will later host the Nobel Prize Ceremony (interesting contrast).

A hop over the bridge and we entered Gamla stan ("old town"), a small island between Norrmalm and Södermalm (the "north" and "south" islands), home to many of the iconic narrow cobble streets and medieval architecture which dates back to the 13th century, including the Nobel Museum, the Stockholm Cathedral, the Riddarholmen Church (burial site of Swedish monarchs), and the Kungliga slottet, Sweden's baroque royal palace.  Gamla stan is definitely an area to devote a good amount of time to:  admiring at the well preserved architecture, people-watching at outdoor cafes in open plazas, and visiting the many historic sites.  Despite the tourists and novelty gift shops, I will be back to Gamla stan.  But onward we go, time was short and still more to see before the end of the day!

We made our way toward the Skeppsbron ("the ship's bridge") harbor and onto a ferry, my trusty blue SL card coming through for me again providing free access to the ferry.  The small, steel, motorized boat puttered into the harbor, providing a nice view of Gamla stan behind us, the cliff boundary at Stadsgården to the south, and the pleasant traditional Swedish architecture of the prestigious harbor-side hotels, shops and apartments on Strandvägen (beach road) to the north.  I wandered about the boat for a few minutes thinking that I could find a "toalette", opening a door to a maintenance room and trying several others that were locked, looking like another confused American tourist.  We exited the ferry after making a round about the island Djurgården and then landing on the opposite side of it, near the Vasa museum, which houses the salvaged 17th century ship of the same name that sunk on it's maiden voyage near Stockholm.  With still an hour or so before our Silja ferry departed, we enjoyed a pint at an expensive harbor-side cafe, during which the rain abruptly started to pour down from the overcast sky.

And the rain continued to come down.  We stood stranded under a tree, the leaves of which soon became saturated with water which then transferred on to us who were hoping to find shelter under it.  Standing water began to fill the streets and cars and buses passing through were generating sizable sprays onto the sidewalks which were now empty.  "This is pretty typical," Kevin informed me, as rainwater dripped down the end of his nose.  We bailed on our tree position and found a crowded hotel canopy to stand underneath until the rain finally began to subside and we evac'd in order to reach the ferry loading area where drivers were pulling their cars onto the first and second decks.  A convenient automated kiosk dispensed our tickets to us and we passed through the a futuristic automated gate contraption to enter the bridge which transported us to the 11-deck, Class 1A icebreaker Silja Galaxy, holding 2,800 passengers and 420 automobiles and powered by four Finnish manufactured Wärtsilä V-32 diesel engines, totaling about 35,000 hp.

Our room was on the ninth deck, a 3 x 2 m enclosure with a bathroom, window, and two single beds separated by a small walkway.  We ditched our bags in the room and bolted for a spot with a good view on the upper deck.  The sun was setting and the air was cooling down.  All of the surfaces on the boat were cold to the touch, giving a subtle discomfort.  But, we were now at sea, a new adventure which overcame the discomfort.  Dusk set in as the big ferry rumbled through the archipelago, passing islands small and large, speckled with colorful summer cottages (interestingly the ferries are engineered to create very little wake to minimize shoreline erosion on the islands in the archipelago).  After an hour or so, the dusk was finally drawing down to darkness and only the flashing red and green navigational beacons lining the shipping channel were visible.  Time for a beer.  We found a spot at one of the many pubs on the concessions level of the ferry.  Two Guiness', please.  A nice looking gypsy troubador, who we later found out was Hungarian, performed American pop songs from the 1960-70s, adding a little "yee-haw" to the end of every song.  Two more Guiness'.  A couple of hours of that, the boat clipping along now on the open sea just outside of the Åland islands.  On my way back to the room I stopped in at the performance auditorium to find a lively scene of 20 or so of my shipmates getting down on the dance floor to "Billy Jean".  All ages- grandmothers, fathers, teenage daughters; and it didn't appear that they were slowing down, even at 2am with about four hours until we landed in Finland.  Tempted to join in the festivities, but utterly desecrated by jet-lag and Guiness, I retired to my cabin and quickly drifted into sleep to the faint rumble of the boat hull breaking through open water.  A few hours of shuteye before landfall.

