Hey friend! Welcome to Linda and Eriks' vagabond adventures. Please share in the sights, sounds, tastes, smells, and sensations as we visit, work and volunteer our way around the world. Carried by the wind, we hope to contribute to each destination as much as we learn from them - leaving us and every place we visit better than first discovered.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Sa'a Kampuchea (Beautiful Cambodia)
Having now spent a couple of weeks back in the States, the last year has the feeling of a dream that has slipped between our fingers and the crevices in our consciousnesses - sometimes quickly, sometimes not. We are happy to share with you the first installment of our photo essay from our 4.5 months in Cambodia. These images have served as much to remind us of these events, people and ideas as they have to visually communicate them to all you loved ones out there. Thanks for joining us on this awesome journey...enjoy
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Pictures from Thailand and Laos
A few months behind schedule - but, finally, here are some sights from our first month in Southeast Asia! First, our sweet-hippy-fest at the Panya Project in Northern Thailand, where we learned about natural building techniques, permaculture, and organic gardening. Then, we get down in luxurious-honeymoon-crashing style with good friends, Tom and Danielle in and around Chiang Mai (Thailand). Finishing it all up with hilltribe trekking in stunning Laos. Enjoy!
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Interesting musings about Phnom Penh
Just stumbled across a random expat's blog and was quite amazed that this guy has kept up frequent updates and photos detailing the more day-to-day sights and sounds around the city for over 10 years. An interesting evolutionary/developmental perspective:
CHECK IT OUT HERE
I hope you enjoy this until we can get up a few more of our own shots.
CHECK IT OUT HERE
I hope you enjoy this until we can get up a few more of our own shots.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Phnom Penh: Diary Entry 21.2.12
Blog Publisher’s note: While today I feel generally positive, I am taking a big, late-night leap to publish this deeply personal journal that I spewed a few days ago while eclipsed by the darker shades of our travel reality. While life on the road has at moments been easy and dreamy, as a volunteer it has also been quite challenging, especially to our expectations and deep assumptions. In addition, traveling for this long and in this way we have expended much energy and inevitably grown some roots in foreign soil only to be shocked by repeated transplants.
21.2.12
Today I am having difficulty concentrating on anything besides this deep, nagging feeling and am implored to write. While the day began with a resolute spine - peaceful meditation and Kundalini breathing exercises - I feel quite withered and anxious as I now sit in the air conditioned office (in February) thinking superficially about the tasks at hand for my work and life in Cambodia…inevitably wandering into the constraining feeling that comes while contemplating the limits as well as limitlessness of the future.
A wise friend offered a piece of advice as I headed out of Colorado; he said, “the way you leave, is the way you will return.” After 9 months of a journey (and 31 years of life), in this moment it feels like I made the shift from leaving to returning…with only the briefest pause for just BEING.
I have an overwhelming, growing hope for being my FUTURE self – a radical shift into balance…a simple omnipresent peace that I sense is possible…an infinity of deep, rich, autumnal breaths at an effortlessly metered pace – but I lack the ability to simply BE there. This is not a new hope for a slice of enlightenment but one that I always imagined from childhood that would come naturally as soon as I untethered from a ‘normal life.’ Right now - instead of lightness - HOPE is instead DESIRE and adds weight to my labored steps. I feel a sore lump in my throat from the uncertainty of the future, compounded with the smog from the hundreds of thousands of motorbikes in Phnom Penh, and the rolling tobacco I traded away for coconuts to a poor hunter living on Koh Kong Island a few days ago. Each time I swallow…I hope it goes down…but find the lump is apparently not ready to be spiritually digested.
Our travel budget is becoming more emaciated every day forcing contemplation of a return to the “real world.” Needless to say, fundamental questions are becoming more “real” by the moment: Have we fulfilled our expectations of this ‘trip of lifetime’? Do we even want to ‘return’? What labor do we want to do? How do we best serve? Who do we strive to be? Where is our community? How do we get there?
