When In Africa (Plant Trees)

“Wow! what? I’m in…I’m in…Af… Africa? When did this happen??”

Stepping off the plane onto the soil of a continent, that I thought I would never be graced with the experience of stepping foot on to, my mind was constantly repeating the same words over and over again. I was in utter shock. How did this happen? Wasn’t I just sending out college applications a few days ago? But in reality its been years, and I have somehow managed to put myself on the content of AFRICA, with a group of my peers, and one of my favorite professors. I was so flabbergasted that in my first few minutes of being there, before I even got through customs, I lost my jacket. This wasn’t a total loss since I was currently in a pretty warm country, in the midst of their summer, Tanzania. And I was ready for the adventure of a life time.

We trecked only a small portion of the beautiful country of Tanzania, which is the size of three Montanas. We did so much while we were there its hard to even evaluate what to share and what to leave out whenever I have time to share my experience.

The reason we went to Tanzania was to have an anthropological expedition and learn as much as possible. Before we left we also planned on doing as much reforestation work as possible while we are there. This was an amazing opportunity all in itself. Overall we were able to plant over 600 trees in three different areas. The first area, during our first and second day in Africa, we planted trees at the location of where the first baby elephant orphanage in Tanzania is, located in Tarangire National Park. This helped add landscaping to an area that will be snacked on by the massive, beautiful, and endangered elephants. The second area where we planted trees was at a school that severely needed some sort of shade and greenery. This area reflected what I envision to be a dry desert. And the last location was at the base of a watershed that provides a large town with fresh water, including the school where we planted trees at. We hope for the trees planted in this last location to help preserve the water source for many people, for a long time to come.

I was blessed with the experience of being able to plant only a small amount to trees and help an amazing country that in the end gave so much to me, and that will be with me for the rest of my life.

Homesickness: Or how I learned to stop worrying and looked forward to going home

I still have time left in DC.  Two more weeks at my internship (okay, two more 4-day work weeks), as well as three more TWC Friday events, with three more weekends.  And a Monday.

If you can’t tell – I’m getting a little anxious to leave.  If you’d talked to me a month ago, I would have been gung-ho about staying in DC for the summer, convinced I wasn’t going back to Montana until the day or two before fall classes started.

Yeah – I’ve definitely changed.

Don’t get me wrong – I did look into staying in DC for the summer (and it’s still an option – just one that shrinks by the day).  I did the Craigslist hunt for an affordable apartment, quickly learning that my dollar goes a lot farther in Montana than it does in DC.  Seriously guys – Montana rent is so much cheaper than DC.  Just to compare:  $375 gets me an apartment with all utilities, internet, and cable in Montana.  In DC – $450 would get me a bed and room for nothing else, utilities partially included, in a bad part of town.  I also applied for a buttload of summer internships.  But again: a couple of snags.  I needed a paid position (to pay for my overpriced and undersized apartment) and those are few and far between.  Another issue – most of the internship deadlines were back in February, during my first month in DC and long before I considered staying in DC.  For the positions that had later deadlines in April or May, those positions wouldn’t start until late May or early June – too late for me to just hang around in DC without a job.  The biggest issue though – my lack of experience.  DC is a place where you need at least a Bachelor’s degree.  Most positions wanted me to either have or be working towards a Master’s degree.  So . . . that’s an issue.

I don’t want to blame my lack of a summer internship on the hiring places – I’ve had to come to terms with the fact that I’m not a qualified candidate.  But it is a bit of a shock, realizing how much weight DC puts on a degree.  Especially for interns.  That’s what I’m starting to love about applying back in Montana – they let their students be students, and they let their interns be inexperienced.

But speaking in broader, non-job/non-house related terms:  I just miss Montana.

But I miss home.  Not just the mountains, not just the ability to get out doors.  Not just my car and my bed and my stuff (I came to DC with two suitcases, okay?  90% of my clothes are back home) – but all of it.  I miss living in my own room, without a roommate to battle for the shower lights out time.  I miss my friends, and I miss being able to call up someone to just go hang out.  That’s not to say I haven’t made friends in DC – I have.  My roommates are great people, I’ve clicked with some of my classmates, and there are a few people who I know I’ll definitely keep in contact with after this whole program is over.

