Too much cow poo on your hands? Here are a few suggestions...

Click here to link to the 'Fixed-Dome Biogas Best-Practices Manual' that Linda and I put together while volunteering in Uganda. This is the culmination of what we aggregated while bumping around in the back of a speeding Land Cruiser patrolling remote villages to see how well the 150 or so biogas plants were operating around Lake Victoria. This manual is intended as a training supplement for the SCC-Vi Field Officers that we worked with since many of the farmers that we visited are unable to read themselves. Hopefully with this step-by-step guide, more of this information will trickle down to the farmers in turn. Biogas promises a readily available way for many of the world's farmers who own little more than an earthen home and a few cows to produce their own gas for cooking and lighting.

I will never look at cow dung in the same way. It really is amazing stuff. I am also fairly sure that I am convinced to have my own Bessie some day.

 In addition, if you own your own biogas digester and are having problems, here is troubleshooting flowchart that we put together that may help:

Are you looking for a couple of volunteers?

If so, below is the cover letter that landed us the gig in Cambodia from January until April with the International Development Enterprises (www.ideo.org). Until then we will be living the eco-village life at www.panyaproject.org, meeting our friends Tom and D for New Years on the swanky side of Chiang Mai, and then backpacking through Laos to get to Phonm Penh, our home for 3 months.

To whom it may concern,

My wife, Linda and I are interested in pursuing a work-exchange with the International Development Enterprises office in Cambodia.  We are prepared to arrive in Phnom Penh early to mid-January and stay through early March. We are experienced energy professionals with business experience in entrepreneurial to mid-size ventures in the USA as well as some NGO experience in the developing world. We are familiar with the work of IDE and motivated to help with your work as we have met a number of times with staff members from your Colorado office and helped organize a community presentation for IDE.

To offer you a little bit more background, we are on an extended trip volunteering our way around the world. We are currently volunteering in Uganda with SCC-Vi, the Swedish Cooperative Center (http://www.SCCportal.org/Vi-Agroforestry-Programme.aspx). With SCC-Vi we are developing a biogas best practices manual as well as supplemental training materials to help alleviate some of the common construction and operational mistakes for the 150 small-scale, rural digesters scattered around Lake Victoria. We are also helping to evaluate the economics of these systems in terms of fuel savings and commercialization opportunities for bio-slurry fertilizer. Prior to arriving in Uganda, we fulfilled a work-exchange at Dedetepe Eco-village (www.Dedetepe.org) in Turkey as well as worked on a 25+ hectare vineyard on the French-German border harvesting grapes as well as in the cellar for over a month (www.FriedrichBecker.de)

At home in Colorado (USA), Linda worked 3 years for a company that improves the energy efficiency of homes (www.NRGlogic.com). At Energy Logic she helped manage the training department, certifications as well as other marketing and event coordination. In addition, she helped provide small business advice while serving as a volunteer with the Boulder Green Building Guild and coordinating the efforts of Efficiency First, a local chapter of a national trade association. I co-owned a democratically managed solar electric company for over 5 years (www.NamasteSolar.com) while concurrently serving as the President of the Board for the Colorado Solar Energy Industries Association (www.COSEIA.org). Prior to joining the solar industry, I worked with a start-up industrial-scale wind power development company whose business model revolved around monetizing Renewable Energy Credits (www.PatriotWind). In terms of practical/agricultural experience, Linda worked on an organic farm that produces food for local restaurants (www.CureOrganicFarm.org) and I worked for my father’s home building company as well as on a number of farms in Virginia. We are fluent in English, Spanish, and Latvian (and interested in learning some Cambodian). Personally, Linda is certified yoga teacher and we are both certified in Emergency Wilderness Medicine as we are avid outdoors-people.  

If you have any more questions, please don’t hesitate to ask. We look forward to hearing from you soon.

Sustainably,

Eriks and Linda

www.LindRiks.blogspot.com

Skype = Lindriks

Next steps

We arrived in Bangkok yesterday and have been enjoying "the wheelbarrows full of pad thai massage" until we head up north for a work-exchange towards the Burmese border at:
www.panyaproject.org

After what we know will be a fantastic New Years celebration with Tom and D in Chiang Mai, we will be volunteering with an incredible organization in Cambodia for 3 months called the International Development Enterprises:
www.ideorg.org

What to do when your campsite is being occupied by an XXL female lion

We are proud to present to you our guest star for this post - Mr. Karlis Vasarais. Karlis, Pauls, Eriks and I attended the infamous Latvian camp in Michigan, Garezers, together. Karlis was gracious enough to share with us, and now with you, a characteristically detailed email sent home to his family about our Serengeti adventure  - we gratefully plagiarize his work:

"we've arrived back in Masaka safe and sound after a long voyage to the Serengeti. i don't know where to start with our trip, but here it goes. we ended up leaving a day later so that Pauls could finish up some work. We left Kampala to Masaka Friday afternoon. It took us a bit longer than expected to pack up our stuff into the "Matatu"- our 20-30 year old asian modified safari vehicle. only pictures can explain the vehicle - with its top speed of 95km/h. On the way to Masaka we had an eventful drive. Our driver, George, is a well traveled and educated man. He lead several trips to Iraq for engineering projects from Uganda. He's also from the north - half his direct family was killed in the wars in the 80s. Early into our drive we were quickly stuck in traffic. About 20mins into the trip, some lady driving the car in front of us blinkered right, so we passed on the left. while she blinkered right, she proceeded to drive left, and met our front cow-bars (bars protecting the grill). Small accidents attract immediate spectators, mostly to the detriment of the party at fault. in more serious accidents, those at fault often suffer "mob justice", where the general public will beat the at-fault driver. particular, if the at-fault driver kills anyone, the at-fault driver will often also get killed. the mob quickly turned to our favour and was heckling the woman. after 10-15mins, things settled down and we headed out.
 