Välkommen: A new chapter

Here we go, back again to whisp you away on another whimsical adventure.  It's been some time since I've checked in here, but I've managed to bag a couple more years in old Salt Lake, and a few letters on the back end of my name in the process.  After a total shot in the dark, I've landed myself a Fulbright Fellowship which has planted me in Sverige (pronounced Sver-ee-yuh, which means "Sweden") for the next year in an effort to share culture, establish connections and learn about different forms of energy production in one of the most efficient and cleanest energy producers in the world.  Yup, young Sween from little Waverly, Colorado headed over to the old world to chum it up with our ancestors and right all the wrongs of the world (or vise-versa)!

Leaving the States was a bit panicked (big surprise, right?) and melancholy.  We had a nice little cookout in Liberty Park to say farewell to the Salt Lake crowd and a mighty fine get-together at the Sweeney compound (aka. The Weasel Duck Ranch) back in Fort Collins. Some barbecued  homegrown beef, beers, tears and a few hugs and I was on my way.  Ahh-dee-yos.

During the flight over I broke the ice and struck up some conversation with the fellas sitting near me.  Henry, a basketball player from Houston, was making his first trip to Sweden and, coincidentally, heading up to Luleå ("loo-lee-o"), a city approximately 60 km (that's about 40 miles for ya folks back home) from where I would be living. He had been recruited to play for the professional team in town called LF Basket.  Oyvind, a photographer originally from Norway and now living in Stockholm, was on his way back from a photo shoot in New York City.  We had some good laughs and a couple of beers, then popped a melatonin and drifted into an uncomfortable but much needed sleep.  The attractive flight attendant awoke me with a tasty but undersized breakfast and before we knew it we were touching down through overcast skies at Arlanda Airport in Stockholm, blanketed in greenery and lush forest over all areas that weren't covered in road or building.

After making my way through the terminal, featuring linear, wood based architecture, and a failed attempt to negotiate a reasonably priced cab ride, I decided to try my hand at the public transportation after receiving some sparse instructions on how to get to my destination. "First, get on the #86 bus to the Märsta train station. Then board the J36 pendeltåg commuter toward the central station and change to the J35 Bålsta train at the Karlberg station and ride to the Barkarby station, then a couple of hundred meter walk and you'll be there!"  It was a bit too much for me to put together in the state that I was in, but I took a shot in the dark, and was pleasantly surprised to find that my first mass transit experience was relatively painless.  Within an hour or so I was on the front steps of Kevin's house in Järfälla, ready for a smoked salmon sandwich on rye and a much needed nap.

Residential area in  Järfälla, a suburb of Stockholm

A few hours of napping and then off for a lovely walk through the neighborhood streets of Järfälla with Kevin, Elisia and the dog, Lea.  The weather was overcast, but relatively comfortable.  The humidity in the air keeps the skin moist and the hair curly, with a similar feel to that of the Northern Pacific Coast.  The streets were very active with other walkers, some using the traditional nordic method with trekking poles, and bicyclists.  Young and old, and everyone very healthy looking.  Nearly every house was lush with foliage, well kept and very cozy looking.  Oh, and nearly every vehicle is a Volvo stationwagon (yeah!).

Still with no introduction to the city center, and completely disoriented with no mountains for reference and dense forest covering every undeveloped section of land, the jet lag was kicking in, and with much in store for tomorrow it was time for another sleep in my cool basement flat.  Veggie curry, sauna, a shower and sleeee... 

Tomorrow, off for a train, boat and walking tour of Stockholm and then boarding the Silja line ferry to Finland for a weekend in the Finnish Archipelago.  Stay tuned!

Your's truly,

Daniel Joseph Sweeney XIV

Finishing What I Started: Final Days in the West Bank

So the original plan was to get back to the old Al-Hajal in the evenings and post some stories from each day while we were in the West Bank.  As it turned out, there were a lot of interesting things to do in the evenings, wandering the busy Ramallah streets, stopping in at vegetable markets and bakeries for some tasty snacks, killing some time in a coffee shop and interacting with the locals, or just hanging at the Al Hajal, watching Arab news and pop programs with the fellas.

