Haiti - Working in Ktadb (Photo Slideshow)

Here's a short video of my trip to Haiti, if you're interested.

You can also find my full photo albums on Facebook:

Haiti - Part 1

Haiti - Part 2

Travel Journal from Haiti

Two weeks ago, I visited Haiti. Just over four months removed from the earthquake that wrecked devastation on what was already the poorest nation in the Western Hemisphere, much of the country is still in shambles. And yet, in the midst of the rubble and poverty, there is an enormous wealth of faith, hope, and joy.

I joined a weeklong trip to Port au Prince through Adventures in Missions. We spent the week working in the tent community of Ktadb. This location is on the outskirts of the city and, as far as we knew, hadn’t received any international aid since the January 12th earthquake. Just fewer than 3,600 people live in Ktadb, divided into about 600 handmade shelters.

When we arrived, there wasn’t a single tarp or tent in sight. Families had built homes out of wooden stakes and used bed sheets and clothing sewn together to form walls. It’s the rainy season in Haiti, and when the storms come, they soak through the meager coverings and turn the ground underfoot to thick, sucking mud. Most of the families have literally nothing but the clothes on their backs. The lucky ones sleep on cinderblocks to keep out of the mud—those less fortunate sleep on the dirt. I’ll be honest, it’s painful to see."

We spent the first two days of the trip moving from shelter to shelter, meeting the residents, seeing how they lived, praying for them (and accepting offers from them to pray for us in return). The residents shared their stories and asked about us, too. We didn’t immediately start handing out supplies and food because we wanted to avoid creating a dependency on foreign assistance. Rather, we started building relationships, mobilized the community leaders, played with the kids, helped housewives wash laundry, and dug foundations for new homes alongside some workers. As we pitched in, meeting the Haitians where they lived, I saw things I couldn’t believe.

There was the old man who had lost his son in the quake and struggled with injuries himself—yet he said he praised God every day for life. That’s belief beyond anything I know.

Two students, Reginald and Yvelise, who are both studying to be doctors, proudly talked about how they’ve continued studying at home while the deanship of the university searches for a new site to rebuild the collapsed school. Both have hope that they’ll return to college, finish their degrees, and then use what they’ve learned to help their country recover.

Remy, a 14-year-old boy living in a shelter with his older brother, pitched in to help us place tarps over the homes of single mothers, women with children, and the elderly. He never once asked for us to cover his own home, knowing others needed help more than he did. Remy showed me strength.

Even before we brought out the boxes of donated toys and sporting goods, we saw so much joy on children's faces. They were more than willing to sing and dance and clap their hands, even though many hadn’t eaten in a day, two, or more. All they wanted was to hold my hand, be asked their name, and hear mine. That’s joy in a place where sadness should reign.

Through generous donations, we were able to distribute nearly 200 tarps, making sure that the neediest of the needy received theirs first. We also purchased over $4,200 of rice and beans, which the local community leaders distributed themselves. It will only feed the residents of Ktadb for a couple days, but it’s a start.

I went to Haiti thinking that I could help—and I did in the smallest way possible—but what really happened is that Haiti helped me. If faith, hope, and joy can survive in a place where none of that should exist, then I believe we can have those things here, too. I left Haiti being more thankful for the things that really matter in life—family and friends—than ever before.

I also left with the reminder that we really can do something to care for those in need. It can be as simple as giving the extra canned goods from your pantry to a local food bank or texting “HAITI” to the American Red Cross to donate $10 to the earthquake relief effort. You don’t have to go yourself. Whatever you choose to do, though, you’ll help make the world a little better and make sure that hope spreads out a little further than it did before.

(This article originally appeared here. Sorry it took me so long to get it live on this blog!)

Going to Haiti

It seems like every year or so, the news cycle stops hovering around elections, politics, and personal finance to spend two weeks focused on a natural disaster. In 2004, it was the tsunami. Hurricane Katrina hit the Gulf Coast in 2005. We caught a break in '06 and '07 before 2008's earthquake hit the Sichuan province in China. And early this year, we all know about the massive earthquake that devastated Haiti--the poorest nation in the Western Hemisphere.

To be completely honest, these events never resonated with me. Oh sure, I watched the news and maybe contributed a few bucks to the Red Cross, but once the news cycle moved on, so did I. Katrina probably had the most impact on me, but that's only because I visited New Orleans for a conference a year later and saw the city still struggling to recover. Even then, I wasn't really moved to do anything more about it then tell a few people what I saw.

The earthquake that hit Haiti, though, was different. Like most of us, I watched the news coverage--but it grabbed me the way other stories didn't. I saw the devastation, watched the Haitian people scream and cry in the streets for help, and my heart absolutely broke for them. I really couldn't tell you why. Maybe it was a combination of things:

• These photo essays from The Big Picture, which captured the pain and suffering and reality of what happened: Earthquake in Haiti, Haiti: 48 Hours Later, and Haiti: 70 Days Later
  
• The fact that Haiti is only 600 miles from the U.S. (about the distance from Boston to Buffalo) and yet malnutrition and poverty run rampant there.
• Some of my earliest memories of church involve listening to a Haitian congregation sing, laugh, and pray noisily as their congregation met in a room below the sanctuary in our building.
• A slow realization that I had a chance to really do something to show love and help those in need.

So a few weeks ago, when my friend Doug asked if I wanted to go to Haiti, I immediately said, "Yes."

Plans fell into place and I can now let you know that this May (the 23rd to the 29th), Doug and I will travel to Haiti with Adventures in Missions--an organization that's dedicated to helping deliver support and relief to some of the most impoverished areas of the world.

We really don't know what to expect. The country, which was impoverished before, has been completely devastated in the capital city of Port au Prince and surrounding areas. There are so many needs--food, water, medicine, rebuilding, rehabilitation--that we don't know yet what area we'll be helping in. All we know now is that we're going and we're going to help however we can.

But we can't do it alone. We need help. Maybe help from you.

1. We need prayer... neither of us have ever done anything like this or put ourselves into a situation like this one.
2. We need awareness... not for what we're doing, but that Haiti needs help. Recovery will take years, but the news cycle has already moved on. Please don't forget.
3. We need help... again, not for us, but for Haiti. If you want to help support our trip, you can do that by donating through eventbrite or directly. Know that we plan to use any money we raise beyond our own costs to buy supplies to send to Port au Prince in advance. (Other great organizations you may want to support include CharityWater.org, the Red Cross, and Yele Haiti)

I'll keep posting on this blog with trip updates, news from Haiti, and everything else. So stay tuned.

Thank you for listening and thanks in advance for helping.