Reading over a job description this morning for a solar advocacy position in Colorado immediately excited me to return to 'my calling,' family, friends, the mountains, and all the other amazing benefits of the American frontier. Then I felt the kryptonite lump in my throat ache with an empty intensity at the thought of returning to the life of high octane, passion-fueled advocacy entailing hard-fought political compromise, being on-call and mentally idling round-the-clock, ego battles of attrition, never fully knowing when enough is enough, and success always being measured as what is inevitably a partial realization of The Goal.
Energy levels and patience are quite low at the moment after being on the road for so long. Energy partially short-circuited by the realization that for budgetary reasons our last hurrah may be in the city of Phnom Penh (instead of a farm or a beach), while working on business based solutions to rural poverty that seem to inevitably require utilization of some agro-chemical inputs (instead of the pure, free-love, organic, nature-loving, hippy hubris that we had set off to Johnny Appleseed). That said we are holding out hope that organic farming will save the day for these biomass-starved farmers and our budget will suffice for some type of keystone spiritual retreat on a tropical beach sometime in April or May after our work in Cambodia is complete in this bustling city on the brink of international stardom. So as not to drain our limited resources in the short term, we strive to keep in check our consumption of the comforts of home (yoga classes, parmesean cheese, canned chicken, chocolate, etc) that are available to us at a privileged price in this city of extremes and expansion. We are learning deeply that short term comforts must always be weighed against the long term effects; whether it is our consumption of luxuries or subsistence farmers’ use of agrochemicals to double their rice yields.
In our relationship, Linda and I continue to soar to greater heights of exploration as well as delve deeper into the mundane. We have definitely surpassed the ‘romantic’ phase by morphing into a partnership of best friends who applaud each other’s healthy farts (a welcome sign when living where refrigeration lacks and street food abounds). The overlap and interplay of our edges and patterns has never been more consciously apparent and complete. The predictability of each other’s reaction never more certain. The tone of voice never more sardonic (like a retired spouse) when we ask the other yet again to repeat something mumbled in exhaustion; or muffled by the roar of traffic, the whirr of the fan, or whatever other omnipresent cacophony. In sum, our genuine communication never has been more honest and compassionate, our partnership never more supportive. The contents of our personalities and backpacks being the only terra firma in a foreign world we choose to make foreign yet again with each bus, train, boat, or plane that we board.
As all of the other sedimentary layers of the known earth erode from the beating waves of regular relocation my roots are struggling to find other nutrients of familiar soil. Unable to draw replenishment from the mountains, family, and friends my starved roots slurp indulgently at comforts/addictions that are available. My roots desire some sort of placation when stripped naked of familiar earth, scantily clad in little more than egotistical, self-defeating depression or bipolar delusions of grandeur at what I could do to solve the problems of the world. This is especially exacerbated when there is so much wrong just around the corner from our apartment, out in the open – poverty, repression, prostitution, and pseudo-slavery; not to mention the torture and genocide that lurks in the shadows of recent history at the high school turned prison a few blocks away. There are more than enough reminders of the ‘luck of the draw’ and those that drew the lowest cards…or have no cards because they were kicked out of the casino by a superpower of a bouncer before they had a chance to play. Very young and very old ‘reminders’ sit on most every corner when we venture out - along the commute to work, trip to pick up groceries, etc. The value of a poor person’s life is grossly undervalued here in a way almost inconceivable anywhere that is neatly packaged into manicured open-space, suburbs, and shopping malls. At home in Colorado - even more so than in DC - I am able to choose not to gaze into the eyes of these reminders.
Some mornings, I groggily forget to lace up my emotional armor of complacency, indifference, aloofness, or even boredom and cannot help but connect with these troubled eyes that look up from the street to meet my own. At these moments I am easily bruised by the impact of both my actions and inaction. I wonder why I am afforded to feel entitled to “rights,” “self worth,” or even “insurance,” while the folks I find myself pitying will likely never even contemplate such concepts I take for granted. Often, even their individual “identities” shrouded by overly broad (though generally well-intentioned) statements that start with “one billion of the world’s people who…”
It is trite to think there is one-size-fits-a-billion problem or solution.