But I went from Helena to Missoula and took a good chunk of friends with me.  Most of my good friends in college were people I knew in high school, or people I quickly clicked with during freshman year.  It’s weird, leaving behind friendships that I’ve been building for 2+ years and come to DC, where no one knows anyone (okay, that’s a lie – some schools here bring in 10+ students.  I’m the only student from my state, so my situation is a little different).

I miss home.  I miss the comforts I was used to, comforts I can’t reproduce here for various reasons: I can’t put down some roots (for example – I’m wary of buying anything I can’t eat simply because I’ll be flying out in a couple weeks and my suitcase was already stuffed when I came here), and friendships are tricky when you know you’ll both be leaving soon.  It took a couple months, but I’ve finally developed that homesickness that hit people I know a lot sooner.

I’ve loved DC – I’ve met great people, I’ve done awesome things (both in terms of job and personal), and I’ve got to experience things here that can never be recreated elsewhere.

But I’ve also realized that DC – it’s a city I like to visit.  Not a city I permanently want to settle in.

So Montana:  I’ll see you in a few weeks.  And I can’t wait.

“The US Measuring Stick”

He pasado 136800 minutos en Oaxaca, México y me ha gustado cada uno de ellos. Ojalá que tuviera más tiempo aquí para explorar y aprender más pero tengo que regresar a los Estados Unidos para terminar mis estudios universitarios. Recomiendo a todos que viajen a Oaxaca porque esta ciudad, ubicada en un valle de gran altitud al sur de México, es un crisol de la cultura, el arte y la gente.

Siendo de los Estados Unidos, es fácil juzgar y usar los Estados Unidos como una “vara de medir” para comparar muchos aspectos de la vida en México. He aprendido que se puede comparar México con los Estados Unidos y mantener los estereotipos perjudiciales, o se puede entrar a México con una mente abierta y cuando se le enfrentan situaciones que son incómodos o diferentes… puede preguntarse, ¿por qué no? y aprovechar la situación como una oportunidad para aprender más sobre la cultura mexicana compleja.

Tengo que admitir que no es fácil tener una mente abierta siempre. Es fácil pensar: “¡que esto no pasaría en los Estados Unidos!” y es absolutamente correcto—no pasaría en los Estados Unidos porque estamos en México. He visto choques entre coches y motocicletas, una falta de cambio cuando se compran productos sencillos en los almacenes, maestros protestando en las calles cada semana, una falta de seguro, y la lista sigue… algunos de estos “problemas” ocurren porque hay o había algo en la cultura que resulta en las acciones, pero algunos ocurren sin ninguna razón.

Mucha gente cree que el sistema en los Estados Unidos es la mejor manera de hacer cualquier actividad, pero he visto muchos aspectos de la vida aquí en Oaxaca que son al contrario de esto. En el estado de Oaxaca, más de 61% de la población vive bajo la línea de pobreza y 16% de la población es analfabeta pero esto no para a la gente de disfrutar de la vida y tener fuertes lazos familiares. Me temo que la falta de fuertes valores familiares en los Estados Unidos vaya a ser evidente en las generaciones futuras.

México ha abierto mi mente a una nueva forma de vida y de alguna manera me hizo más crítico de los Estados Unidos. En lugar de usar la vara de medir para “medir” México, creo que es mejor medirme a mí y cómo me relaciono a mí mismo aquí en México y en mi vida en los Estados Unidos. Me siento privilegiado y esto es evidente aquí en México; ahora: ¿qué puedo hacer para ayudar a otros seres humanos que no son tan afortunados como yo?