(Here's a video Doug sent me from the blog WhyIsMarko. It was shot recently in Port au Prince.)



(I wrote this post while listening to "Blood Bank EP" by Bon Iver)

A Moment of Joy

I subscribe to NY Times' emails and along with daily headlines, an afternoon update and news alerts, I also get the opinion section. Typically, I scan the first couple of editorials and delete the email (it comes in midday and I'm usually caught up in whatever I'm doing to go in depth if it isn't a new Friedman column), but this piece from the Happy Days blog caught my eye the other day.

Averted Vision, by Tim Kreider, started out as a piece about travel, which is why I read it (I've been back from Italy for six weeks and already I'm ready for the next adventure). In the article, Kreider nailed something that I've thought about quite a bit:

"I wonder, sometimes, whether it is a perversity peculiar to my own mind or just the common lot of humanity to experience happiness mainly in retrospect. I have of course considered the theory that I am an idiot who fails to appreciate anything when he actually has it and only loves what he’s lost...We do each have a handful of those moments, the ones we only take out to treasure rarely, like jewels, when we looked up from our lives and realized: 'I’m happy.'" - Tim Kreider

Happiness -- however you define it -- is elusive. And those moments of perfect happiness, what Kreider calls "jewels" and C.S. Lewis details in his memoir Surprised by Joy (one of my favorite books), come rarely if at all.

There are those, I believe, who spend their entire lives searching for these momentary glimpses of joy, to feel their heart leap within their chest and the fates align, only to have the experience of a moment of perfect happiness slip away.

But there are others who know what it means to view the world on pause. They have felt time slow, a smile spread, and have known they have found -- or been granted -- a moment meant only for them at that time and in that place. Like the sun breaking through the clouds and illuminating one small patch in a beam of warm light, joy invades their soul and lingers there. It only comes for a moment. A moment only. Then, it is gone, but its kiss remains. Forever.

Perhaps this is why we (I?) travel? We're searching for the sublime. We press on, visiting cities, tasting food, sampling life, always pushing further, hoping that by turning the next corner or taking the next step, we'll get a glimpse of that brief moment of joy. It's not something that the travel books tell you where you can find your personal share (although that's why we buy them). It's something you can only find yourself.

When Sonja and I visited Florence, I knew there was one place we had to go. I'd been there once before, seven years earlier, and had taken with me an image when I left. I had kept a picture in my mind of Italy ever since that first visit, knowing it was a place I'd somehow return, and when I did, I knew where I'd go.

Eventually.

The Piazza Michelangelo overlooks the Arno from a point high above and just south and east of the city's center. Though it's not far from the river's edge, it's a steep climb to the top, first through winding Florentine streets, then up several staircases. The cobblestones are uneven, the steps spaced too far apart, and if you visit in the summer like we did, you'll be sweating and thirsty when you reach the top.

But when you do, you'll be rewarded by what is possibly the greatest landscape view in Western Europe. As you stand atop the Piazza, all of Florence spreads out below you -- walls of earthy yellows and browns and burned red tile rooftops. Towers poke up here and there, with the Duomo's massive dome dominating the city scape. Beyond the city are the rolling, green hills of Tuscany. To your back is a tall stone tower where bells chime out the hours. Past that roll more hills, one after another, criss-crossed by lines of olive trees and grape vines.

There's a staircase there that points almost directly west. On a summer night in June, the marble steps are warm from a day spent in the sun, and so are you. I remembered from my first visit to Florence that people gather there every evening, talk softly, and watch the sun go down. And I knew that's where I wanted to be.

We climbed the hill and found a spot on the stairs, just a few feet away from a young Italian man gently strumming an acoustic guitar. On our way, we had stopped at a small grocery store and bought cups and a bottle of wine. I pulled the cork and poured each of us a glassful. We sipped, the thin plastic of the cups crinkling under our fingers, talked in low tones about the day, and listened to the guitar. We clapped after ever song, not loudly but politely, exchanging smiles with the guitarists and the other couple dozen people on the steps.

I don't remember what we talked about, exactly, what we said or how we said it. I just remember never wanting to leave and that though the sun set slowly, it wasn't slow enough. And I can recall, in complete clarity, the feeling of perfect contentment -- the warmth of a heart at rest -- that overwhelmed me in that moment.

It only lasted a few minutes. The sun eventually set and we walked back down the hill, holding hands and heading back to our hotel. But I know there's a part of me still on that hill, still watching the sunset with the music in the background and Sonja sitting next to me.

I'm baaaack!

Oh man, does it feel good to be back or what? Let's jump right in and get caught up...

What the Heck has Mike Been Doing?

Getting Married
I'm sure you've seen the pictures on Facebook (Speaking of, I'm now at www.facebook.com/nagel.mike - the other itinerations of my custom url had been taken by Mike Nagel's with far fewer friends and way more time on their hands. And I'm mad about it.). Please do take the time to soak in the glory that is a tailored tuxedo worn with white Chuck Taylors, while you're at it. We do promise to post pics of our own as soon as we get the digitals back from our photographer.

As I was remarking to a co-worker the other day, the process of getting married is pretty much like having a second, full-time job. One that's a lot of fun, but also takes a lot of work, a lot of time, a lot of patience, and you have to pay half the salary of your other job to work there. Oh, and when the job's over, there's no exit interview. There's just half a cake left and a car ride to a court-mandated, two-week vacation where you're left to wonder, "Did that just happen?"

I do want to write more about the wedding in the near future, but for now I feel guilty about mentioning it at all since Sonja and I have yet to post a single thank-you in the seven weeks after the Big Day.

Honeymooning
If you have about six hours to spare (like, you know, when you're at work reading this), you can check out the pictures of our two-week trip to Italy: Rome, Florence, a quick stop in Pisa, a day trip via bike through Tuscany, and Venice. As you'll see, the trip was absolutely amazing... and I'll write all about it coming up. Suffice it to say, we have a whole lot of souvenirs hanging on the walls of our place.

Moving In
Speaking of, did you know when someone moves in with someone else it takes them twice as long to do it as it would if just one of them moved? Yeah, we're still finding places to put all of Sonja's stuff and others places where we can donate mine.

More importantly, when you get married, people give you a lot of stuff. And they give you a lot of money. We're enjoying refurbishing the kitchen and the non-existent linen closet.

Work
Yup, back at it. Moving on!

Reading
Okay, so I'm not reading that much, but I am reading a little. I'll even tell you what I'm reading - Team of Rivals - in the hope that the next time one of you asks what I'm reading I'll have finished and moved on to something else. If not, I'll lie and say I've been buried up to *here* in literary magazines and haven't touched any book-length work in ages, darling.