When I get to this point of frustration at the way of the world, I generally crave ‘religious’ practice to more effectively harness the strength of my flighty, unpredictable spirituality. I feel like I am closer than ever to understanding the appeal of placing all of one’s faith into an organized religion. This craving is reinforced as I discover that a vast amount of development work around the world is provided thru ‘faith-based’ groups. Beyond direct support to those with whatever need, religion seems to offer the gift of meaning to one’s actions. It seems to allow the faithful to find some acceptance of the world’s ills as “God’s will.” Placing my faith into a religion would be such an appealing gift if my mind and soul were not so repelled by any man-made institution with the hubris to claim that they can offer all of the answers…especially on behalf of THEIR respective God. After all, if men can speak for the God possessed by them, is not god as limited as those imperfect men?
I resolve more deeply that I must find my own imperfect relationship with the divine. Maybe it could be as simple as a spiritual icon for my eyes to see and brain to process – maybe a holy tattoo on my hands as a reminder - to pause...take a calm breath...before shaking a fist in anger, reaching impulsively for something that numbs, or even reaching out my hand with the intent to help another or myself.
21.2.12
Today I am having difficulty concentrating on anything besides this deep, nagging feeling and am implored to write. While the day began with a resolute spine - peaceful meditation and Kundalini breathing exercises - I feel quite withered and anxious as I now sit in the air conditioned office (in February) thinking superficially about the tasks at hand for my work and life in Cambodia…inevitably wandering into the constraining feeling that comes while contemplating the limits as well as limitlessness of the future.
A wise friend offered a piece of advice as I headed out of Colorado; he said, “the way you leave, is the way you will return.” After 9 months of a journey (and 31 years of life), in this moment it feels like I made the shift from leaving to returning…with only the briefest pause for just BEING.
I have an overwhelming, growing hope for being my FUTURE self – a radical shift into balance…a simple omnipresent peace that I sense is possible…an infinity of deep, rich, autumnal breaths at an effortlessly metered pace – but I lack the ability to simply BE there. This is not a new hope for a slice of enlightenment but one that I always imagined from childhood that would come naturally as soon as I untethered from a ‘normal life.’ Right now - instead of lightness - HOPE is instead DESIRE and adds weight to my labored steps. I feel a sore lump in my throat from the uncertainty of the future, compounded with the smog from the hundreds of thousands of motorbikes in Phnom Penh, and the rolling tobacco I traded away for coconuts to a poor hunter living on Koh Kong Island a few days ago. Each time I swallow…I hope it goes down…but find the lump is apparently not ready to be spiritually digested.
Our travel budget is becoming more emaciated every day forcing contemplation of a return to the “real world.” Needless to say, fundamental questions are becoming more “real” by the moment: Have we fulfilled our expectations of this ‘trip of lifetime’? Do we even want to ‘return’? What labor do we want to do? How do we best serve? Who do we strive to be? Where is our community? How do we get there?
Reading over a job description this morning for a solar advocacy position in Colorado immediately excited me to return to 'my calling,' family, friends, the mountains, and all the other amazing benefits of the American frontier. Then I felt the kryptonite lump in my throat ache with an empty intensity at the thought of returning to the life of high octane, passion-fueled advocacy entailing hard-fought political compromise, being on-call and mentally idling round-the-clock, ego battles of attrition, never fully knowing when enough is enough, and success always being measured as what is inevitably a partial realization of The Goal.
Energy levels and patience are quite low at the moment after being on the road for so long. Energy partially short-circuited by the realization that for budgetary reasons our last hurrah may be in the city of Phnom Penh (instead of a farm or a beach), while working on business based solutions to rural poverty that seem to inevitably require utilization of some agro-chemical inputs (instead of the pure, free-love, organic, nature-loving, hippy hubris that we had set off to Johnny Appleseed). That said we are holding out hope that organic farming will save the day for these biomass-starved farmers and our budget will suffice for some type of keystone spiritual retreat on a tropical beach sometime in April or May after our work in Cambodia is complete in this bustling city on the brink of international stardom. So as not to drain our limited resources in the short term, we strive to keep in check our consumption of the comforts of home (yoga classes, parmesean cheese, canned chicken, chocolate, etc) that are available to us at a privileged price in this city of extremes and expansion. We are learning deeply that short term comforts must always be weighed against the long term effects; whether it is our consumption of luxuries or subsistence farmers’ use of agrochemicals to double their rice yields.