Para empezar voy a quedarme aquí para un mes después de clases para ser voluntario enseñando inglés en un pequeño pueblo fuera de la ciudad. También compartiré mi experiencia maravillosa en Oaxaca con los otros estudiantes universitarios y alentarlos a también viajar y ” medirse a sí mismo”. Estoy muy agradecido de haber tenido la oportunidad de venir aquí y además de mejorar mi habilidad en español, he ganado a nuevos amigos, una perspectiva mayor de mi lugar en el mundo y espero mejorar la vida de al menos un ser humano.

Martin Luther King. "I am not hurt by the acts of the bad people. I am hurt by the indifference of the good people"

Martin Luther King. “I am not hurt by the acts of the bad people. I am hurt by the indifference of the good people”

Uganda Have a Good Time (safari)

After we left our village we traveled through larger cities until we finally got back to Kampala the capital of Uganda. From here we started our safari adventure. We went to a nice hotel resort on the outskirt of Kampala where we lounged by the pool, had a couple beers and oven brick pizza. It didn’t even seem real that I was in a third world country and was laying by a pool, and basically one of the nicest resorts that I’ve ever been to. It was very nice and relaxing to be there, but I felt guilty and not happy that I was able to enjoy a beer and pizza and a short 10 minute drive away people sleep in little shacks with no sanitation or any clean water. The next morning we went on another long car ride, 8 hours. We traveled into the national park of Uganda, we saw a lot of baboons, which are very aggressive animals, also a lot of antelopes. We arrived at our safari home, where we slept in tents, but there was running water and a food shack with good quality food and a full bar. We went and explored an enormous waterfall. Once we arrived at our camp I was walking to the restroom and pack or warthogs came charging at me. I was very nervous cause I thought that they were rude animals, but the ones here were friendly, simply because they are used to a lot of human interactions. The next morning we went on our first safari we started at 6:30 n the morning. We saw hippos, elephants, a lot of different types of antelopes, hyenas, crocodiles, giraffes and many many other animals, that you only see in zoos. It was amazing to be able to see these incredible animals in their natural habitat. We went on a boat tour later that evening and saw a lot more animals, then the next morning we went an our last safari. We saw the same animals as before, but this time we saw fresh kill by a couple hours. I was disappointed that we weren’t able to see a lion, but all in all it was an amazing experience. I will never forget my amazing experience that I was given. I now have a travel itch and won’t be able to stop traveling until I see the world, and can hopefully help at least one person in each destination that I can hopefully one day travel to. Thank you for reading this, I hope you all had a great day.

Uganda Have a Good Time (settling in)

Once I had been in the culture for a couple days I finally started to appreciate it and truly understand it and the people. It was strange at first though, because if a women is showing her knees she is considered a prostitute and the men will try to rape her, because they believe that this is what this type of women wants. That was a big culture shock. Another major one, was their court system. There is a court system and people can go to prison/jail, but if someone is murdered, the murderer will get away with it. This is because a dead body cannot defend oneself so there is no one to accuse the murderer of it, even if their was a witness. Being from America this seemed absolutely crazy. There were a lot of eye opening experiences, sadly there was a women who was found dead in the river at the bottom of our village. There was many sick children that came to the clinic looking for help. My time at the clinic was very well spent. I mainly did vitals of patients, taking their BP, heart rate, and symptoms to see if any testing for malaria or an STI needed to be done. When I wasn’t taking vitals, I was either examining patients with Alison and Kelsey who are both PA’s, working in the lab, working with the HIV center, or helping in the Maternity center. When I was with Alison and Kelsey I patiently watched while the translator translated and then once the patient was cleared they would explain everything to me. When I was in the lab I would look through a microscope of samples of blood, or do pH testing of urine. When I worked in the HIV center we had an OVC program which was for orphaned children who’s parents died of HIV and now they have HIV. I would transcribe for the main HIV doctor and help examine the children and their charts. In the maternity center I was able to feel babies inside or women and determine if they women’s growth was healthy and discuss their living situation and make sure it was safe and healthy for the baby. I learned to love the people of Bulaki and everything about it. I loved the people and especially the children, they loved the white people, which they called us Muzungu. They were so cute, I’ll never forget them, or any of the people in Bulaki.