Music
So, here's what it's my iPod of late that you should totally check out... MuteMath's Spotlight EP - fantastic single from an album that drops on 8/18, Our Lady Peace Burn, Burn if only for nostalgic purposes, The Devil Wears Prada Dear Love: A Beautiful Dischord suggested by a dude from GYG, and Michael Jackson Off the Wall because it's great to remember when the King of Pop was still royalty.

And While I was Writing This Post...
I learned how to pop popcorn on the stove without a JiffyPop exploding foil bag.

Waiting for the Bus...

I never could understand the propensity we have toward standing in line. We'll run from one place just so we can wait in the next and stare at the back of some stranger's head. It's the very definition of "hurry up and wait."

Right now, I'm waiting for the bus, seated on an uncomfortable wooden bench. But even though it's hard, unforgiving and isn't really angled well at all for lumbar support, it's way better than standing in the line that's ever-growing in front of me. It now snakes its way past the men's restroom entrance, pushes beyond Honey Dew Donuts and threatens to block the doorway to the women's commode.

This bus, by the way, doesn't leave for another 20 minutes. And it leaves every hour, on the hour. it's not like it's anything exciting or it'll get so full that you'll miss it. Rush hour doesn't even hit full swing for another hour. And by then, the transportation company will be running three buses every hour to handle the demand.

It seems a lot like amusement parks, waiting for the bus. We'll gladly shell out $60 for a day's worth of getting sunburned while waiting upwards of 90 minutes for less than 90 seconds of pleasure. We'll then take a half-dozen heart-pounding rides in 12 hours, then call it a day—but not before buying the obligatory t-shirt to proudly proclaim, "I rode the XXX!" The underlying statement of said t-shirt being, "I waited two-and-a-half hours to do it. Aren't you jealous?"

Back in the terminal. There are even more people in line now. Each maintains a nice, safe distance from each other, not speaking, not making eye contact. They're jealously guarding their respective spaces, though. The posture of each potential bus-rider says, "This is MY place, MY spot. I am 5th. I am 8th. I am 12th." and so on. Some have even dropped knapsacks, positioning them between feet, building an even more solid foundation to their unspoken, and heretofore, unchallenged 2-foot by 2-foot plot of line land.

I wonder if the business woman in heels' feet hurt? Do the shoulders of the backpacker ache? And, why, pray God, would you try to make a 6-year-old stay in one space for 45 minutes before boarding a bus that'll make him sit still in his seat for another hour?

Lines suck.

On top of all of it, when they move, they never go fast enough. I'll join it when they start taking tickets and passengers begin heading into the idling bus, single file, shuffling for seats. But if I've neglected to take my ticket out of my bag or if I get my rolling suitcase caught on a stanchion, then I'll be subjected to rolled eyes, muttered curses, and my nearest neighbor standing ominously close. All because of a few seconds delay.

My line on lines? They're overrated. Get in late, get out early and cut wherever possible.

Note: I wrote this a couple weeks back, in a notebook, while waiting for the bus. Forgot to upload it here... and, by the way, I will try to update more often than ever two months.

Traveling to Italy

I love travel. I love seeing new places, trying new foods and a new language on for size, and finding out how the rest of the world works (and how much we really all do have in common).

I also love all the day to day tasks that go along with travel, too. Packing lists, passports, tickets, itineraries, and planning, planning, planning—it's all good.

Life just seems a lot better when you have a trip to look forward to. I figured that out the first big international trip I took, a mini-grand tour of Europe. When I got back, I promised myself that I'd take another international trip every year. So far, I've been able to keep to that promise. Every year (except 2007, sadly), I went overseas again. It's been a tremendous ride and I've been blessed to take it.

So, when Sonja and I started planning our wedding, we also started planning our honeymoon. We didn't know where we wanted to go at first. We just had some grand plans and schemes, but now it's all coming together and I'm getting a whole load of pre-trip anticipation. We're heading on a two-week honeymoon to Italy.

We booked plane tickets way back in December, before Christmas even, so we could lock in the price (and fly Swiss Air, so I could collect some Star Alliance points to pay for our next trip), then we booked some hotels and travel insurance. Now, we're just playing the waiting game. But, I figured I'd fill you in on the details so you can get pumped up along with us (or offer some travel tips).

We're going to take it slow. It's our honeymoon, right? We want to enjoy it, so we won't be rushing from sight to sight in a half-dozen different cities. We narrowed it down to four nights in Rome, five in Florence, then three in Venice. For the first two cities, we used Bed & Breakfast Italia (thanks to Lonely Planet's suggestion) and then, in Venice, we booked the second-most-romantic hotel in Europe (according to TripAdvisor, anyway).

The plan is to do all the tourist, historical-type visits in Rome, then move on to Florence for a couple days of the same. But can you be in Tuscany and miss the vineyards? No way... we'll have to do a bike tour of some sort. And we're probably going to do at least a day trip to Cinque Terre to hike along the coast and soak in the beauty of the Mediterranean. Finally, we finish off in Venice where the only plan is to get lost in the canals (which hopefully won't be smelly).

Oh sure, there will be more planning the closer we get. The excitement's mounting every day, though. There's a big trip on the horizon and, like I said, that makes everything better about life. Having a tough day at the office? So what, you're taking a trip. Car troubles? Big deal, you're renting a bike overseas. No money? They take credit cards internationally.

I hope this doesn't sound like I'm rubbing it in or anything. I'm just totally pumped for the trip.

Yes, I'm still in Junior High...

My roommate Marc helped me out on this one. It's a little comparison of squat toilets and their western cousins for you to pooh-pooh, ha.

Starting to See China...

(Note: I'd written this and pitched it to local papers, but no one picked it up. So, um, you get to read it! Yay!)

Until eight weeks ago, the word “China” evoked images in my mind of something huge, shrouded in mystery and looming eerily on the horizon. Before I flew into Beijing to report for the Olympic News Service, I knew only the barest of facts about the country and its people. They are the world’s most populous country. They have the world’s largest army. They export more goods than anyone else. They are Communist. Their pollution clouds our skies. They are our main competition as the top superpower. They are a threat to our economy, our environment and our standing.

“They, they, they”—that’s how I thought. It was all about how we do things in the United States (say, free market society) versus how they do it in China (now, a strange meld of socialist capitalism). I had an “us versus them” mentality with a clearly defined list running down opposites sides of the page.

I easily maintained that sort of black-and-white thinking when I was 7,000 miles away from China. Back home, the Chinese were an intimidating mass of over a billion blurred faces. They weren’t real.

But here on the streets of Beijing, as I’ve lived, worked and struggled through this urban sprawl of 17 million residents, I’ve started to get a clearer picture of the Chinese and their country—one that’s much different than I expected.