Back stateside, I hit the ground running, working hard the past couple months to keep momentum on our humanitarian work with our new Palestinian colleagues in the West Bank, and also trying to keep my head above water in my own work (and slide in some skiing here and there).  So here I am, now two months out from my first travels over the Atlantic, and just getting around to posting some comments about the conclusion of the trip.

The remainder of our week in the West Bank was full of a lot of really productive meetings with various Palestinian Authority officials, university professors, NGOs and aid agencies.  All in all, we met with close to 20 people, a huge surprise considering we only had one scheduled meeting when we left the States.  There is a great need for support in the West Bank, however, I found that many, probably most, Palestinians are not uneducated and incapable of taking care of themselves.  They are actually a fairly well educated people with a wide variety of useful skills.  This wasn't what I was expecting.  I expected to see some form of a male dominated, militant society with a deep religious influence.  This couldn't be farther from the truth.  In many ways I envy the Palestinian people.  Here they are in a dire situation, their land being slowly overtaken by a nation that was only recently established in the region who has the unconditional support of the world's strongest country.  Nonetheless, Palestinians are among the happiest people that I have ever encountered.  Granted, they are not too thrilled about the state of their state, but there is an evident hope for continued improvement.  The reestablishment of the Palestinian Authority is invigorating commerce, infrastructure and industry, providing jobs for people who were before unemployed and destitute.  Walking the streets of Ramallah I still saw people that just looked bored, however, I also saw construction workers building intricate wooden frames in massive pits that will soon support office buildings, truck drivers hauling municipal wastewater from outlying villages to the one of two functioning wastewater treatment plants, and engineers working with NGOs to devise creative ways for providing basic needs of food and water for villagers outside the city.

We finished out our final day in the West Bank travelling south of Ramallah and Jerusalem to Bethlehem and Jericho.  A day of travel and leisure after a productive and exhausting array of meetings in Ramallah and Nablus.  It was Greek Orthodox Christmas in Bethlehem where we visited that Church of the Nativity, the site that is believed to be the birthplace of Jesus, and the Mosque of Omar, where Omar (Muslim leader during 600s) prayed after the death of Mohammed.  The Church of The Nativity was bustling with hundreds of Greek Orthodox Christian pilgrims and a huge procession of clergy chanting hymns for the celebration.  We entered the church through the "Door of Humility", a 3-4 ft high opening that everyone entering must pass through to enter the Basilica of The Nativity.  Worn 600 year old mosaics are high on the walls of the wood supported structure of the church.  A section of the worn wood floor could be lifted up to reveal the original mosaic floor.  I muscled open the hatch, the old wood hinges squeaked, a bunch of  .

Continuing south we drove along the Wall toward Jericho.  At Bethlehem University we saw the soccer field where students played for several days forcing Wall construction to be diverted around the field.  Outside of Bethlehem the Wall veered easterly, at one point cutting right down the middle of the road we were driving on, cutting half of the city off leaving many Palestinians trapped in "no man's land".

As we continued south toward Jericho and the Dead Sea the number of yellow license plates (Israeli) increased as we traveled along the Israeli maintained highway providing access to numerous settlements looming atop rocky hills, surrounded by steep rocky slopes and concertina fencelines.  Arriving at the Dead Sea an hour and a half south of Bethlehem we followed several large Israeli tour buses to a resort "compound" near the north end of the shrinking body of water (diversion of the Jordan River into Israel has cutoff nearly all of the water supply into the Dead Sea).  We parked the car near the edge of the compound closest to the water and looked out at the sea through tall chain-link fence, a few hundred feet from the shore, bearing a large sign that read "Danger Mines".