Uganda Have a Good Time

Since I never had the opportunity to blog when I was in Uganda, in the small village of Bulaki I am starting my blogging journey now after my Ugandan journey has sadly come to an end. The start of my journey was a very interesting start. After an hour delay with only a short 45 minute layover, I almost missed my connecting flight from Minneapolis to Paris. Thankfully I made it with only minutes to spare, I was full on sprinting through the airport. Once I survived my 9 hour flight to Paris, my connecting flight to Nairobi was completely cancelled, this made the journey real interesting. They redirected me to Istanbul, Turkey then on to Rwanda then finally on to Uganda. I arrived 6 hours later then when I was suppose to, so I was still able to go with the driver that Alison and Kelsey (my sister and her friend), were taking to the village where we stayed and aided at the medical clinic. It was a long 7 hour car ride in the heat of Uganda. It is a very beautiful country. In Kampala the capital of Uganda it is overly populated and disgustingly polluted. There is garbage everywhere and the air is hard to breathe, it hurts my lungs and gives me headaches. Once outside of Kampala it is beautiful, prairies with hills in the distance, and as we travel closer and closer to our village the area is turning into a jungle. Hills turn to mountains, bushes turn into large lush trees, and over population turns into solitude and beauty. In Uganda, pedestrians do not have the right away,, so it is dangerous for them, but also dangerous for us. If you hit a person, you are not suppose to stop, because then any of the locals who may have witnessed the accident will try to attack and kill anyone in the car. Most people there drive “Bota-Bota’s” which is equivalent to a dirt bike here. The Bota Bota taxi drivers are crazy, they have no fears. We had to go through another village to reach ours, and it happened to be their market day, so we got stuck in a full blown market and didn’t move for roughly 30 minutes, once we could find a way through the packed crazy market we reached our village and went to the “guest house” which is where we stayed. It was a lovely home, it was not like the traditional african mud homes that most people had in the village it was a nice and clean brick home. I instantly fell in love with our little village. We went to the clinic which was a short but hilly hike to the clinic from the house. We got a brief run through on how the clinic works and just explored and met all the stay. The clinic is fully equipped with local doctors and staff to keep the clinic running functionally. All the staff is very kind and welcoming. My journey getting to Uganda and my first day was extremely eventful, but wonderful, it was exactly what I was looking for in an around the globe experience on my own.

Time, and the Tide that Takes Us

Hello fellow GLI’ers, travelers, inquirers, and spectators alike. This may be one the first times you have heard from me in GLI almost entirely – I like to sit quietly and develop in the background, but I am feeling inspired to bottle up my new life and attempt to share it with you.

If you are not in the mood to read – this is not for you at the moment, because I must ask you to take a minute center yourself and digest what I am going to share with you despite your own wonderful experiences thus far (which I have been keeping up on – don’t worry.) This entry will take time and thought, so please do not continue if you are in an environment where this is not facilitated. For those of you interested – take apart each moment as if you were experiencing them yourself.

And so it goes . . .