In our relationship, Linda and I continue to soar to greater heights of exploration as well as delve deeper into the mundane. We have definitely surpassed the ‘romantic’ phase by morphing into a partnership of best friends who applaud each other’s healthy farts (a welcome sign when living where refrigeration lacks and street food abounds). The overlap and interplay of our edges and patterns has never been more consciously apparent and complete. The predictability of each other’s reaction never more certain. The tone of voice never more sardonic (like a retired spouse) when we ask the other yet again to repeat something mumbled in exhaustion; or muffled by the roar of traffic, the whirr of the fan, or whatever other omnipresent cacophony. In sum, our genuine communication never has been more honest and compassionate, our partnership never more supportive. The contents of our personalities and backpacks being the only terra firma in a foreign world we choose to make foreign yet again with each bus, train, boat, or plane that we board.
As all of the other sedimentary layers of the known earth erode from the beating waves of regular relocation my roots are struggling to find other nutrients of familiar soil. Unable to draw replenishment from the mountains, family, and friends my starved roots slurp indulgently at comforts/addictions that are available. My roots desire some sort of placation when stripped naked of familiar earth, scantily clad in little more than egotistical, self-defeating depression or bipolar delusions of grandeur at what I could do to solve the problems of the world. This is especially exacerbated when there is so much wrong just around the corner from our apartment, out in the open – poverty, repression, prostitution, and pseudo-slavery; not to mention the torture and genocide that lurks in the shadows of recent history at the high school turned prison a few blocks away. There are more than enough reminders of the ‘luck of the draw’ and those that drew the lowest cards…or have no cards because they were kicked out of the casino by a superpower of a bouncer before they had a chance to play. Very young and very old ‘reminders’ sit on most every corner when we venture out - along the commute to work, trip to pick up groceries, etc. The value of a poor person’s life is grossly undervalued here in a way almost inconceivable anywhere that is neatly packaged into manicured open-space, suburbs, and shopping malls. At home in Colorado - even more so than in DC - I am able to choose not to gaze into the eyes of these reminders.
Some mornings, I groggily forget to lace up my emotional armor of complacency, indifference, aloofness, or even boredom and cannot help but connect with these troubled eyes that look up from the street to meet my own. At these moments I am easily bruised by the impact of both my actions and inaction. I wonder why I am afforded to feel entitled to “rights,” “self worth,” or even “insurance,” while the folks I find myself pitying will likely never even contemplate such concepts I take for granted. Often, even their individual “identities” shrouded by overly broad (though generally well-intentioned) statements that start with “one billion of the world’s people who…”
It is trite to think there is one-size-fits-a-billion problem or solution.
When I get to this point of frustration at the way of the world, I generally crave ‘religious’ practice to more effectively harness the strength of my flighty, unpredictable spirituality. I feel like I am closer than ever to understanding the appeal of placing all of one’s faith into an organized religion. This craving is reinforced as I discover that a vast amount of development work around the world is provided thru ‘faith-based’ groups. Beyond direct support to those with whatever need, religion seems to offer the gift of meaning to one’s actions. It seems to allow the faithful to find some acceptance of the world’s ills as “God’s will.” Placing my faith into a religion would be such an appealing gift if my mind and soul were not so repelled by any man-made institution with the hubris to claim that they can offer all of the answers…especially on behalf of THEIR respective God. After all, if men can speak for the God possessed by them, is not god as limited as those imperfect men?
I resolve more deeply that I must find my own imperfect relationship with the divine. Maybe it could be as simple as a spiritual icon for my eyes to see and brain to process – maybe a holy tattoo on my hands as a reminder - to pause...take a calm breath...before shaking a fist in anger, reaching impulsively for something that numbs, or even reaching out my hand with the intent to help another or myself.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Photos from deep in field - the last of Africa and our biogas work with SCC-Vi
Shots from our work around Lake Victoria, checking in upon small-scale, rural biogas plants. Quite stunning, quite technical, quite real.
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