the next morning we headed to the border town of Matukula. what a process. First, the first gate has a guy standing at it who isn't a border guard. He's just a guy interested in who is going through the border and will provide services to help you get through the arduous process. He asked to see our passports, and Pauls said to refuse. Just a guy who was interested in talking with us and seeing passports. Once we got through the first, we get our exit stamps from Uganda. then George takes the car to get its export papers. then he takes it to get its import papers across in Tanzania. then we walk to the Tanzanian customs. They greet us in a very friendly manner and ask about our trip. eventually they get to processing the visas. Once George finally finishes up importing the car, and buying Tanzanian car insurance, we were off. About 45mins later, a rattle appeared in the truck. one of the two fan belts broke. We drove into the next town, Bukoba, and straight to the mechanics. Within minutes, we had 3-4 mechanics and another 5-10 spectators checking out our Matatu. Pauls and I went for a walk to find hot water so he could make coffee. We went into a hotel and asked for hot water. Because of language barriers, he didn't seem to understand. he consulted with the woman in the kitchen for a couple of minutes, then came back saying "no". we moved on. eventually we made it back to the station. the crowd was just as large. George had gone with a mechanic into town to the Indian guy who sells fan belts. in the mean time, Eriks pulled out his banjo and started playing. the locals poked fun and laughed - they'd never seen anyhthing like it. eventually George made it back, the car was fixed, and we were off. 
 
the roads were great, aside from way to many random gates in the road, speed bumps and rumble strips. The countryside was beautiful. We hugged the edge of Lake Victoria for much of the drive. The terrain was rocky and hilly. I find most amazing that for every 1 car we'd see travelling on the roads, we'd see at least 10x as many people walking or biking. Walking is the way of life here. Many many hours later we arrived in the city of Mwanza, the last city before the Serengeti. but to get into the city we had to take a ferry. The Mzungus (us) were harassed by a troup of 15 kids trying to sell us anything and everything. then when that failed, it was just straight begging. it was amusing, but kept us on edge for fear of theft. we had one young entrepreneur who offered us water. we said we'd prefer beers. he came back 10mins later with beers for us. good service!
 
We found decent accommodation for $5 each at a 4 star hotel and settled in. Many Indian businessmen were there with their 20 year old prostitute girlfriends. When eating, the power went out for 1mins before the generators kicked in. When the lights went back on there were many too many cockroaches on the ground. they scattered though once the lights went on and we continued to eat. 
 
early the next morning we set out for the Serengeti. We arrived at the park by 10am, registered and headed in. Within 10mins, we found a pair of lions sleeping at the side of the road. lions mate up to 100x per day during the season, so we decided to stick around to see if they would. time passed, and the beers got to our bladders. since the lions were asleep, we took the risk to step out of the car and relieve ourselves. my first serengeti experience involved me peeing 15ft from the lions in plain view of them. what a start!
 
we crossed the Serengeti to the Central point and basically saw everything in many many numbers except for more lions. we got to camp, unpacked and set up our tent. once completed, we headed out for a game drive. Again, far too many animals to count, given that it was the great migration. probably saw more than 30,000 zebras and wilderbeast in our first 10mins. lots of elephants, giraffes, hyenas, birds and impalas/antelopes etc.
 
after the game drive, we got back to the camp. now that it was dark, the camp took on a different perspective. there was nothing separating us from the wild. unpacking the car in the dark, I noticed some eyes staring at me about 30 feet away. we shined the light and it looked like a leopard. luckily it wasn't - it was a smaller cat, a "cerval cat". We headed to the kitchen, where all the local black guys were cooking for the guests. we were the only whites in the kitchen. they applauded us and were intrigued to see how we cooked. eventually the night settled down. as we went to bed around midnight, we could hear elephants about 100-200m away eating away at the trees. then, when all were asleep I woke up to a loud roar, distinctly that of a lion. my hear shot up to 200 beats a minute, and being the one closest to the end of the tent in the direction of the sound, I thought it was over for me. more roars ensued, and then the laughs of the hyenas. great. eventually I settled down and fell back asleep. we woke up several hours later. As soon as I got out of the tent, there stood a full sized giraffe 8 feet away eating some breakfast. he was towered over George's tent, preventing George from getting out. eventually the giraffe moved on and George was free. 
 
we headed out for many more game drives. many herds of elephants, zebras including both their young. the animals were within feet of our vehicles. in the great migration, we had a panoramic view of literally millions of animals. we drove into the migration and literally stopped the wilderbeast from running. they looked at us confused, and then started to run around both sides of the vehicles. after all that fun, we thought the evening was over. then pauls spotted a lion in full attack. she ran at the migration at full speed, then ducked into the grass right before it. crawling up, she eventually pounced on a zebra. the zebra managed to escape, but not until a lenghty pursuit. we also got to see many hippos, multiple leopards and a couple of crocs. lastly we saw phenomenal sunsets and several great thunderstorms.
 
on our last morning, I splurged and bought a hot air balloon ride for Pauls and I. we got into the air for sunrise. definitely the most peaceful way to travel. we ascended to 1000ft and would go as low at 4ft above ground. we clipped tree tops and got a great perspective. we could see the animal trails in the grasses. when we landed, we were served a champagne breakfast in the middle of the Serengeti. then they drove us to a large acatia tree under which they had set up a table for breakfast. delicious, and right in the middle of the Serengeti. we took full advantage of the unlimited champagne and the experience. in the mean time, Eriks and Linda toured from below, getting some amazing exposure to lions with their cubs, ostrich mating rituals and lions panting after finishing off a Zebra carcass.
 