There’s Yang Guanjun, an artist from Xi’an, who moved to Beijing with his wife and daughter in hope of a better life. His shop is little bigger than a walk-in closet and tucked away in one of the thousands of hutong (alleyways) that spider anonymously through the city. The deep lines in his tanned skin betray the hardships that his wide, toothy smile tries to hide as I buy his watercolors.

Cindy (many Chinese use Western names when conversing with foreigners) is a graduate student who looks far too youthful to be 25 years old. She loves playing ping-pong with her friends and even teaches me how to hold a paddle correctly, giggling lightly every time I swing and miss at another return from her nasty backhand. Cindy hasn’t seen her boyfriend in more than a year. He lives and works in another city and they don’t often speak because he doesn’t like cell phones or SMS; her messages often go unanswered.

“Men and women are different, I think,” she says, “For him, the job is very important. More important than me.”

Still, she loves him and she will wait with the hope that one day they might be together.

I met Zheng Wei at a cafeteria. He helped me, unasked, to recharge a pre-paid meal card. We ate breakfast together afterward and he asked many questions about the United States, what kind of place I was from and what the universities were like. Then he asked me about faith.

“I believe in Jesus. I believe in God,” I said, trying to condense an entire worldview into two sentences.

“Many Chinese believe only in science,” he said, trying to do the same.

“You know, they can work together.”

“Yes,” he smiled and clasped his fingers together. “Work together.”

To me, China is still big and scary—I speak only the most basic Mandarin and have just seen a small slice of the country here in Beijing. But my experience over these two months has begun to chip away at the preconceptions I carried with me like too much checked luggage.

China, by successfully hosting the Olympic Games, announced its presence among the world’s powers in dramatic fashion. Yang Guanjun, Cindy, Zheng Wei and many more Chinese citizens showed me, personally and powerfully, what it meant to be welcomed here. They reminded me that the people of China are just like the people of the United States. We are all individuals who hold feelings, emotions and dreams. None of us are mere blurred faces in a crowd.

So as the world leaves Beijing, ponders what to do next about China and tries to make sense of it all, I will leave with hope. For I’ve learned here that it’s possible to co-exist if you strip away all of the politics, all of the misconceptions, all of the good and all of the bad and just look into the eyes of friend you never knew you had.

The Price of Tea in China

According to XE.com, today's exchange rate from the US Dollar to China's Renminbi (also known as "yuan" or "kuai") is 1 to 6.82. That makes travel pretty easy and, honestly, is one of my favorite things about China. You need to spend very little to live very well here.

I don't want to run through an entire list of what I bought (that would take approximately 19,000 words), since I did have to buy a second suitcase ($15) to get everything back to the States. But I do need to go over some my better purchases and ones that you might want to make, if you ever get over to Beijing.

First off, travel is hard. Plane, train and bus rides aren't good on your back. And, if you're like me and carry a man bag everywhere, your shoulders and neck can get messed up to. A massage is the answer and one of my little guilty pleasures no matter where in the world I am. For 98 yuan ($15), I had a beautiful, hour-long massage where my little Chinese masseur took me apart and put me back together again. It was ugly, she was violent, but after the dust settled, I was a new man.

Food is ridiculously cheap. My daily breakfast usually consists of an egg sandwich on fresh-made, nan-like bread or a few dumplings and a hard-boiled egg. In either case, I pay anywhere from 1 to 1.50 yuan... that's less than 20 cents in the US. Beat that, Dunkin' Donuts! And if you're paying more than $4 for a beer (in a very nice bar), then you're paying too much. Generally, it should cost between 10-15 yuan (under $2), unless you just bought it in a hutong's local shop... then you get a 20-ounce Tsingtao for 3 yuan ($1.50). Yes!

I'm not a big taxi guy, but there are times where I really don't feel like dealing with the subway here or it's late at night and I just want to get home. Thankfully for my wallet, I'm in Beijing - city of millions, most of them cabbies. These guys are everywhere and although the base fare starts at 10 yuan, I've never paid more than 90 ($12) for a ride. And that expensive one was coming in from the airport, where there are always extra charges. By comparison, my cab ride from Boston Logan to my apartment in Cambridge cost $28 before tip and took about a third of the time.

Luxurious escapes from China are, at times, necessary. I love mingling with locals and trying to see how they live, but there is a limit to how much Chinese food I can take, how many dirty serving trays I can see or how long I can go without a napkin (you'll only be given those in Western places or, on occasion, if you ask really nicely). Beijing, being the international hub that it is, has plenty of 5-star hotel bars to relax in, sip a whiskey and smoke a cigar (all for under $20). There are also dozens of ex-pat gathering places from diners (Grandma's Kitchen) to cafes (The Bookworm) where you can drop the seemingly exhorbitant sum of 100 yuan to get fresh, Western delicacies for less than 15 dollars. Then, once your stomach's been filled with reminders of home and your mind has been refreshed, you can head back out into the city streets, recharged and ready to once again soak it all in.

The cheap shopping opportunities around Beijing are well documented. But what I didn't expect to find were several tailors around the city, offering high-quality, hand-made suits and dress shirts. Last month, I visited Lisa Tailor, which is located on the 5th floor of the 3.3 Mall in the Sanlitun area. Apparently, this particular shop is well-known and recommended by many concierges around the city. I wasn't expecting to buy anything, but was completely floored by the prices - 1,000 yuan for suits, 1,300 for tuxedos, 80-150 yuan for shirts and ties for 30 and under. Put in Chinese prices, that sounds expensive, but that meant I could be spend $150 for a suit, $180 for a tux and about $10 a shirt.

If you know me, you know I can't resist shopping and I can't fight off bargains. I walked out of there with an order for a pin-stripe suit, a black tuxedo, five shirts, two ties and four sets of cufflinks. That alone might have been worth the flight over here.

So, while travel in the UK and Europe continues to get more and more difficult as the dollar's value free-falls, it's nice to know there are still places where a 25-year-old, unemployed kid can come and live like a king.

Xiexie, Beijing!

My girl Candy, sizing me up.

Rocking the Chucks with the tux. Incidentally, I bought those shoes at the Silk Market for $10 (and probably overpaid).

Great Wall Video - Visit to Badaling

Here's take 2 for my travel videos... So much for one a week! It's on my YouTube site or you can just watch it below. Let me know what you think!

"Asked a gas station employee if he ever had trouble breathing and he said, 'It varies from season to season.'"

Some musings on Beijing's famous smog...

When you tell people you're preparing for a trip, you generally get warnings based on where you're going.