You may want to hear that I am having a new experience and it was a struggle at first but I developed and now I am here, yadee yadee ya. I cannot offer you this, I have something else to illustrate to you in this entry – a more interpersonal look into what it is to leave our lives behind and absorb the lessons this complex globe has presented us with. I am in Jakarta – 7th most populated city in the world with 22 million people in the area (don’t believe Google – the city is broken into parts) and the economic capital of Indonesia. This place tests the senses in every way it can; polluted, congested (voted worst traffic in the world – and its true, believe me,) corrupt, dangerous, and entirely beautiful. To risk your life every day just crossing the street has gifted me something few will ever gain – especially among our peer group. My life has slowed down – it is survival in this place. I watch children bathe in trash-filled rivers of some rancid color in the mornings, you even get sick from the rain if your not careful  – the air is thick with cigarette smoke and vehicle emissions – it is a sea of motorcycles. Metal shacks, homes that are made up of trash bags and plastic under the bridges. The rich with their walled off homes and broken glass barriers right next door. It is a city of extremes. I go to bed each day in this city thankful I made it through – and I love every bit of that feeling. So far I have been held at knife point, nearly robbed in taxis, faced near deaths on motorcycles (they are called Ojeks and they are just dudes that will take your money to get you places; quite efficient because they weave in and out of cars in traffic jams – costs about 3 bucks and is a cheap thrill,) giant six foot deep holes in the sidewalk that lead to the under-city flood ways. When I say sidewalk I mean slabs of stone suspended above the deep drain ditches and not removed from traffic. To some this may sound horrifying – though I hope not all of you because I have found my strength in these conditions. Some days I will talk with the children playing futbol in the streets and watch them laugh  at my terrible language skills (they speak Bahasa.) I see young men and women picking up trash to build a home on the side of the street — it really makes me take the time to not only appreciate my position but become bitter with it. To think our lives are so easy back home that we create out own problems just to have them; our phones being slow, our clothes not matching, the food wasn’t warm enough, our “horrible” homework and the opportunity to become educated from our efforts. I understand this is pessimistic – but perhaps we don’t spend enough time acknowledging this fact. Too often do we hide behind the phrases like “we are so lucky” and “there are hungry children in the world,” this is simply not justice, but rather a pathetic coping mechanism we have adopted. But let me shed some light on why I am speaking in this way – subjects that make us uncomfortable are often where answers worth investigating reside. We cannot punish ourselves for our upbringing nor can we neglect the path of understanding. We were told growing up “be yourself,” which is all fine and dandy but they forgot to mention one important piece – it is not just a sugary pursuit, there are in fact consequences if we do not truly find ourselves. Travel is the way door to this beginning – it is not just an opportunity it is an obligation. And as everyone knows – a good beginning is everything, for it influences everything thereafter. But there is a trap in this too, I do not mean (as some of you must be rolling your eyes saying “I know, I know,”)  the type of travel as in go to a country and hit the clubs and hike a mountain or two, I do not mean stay in three – four star hotels, in a place that will cater to your cultural misunderstandings – I do not mean just open these doors, you kick them open and throw yourself into the unknown. There is nothing like depending on yourself to take action when on the inside you just want to shut down, stop everything, and go home. You will be hurt, and shocked, disoriented, even depressed – yet these are all indications that you are becoming what is at your core. It is so sad to think some of us or our peers will never get to discover this until much later – if their lucky. Buried in their Facebooks and Snapchats and whatever else consumes us these days.

So yes, this world is new, the culture is vibrant, it is intoxicating and shocking and just about every other cliche descriptor you wish to throw forth – but I wanted to bring to you growth at a deeper level. Of course it is different for everyone – that is the beautiful part of exploring – you never quite see it all.

To those of you growing with me. . . I commend you and your innate need to see this world, it is not for everyone. For those of you reading this that may be considering an experience such as this, it is your duty as a curious human – a biological product of adaption, struggle, love, and compassion – to allow yourself this opportunity. My advice – go somewhere that makes you completely uncomfortable and scared and take it with stride – you will forever be able to overcome the challenges in life we never understood in our first world silver spoon. Let me take this moment to recognize that I am sorry if this offends anyone – I do not ignore that we all have had very real problems in our lives back home, but a little perspective may grant you more insight than you’re prepared for; a beautiful thing. Hell, the first two weeks I was here I was exploring Jakarta’s night life with some exchange students and a few locals and it was a wonderful night, until I walked outside at 4 a.m. and in the midst of my laughter watched a car smash into three idle motorcyclists about 15 feet from myself and drive off into the city – I was informed this is a very common thing here as well as instances wires being run from tree to tree on the street at night at about neck level by gangs. I ran over and saw a man who I was almost certain was dead – that eerie limpness that you just can’t fake. On top of it  all – one of the club security picked him up by his arm and let his neck hang – I thought to myself if he wasn’t dead a before that, he most certainly is now. My heart was racing but I had a little knowledge of first response. I was able to get his helmet off and I sat his limp body up and held his airway straight up and down. he was frothing and non responsive. He remained this way for about 5 or 6 minutes – hard to tell with that much adrenaline. I then heard him trying to breath – before that I couldn’t find a pulse but once again that might have been my adrenaline. Finally I sort of slapped him awake and kept his airway clear – his leg was obviously contorted but we eventually were able to get him into a car and off to the hospital he went – I have no idea what happened to him. That experience will give anyone a sense of value in the things we didn’t quite recognize in our easy lives. Though do not let this illustrate the whole of my travels – this is not sin city. The people here are actually very warm, much more so than our clique like structure back home. They are happy – I believe this is due to the fact they must take it one step at a time – and not plan out their whole future in one sitting. Its hard to explain but it just works differently. I am glad to have been gifted this perspective. I will be able to carry it home with me and live a much more rational and caring life. I can’t even remember what a hot shower feels like or what its like to drink from the tap whenever I please.