when finished, we headed back to camp to pack up and move to a camp site close to the western edge of the park. since the migration was in the central, there was much less going on. when we arrived at our camp site, nobody was there to greet us, except that right at the camp site, sat a very large lioness. she wasn't interested in moving so we moved to a different site. the ranger eventually let us stay by the river in a hostel that wasn't in use. it was a concrete hut with outdoor cooking. it was also 25ft from the river, where a pack of 20-25 hippos were staying. they kept us on our feet all night with their laughs and splashes. luckily none of them exited the river via our campsite.
 
in the morning we headed out and started the long drive back. for some reason we were exceptionally popular with the police on the way home. since they don't have radar guns, they just decide to stop cars randomly. most would stop us just to chat with us, the Mzungus. One particular police officer went out of his way to welcome us to Tanzania and wanted to learn all our names and where we were from. pretty comical experience. another police officer wanted to know where George had put the fire extinguisher and the safety triangle (Which you lay on the road in case you break down). the equipment was packed deep in the truck. The police officer asked "what will you do when there is a fire?" we laughed and eventually moved on. another cop was chatting a bit too long and Pauls said in a smiling voice "will you be serving us dinner as well or can we leave now?" nothing happened, no tickets and we had fun. another humourous moment was when we were on the ferry on the way back. We were parked in the line of cars ready to go on the ferry. then a parking ticket women came over and ticketed all of us. apparently the ferry wait line is not for parking. Pauls told her she must hit the jackpot since cars line up here every hours 24 hours a day. she looked confused and gave us a 500 Tsh fine ($0.25). we happily paid."

Africa - Safari in Serengeti National Park

Pictures from our amazingly timed and executed, personal-hire, DIY, camping-with-nothing-between-you-and-the-lions-elephants-and-giraffes-but-the-wall-of-your-tent, safari. We welcome you to
join us in our voyage from Kampala, Uganda, around the western and southern edges of Lake Victoria into Tanzania. Final destination - the Serengeti National Park.
Then join us for our first few adventures in Masaka, Uganda - our home for almost a month.

Africa - Entebbe, Kampala, Jinja

Our first set of pictures from Africa! Join us for our first days in Uganda:

Tschüss, Deutschland! Selam, Türkiye!

We have finally ventured out from the familiar order of the EU to the unknown beyond, and all we had to do was step on the plane. Next stop, Istanbul. As soon as the cabin was set loose from its seatbelts, a throng of small bodies of chaos let loose a deafening rebellion, which was somehow allowed to continue unchallenged for the duration of the flight. It seems we along with every family from some small village in Turkey were equally excited by the low priced flight into Istanbul’s Sabiha Gokcen airport. Unfortunately, our last minute planning left us paying the difference + with a bogus exchange rate (when they say you can pay in Euros – do it) and an unnecessarily extravagant personal shuttle for the 40 kilometer (that’s why it’s so cheap) drive to our hostel in downtown Istanbul – lessons learned. Having landed in Asia, we crossed back into Europe on our way to Istanbul. As we crossed the bridge that separates these two continents, the sirens and lights of ambulances raced past us to aid in the rescue effort following the earthquakes that must have shaken the eastern border as our plane hit the runway. Our friendly driver took the opportunity to give us a few pointers (“never say it’s your first time in Istanbul”) and to show off the beautiful night views of some of the city’s most famous icons - the Hagia Sophia, the Blue Mosque, and the wall surrounding the city’s old quarter.

After a short, sleepless night we enjoyed a rooftop terrace breakfast with a view overlooking the Golden Horn. Bellies filled to the brim to take full advantage of the Turkish version of the continental breakfast, we headed to the hostel’s in-house travel agent to book a 9-hour bus ride to the Ecovillage we had arranged to volunteer for during our brief, 10-day stay in Turkey. This arrangement, also having happened at the last minute, left us swimming in a lot of unknowns – How would we find the farm from the bus terminal? Would the long ride be worth the trouble? How do you say “Can we stop, my bladder is about to explode” in Turkish? Hedging our bets, with a few of the more important local words and phone numbers scribbled in our journals, we began our marathon bus trip to Dedetepe Organic Farm in Küçükkuyu on the Aegean coast. During our journey, a super gregarious off-duty bus driver toured us through every feature and luxury of his bus, speaking to us as though we were only pretending not to speak any Turkish. Yet, somehow, true to form, Eriks was able to get the man’s entire life story – for instance, apparently he learned to drive at the age of 12 and his son is a recent divorcee. We arrived at the farm after dark to an empty farm, exhausted and confused. It was only an hour or so after our arrival that the farm’s inhabitants returned from a soccer game against a local team.

Over the next days, all our doubts were dispelled and our expectations surpassed. We received an effortlessly warm welcome by the many like-minded strangers working and volunteering at Dedetepe (Dede = grandfather, tepe = hill). The roughly 5 acre organic olive farm is owned by a ½ Turkish, ½ British couple and their two insanely energetic daughters. Working and volunteering with us were 1 Turk, 1 Palestinian, 3 Germans, a French couple (who rode their tandem bike all the way from France), 2 Americans and 1 Italian (who we refer to, lovingly, as the violent vegan). Fortunately, our short stay also allowed us to meet the local sustainable agriculture community that shares a network with Dedetepe, Bugday Association (Turkey’s version of WWOOF). It was strangely normal that this community, who graciously hosted all of the farm’s volunteers for a New Moon party, reminded us of some we know in Colorado. With this impressively international circle, we shared hopeful intentions, tea, and an inspiring movie (Fierce Light). All this left me with a strangely normal feeling – we must know these people from somewhere, sometime?