Jericho is believed to be one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in the world, with traces of habitation dating back to 9000 BC, and also the lowest inhabited site in the world.  We ascended (with the help of the lowest gondola in the world) a steep cliff to the Greek Orthodox Monastery of the Temptation, constructed above the cave where it is believed that Jesus spent 40 days and nights fasting and praying, resisting temptation from Satan.  As we watched the sun set over the Jordan River Valley, looking out across the valley to Jordan I asked Fayez why there didn't seem to be any inhabitation in the valley except for Jericho.  "The valley is full of land mines, left over from the Arab-Israeli wars to keep anyone from exiting or entering the West Bank at the Jordan border."  We gazed up further the valley to the north along the West Bank-Jordan border, where, Fayez informed us, the Israeli military has established a large military test range, another area that we are advised to avoid.  We descended the cliffs of the Mount of Temptation, drove along the luscious fruit farms and grabbed a bite to eat in Jericho before heading back to Ramallah where we would say goodbye to Fayez and spend our last evening with our friends at the Al-Hajal Hotel.  We were lucky to be heading north, as we found that a checkpoint near Bethlehem had cut off southbound traffic, backing up Palestinian motorists for several miles for an unknown amount of time

The next day, a jaunt back across the border into Jerusalem, two meetings to discuss funding for our work, a sunset on the Mediterranean coast in Tel Aviv, a risky wager for a cheap taxi ride to Ben Gurion Airport, and 3 hours of special treatment in Israeli airport security after I informed the security employees of our adventures in the West Bank.

Day 4: Intro to Palestinian policy and some R&R

Sunday, I slept through the fajr, I think my body clock is on West Bank time now.  Flatbread, yogurt, spices, meat, cheese, egg, and most importantly, coffee, I'm ready for another day.  What's in store?  A stop by the Ministry of Planning to attempt to meet with some gov'ment folk, some wander time around downtown and some work from the hotel.  Today is a fair bit colder than the previous couple days, cloudy sky, maybe 50 degress outside, and inside.  I gear up, passport in left front pocket, sheckels in right front pocket, wallet and camera in my "carryall".

Fayez arrives around 9 or 10 and we make a quick dash through traffic (Sunday is a work day) to the Ministry of Planning to meet with the deputy minister (Arab names are hard to remember).  His buddy is working security at the Planning Building today so we park the Focus (full tank of Israeli supplied gasoline at 6.27NIS/L ~ $6.40/gal) behind the Minister's spot in front of the building.  Everywhere we go Fayez seems to know someone.  He explains that the West Bank community is very tight and well connected, nowhere to hide here.  And as a result crime is almost non-existent here (not counting crimes by Israeli soldiers and settlers), contrary to what you would expect in a supposed terrorist breeding ground.  Without an appointment, we stroll through the doors, up the elevator, and into the Deputy Minster's office.  An hour later, and after a very productive and encouraging meeting, we leave with smiles on our faces and a long list of contacts to make during the next few days.  This is Palestinian government: if you have a good idea, let's talk.

We grab a sanwich (turkey) and some argileh and discuss plans for the remainder of the week.  More meetings with government, NGOs and aid agencies and then a day of vacation to the Dead Sea end of the West Bank.

After lunch we swing by The House of Water and Environment, an NGO which works on projects in, obviously, water and the environment (not houses).  We meet Dr. Amjad Aliewi, Director General of the House.  He provides us with a good technical presentation of the water situation in the West Bank, which is pretty dire and not getting any better.  Apparently the Israeli government is claiming large water resources in the West Bank to meet their growing water requirements.  The House of Water and Environment is working on projects to assess current water resources and setup infrastructure to utilize and preserve water resources for Palestinians.  He gave us some very hopeful words about our project, thanked us for working to improve conditions in the West Bank and offered his continued support.



We retire back to the Al-Hajal hotel early.  The local fellas are congregated in the lobby watching a televised, lavish Arab wedding, making comments to each other followed by eruptions of laughter.  I wander over and join the commotion, the other men welcome me and offer a cigarette.  They are curious about where I'm from and why on Earth I am in the West Bank.  Prior to arriving here I thought I should be wary about sharing my identity (as an American) for fear of being bringing unwanted attention to myself.  Now a couple of days into our stay here I've found that the stereotypes are really misconceptions.  These fellas along with all the folks that I've encountered up to now are warm and welcoming, curious about life in the States but happy with what they have in the West Bank, friends, family, work.  The beautiful bride on the TV screen dances to upbeat Arab music, we look on silently, gawking and grinning.

