And sometimes, understandably so hard, stressful, intimidating, boring, not all it's cracked up to be, questionable, boring, sad, iffy, ho-hum. Sometimes. But mostly good. Take it from me.
This blog is dedicated to all my friends (you all know who you are) that have made a bold move this new year by making a major change (namely, moving to a new place. Not knowing where you will work, where you'll live, how you will get by, where you'll find that coffee shop with that cup of coffee that tastes "just right", etc and so on). I know it is not easy to make a change. But (and please excuse my Halmark Channel-esque sappy tone here) know that making this bold move is so worth it.
As of late ("as of late" meaning, the past two years of my life, give or take a few calendar pages), I've been consumed with the idea of "being alive". Feeling alive. Doing, acting in a manner that makes you grasp, in all its wonder and peculiarities, life. I think living in Burkina Faso has helped me in this process. It's addictive. Yes folks, I, Joel Turner, am High on Life.
The cynical, sardonic, facetious Joel is cringing at this blog post (as are, I am sure, select blogging compatriots...i've failed you, Dabbler). I can hear my critics already: "How can you write such light, good-hearted sentiments, Joel? We want dirt! Disdain! The grass is always less brown on the other side-ness! You are tilting the blogosphere balance!" True. I tend to gravitate towards the "glass is half-empty because we ran out of water to fill it all the way up" perspective, but sometimes, on occasion, I like to be disgustingly positive. Forgive me. No, indulge.
So. Observation. I like - no - LOVE, to use commas. I am, as they say, a comma fiend. I am confident that my comma usage is legitimate, albeit excessive. I guess it is a product of how I think. I think in commas. For instance, right now. I also think in periods. So. Kind of like this. You know?
Readers of this blog, forgive me. I have fallen into that river of chocolate in Willy Wonka's (circa Gene Wilder, mind you, NOT Johnny Depp (shudder)) chocolate factory. The deep end.
Where was I? Oh yes! Bold moves. Big changes. People that are, to me, inspirational. Thank you guys for making a conscious decision to scare yourselves. To feel alive. You won't (i'm about 90% sure) regret it.
Now if you'll excuse me, I am going to hop on a bus and return to my mud hut just north of the middle of nowhere. Google Earth me sometime. I'll be waving from below.
j
Friday, January 11, 2008
Monday, January 07, 2008
looking at my breath in Fès
Greetings from Morocco!
I haven't much time but I felt compelled to make a mini-entry while here in Morocco. As the title of this entry suggests, I am in the city of Fès (aka Fez), yes home to those cute red hats with tassles that look like Rolos (the chocolate candy) and yes I can see my breath as I type in this very chilly, non-heated cyber café. Fès is an interesting place (note: interesting = understated description of the century). In fact, it is quite spectacular. Intense. Beautiful. Warm (even though it is cold). Vibrant. Confusing. Intricate. Dichotomous. Unique. Smelly (in a very good way. Not in a Burkina Faso way). Across from this cyber café is a Century 21 Medina Properties office, in a building that predates Christ's time on Earth. Interesting fact Number 287: Fès is home to the world's oldest University. All this history makes me feel very small. But in a humbling good way.
We leave for Burkina Faso tomorrow. One 5.5 hour train ride and a 3 hour flight later, I'll be in a more familiar, markedly warmer climate. I am ready for some dust and sand.
That's all for now! I will do everything in my power to post photos upon my return to the Faso. I hope the new year is finding everyone living at least partially up to their respective resolutions. Be strong!
and be well.
j
I haven't much time but I felt compelled to make a mini-entry while here in Morocco. As the title of this entry suggests, I am in the city of Fès (aka Fez), yes home to those cute red hats with tassles that look like Rolos (the chocolate candy) and yes I can see my breath as I type in this very chilly, non-heated cyber café. Fès is an interesting place (note: interesting = understated description of the century). In fact, it is quite spectacular. Intense. Beautiful. Warm (even though it is cold). Vibrant. Confusing. Intricate. Dichotomous. Unique. Smelly (in a very good way. Not in a Burkina Faso way). Across from this cyber café is a Century 21 Medina Properties office, in a building that predates Christ's time on Earth. Interesting fact Number 287: Fès is home to the world's oldest University. All this history makes me feel very small. But in a humbling good way.