As a member of the Global Ecovillage Network, Dedetepe is powered by wind, solar and volunteers, who work a few hours a day in exchange for food and lodging. Check out our pictures of the farm to see for yourself the creativity of the setup and friendliness of the faces. During the warm months, the farm produces an array of its own garden goodies from grapes to beans, but the primary focus is always olives, olive oil and olive oil-based soap. Every Friday is market day, where a few of the volunteers venture off the farm to pick up all the necessary supplies for the week. The first few days after, the pantry is bursting at the seams with fresh veggies, cheese and bread. Chores are split up among all of the farm’s inhabitants and volunteers, with everyone rotating through the necessary basics of cooking in the vegetarian, often vegan (especially the farther from the last market day you get), communal kitchen and cleaning the shared adobe and tile hamaam (bath). Other projects are divvied up on the basis of need and interest. Basically, we were offered as many opportunities to get our hands dirty as we could handle. Eriks played handyman for the farms many basic structural projects: giving the welcome sign a solid foundation, managing the preparation for and assembly of a new storage tent, and creating a new shelving paradigm for the explosion of pots and pans in the kitchen (see pictures). My responsibilities included pruning the tangle of generations-old grapevines and preparing them for the winter (expanding on the skills gained during our guest appearance as grape pickers), watering the farms many young trees, and feeding and caring for the farms gaggle of adopted cats. My playing vet included me practicing my hand at giving one poor cat a shot everyday - though, it was always with the assistance of the Violent Vegan and another couple sets of hands.

Unless you were awake at the crack of dawn to hear the layers of call to prayer that sounded from all corners of the valley, an average day at Dedetepe started around 9 am (unless you were cooking) for a group breakfast. The morning menu often consisted of fresh pomegranates, bread with local honey or very local olive oil, homemade quince or fig jam, eggs from the farm’s chickens, and a couple of pots of hot tea, served in the classic Turkish double-decker kettles. If you were lucky, you might even be treated to a cup of Palestinian coffee a-la-Mohammad. Afterward, the farm’s inhabitants would spread to the corners of the property to feed and care for the various farm fauna (approximately 20+ cats, 6 dogs, 25 chickens, 2 rabbits, and 1 half-blind horse), water and manage the diverse farm flora (medicinal herbs, garden goodies, decorative trees & shrubs), repair and evolve the built environment (composting toilet, irrigation system, etc.). Around lunchtime, hungry hands would assemble to quicken the pace of production in the kitchen. Afterwards, the inhabitants would sometimes again part ways until dinner. Other times, group yoga sessions would be proposed for the top deck of the 3 story outdoor lounge or farm medicinal herb tours would by hosted by the farm’s owner. Then, yet again, another group of chef’s would converge to whip up chapattis, curries, soups, ratatouilles, dumplings, brick oven pizzas/cookies/breads, or just mash together leftovers from previous meals – sometimes giving the dish a new identity, other times old ingredients giving themselves away like a bad fake id. Much like anywhere we establish a home (no matter how temporary) our days seemed to revolve around eating food and bonding while preparing it. At Dedetepe, it felt like this is where most of the community magic happened. At night there were village weddings, new moon parties and fire circles to explore. By the time we had enjoyed a hot water/cold air shower and our heads hit the pillows – we were running on empty.

After bidding farewell to the Dedetepe time-warp microcosm, we took a night bus back to Istanbul to explore the city for a day before leaving for Africa (!). The bus arrived with our sore-eyed, zombie selves at 6 am to the bus terminal in Istanbul. From what we could gather through our desperate attempts to pantomime and interpretive dance our intention to get to the old town, the metro wouldn’t be available for another hour so we transferred to another bus that we were directed to. A few buses and a couple of hours (should have been 30 min) later, we finally found ourselves in the heart of the city, drunk on sleeplessness. We took refuge in our hip, edgy-yet-very welcoming hostel until after breakfast. During the course of the next 36 hours, we crisscrossed the city by foot, from the new town’s hidden (hard to find a 2nd time) handcrafted goods shops, to the old town’s kaleidoscope spice market, seemingly endless bazaar, captivating street art and overpopulated tourist attractions. Unfortunately, our brief visit did not allow us to follow the sea of tourists in line for the entrances through the gates of the Hagia Sophia, the Blue Mosque or the Topkapi Palace. For our one night in Istanbul, we had the pleasure of the company of a lovely local tour guide, who escorted us from dinner at the inlet’s fish markets, to a hilltop hookah and tea with a view, to drinks in the hopping hip strip of bars, clubs and Turkish-style beer gardens.

Amazing how a mere 10 days in the historical crossroads between East and West absorbed us so completely. A country as intriguing and culturally rich deserves a one-way ticket and an open palate – I have no doubt that we will return someday. Tesekkür Ederim, Türkiye. Until next time.

Türkçe 101:
• Lütfen = Please
• Teşekkür Ederim = Thank you
• Merhaba/Selam = Hello

A pair of beautifully simple recipes learned while at Dedetepe:

Turkish Cola – energizing and refreshing, plus it doesn’t make your teeth feel like coral
• Molasses (we used grape)
• Lemongrass
• Lemon
• Dilute as necessary

Palestinian Coffee
• Ground Coffee
• Ground Cardamom
• Boil water and pack the coffee/cardamom mixture on top and let it steep for a few minutes
• Strain and enjoy

Turkiye! (we have even added captions finally)

Drinking wine is romantic. Making wine is tough.

Greetings from Masaka, Uganda! This will be our home for almost the next month as we live with our friends Paul and Sonya while volunteering with an agro-forestry NGO (www.sscportal.org) We arrived a couple of weeks ago in Uganda after a 10 day “layover” in Turkey. Whereas our rhythm in Germany – waking, lunch, and quitting time – was set by the rhythm of the bells, in Turkey the rhythm of our day on the olive farm was set by the call to prayer echoing high and long from the minarets of the many mosques in the vicinity of the town of Kucukkuyu (pronounced Koo-chyoo-koo-yoo with the emphasis on the 2nd and 4th syllable). In Uganda, we have no real rhythm yet as we had been living more of a sheltered, touristy lifestyle from within the Afripads compound in the grimy and crowded capital city of Kampala before heading out last week to whitewater raft the headwaters of the Nile and ultimately for an epic safari in Serengeti National Park in Tanzania.