I hope this does a little justice to the very complex and beautiful task of a traveler – these experiences are fungible aspects of me as whole.

Thank you GLI – and to my peers I wish you the best of luck. Its easy to travel and not have traveled at all – but from your blogs I can see you are all well suited to take this for what it is. You are all beautiful people – please enjoy every piece of this time. You’ll never get it back.

I encourage you all to consider, and criticize my words in a passionate light.

From one side of the world to another,

-Leland HIMG_0993[1]

Bush Man Bruce

Due to the season being different in New Zealand I was able to travel around the South Island for 6 weeks before school started.  I had an amazing time exploring the new area and meeting people from all over the world.  One of my favorite experiences was meeting Bruce. Here’s the story!

After a nice soundless night in the first hut on the Hollyford track I woke up eager to continue hiking. I climbed up a small pass through the forest not really knowing what to expect in the next couple days even hours, as the whole trip depended on the weather. The next couple days of the Hollyford track were going to be long 20 plus kilometer days. It was suppose to be a spectacular track but with rain there would be no views and slippery rocks on the Demon trail. I hiked on thinking of all my options hoping to run into a ranger to ask about the weather. 

Luckily, I came to Pyke Lodge, a catered hut for guided walks. I didn’t even hesitate and went in to ask about the weather.  Liz the host ended up giving me a print out of the weeks weather, some tea and a bag of cookies.  Before Liz had printed out the forecast, an older man, also sipping on a cup of tea, had told me the whole weeks worth of weather, which mostly consisted of rain.  I was a tad disappointed but was more intrigued to here more about this mysterious man that looked quite rugged. He had crazy grey hair that stood up like he’d be electrocuted and a medium size beard to match.  He wore high rain boots, short jean shorts and a collared turquoise V-neck.  His name was Bruce Reay and he was a bush man that lived off eel fishing and possum hunting.  He told me he lived in a hut upstream at the end of Lake Alabaster, which had been his home now for five years.  He has lived in the bush since 1978 in a variety of areas mostly on the west coast of the South Island.  You might be wondering what exactly it mean to live in the bush.  Well it basically means you live in the middle of no where away from society, on your own.  Kind of like something you see on the discovery channel.  Bruce is one of the few left to live out in the bush as it is a dying culture. 

While sipping on my tea Bruce asked if I fished and I told him I was quite the fisher women. He offered to take me up to the next hut in his boat and fish along the way. I couldn’t say no and was thrilled, as I’ve been wanting to fish since I’ve got to New Zealand. He had a small white blow up raft with a small motor attached, that he called Anemic.  He called his other yellow boat Hepatitis. We started trolling for fish and the first questions he asked me were, how long I had my nose piercing, if I had any tattoos and if I was a smoker. It was his three go to question to instantly judge someone’s character. It was quite amusing and reminded me so much of my Papa Bill who also thinks piercings, tattoos and smoking are revolting.  Despite my piercings Bruce decided to still take me fishing and asked more “real” questions to get ask feel for who I was.