"Watch out for pickpockets!"

"Get a malaria shot!"

"Bring Amodium!"

All that good stuff. When I was getting ready to come to Beijing, the one comment I received that far outweighed all the others was, "The pollution is terrible there! You can't even breathe! You won't be able to see your hand in front of your face! You'll die of asphyxiation as soon as you step off the plane!"

Turns out, those helpful tidbits were exaggerated... but only slightly. For a kid used to the clean, crisp air of New Hampshire's seacoast, the smog is freaking bad. I could see it the first night I arrived - a yellow haze that settled over the city and showed up like halos of cigarette smoke ringed around streetlights. That worried me.

But like anything else that makes travel difficult (exchange rates, language barriers, entry visas, ticket touts and overbearing Americans in fanny packs), you just learn to deal with it.

I, for one, turn it into a game. I call it "Where's Burns Manor?" Each morning, my alarm goes off and I throw it into the wall. 90 minutes later, I get up and walk across the 3 1/2 feet of tiled floor to my window and gaze out, trying to judge the smog levels for that day. One mile from here, there's a nuclear powerplant, that looks just like the one in Springfield (hence, Burns Manor). If I can see it clearly, it's a great day and the smog has disappeared overnight with no explanation or note - almost like a one-night stand sneaking out before breakfast and regret. If I can make out a shadowy outline, it's a typical day in Beijing; the smog is there when you wake up, like a good friend. On the days where I can't see Burns Manor at all (which is more often than not), it's a crappy, smoggy, hacking day and the clouds of pollution are like a suffocating relationship that you just want to get out of, but can't because you're trapped and smothered under a blanket of pain, tears and lost dreams.

Either way, you're in a relationship with the smog, whether you like it or not.

(Pictures 1&2 are from the fifth day of the trip, which was the clearest we've had. Incidentally, it's also the first day we figured out that a powerplant actually existed. The third shot is from yesterday, which was by far the worst day. Burns Manor should be where that giant cloud is on the right. Walking around the city yesterday felt like simultaneious onset of an asthma attack and a claustrophobic freakout. I need my inhaler.)

Since I'm here, I just have to deal with it. I did come somewhat prepared - stocked up on allergy meds (Claritin and Zyrtec), way-cool nose spray that goes perfectly with my headgear (Zycam), an over-the-counter inhaler and Chinese Airborne (Now, with 15% more lead!). All that's been working well with me and when the smog ups the ante to a higher thickness level, I just check-raise that sucker with more pills. Boo-yah.

There are other ways of coping, too. One is to just not go outdoors, which is a method some have taken - only the air conditioning here is just as bad for you and sitting in a dorm room is now way to travel. Others have taken to bringing face-masks (although, I haven't seen anyone in my group wear one). There are also more than a few PODs (Portable Oxygen Device) going around, too. These little cans of oxygen give you 40 breaths of clean, smog-free air per tube. I have one and I've been using it off-and-on. Have I seen a difference? Um, probably not... but it does give a psychological edge in the battle against smogification. And there are those that swear by them and trade them on the ex-pat black market like they were packs of cigs in federal prison.

I've been told that, eventually, you just get used to the air. The lack of sunlight stops bothering you and your lungs adjust. I hope so, because I've developed a sore throat for the past four days and sort of a dry hack of a cough on occasion. But at least I haven't resorted to the face mask. I'm just living for the next clear view of Burns Manor.

Maybe it'll be tomorrow.



(Image of the sun, over cypress trees at the Temple of Heaven, peeking through the smog at 4pm yesterday).

"Hey, everybody... come see how good I look."

Yup, you guessed it. I've got more photos up on Flickr. There are about 150 shots (Too many? Probably.) up which you can look through at your leisure by visiting my China Collection.

Hmm... "China Collection." That either makes me sound like Kenneth Cole or Hannibal Lechter. I can't decide. Judging from what I've been eating lately (mule, scorpion, sea snake, silk worm, McDonalds soft serve), it just may be the latter.

If you're too lazy to click through to another webpage or if you're suffering from horrible finger cramps, I'll put up a few fun ones here for your perusal.

But all the naked ones are on Flickr.

I'm kidding.

Or am I?

Here's that link again, you curious perv.

Lamb skewers at Wangfujing Snack Street

Buddha in the Temple of Heavenly Incense, New Summer Palace

Peeps at the Summer Palace

Me, standing on history at the Great Wall (Badaling)

Settling down in China...

So, I feel like I've been really down on Beijing in my first two city-related posts. A lot of that had to do with just sort of getting a wave of culture-shock upon arrival... so I wanted to write and say that I'm doing fine now.

The one thing you can say about the Beijing Organizing Committee for the Olympic Games (BOCOG - the overseeing group for all-things Beijing Olympics) is that it has been nothing but welcoming from Day 1. The longer I stay here, the more I realize the extent of what it's done to make us feel at home.

For example, we have air conditioning in our residences and private bathrooms. That's nearly unheard of... even on the campus we're staying, most of the students have to walk to camping-style, communal bathrooms.

They decorated the hallways of our building with pastoral pictures of forests, mountains and log cabins. Just like the good, ol' USofA (or so they were thinking). It's endearing.

We were given a 3-day, all-expenses paid tour to Beijing's top sights - the Great Wall, the Ming Tombs, the Summer Palace. And we were also shown a couple areas the local government is especially proud of: a state-of-the-art waste water treatment plant and a planned village, which is where the "future of China" lies. While the latter two aren't necessarily what I'd take visitors to New Hampshire to, the fact that the people were so proud to show off their achievements to a horde of Western volunteers was definitely touching.

All the while, we've been inundated with food... over 100 specially prepared Peking ducks one night for the 350+ volunteers, watermelon (a delicacy here) for dessert each night, dish after dish after dish stacked onto lazy susans... the spread has been immense and I'm hoping my waistband won't be the same in the end. I've come to find out that the number one way to show visitors welcome in Asia is the feed them into a coma.

But the most welcome has been shown by the people of Beijing. The entire city is behind the Olympics. It's not just the people we've been introduced to by BOCOG, either. Rather, everywhere you look, people are wearing Games swag, taking pictures of the beautiful stadiums and smiling happily when you tell them you're here to work for the ONS.

There are a handful of Chinese volunteers that have been assigned the task of being ambassadors to our group, as well. One, in particular, has gone above and beyond to make sure the loud, crazy, non-Mandarin speaking Americans feel welcomed in Beijing.