Before we catch you up on the present, here is an excerpt that I wrote on my journal from a few weeks back while living on the French-German border at Weingut Becker:

The bells ring. The alarm clock goes off. The church bells ring again – at 7:15 with a slightly less driving rhythm than the 7…and then an even more intense ring again at 7:30…and yet again every 15 minutes.

Linda and I peel our aching bodies from bed and we venture out every day to pick grapes – again
We stop for breakfast at a small bakery 2 blocks from our pensione - again - just a mere 1.5 blocks from our employer, Weingut Becker. Café mit milch, Zwiebelkuchen, and Nussplunder (pastries) in hand we greet the Germans, “Morgen,” the French, “Bonjour.” Most of them smoke - assembled in groups by mother tongue - waiting to jointly board the dusty, beat-up red VW bus that will take us for another day in the vineyard. In the 4th week of the harvest the huddle of smokers has drawn tighter from the chill of the morning dew and the camaraderie knowing there are finally less than 4 varieties left to cut/hand-select spread out across 5 hectares (~10 acres).

After the few weeks we have been living in the town of Schweigen - a town where you either make wine or have come as a tourist to drink it - Linda and I have definitely settled into the rhythm of the everyday as part of the working class. If the expected rains hold off and the grapes are not diluted with water, the harvest should be done by week’s end. If not, we will have to wait for the grapes to dry and hope there is not too much spoilage in the vineyard – increasing our work as harvesters and the stress of the winemaker. While the rhythm has been a nice change from the openness/uncertainty of travel, we are excited to finish the stanza of the harvest so that we may spend a bit more time in the cellar now that we have experientially absorbed the way each of the unique grape varieties grow and flourish on the vine.

Working in the vineyard, we frantically try to keep pace with line of folks harvesting the “trauben” (grapes) with our “skere” (shears) we must “probiere” (taste) every so often to determine whether the quality and sweetness of the grapes passes muster to be thrown into each of our “eimer” (bucket) or simply cast to ground to provide nutrients for next year’s crops. Through mostly improvised sign language and 3-way translation attempts, we have also learned that a Chardonnay must not have any Botrytis mold so that it remains “trocken” (dry) and crisp, whereas the same mold can help add “zucker” (sugar) and improve the “aroma” (flavor) of a Riesling. The “spatburgunder” (pinot noir) must be harvested early with sugar added during maceration for the highest quality and complexity. No grapes should ever be harvested that have a greenish Penicillin mold or have become “esikis” (vinegar) on the vine from the larvae of insects. (Sidenote – we often hear the word “schneller” (faster) and never learned the word German word for slow down.)

Not only are we learning the subtleties of how the flavors from fresh grapes magically metamorphose into the finished wines, we are learning the subtleties of the distinct languages and cultures in a region with a history as tangled as a grape vine. Half of the vineyards we harvest are in France and half are in Germany. To make matters more complex, the German region of the Pfalz has a distinct language, “Pfalzisch” that is almost unintelligible for even another German from Berlin, who speaks “Hoch Deutsch” (High German) let alone for a couple of Latvian-Americans who listened to a few “How to Speak German” audio-lessons. To make matters even more complex, on the French side of the border the same is lost in translation between a Frenchwoman who would try to speak “Alsacish” with a Frenchman from Paris. These agricultural regions may be neighbors but are deeply proud of their entrenched cultural differences. This might be a result of the fact that the Pfalz in western Germany as well as the bordering Alsace in eastern France have been the frontline between empires for much of written history. The area we worked every day is a beautiful landscape that still is massively scared with dismantled gun turrets, graves, and trenches from the World Wars.

We are impacted on a day to day basis not only in learning different perspectives about the contentious history from the toughened or even slightly battle-jaded residents, but also because the 20+ harvesters each day were comprised of a smattering of cultures and languages that more often than not don’t speak a common tongue even though they all live within a stone’s throw of the Rhine river. Every day feels kind of like the punch line of joke that starts out with, “What do you get when 2 Latvian-Americans go out to harvest grapes with 5 Germans, 4 Pfalzisch, 6 Alsacish, 3 French, 2 Poles, 2 Finns, and a Romanian?” The easiest answer is a lot of confusion, mildly awkward giggling, and of course…very good wine.

The wines are served liberally and religiously at the daily group “midtagessen” (lunch) with the 35+ employees of the vineyard. The menu always starts with hot soup (usually creamy and even served on hot days) – followed by some type of meat, cheese, starch, and generally just a trace of a vegetable for color. The scene seems reminiscent of the traditions in a king’s court from 500 or more years ago. The winemaking family and their loyal hunting dogs assume their positions at the head of the table and everyone else takes their unassigned yet clearly designated hierarchical spot at the 4 long tables aligned end-to-end in the cobblestone courtyard dappled in shade by the fat leafed trees that grow within.

We sample sparingly while others add glugs to their soup from the 8-10 varied wine bottles that are put out every day at lunch. We are starting to make connections to the taste-potential we sense in the grape varieties that we may have harvested just that very morning. Each variety as well as each character in the court is finally starting to reveal its tastes - their charm as well as their complexity. Linda and I usually sit somewhere in the middle of the table hierarchy and most often converse the interns who are required to do a practicum at a winery as a part of their university studies. The interns speak the best English of our colleagues and have very interesting stories to tell. One 14th generation winemaker-to-be who told us that before he chose to study viticulture that his parents sat him down and offered to sell the vineyard if he did not want to continue the tradition. His unforced choice goes without saying.