To continue the adventurous day Bruce invited me to go possum hunting and to stay at his hut, since it was gonna rain for the next couple days.  I was a tad skeptical but knew it was a one and a life time experience to be a “bush women” for the next couple days. Bruce had 20 or so possum traps set up randomly deep in the forest.  There were lucky pink markers that lead us to each trap but Bruce knew the forest like the back of his hand.  Unfortunately the traps were all empty which i was kind of happy about as the next steps seemed a bit gruesome. To kill the possum you whack it on the head with a hammer then proceed to pull all of its fur out.  Possums are a considered a pest in New Zealand but I still feel bad for the little guys.

Bruce’s hut was upstream the river and he couldn’t take both my backpack and I in his small boat.  So he dropped me off on the side of the river and drew me a map on a magazine of how to get to his hut. I jumped off the boat and realized I was now truly off the beaten path.  I’ve bushwhacked before but this time was a bit different as I only had a hand drawn map to guide me to an unknown destination.  I followed all of Bruce’s key points on the map crossing creeks, pushing through dense bushes and walking through grass two times the size of me. I was really glad at this point there are no big animals or poisonous animals in New Zealand that would attach me. I came to another pond that wasn’t on the map and got a bit nervous that I was in the completely wrong area. I walked toward the river and was relieved to see Bruce down the river getting fire wood.

Bruce’s hut was a pretty small and made out of rusty old metal. He got his drinking water from the rain that dripped down off his roof into buckets that said gooder water and badder water. The view tho! It was spectacular. There was a huge waterfall on the side of the mountain and beyond that towered glorious Mt. Madeline.

IMG_2783
I came to find out that living in the bush was much more luxurious then I imagined.  Bruce had a satellite phone that he texted his friends daily with. He had plenty of food that wasn’t half bad. He had a radio to call different huts and get the weather each day.  He had another radio to listen to music.  He also had quite the library of magazines, books and newspapers.  He had generator to run the lights and charge his phone and power his radios.  Even a helicopter brings in his food, fuel and mail every three months and he can catch a ride on it to go into town every once in a while. To my surprise he seemed to have a lot for living in the bush.

For dinner that night Bruce cooked me a lovely meals of fresh brown trout, potatoes, corn and beats. I could tell it was the meal he ate almost every night but it was surprisingly pretty good. Bruce told me story after story the first night along with many jokes.  He was so excited to have company and I eventually had to tell him that I needed to go to bed, as it was already 12:30.

The next morning the rain, as expected, started to come in. We waited for a break in the storm so we could go see the Olivine waterfall up steam. We thought we were in the clear but of coarse when we got in the boat it started to pour. It didn’t stop us and we got to the waterfall just in time for the sun to peak out of the clouds.  It was a huge 70ft waterfall coming out of a gorge that twisted up the mountain. Bruce told me a couple of kayakers wanted to go down it a couple years ago but chickened out when they saw the real thing. I would have too.

It came time for me to part ways with Bruce and get back to society.  Living in the bush was much different then I imagined but very peaceful. Bruce said he asks people “could live in bush?” If they said yes he then asks “would you live in the bush?” It was interesting to think about but made me realize it takes a certain kind of person to live out alone in such a remote area. I was fascinated by how passionate Bruce was about where he lives and how he makes a living off the land.

 IMG_2827

Bruce didn’t live in the bush because he hated people, or because he hated society.  He truly just loved being out in the vast remote area that held the true peace of the world. Bruce told me he’s just always put the bush first and that’s where his true home is. When I first told Bruce I was studying conservation he had a discussed look on his face and I soon found out why. DOC (Department of Conservation) has been trying to get him out of the area for a couple years. Despite all the court dates, lawyer fees and DOC nonsense, Bruce continues to fight for what he loves which is quite inspiring.  I never in a million years thought I would have an opportunity to see what life is like in the bush and it will be a memory that I will never forget. Staying with Bruce was an truly a one in a life time experience and an eye opener to the true appreciation for the beauty and gift of the Mother Nature.