Day 3: Arafat, Olives, and a Village Barbeque

Our first morning in Ramallah.  We were all awake by 5am, still adjusting to a new schedule.  As we waited for the hotel staff to awake we listened to the fajr (first of five daily Muslim prayers) echoing through the city from loudspeakers atop the single green illuminated pillar rising from a nearby Mosque.  At 7:30 breakfast is served, flatbread with yogurt, olive oil and a peculiar mix of spices, hard boiled eggs, cheese, and a porkless sandwich meet resembling bologna.  Oh yeah, and Arabic coffee, a potent brew with a slight sweetness served in small shot-glass sized "mugs".  Yeehaw!  Let's get this show on the road.

Fayez won't arrive until around 10am so we venture into the city for our first taste of daytime Ramallah.  Walking uphill (the entire region is hilly) on the rough sidewalk toward Al-Manara Square (city center) I survey the surroundings, getting a feel for the lay of the land.  Out of the residential area comprised of apartment buildings and moderately sized homes surrounded by tall wrought iron fences and into the commercial area near downtown.  Empty lot's that have been made into temporary landfills (no dumpster sightings yet), partially finished construction projects.  Downtown, the lively bazaar scene that we experienced last night is quiet with heavy steel doors now in place of the open shops selling fruits and vegetables, bread, Arabic novelty gifts, imitation fashionable western shoes, clothes and hangbags.  The traffic is starting to pick up and the streets will soon be at capacity (surprisingly flowing).  We are now accustomed to the attention that we bring, I'm even starting to enjoy it, flashing peace signs and "Salam" to passersby.

We're back to the hotel in time for me to enjoy another cup of Arabic coffee with the fellas at the hotel.  Fayez arrives, this time on foot, and we catch a quick cab ride to pick up our rental car for the week.  We arrive at a rugged looking office building, a clean, new BMW 5 series parked in the front.  A man walks out to meet us, well dressed, a friend of Fayez's.  He brings us into his office, very well furnished, and offers coffee.  The man speaks to us in perfect English, Arab accent with a touch of Jersey as he has spent the past several years there in the States.  We sign the rental contract and pay in shekels and dollars (discounted rate), he hands over the keys and we are off in our Ford Focus sedan.  First stop, a visit to the Palestinian Authority buildings on the north end of Ramallah to see one of the only modern monuments that you can find in the West Bank (they've got other priorities right now).

"There's our White House and Capitol Building."  Fayez points to a complex of white, unmarked (except for the Palestinian flag and a giant photo of Yasser Arafat) two and three story buildings, not all that different than many of the other buildings in the city.  We approach from the south on foot, across the street is an open lot, partial dump and partial goat farm (one of several throughout the city).  After checking in with the stonefaced guards at the entrance who ask me to leave my backpack at the gate, we enter into a clean, white-stone plaza.  To the left a rectangular white building, a mosque, and at the other end of the plaza a cubic building with large glass panels on all four sides (Arafat's grave).  The place is nearly empty except for the guards at the gate, a single guard at the gravesite, and a couple of Arab tourists snapping photos.  Respectfully, we enter the small stone building enclosing the grave, take a few photos and exit.  The building behind the grave is where Arafat spent the last two years of his life while Israeli military and bulldozers surrounded until he died of reportedly natural causes.

Next on the agenda today, we will travel to a village about 30 minutes north of Ramallah to visit an olive mill as part of our project assessment.  No surprise, the drive to the village offered more stories.  We drove past Birzeit University, the top technical institution in the region, Fayez's alma mater.  He told us that while he was a student at Birzeit during the second intifada (Palestinian-Israeli conflict from 2000~2004) the Israeli military built a checkpoint at the north end of Ramallah, cutting off all traffic out of the city.  People seeking to travel north, including Birzeit students, were forced to walk this section of road (a couple miles long) and sometimes were not allowed to travel at all.  Much of the time it was too difficult and dangerous to attend classes so Fayez and many other students would not attempt to travel to the university.  The checkpoint still stands, although no longer occupied.