In the evenings, after returning from the slightly lubricated afternoon of working in the vineyard (generally, either wet or sunburned), some days we go work our second shift in the cellar to help press that day’s grapes. As we seem to be straddling the role of migrant workers and distinguished guests, we do have the choice of the second shift. The other interns that work side by side with us in the vineyards all day and are required to help out in the cellar until the work is done at 9, 10, 11, or even 12PM – the grapes must be pressed as soon as they have been harvested, regardless of the hour, six days per week. While the winemaker is making complex decisions, the outcomes of which will not be known until the wine ages for at least another year and a half, most of our work generally entails squeegeeing the floors, monitoring pumps, and hanging around until an extra hand is we required.

Sometimes the 31 year old, burly winemaker, Fritz gives us a taste of the hard work that abounds. This includes spending 2 hours at night doing punchdowns – a process of standing on top of the open, oak fermenter that bubbles like a swamp with CO2 and the acidity of the grapes. Then using what is essentially a slippery, 6 foot long whisk, one must stir and punch-down all of the grape-skins that have floated to the top. The key to success is using all the strength that can be mustered without slipping and falling into dangerously acidic, gurgling brew. Other work involves climbing into the reeking 7000 liter oak fermenters to shovel out the grape skins after maceration is complete or getting into the massive stainless steel wine press to clean it for the next variety, which could be multiple times per day. Otherwise, if the work is light in the cellar any particular evening, we can most always go to sample the many excellent wines with Fritz’s welcoming sister, Helena who is in charge of the tasting room and much of the behind the scenes. She generously has a pitcher at the ready of the young wine, maybe only a few days old as well as vintages from years past. We are beginning to finally understand what the “wine snobs” mean when they say that 2008 was a good year.

We retire to our pensione each night stinky, sticky, sunburned and saturated.

The last of Deutschland and the first shots from Turkey

Pictures of working at Weingut Becker (French-German border) for the last month and then a few shots from our weekend trip to Freiburg

moving on from the EU...

Just a few more days before we say 'Tschus' to the damp, fall, German weather and start to head back towards the heat of the tropics! We just finished up our month of work at the winery and are heading to Heidelberg by way of Stuttgart for a bit of R&R before flying from Frankfurt to Istanbul on Sunday. We are looking forward to catching up on the blog, etc before we are back at work on the next harvest in Turkey (olives). Check out what will be our next digs here:

http://dedetepe.org/?lang=en

We will only be in Turkey for 10 days and then we head to Uganda to stay with our friends Paul & Sonya through mid-December. Here is an overview of the good work they are doing:

www.afripads.com

While in Uganda, we plan on a going on safari and doing a little exploration of Tanzania and Kenya. In addition we are hoping to find volunteer work. Sounds like we've got a good lead to help out with rural renewable energy through:

www.sccportal.org/Vi-Agroforestry-Programme.aspx

And then on December 10th we head out to Thailand!

Weingut Becker

Here is the website for the winery we have been working at for the last few weeks during the harvest:

http://www.friedrichbecker.de

We will be here for another couple of weeks, working in the cellar before heading out to Istanbul on the 23rd. More blogging coming soon. 

Italy - Agroturismo in Tuscany and Slow Food Cheese Fest in Bra/Torino

Trip Overview

For anyone that might be interested, here’s an overview of our trip so far:

Middle – End of May:
o Wrap up at work
o Complete Wilderness First Responder certification course
o Pack/sell/give away our belongings/say “hasta luego” to our Colorado family

June:
o U-Haul belongings to Linda’s family’s summer house in Garezers (Latvian summer camp) in Three Rivers, MI
          Work on projects around the summer house
          Enjoy some summertime in Michigan with family and friends
o Head east, stopping in Sandusky, OH for a sailing lesson from Eriks’ aunt Ina

July:
o Continue east to the Moore family cabin in Salisbury, CT for a week of relaxation, wild blueberry picking, enjoying the pristine waters of Mt. Riga.
o Pit stop in Rhinebeck, NY to visit Devin at Omega Holistic Healing Retreat Center
o Arrive at Eriks’ family’s home in DC
        Family fun, catching up with friends, meeting new additions (Ms. Vivian Porter-Koontz)
        A flurry of last minute details/packing for our adventure
o LEAVE THE COUNTRY!
        Fly to Latvia via Reikyavik and Helsinki

August
o Visit family and friends in Riga and Valmiera, Latvia (see blog post below)
o Recoup from Latvian adventure in Copenhagen, Denmark at Eriks’ cousin Karolla’s (see blog post below)

September
o Travel by train into Germany, visiting Stuttgart and Berlin (see blog post below)
o Travel by car from Stuttgart, Germany to Tuscany via Austria (see pictures above)
o Relax and overindulge in everything Italian at an Agro-Tourism villa near Chiusdino, Italy
o Drive through Genoa to Torino for the Slow Food Cheese Festival (see pictures above)
o Arrive ready to work off Italian overindulgence at Weingut Becker in Schweigen, Germany

"Poor But Sexy"

“Poor but Sexy” is Berlin’s gay mayor’s unofficial slogan for the city. After last month’s visit to this progressive, kooky and gritty city, the slogan (on top of the existence of an openly gay mayor) seems appropriate. When I first visited Berlin in 2006, I somehow managed to completely miss seeing anything of note and didn’t actually enjoy myself at all. This time around, however, the interesting blend of East and West that we found resonated with me in a strangely stabilizing way. The few days we spent here helped me to close a little tighter the very palpable gap that seems to still exist between Eastern Europe (Latvia) and Western Europe (Denmark, Germany).