Cindy rocks. She's a grad student at the Communications University of China (the CUC), where we're staying. While she's been learning English for only two years, she's already fluent. On every bus ride, Cindy has been sitting up front, ready to answer questions or chat about life in China in a friendly, outgoing manner. She's already organized impromtu Ping-Pong-Cho sessions, invited a half-dozen of her friends and schooled each one of us at the ping-pong tables.

I just try to think that if a group of 35 foreigners came to my school for two months, would I have done the same? Honestly, it's not likely...

So while Beijing may not have the natural beauty of some other world-class cities, its citizens have already demonstrated (on the individual level) that some of the country's most beautiful people live there.

Thanks BOCOG and thanks Beijing.

Cindy (left) and fellow-volunteer, Li

Housekeeping...

Just a couple notes...

For all my Facebook compadres: I'm having a tough time getting on to respond to comments and emails. Sorry, but the Great Cyber Wall of China isn't helping me enjoy my Facebook addiction and I haven't been able to post any pictures. Sad day.... so don't feel offended if I don't respond to you right away (or quickly) (or at all). It's not personal, I'm just blocked for some reason.

For people checking out my Flickr site, the best way to view shots is to view my collections. I've organized everything (or am in the process of arranging, anyway) into Japan and China collections with sub-sets in each of those. Fun, fun, fun...

That's all, folks. Now, back to the fun and your regularly scheduled programming...

Photos are up...

So I'm doing really well in Beijing. After a bit of culture shock, I feel like I'm fitting in nicely. BOCOG (the Beijing Organizing Committee for the Olympic Games) has done nothing but make all of us volunteers feel welcomed.

I've been AWOL because there hasn't been much down time with the tourist schedule they set up for us... for three days, they sent us around to: a waste treatment plant, a "future of China" type planned village, the Great Wall (at Badaling), the Ming Tombs, a crafts center, Peking Opera, Peking Duck, the "new" Summer Palace and the "old" Summer palace as well as spread after spread of delicious food. I swear, I will gain 40 pounds by the time I come home.

I've been trying to digest everything I've taken in (both literally and in the tourist sense), but I don't feel like I'm quite ready to break down everything for you. It's all a little new and overwhelming... and I don't want to trivialize anything by a little premature posting. So, I'm going to hold back for now, but I will tell you that I FINALLY have Japan photos posted.

They're here on my Flickr site. I really wanted to get them onto Facebook, but I believe the Great Firewall is preventing me from accessing it. Either that or the application I use has a glitch (also a possibility). Anyways, if I figure out a way, I'll get them there, but for now they're on Flickr.

I will have more blogs - whether writing, videos or pictures - for you tomorrow, I promise.

In the meantime, here's that link again.

Enjoy, friends!

Ceremonial, pre-temple cleansing


Downtown Peeps


Owabi on the grill

Culture - it's a shocker.

I have to say, there’s been a little bit of culture shock. It’s weird because that sort of thing never really bothered me before. And it’s not like I haven’t been in situations of extreme cultural differences before – it’s just not gotten to me the way life in Beijing has. I’ve always been able to brush it aside and use my excitement for exploration to get over it.

Maybe it’s because I’ll be here for a full two months. Maybe it’s because the language is so difficult to navigate and I feel completely lost, linguistically. Whatever it is, it had be down for the first couple of days.

The funk settled in like a thick layer of the city’s infamous smog, which, by the way, exists in full force. What little of Beijing I’ve seen is, quite frankly, very ugly and full of concrete buildings and massive, Communist-era structures. These intimidating skyscrapers are everywhere.

The skyline’s uninviting demeanor isn’t exactly improved by the thickly settled pollution, either. This stuff is just as bad as advertised. It’s like the weather is continually foggy, yet strangely bright, all around here. You can’t help but feel sluggish as you struggle through the pollution’s pea soup.

I’ve seen the sun twice since I’ve gotten here. The other day, at 1pm, it towered high above Tiananmen Square, burning bright and yellow. But it was just a glimpse and then it disappeared, blocked out by the thick clouds that jostled each other for position over the city. Then, later that night, I saw it again before it set… a burning, red orb angered at being pushed aside and forgotten.

I’ve heard that people my age, who have never left Beijing, have seen fewer blue skies than they can count on their hands.

The most noticeable feature of the city’s skyline are the towering, skeletal outlines of massive cranes. There is a huge amount of construction underway in Beijing and these tools are literally everywhere. They are specters overlooking the birth street-and-concrete offspring - new buildings, bringing new life to a Beijing that’s evolving on a daily basis.
They should be the image of rejuvenation. And yet, I haven’t been able to shake off the ominous prickling up the back of my spine when I see them rising from the mists, looking ready to devour the young they helped create.

Yeah, you could say that I’ve been in a funk.

A little bit of culture shock is a standard part of travel. Strange faces, strange faces and strange foods can overwhelm, but for me, that was always the most exciting part. It was the reason I traveled in the first place. I wanted to be surprised, I wanted to see new things, I wanted my comfort zone to melt away.

But during my first two days here, I didn’t want any of that. As I looked around at what I perceived to be a despairing city, lost in in a sea of 17 million fast-paced, hard-charging citizens, I felt lost.

(An aside: very few people wait in lines here – there’s a whole lot of cutting and jostling while at cafeterias or waiting for the subway)

I felt lost and insignificant. What was I doing here? I still had two months to go… could I cut it? For fleeting moments, when thinking about home and Sonja, I wanted to leave Beijing. And I’d barely even gotten here.

It’s funny, sometimes, how life works. One minute, you can be completely lost (in my case, in China, struggling to be understood and to understand) and then a seemingly inconsequential act can give you a ray of hope that pierces the clouds like a bright beacon.

For me, it came at a subway station ticket machine. Rush hour in downtown Beijing and literally thousands of commuters were pouring past me through turnstiles and herding themselves towards the trains. I stood there with the whirlwind whipping around me, trying to work the touchscreen and buy a ticket back to home campus.

Even though there were English directions, I couldn’t figure out exactly how to work it to purchase a ticket. Every time I searched for my destination on the map and tried to put in my money, the machine either timed out or spit out my bill. Over and over and over, I got rejected. Looking around, there wasn’t a station attendant in sight or a counter where I could bypass the dysfunctional computer station.

Right when I was about to give up, there came a small tap-tap-tap on my left shoulder. I turned around to see three teenagers, smiling w/ gapped, yellow teeth. The tallest one, his unruly hair sticking out at every angle and dressed in a t-shirt two sizes too large, motioned to me and then to the machine.

I thought he wanted to use it and had gotten impatient with the befuddled American (wei guy ren) in front of him. He just wanted me to get out the way right? Wrong. Quietly, he punched three keys on the screen. His friends stood there smiling as he motioned for me to put money into the feeder. I slid a 10 yuan note in, the machine took it this time and then it spit out a ticket.