We arrive at the olive mill after zipping through several villages surrounded by dry, rocky hills mostly covered in olive trees, and also getting our first glimpse of an Israeli settlement atop one hill, surrounded by a tall fence and protected by a sizable military presence.  A group of about 8 men welcome us outside the steel building that encloses the olive mill equipment.  To our surprise we find that the mill is operating today as the season ended about a month earlier.  Inside the steel building the men show us a new half-million dollar Italian made milling system (the only one of it's kind in the West Bank); twig and branch separator, olive washer, decanter separation unit, solids removal, and oil-water separation cyclone.  Fayez translates as the men describe the process and we take photos.  We are most interested in the stream of wastewater that runs out of a pipe on the oil-water separation unit into a drain that runs into an underground cesspit.  This unique and potent (1000x more than domestic wastewater) waste is generally dumped into the valleys where it degrades plant life (high BOD and COD).  After the tour, more Arabic coffee and an invitation to a barbeque in the village.

We follow our hosts through the village with liberal use of the horn to warn children playing along the rode that we are approaching (50 km/hr).  As expected, we meet surprised looks from everyone in the village as we pass in the car.  The village is comprised mostly of old (maybe ancient) stone homes.  There is no real sign of economic activity as it appears most people either work in Ramallah or are involved in olive growing and harvesting.  Men walk along the road, some leading donkeys loaded with goods, some carrying large armfuls of vegetables.  Groups of women in hijab (traditional Muslim headscarf) walk along talking and laughing, gossip circles.  Groups of adolescents "hang out" in groups inside garages.  Young kids running along the road in packs.  We park near the village mosque, an old man wrapped in his keffiyeh, sitting on a bench pays us no attention (a first).

Past what resemble ancient ruins, but what are apparently functioning homes, we arrive at our dining spot for the evening, a stone patio at the far west end of the village, overlooking a valley abundant with olive trees.  Across the valley is another Palestinian village and directly behind that an Israeli settlement.  In the distance we see Tel Aviv and the Mediterranean, so close but at the same time completely inaccessible to the Palestinian people.  A plume of dust rises next to the village across the valley, we are told that an Israeli businessman received approval to build a rock quarry which now operates continuously drowning much of the valley, including the village, in dust.  As we sit along the rock ledge along the perimeter of the patio stories are shared about the growing Israeli presence in the area, despite calls from the international community for the freezing of settlement expansion.  This is our first chance to hear our Palestinian friends discuss the situation, obviously frustrated but not distraught and still hopeful for a Palestinian state free of Israeli occupation.  Listening to the stories, it's difficult to react.  As an American I feel disconnected from the world community and the real struggle (more than fighting credit card bills) that people are facing.  There's no way for me to relate to this struggle, but being here and seeing the situation, the settlements, the checkpoints, the wall, is filling in the gaps that western media hasn't (or won't) fill in on the situation in the Holy Land.  After a delicious Arab barbecue dinner I wander through the village.  A band of young kids pause from their street soccer game to entertain some photos, flashing peace signs, running away and returning with a Palestine-Fatah Anniversary flag.

The drive back to Ramallah is somber, we reflect and digest.  On returning to Al-Hajal, the group of old cronies in the lobby are watching Al-Jazeera, smoking cigarettes and joking.  The hotel owner is in the dining area playing a Turkish form of backgammon with another older Arab man.  I'm too tired to hang with the fellas, still  trying to put all of this together.

Day 2: West Bank bound

The bus ride into Ramallah from Jerusalem was a somewhat chilling experience.  This was the first time that we were among the Palestinian people.  The majority of the people on the bus were elderly (they are allowed to pray at Aqsa) along with a few younger fellas who had obtained special permission to work on the Israeli side.  The mood was somber as we traveled past large groups of Hasidic Jews heading back to their homes in Jerusalem.  As we neared the border the separation wall appeared, snaking through the city at, dividing the Israeli and Palestinian portions of Jerusalem (distinctly different), adorned with a crown of razor wire and monitored closely by surveillance cameras and Israeli sniper towers.  Desiring to snap some photos of the area, I relinquished out of respect for the folks that I shared the bus ride with.  Hopefully I will have another opportunity to photograph this, it really is harrowing.