A few of Linda’s most notable experiences in Berlin:

• Getting intellectual with our hosts and their spunky, local friends

• Sampling plentiful and very affordable Sudanese/Vietnamese/Thai/Turkish/Lebanese/German/you-name-it food available at every corner

• Exploring the wealth of street art and creative architecture that cover the urban landscape

• East Side Gallery: Interestingly, the Berlin Wall, once a barrier representing segregation and control, now seems to serve as a cultural and temporal bridge. The parts of it that remain act simultaneously as monuments dedicated to remembering the unimaginable and as canvasses for artists, which are therapeutically swathed in the colors and shapes of humanity’s emotional gamut. Check out our pictures (below) to experience some of the art of the East Side Gallery.

• Berlin’s Tempelhof Airport: Expanded by the Nazis to become “the mother of all airports” and used throughout the Cold War by the US military presence, it has found a new life as a well loved and well used public park, community garden and open-air living room. Spending a sunny Sunday afternoon here, we were surrounded with people of all ages from countless different cultural backgrounds all barbequing, playing and relaxing next to one another. Unfortunately, we got “locked out” of our hosts' apartment and weren’t able to grab our camera before heading to Templehof, but here’s a pretty good picture from the web: http://mullenkerri.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/09/090510-tempelhof-park.jpg . Who knew airplane runways made such great rollerblade tracks?

• Getting “locked out”: Each new location we find a temporary home in there’s a new kitchen with its own arrangement, new toilets with buttons in different (sometimes unexpected) places, new showers with different methods for flood avoidance, washing machines in a new language, a new front door and lock with a unique set of special pushes, pulls and number of clicks. Let’s just say we were “locked out”.

Berlin & Stuttgart, Germany

After Denmark, we headed by train into Germany - which will be our home for the next month. We started out in Stuttgart, where we visited with Katie, a childhood friend of Eriks' who is completing her PhD in Viticulture at the University of Hohenheim. Then we spent a few days urban adventuring in Berlin with Aleksandra and Rudis. Check out some pictures:

Photos from Denmark!

Click on the image below for a full size show

reflections on latvia through a danish lens

So here goes version 2.0 of my first blog contribution. This is v2.0 because although Linda and I independently journaled about Latvia, there was an unmistakable echo. Since Linda did such a great job of capturing many of our shared thoughts, I will try to find an original beat. This is either a really good sign for our evolving relationship or a sign that we really need to implement Blake’s advice to consciously make a routine to carve out time apart. At the very least this tells me that we should alternate our blog posts.

The one thing I do feel compelled to echo from Linda’s post is that this trip so far has been an exercise in letting go of our expectations, assumptions, and egos. Expectations and assumptions seem to consistently and unexpectedly get us into trouble. Whether those are expectations about a Latvia we once thought we knew or as to what any given weekend of hanging out with friends or family might entail or even blurting out the assumption that life in Latvia must now be better for an average Latvian than under the Soviet rule.  It would probably be helpful to come up with some mantra to ask questions before making assertions – tougher said than done when trying to keep a conversation flowing as the shots from the third bottle of vodka are being poured from the left (despite pleas of mercy) and from the right the next scoop of beef heart salad has been put on our plates as a chaser. Ego is challenged upon waking the next morning in my skivvies, next to Linda and a jungle of oversized stuffed animals on the leopard print living room couch when you later overhear folks wondering why you would have travelled all the way from America just to sleep.

 In Latvia, we were well loved and were generously treated to the best that everyone had to offer – given the best of everything to the point of excess.  Getting to Denmark to visit my cousin Karola, her husband Claus, and sons Timo (3), and Felix (4months), was such a fantastic opportunity to take a vacation from vacation, reflect, compare and contrast! Many aspects of Denmark were strikingly similar to Latvia, such as the abundance of dairy products in every conceivable stage of fermentation.  Seriously though, the one overarching, standout difference was ORDER. Since Denmark is just a quick skip across the Baltic Sea from Latvia there are many streets, parks, alleys, dairy sections in the grocery store that could be easily confused between Copenhagen and Riga. Though, whereas in Latvia our expectations were perpetually shattered, Denmark quickly seemed to become predictable. Not only was it predictable because we slept in everyday and had homemade buns and café lattes for brunch, but predictable in the sense that it seems like everyone speaks perfect English, rides their bike, has a kid (that takes unattended afternoon naps with the other babies in their parked strollers in the baby farm otherwise known as the courtyard of the apartment complex) and that, in general, it seems like the vast majority of people like to follow the rules. This was quite evident even by the way people drive – rush hour traffic feels no different from Boulder. People yield politely as they walk along crowded sidewalks, the streets are clean, and even at a deserted 2am intersection, people will not cross until the little green crosswalk man is lit. From our limited sample group, it even sounds like Danes trust their politicians whereas the first word that EVERY Latvian uses to describe politics is ‘korupcija.’ (no need to to translate that I’m guessing)

In Copenhagen, we spent most of our time walking or cycling around the city because there is a bike lane on every street and because we were trying to keep our budget in check in a city where a cup of coffee or beer can easily be $10. The long walks and rides offered good time to reflect on topics ranging from (i) the effect of our psychosocial roots on our own personalities, (ii) whether we are genetically predisposed to liking pork and dairy products nurtured from Latvian soil, as well as (iii) our investigations into renewable energy and energy efficiency opportunities in Latvia. Back to comparing and contrasting Latvia and Denmark: ultimately I tend to think the architectural similarities and the palpable cultural divide both stem simply from history – the Danes have the oldest noble bloodline still in power in the world, while Latvians were feudal serfs for 800 years and just broke away from the Soviets 20 years ago. It takes time for life – be it a plant or people - to grow back together when a divide is so entrenched. After all, weren’t all of the northern Europeans just a bunch of tribal, pagan farmers a mere 900 years ago?