Feeling Nomadic

The term nomadic is generally associated with feeling lost or feeling like you don’t belong. This word has really resonated with me in the past few days, but not for the same reasons. Nomadic simply means not endemic, or not from one place. Maybe everyone with a bit of wanderlust doesn’t really belong in just one place. Maybe, being nomadic means that a little bit of you belongs everywhere.Hobart has been an incredible experience and after just a few weeks I could already feel it becoming home; but, just because Hobart feels like home doesn’t mean Missoula or Idaho Falls feels any less like home. I have become nomadic. A girl with homes in both hemispheres.

Study abroad  has been the best decision I have made thus far. It provides so many opportunities for personal growth, new friendships, getting out of your comfort zone, and exposure to situations you never could have dreamed possible. I’ve been in Australia for two months now and I’ve fed kangaroos, chased a possum from my tent, made incredible friends, eaten so much Nutella, been judged for eating peanut butter, saw a platypus while white water rafting, gone to markets, and so much more. It’s amazing what happens when you have to find your own way in a country you’ve never been to. People assume that Australia is just like the states, and parts of it are, but overall it’s the experiences you have that make a place what it is.

I’m incredibly luck to have five pretty fantastic flatmates. As a group we have three Aussies, two Americans, and one girl from Holland. They have made my transition to Hobart so easy and I couldn’t have asked for better friends. We spend so much time laughing and watching stupid shows. Just in case you’re interested, Aussie TV is mostly the crappy TV shows that no one watches in the US. My flatmates joke that they are “the shows of my people.” We have definitely become quite and eclectic family of sorts.

The biggest changes I’ve seen while I’ve been here have been in myself. I have been forced to be less indecisive and to go do what I want to regardless of whether or not someone comes with me. The level of independence required to be somewhere alone is huge. It also makes you value your friends and family that much more. I no longer fear that the most important people in my life will disappear if I leave. The people that are most important will make an effort to stay no matter where you are. I’m almost as far away as I can be from the US and my best friends and I still talk. In this day and age, we can change nomadic to mean homes everywhere, because even if you aren’t around physically, it doesn’t mean you’re gone.

Soccer? I think you mean futbol.

Coming from the United States to Chile, I knew that soccer was the national sport and Chile’s team performed well at the last world cup. Beyond that, I know very little about soccer. Growing up in the U.S. there were always a multitude of sports available to play as a child. From basketball to baseball to crew, Americans are known to be exceptional at many sports. Soccer however, is not one of them. A three sport athlete of Football, Baseball, and Racquetball in high school, I had not played in an organized soccer game since I was roughly 8 years old. Sports wise, coming to Chile was quite the wake up call.

The first day of orientation, I began talking to a boy from Medellin, Colombia. Immediately, he started talking to me about soccer. Unable to tell him more than who a few teams are in the Barclay’s Premier League, he began to realize that I did not play soccer.

“How can you even live with yourself!?” He asked me in Spanish. “Soccer is why I wake up every morning, nothing makes me happier than going out onto the field and scoring Golazo’s with my friends.” From that point on, I knew this was going to be a culture shock that I did not expect.

Whether I’ve met kids from Chile, Colombia, France, Morocco, Nicaragua, and more, they all have one thing in common: they grew up playing soccer. Being the gringo of the group, I have been teased with the stereotypical “American’s are only good at the sports they invented” line over and over. But the biggest thing about it is, it couldn’t be more true. To my horror, my friends decided to organize soccer games twice a week on a turf field nearby. Even though they knew I hadn’t played soccer, they welcomed me to come play with open arms. The first game I played in however, felt like a final exam for a course that I didn’t attend once. Unable to control the ball or make quality passes, the European’s and Latin’s we’re astounded by how bad I was at soccer.

Since, I have made a concerted effort to become serviceable at the sport. With the help of my friends and the continuation of playing for an hour and a half twice a week, I feel that I am experiencing a part of the South American culture that the common tourist never will. Sometimes, the best experiences can come from where you least expect them and personally, I am thrilled that I get to compete at the world’s most popular game with people from all corners of the globe.