After an inspection by the soldiers at the checkpoint the bus transported us into Palestine (getting in is supposedly the easy part) the contrast between the two sides of the boundary were immediately apparent.  Well maintained paved roads turned into semi-paved roads missing major sections of asphalt.  Well kempt commercial areas gave way to run-down, outdated stores, most unrenovated and unmaintained for several decades.  In Israel, people moved prudently from one location to the next while people in the West Bank meander through the city streets without much direction.  However, the city is alive, the people are living and smiling and laughing.  Kids play basketball in a nearby court wrapped in barbed wire fence.

We tumbled out of the bus into  an intersection in Qalandia and reassembled ourselves on a crushed section of sidewalk.  We immediately started catching gazes from people in our vicinity.  A few brave adolescent boys approached us with a cautious smile and "Alo! Welcome!" and handshake.  "Hello.  Can you help us call our friend Fayez, we are supposed to meet him in Qalandia but we have no idea where we are."  "Small English.  Speak Arabi?"  "Oh, no Arabic..."  I hand the phone number to the apparent ring leader who is giving me a high-five and resting his arm on my shoulder, laughing with his buddies who are growing in number.  A phone call and a few minutes later our local contact, Fayez, arrives, clean cut and sophisticated, recently back from working on a masters in Germany.  We say goodbye to our new friends, likely that we won't ever see them again, jump in the diesel Skoda sedan and jump into the hectic Qalandia traffic bound for Ramallah.

Zipping through the city streets at 50-60 km/hr we catch quick glimpses of everyday life in the West Bank.  Crowds of people shopping in open markets, groups of older men sitting outside shops watching passing traffic, young kids running and playing next to the busy street.  The Palestinian people are out, and surprisingly happy.  We hurry along with the flow of traffic, no stop lights, no lines separating lanes, the Kalashnikov armed Palestinian "police officers" paying no attention to the controlled chaos of Ramallah rush hour.

Arriving at our hotel, the Al-Hajal near downtown Ramallah, we're warmly greeted by the staff and shown to our rooms, conservatively furnished but everything we'll need for the next five days.  The hotel staff (all men) are very attentive and courteous, making sure that we are satisfied with the accommodations.  No sign of any extremist Muslims yet but according to western media this region is full of them.

Fayez, whose English is quite good from his recent studies in Europe, gives us a brief tour of Ramallah as the sun sets in the Mediterranean.  Dinner time.  We are exhausted and still jet lagged but Fayez takes us downtown for a little walk and a bite to eat.  I feel the need to be cautious as we wander around the bustling downtown area, clutching my camera bag and repeatedly checking my front pocket to ensure that my passport is still there.  Walking along the streets and sidewalks past fruit, bread and clothing vendors, we catch a lot of attention in the form of surprised looks and occasionally a "Welcome!".  Hip Arab teenagers with greasy spiked hair look at us and joke with their friends then flash a peace sign.  We stop at a popular open front restaurant serving "flatbread burritos" with chicken and kebab meet mixed with our choice of vegetables (mostly pickled).  Still getting accustomed to the food and a cautious not to eat something that won't disagree with my stomach, I select only a few pickled carrots and some cabbage to mix in with the flavorful beef.

Fayez drops us back off at the Al-Hajal where I lift my heavy feet up the four flights of stairs and crawl into bed.  The temperature has dropped outside and unheated room is chilly but I quickly drift into a dead sleep.  This is going to be a long five days.

Howdy blog readers, sorry for the lack of material here.  We have been overwhelmingly busy here in the West Bank the past several days and have a lot of good news to report back upon our return.  I still plan on finishing this dialog about my travels, just working on a bit of a delay now.  Keep in touch.
Dan