We were doted on by Karola and Claus who offered us all that we could want while giving us the space and chillness to take things at our very lackadaisical pace. Last night we were even spoiled with guest-list tix from one of Karola/Gerhardt’s ex-band members who is on a euro tour (check out Kurt Vile and the Violators, they are on Matador records and will be finishing up their summer touring with Bright Eyes and then the Flaming Lips!). It was inspiring to absorb a little culture from live music as well as the fascinating exhibit we went to last week at the Louisiana Museum of art north of Copenhagen. It was quite aptly a series of exhibits meant to investigate what is ‘Home.’ The exhibit explored the psychological and social effects of architecture and urban planning all the way to what are most fundamental physical and soulful necessities of a home. Sculptures, demos, photos, essays, websites – you name it. All in all, I walked away invigorated from the exhibit and felt compelled to sketch until the wee hours of the morning to draft every cross-section of the home that I hope to build for Linda and me someday. I guess it was an appetite that I hadn't nourished in our current home-less/full vagabond adventures. This ignored hankering might also explain why Linda and I seem to derive joy as never before in simple things like doing laundry, loading the dishwasher or even taking turns babysitting the uber adorable 4-month old Felix.

We have now said goodbye to Felix (and Karola, Claus, and Timo too) and are currently heading south on a high-speed train - that is nonetheless going way too slow - on our way to visit Katie in Stuttgart. The last story that I have to share with you for now just happened before making our transfer in Hamburg.  After Linda and I hemmed and hawed about spending an additional $20 to reserve seats we ultimately did not out of principle and the price we paid for our Eurail passes. As we scoured for open seats on the rather full train, it just so happened that I sat next to a woman whose hands showed fading henna tattoos and the honest wrinkles of labor. By some strange act of universal synchronicity, it turns out that she was in the last couple hours of her 11 month journey around the world working as a farmer; coming from India by way of Sweden. She shared stories and offered contacts and hints. I sensed that we offered her some comfort while reentering Germany knowing that we had come to her homeland to do exactly what had compelled her to travel elsewhere. As the train rolled off the ferry from Denmark to Germany, I reflected on the interconnectedness of life.  I noticed her eyes mist as she stared out at the fields beyond the tracks – no doubt from an emotional cocktail of homesickness and mourning the end of an adventure.

Our tour of Latvia in pictures

(Click on the photo to see a full-screen version of the slideshow)

One month compressed

It’s hard to believe that we left our home and family in beautiful Boulder, CO 3 months ago – already! There’s been a lot of living happening since then, so we’ve fallen a bit behind on sharing some of our experiences with all you loved ones out there. All of that slacking we’ve been doing has left us a bit overwhelmed with where to start, but here it goes...

Last week we took a dip in the cold waters separating the North Sea from the Baltic Sea. 16⁰C (61⁰F) sounds a lot warmer than it feels. Starting our international adventure in Latvia seemed like it was going to be a nice, easy way to settle into our new, very mobile, packed-in-a-backpack way of life. But looking back on it now, starting our trip in Latvia was as “easy” as “easing” into the cold waters of the coast of Denmark – rewarding and worthwhile, but definitely not easy.

Like so many of the Latvian Americans out there, my weekends and summers growing up were dedicated to Latvian school. We learned about Latvian grammar, history, literature, folklore, traditional arts, etc. - even geography (it’s the size of West Virginia). There was the Latvian Girl Scouts, multiple tradition folk dancing groups performing at multiple international Latvian Song and Dance Festivals, and serving on the board of the American Latvian Youth Association. My mother was the principle of the Chicago Latvian School and to this day spends her summers teaching the next generation of "Latvians" born abroad. Starting from the time I was 6 years old, I visited Latvia and the family who live there multiple times, etc., etc. Because of all of this, I thought I knew what we were in for this time around.

What they say about assumptions is very true...

It seemed like everywhere we went in our 3 weeks in Latvia, we were greeted with intense, almost aggressive graciousness. Both family and friends would go out of their way to make sure you were comfortable and happy. The slightest hint that something wasn’t right (generally the result of a cultural misunderstanding) would result in a flurry of nervous compensation. Our plates and glasses were never empty. A “no, thank you” would get you refilled anyway. To avoid being turned down, pre-lit cigarettes and unsolicited shots and beers eventually began flowing our way. A Latvian word that comes to mind is “viesmīlība”, or “love of guest”. But, unless your ‘guests’ have an intimate relationship with their own limits regarding food, drink, smoke and/or attention, this ‘love’ can feel a little like a Hurricane Irene. Both family and friends seemed perplexed by our need to take time to ourselves.

This is the #1 most obvious (yet somehow not obvious) lesson I've learned thus far – know your own limits so that you are rested and healthy enough to enjoy the ride.

Some other notable lessons:
• Simply speaking a language doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll be understood or really understand what is being said. Though you may entertain your hosts with your funny accent and poor word choice.

• The people that lived through the Soviet occupation don’t really care what you read in history books at Latvian school. If you ask them, many will tell you that, though they had less then, they were guaranteed that little bit. Now, though they have more luxuries and more freedom, they are running to keep up.  

• Sharing a bloodline with people who live on a separate continent doesn’t mean you will have anything in common with them. However, it may grant you a backstage pass into their daily lives and get you some extra patience for your weirdness.

As we were wrestling these assumptions from our egos, we were being spoiled by the best that friends and family had to offer. It is only because of the generosity of these people that we saw and experienced as much as we did in our short visit: we camped in 3 beautiful locations, fished more than I have in my entire life, time traveled at 2 different castle ruins, enjoyed multiple drives through poetic country landscapes, and ate more satiating home-cooked meals than I could almost make room for - and all we had to do was keep up.

Now, our bellies fuller and egos trimmer, we move on to the next chapter of our adventure...