Reading for Sport

"I am not the sort of man who goes to prostitutes."

So begins The Partisan's Daughter by Louis de Bernières, an unlikely and surprisingly chaste (so far) love story of a middle-aged married man and a young woman he mistakes for a prostitute. I'm enchanted so far. The book is provoking thought, and I'm only on page 24.

I should not be surprised. I was also entranced by other de Bernières book I read shortly after returning from Turkey, Birds Without Wings. My 2+-year old memories are of the story of a mixed Turkish-Greek community during WWI; neighborhood dramas and gentle religious conflict deteriorate into tragedy when the government decides to relocate half the community based on ethnic lines.

Aside: De Bernières also wrote Corelli's Mandolin, which I was reluctant to read (based on my opinion of the movie) until I read his reaction to the movie: "It would be impossible for a parent to be happy about its baby's ears being put on backwards."

Sadly, there are apparently very few Turks who will read any of de Bernières' books. I heard on NPR World tonight that although 88% of Turks are literate, fewer than 1% regularly read. Reasons for this (as presented in the NPR segment) were grim: Turks are "culturally lazy" and prefer other activities to reading, books are too expensive, and the Turkish publishing industry is "unprofessional."

The Ministry of Education has taken on this deficiency as a project. Mosques preach the value of reading (an interesting collaboration between the government and dominant religious institution for a country that's nominally secular). Coffee shops and other gathering places are offering free books, but the books they offer are by Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Goethe, and Pamuk (a Turkish Nobel winner), none of whom are an easy starting place for people not accustomed to reading for enjoyment.

This is in striking contrast to the U.S., where reading has been elevated to the status of sport with The Morning News' Tournament of Books. Starting in March, sixteen books will face off in brackets, with the winners of each round determined by a panel of reviewers. To keep it interesting, the rules include a provision to bring the readers' favorite back into the running in the fourth round.

My friends have good taste in books. One recommended the tournament to me, and two others gave me contenders for Christmas. I'm not sure I'll make it through all sixteen by March, but I'm sure I'll enjoy trying.

Disclaimers: I may have botched the details of the NPR broadcast since I don't have access to a recording. The de Bernières quote is from Wikipedia, but there wasn't a citation. Also, I am pretty sure that Goethe should have an umlaut (Goëthe) but was not able to find it spelled that way online, so maybe not.

Africa 2008 and 2009 Photobook

View Project at Shutterfly

Almost Done

Over the past two and a half weeks, I've spent days (literally) with the photographic memories of my trip.

I've downloaded all of them to my computer, deleted duplicates, deleted blurry or boring or tilted shots, and classified them into categories from A to Z: airports, birds, camps and Chobe, downtown Cape Town to Twyfelfontein, warthogs, wildebeest, zebras, and Zambia.

The next step was separating the good from the mediocre. Topic by topic, location by location, theme by theme, I uploaded them for my memory book. Occasionally I dipped into the mediocre pictures to tell the right story, and I requested permission to use a few pictures from other people.

I decided which photos could stand alone and which ones would make good collages. I cropped and labeled and wrote descriptions. I spent hours researching bird and antelope names that I could no longer remember. I made the font sizes consistent throughout the book and double-checked my spelling.

The whole exercise has been a great way to relive the trip. I miss the daily variety, the sights and the people, having time to read every day, the hot weather, hiking, and exercising my photographic skills. It has also lent some structure to a month's worth of jumbled memories. Almost as important, it's given me an answer to "How was Africa?"

But now the book is almost complete, the emails with the group are slowing down, and work is picking up. I'm left trying to figure out how to keep the trip alive just a little longer.

I'm Back!

Back after a month of traveling, pitching tents, wearing short sleeves, being surrounded by people 24x7. Back after a month without high heels, the gremlin, or driving. Back after a month of wearing shoes to the shower and carrying toilet paper and a trowel everywhere I go.

I've come home to cold weather and financial cut-backs at work. More importantly, I've come home to a city hopeful about the next four years, to friends and family, and to fast internet connections. It's good to be home.

The Best New Year's Eve Ever

New Year's Eve carries a lot of pressure and fuss. You need the perfect dress, with comfortable but sexy shoes. You need a "good" party to attend. You need the perfect date to kiss at midnight. It needs to be the New Year's Eve to top all New Year's Eves.

I hate it.

This year was different. I wore sandals and dirty clothes that may have smelled a little as my "clean" (clean being a relative term) clothes dried on a line strung between tents. In place of glitzy cocktails in the early part of the evening, I drank wine from a tin cup, served impeccably by a Frenchman who clearly took great pride in serving wine. I had 9 dates, 8 of whom had morphed from strangers into friends over the course of the past 10 days. We expressed awe over the lion, the rhino, and the parade of elephants we'd seen earlier that day.

In place of Dick Clark (no, Ryan Seacrest now, right?), we watched the waterhole. First a mother and child rhinoceros, then three skittish giraffes who took turns carefully maneuvering into a drinking position (rather like a girl trying not to splash her clothes in the wilderness - too much information?). The giraffes left shortly before midnight, and we headed back to our campsite, toasting each other along the way.

How will I top this next year?

Christmas in Namibia

Christmas Day challenged my traditional notions of Christmas. No evergreen tree with lights, no family, not even a hint of chill in the hot Namibian summer.

Instead, I spent sunrise at the top of a sand dune with other tourists wearing Santa hats and ate breakfast in a parking lot. I received Christmas gifts from a good friend, wrapped in a brown paper bag. Along with the rest of the tour members, I received a clip-on koala from a new friend. Over the next few days, those koalas ended up on shirts, backpacks, noses, and our tour vehicle's windshield wipers.

We decorated our tents with balloons inked with Christmas trees and warm messages. In place of a Christmas tree and ornaments, we saw trees festooned with weaver bird nests. Windblown red desert sand covered everything instead of a sprinkling of snow.

I hiked through the desert drinking lukewarm water instead of my grandfather's lethal Christmas punch. I shook fistfuls of sand from my hiking boots instead of wearing big fuzzy slippers. I listened to Christmas carols from a pocket-sized music box instead of singing in church just before midnight. Our Christmas dinner was cooked over a camp stove, and new friends bonded over boxed wine with stories of their traditions at home.

It was a very different Christmas, but it was good.

More Info Available

I decided to try out a new blog site for my current trip; the site has maps and some other travel-specific features. Internet access is patchy here, but if you're interested in seeing what I write when I'm able, go to http://www.travelpod.com/members/ceedubbva.