The three kids, all of whom were about 10 years younger than me, and I never exchanged a word of English. But they came to my rescue no matter what the language barrier. I quickly grabbed my ticket and change, thanked them repeatedly (in Mandarin – one of the few things I know how to say) and then hurried off to catch the next train.

It was an inconsequential moment, really – the whole thing took less than 15 seconds – but to me, it mean quite a lot. A ragtag group of teens had seen me struggling to get through a simple transaction, saw I couldn’t do it on my own and stepped in to help a complete stranger.

I boarded the train, pressed in on all sides by a crush of humanity, and thought, “Maybe I can make it after all.”

Two days later, not coincidentally, I woke up to blue skies and bright sunlight with mere wisps of clouds in the sky. It was a beautiful summer day in Beijing.

I’m still here.

Touching down in Beijing...

Well, I've been in Beijing for under 12 hours (and spent seven of those asleep) and there's already some culture shock going around in my head.

I think it first happened when I hit the seat of my taxi. Now, in Japan, I took quite a few taxis. With three or four of us traveling at a time, it was often cheaper and/or more convenient to hail a cab versus taking the subway. There, the cars glide up alongside the curb and the drivers pop open a side door for you (they open and close automatically). The seats are covered with soft, white, lace-like cloth that's invariably spotless and might even have been ironed that morning. Most cabbies there will wear a military style uniform or, at the very least, wear a jacket and tie. It's almost like taking a car service back in the States. Quite nice; I definitely got used to a superior level of service.

Let's just say that my first experience with a taxi in Beijing was the complete, utter opposite. If I had to describe it in one sentence, I'd say I was back in NYC all over again.

The cab itself was dinged up and old. There was a whitish cloth on the seats, but it was torn and spotted in places and I doubted it had ever been washed - nevermind ironed. My driver had no uniform, didn't help with the bags and I had to (gasp) open my own door. I tried to communicate the directions and handed him my address (written in Mandarin). In response, he just grunted and we sped off - hopefully in the right direction.

Almost as soon as we were in motion, the driver clicked on his radio and began barking Chinese into it. The only time he stopped doing that during the entire ride was when he switched to barking Chinese into his cell phone. Also, for our entire trip, he chain smoked. From my vantage point in the backseat, I could barely make out his silloutte in the smokey haze... I guess they were right about Beijing's pollution.

We sped through the streets, cutting people off - him yelling and me digging through the cushions for non-existent seatbelts. Finally, after him stopping to ask directions a couple times, we arrived at the right building - me shaken slightly, but in one piece overall. There, he uncermoniously handed me my backpack (upside down) and sped off, puffs of cigarette smoke coming from his windows.

I stood there on the sidewalk with my bags and watched him go.

I had arrived in Beijing.

Temple Etiquette - Kyoto Journals

In Kyoto, like many cities in Japan, it’s hard to walk 10 yards without stumbling over a temple or a shire. They’re literally everywhere, ranging in size from huge ornate, palace-like complexes to small boxes that are no larger than a picture frame and stashed away unremarkably on random street corners. And just as the temples are diverse, so are the visitors. You can either find yourself amidst a swarm of excitedly yapping, uniformed school children and camera-flashing busloads of tourists or be entirely alone, appreciating the quiet beauty of peaceful, zen courtyards, listening to birds chirping and water gurgling.

I think I’ve mentioned that I’m using Lonely Planet Japan as my guidebook for this trip. (Side note: good guidebooks are an absolute essential for traveling – find one that works for you and make it your constant companion.) I’ve been happy with the LP so far, but visiting religious sites are an area that no guide can really cover. It’s awfully hard to try and encompass the essence of each place, give the history and make the description appealing without pictures. I think you just have to go to these places and see for yourself. It’s like in Good Will Hunting when Robin Williams tells Matt Damon that there isn’t a book in the world that can tell you what it smells like inside the Sistene Chapel – it’s true.

Incidentally, it smells like hot dogs.

Of course, in Kyoto, with 17 UNESCO World Heritage Sites and dozens more Japanese national historic places of interest, it can be awfully hard to figure out which places to go visit. Mom, Jen and I tried to stop by the important ones that were relatively grouped together and not super attractive to tourists. That, unfortunately, meant we had to cross The Golden Temple off our list. That particular temple is possibly the most photographed spot in Japan. You’d recognize the gold-leaf covered pagoda easily (For us Mac users, it’s one of the default background images and currently shown on my laptop). But I feel like, in the end, we used our three days of sightseeing to the fullest extent. I won’t bore you with long descriptions of each place, but I’ll mention where we went, give you my favorites and why.

First, though, we’ve gotta cover shrine etiquette…

---Visiting How-To’s---

At the entrance to most temples and shrines, there is a basin set to one side with perpetually trickling water and ladles. It can be large (up to several feet long) and decorated with statues and carvings around a bathtub-like stone structure. Or, it can be a small, simple faucet running into an overflowing bowl.

Now, we human beings are dirty creatures, as the Japanese know so well (Why else would they have separate sets of shoes for the outside world, the home and the bathroom?). They believe the gods, who are pure, understand this fully. Hence, in order to approach the being living inside the shrine, we mortals must wash to at least partially purify ourselves.

The ritual is a simple one and involves no removal of clothing. Whether this is a good thing or a bad thing, I leave up to you and your definitions of “sight-seeing.”

Step 1: Take a ladle and scoop up water from either the basin or the faucet.

Step 2: Splash some water over one hand and then the other.

Step 3: Grab another ladleful, pour some into a cupped hand (yours) and then use that water to rinse out your mouth.

Step 4: When you’ve gargled enough to feel clean, spit out the water onto the ground or into the provided trough and replace the ladle for the next visitor’s use.

There you go; you are now clean. Well, clean enough to at least enter and not enrage the gods. That was easy enough, no?

---Shinto Shrines, Buddhist Temples---

One more thing before we head inside to light incense and either ring a bell (if available) or clap to draw the gods’ attention. It’s probably a good idea to know what kind of diety you’re visiting, if you want it to work on your behalf.

99% of Japanese citizens believe in a mixture of Shintoism and Buddhism. Shinto originated in Japan hundreds, if not thousands, of years ago (pre-dating the nation’s written language). It’s a poly-theist religion where there are many spirits to be worshipped – each one having a special blessing for the mortal world. In Shinto, there are gods for good business, food, mental health, protection of women, guardians of children, fertility, rain, etc…

The problem with Shinto, however, is that there was no afterlife. You just stopped living and that’s it – the gods could care less about the dead. So, 600 years ago, when Japan was introduced to Indian Buddhism and the concept of Buddhas available to guide you to an afterlife, the people loved it. They quickly combined the two religions and why not? One was for the living and one was for the dead. It all seemed simple enough.