We leave for Burkina Faso tomorrow. One 5.5 hour train ride and a 3 hour flight later, I'll be in a more familiar, markedly warmer climate. I am ready for some dust and sand.
That's all for now! I will do everything in my power to post photos upon my return to the Faso. I hope the new year is finding everyone living at least partially up to their respective resolutions. Be strong!
and be well.
j
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
Welcome to their Hut
So apparently, while enjoying a delicious beverage at the Marz bar last night, I didn't even notice that this woman was sitting behind me. I guess that's Telluride for you. I spent the last night of 2007 in T-Town. Apparently, it was the place to be. Why? Do not ask me. It was so cold. No. Let me rephrase. It. Was. SO. COLD. After the kickball was tossed at 11:55pm from the steps of this building (the clock was 5 minutes slow. I found the absurdity of it all, when combined with the fact that my knees went numb, to be distinctly Telluride), we shuffled quickly to the car, wanting nothing more out of the new year than a warm bed to crawl into.
It's New Year's day. I feel compelled to write something to mark this once-a-year event. But I just don't have the energy to come up with anything of notable (or otherwise) substance. So I found a piece that I wrote for a Volunteer Quarterly Newsletter. Each issue has a story called "welcome to my hut" (think MTV's Cribs, Peace Corps Burkina style). I went to my nearest neighbors' home (the home of this married couple) and wrote about my findings. Do enjoy.
Oh yeah, and Happy New Year.
And forgive me for being so lazy as to not write a real blog entry.
Titao. 45-55 km northeast of Ouahigouya (depending on which set of road meters you trust), on the cusp of the majestic, lip-chapping Sahel lies this burgeoning spud of a provincial capital. Even though this dusty town boasts such amenities as 100 franc meat sandwiches, tepid beer and a boutique equipped with over priced Pringles, I found Titao, at its heart, to have a lingering bucolic tranquility. Frankly, I could see myself retiring here. But I'm a few years away from retirement and I didn't come here to find out if the Nescafe/bread stand has a senior citizens discount (they don't). I came to Titao to see what all the fuss was surrounding the McKay-Fleisch estate.
Now, I am no expert in Burkina Faso real estate, but upon entering the paint-chipped, lockless gates of their courtyard, “cha-ching” were the only words that could escape my mouth, because the place was MONEY. If certain Peace Corps policies and basic codes of common decency existed not, I would move in with this happily married couple of three years. Just inside the courtyard, I see a lone, quaint structure to the right. “What is this cute little cottage with its own little chimney?” I ask, with furious curiosity. “Guest quarters? Teleportation chamber?”
“Um, Joel, that is our latrine.”
A latrine is a place where people can do their business. Others would refer to it as a comfort salon. I'm not sure what that means. Anyway, if the relative opulence of their latrine was any indicator, I could not wait to set foot in their actual home. The anticipation was mounting like those mashed potatoes Richard Dreyfus was mounting in Close Encounters of the Third Kind.
The courtyard is a lovely sanctuary, a place where animal, insect, and human alike can enjoy Burkina Faso's diverse foliage. The courtyard is home to eleven species of noxious weeds, two cats, one chicken, six large rats, and a colony of lizards. Shade is provided by an encroaching shea plant and various west African endemic trees. The high courtyard walls allow you to have practically no idea what events may be unfolding outside, in the town of Titao in the country of Burkina Faso. If you're thinking oasis, you've got it.
Perhaps my favorite part of the entire estate is the terrace. Shaded by a lattice-inspired thatch hangar, this shady area is a great place to read one of Jill and Markus's many outdated National Geographic Magazines. Plenty of rocks are on hand to throw at the chicken, which is an old McKay-Fleisch Titao family tradition. Markus is generally on hand to help you with long division and adding fractions in between rounds of tea, if you are so inclined. Jill is on hand to tell you all about Sigmund Freud, evolutionary psychology, and how the two combine to epitomize her love for the social sciences.