With the two religions came two kinds of places of worship and those physical divisions remain to this day. Shinto shrines are easily recognizable for the pagoda at the front of each – two tall, vertical sticks topped by a pair of crossbars, one of which is usually curved. Often, those pagoda are painted red or orange. Buddhist temples, on the other hand, don’t have pagodas. Rather, their entrances are guarded by massive gates, which can be so large as to look like mansions with their tiered, slate roofs and ornate woodwork.

If you’re a true worshipper, and not just a tourist poking around for pictures, you’ll visit Shinto shrines to receive blessings on your life and Buddhist temples to pray for your passed ancestors or when you yourself are nothing but and urn full of ashes.

---Religious Highlights of Kyoto---

Higashi Hongan-ji

Originally built in 1591, this is arguably the most important Buddhist temple in all of Japan, as the ashes of the deceased believers must pass through for blessing shortly after death. Its main hall (goe-do) is the largest wooden structure in the world, although another temple in nearby Nara disputes that claim. Unfortunately for us, a few years back, the heavy stone tiles began to cave in the roof. So the temple is currently covered by scaffolding and undergoing construction.

Be there is another hall, a sort of 2nd-tier worship center, that remains open to the public. It’s wonderfully ornate, featuring gilded screens, a golden Buddha and a statue of the temples founder, which actually receives more prominence than the deity’s image itself. Unfortunately, I have no pictures for this one – it’s not allowed (one of the few temples where that rule applies), so you’ll just have to go there and see for yourself.

Nanzen-ji Oku-no-in

Nazen-ji is a major temple and attraction in Kyoto. A huge structure, it was originally built in 1291 as a retirement villa for Emperor Kameyama (although most of what remains now was built in the 17th century, post-Japanese civil war).

However, the gaggles of visitors often miss the small, rather unmarked, dirt path that runs out the back of Nanzen-ji and into a small shire/temple called Oku-no-in. Lonely Planet clued me in on the secret and the three of us were able to find it. Oku-no-in sits beneath a mountain waterfall that’s carved its mark into a cleft of rock. The walk there is through a quiet mountain forest full of bamboo groves, soaring maples and leafy ferns. Several small washbasins and “prayer station” shrines line the carved stone steps of the path. In the stillness of the air, en route to Oku-no-in, you can hear the quiet gurgling of water whispering deep, enchanted secrets and letting you know that you’ve truly entered a special place.

Kiyomizu-dera

It’s five-story, bright orange pagoda is one of the most photographed in all of Japan as it majestically rises through the treetops overlooking the east side of Kyoto. Though it’s overrun by tourists (I saw a dozen sprinting through the entry gate at 5:55pm to snap a quick picture before the 6 o’clock closing), Kiyomizu-dera is quite historical, having originally been built in 798 and then reconstructed in 1633.

However, for me, the historicity of the place wasn’t what drew me in. Rather, when I turned my back on the crowds and famous pagoda, I could look over the whole city of Kyoto. It spread all the way below my feet to the mountains off in the distance – a magical valley covered in a mist of summer’s haze. Amidst rows of old, tiled homes and blocky, modern buildings, there shot up colorful pagodas and the decorated tops of temples. They stood like so many ancient wise men keeping watch over their city. For the briefest of moments, I joined in their eternal vigilance.

All was well in Kyoto.

Poo on the Road

I am a man unafraid to talk some serious poop.

I do not mean s***, because that would be foul and I may get my meanings confused, as I am not talking about talking about someone. Rather, I am referring to genuine crap – the fecal that matters.

Now, I’m a regular guy. And when I say regular, I mean that you could set your watch by my BM’s: one in the a.m. right after rolling out of bed, 90 minutes after each meal thereafter until I hit the sack and a final finale to close out the day, for good measure.

While some my call my frequent, stinky adventures excessive and bordering on colon endangering, I find them to be both healthy (Better out than in!) and delightfully liberating. Every time I leave the john, it’s like a load has been lifted or erstwhile removed, I’m lighter on my feet and the sun shines just a smidge brighter.

However, my digestive tract has a mortal enemy – it cannot overcome airplanes.

Just what, you might ask, does a vast chunk of steel hurtling at 600mph through the skies have anything to do with smaller chunks of digested food hurtling out at a less-than-sound-barrier-breaking pace? Frankly, I’m not entirely sure myself of the exact connection. But all I know is that the moment I step off a flight, I am no longer a free man. Oh, on the outside, I may appear to be the same. But within, I am bound and trussed, my free spirit stopped up.

Constipation: it’s no laughing matter.

Most unfortunately, this stoppage has become an unavoidable part of every trip I’ve taken over the past few years. Try (and try, and try, and try, and try and try) as I might, I cannot escape constipation’s colon clogging clutches.

I have noticed, in the course of my thoroughly scientific research, that the length of the flight is directly correlated to the length of y suffering. For example, I’ll only need a day or two to recover from a 90-minute shuttle flight. But put me on a 15-hour trans-Pacific route and The Works just ain’t working right.

I came on this trip armed with a full bottle of Metamucil capsules (courtesy of Grandma) and a half-bottle of fish oil (courtesy of Mom, who handed them to me saying, “This should grease the skids.”).

Still, despite the best natural remedies available to me, I waited five full days in quiet… urgent… pressing… desperation for sweet release to come. Five days. That’s almost a week and about a 500 percent decrease in going. My lower intestine’s rate of production fell faster than last week’s stock market – ba dum, ching.

Many times, I rushed to the loo, feeling a welcome gurgling sensation in my stomach only to find they ceased as soon as I reached the seat (which, by the way, are often heated in Japan – how did we NOT think of that sooner?). Each time, I sighed in frustration, flushed the folded toilet paper I’d readied in anticipation and zipped my fly.

“Maybe next time.”

As I waited, it seemed like the next time was always the next time. I was Charlie Brown, constantly running up to kick the football only to have Lucy the Toilet yank it away at the last instant. Maddening. Painfully maddening. Good grief!

They say good things come to those who wait. I have no idea who “they” are, but it turns out it’s a smart group of people. Just when I was about to grit my teeth and succumb to the temptation of the quick fix offered by Grandma’s glycerin suppositories (don’t ask), good things did indeed happen. Small at first – like a trickle through the Netherlands’ dyke. But it gave me hope for the future. The dawn was breaking; I was to be a free man.

Not a moment too soon, either.

It’s amazing how much more beautiful this country is when you’re 10 pounds lighter…