Upon entering the house, be not surprised if you smell something tasty coming from your right. No, it is not the smell of the litter box situated just next to their very own solar panel power system. It is probably Markus whipping up some concoction that involves mayonnaise, taco seasoning, and canned processed chicken. Snap! Culinary genius. The salon is a modest open floor plan, with the kitchen area to the right, and a petit bois table to the left, piled with all kinds of science magazines, GRE prep books, and old paperbacks. There is no shortage of pulp in this house. Their west-facing wall is clothed in postcards from around the world.
Beyond the salon is what saw as a labyrinth of rooms, corridors, secret passageways, and hidden staircases (probably). I am still not entirely certain how many rooms Jill and Markus have in their house. Frankly, I am not entirely certain that they know. I lost count at four, not counting the newly tiled bathroom, which I will get to in a moment. “What do they do with all those rooms?” you may ask. I asked the same question. Room 1: the master bedroom. This is, I assume, where Jill and Markus sleep the two months out of the year that it is not too hot to sleep inside. The water stain in the northwest corner of their paneled ceiling add a nature lover's feel to the bedroom. Moving on. Room2: this is where the care package cardboard boxes go to rest. Without this room, they would be forced to address the issue of their ever growing arsenal of cardboard. Luckily, the room is only 40% cardboard. Room 3: in the very back of the house, these is a hidden room, of equal size to the other rooms, which contains seasonal items. On one visit, I saw a table with two chairs. Another time, I saw two bikes and a confused cat. Hallway 1: when the bikes are not in room 3 nor are they transporting their owners to and from the high school, they are most often left in hallway 1. Other than that, I have no other comment on this dark corridor of sadness. Hallway 2: this hallway ultimately leads to a secret second entrance into the McKay-Fleisch residence; however, one must never open this door. Ever.
And finally, on to the bathroom. I know, I know, you must all be confused. If you refer to paragraph two of this piece, you will be reminded that they do have a latrine house. But nothing says bling like having a latrine AND an indoor douche, complete with non-functioning European style toilet and sink. The McKay-Fleisches recently went guns blazing and got their bathroom floor professionally tiled. I even think they made a friend out of the mason. Either that, or he simply fell in love with their house. Can you blame him?
All good things, like a smothered black bean burrito or a game of Scrabble must come to an end. Such was the case with regards to my visit of the McKay-Fleisch estate. The house alone leaves the guest satisfied, but let us not forget the wonderful hosts, Jill and Markus, for it is they who put the “we” in SWEET. Is it possible to fall in love with a married couple's home? Well, if this isn't love, I don't know what love is.
The End.
It's New Year's day. I feel compelled to write something to mark this once-a-year event. But I just don't have the energy to come up with anything of notable (or otherwise) substance. So I found a piece that I wrote for a Volunteer Quarterly Newsletter. Each issue has a story called "welcome to my hut" (think MTV's Cribs, Peace Corps Burkina style). I went to my nearest neighbors' home (the home of this married couple) and wrote about my findings. Do enjoy.
Oh yeah, and Happy New Year.
And forgive me for being so lazy as to not write a real blog entry.
Welcome to Our Hut
By Joel Turner.
Titao. 45-55 km northeast of Ouahigouya (depending on which set of road meters you trust), on the cusp of the majestic, lip-chapping Sahel lies this burgeoning spud of a provincial capital. Even though this dusty town boasts such amenities as 100 franc meat sandwiches, tepid beer and a boutique equipped with over priced Pringles, I found Titao, at its heart, to have a lingering bucolic tranquility. Frankly, I could see myself retiring here. But I'm a few years away from retirement and I didn't come here to find out if the Nescafe/bread stand has a senior citizens discount (they don't). I came to Titao to see what all the fuss was surrounding the McKay-Fleisch estate.
Now, I am no expert in Burkina Faso real estate, but upon entering the paint-chipped, lockless gates of their courtyard, “cha-ching” were the only words that could escape my mouth, because the place was MONEY. If certain Peace Corps policies and basic codes of common decency existed not, I would move in with this happily married couple of three years. Just inside the courtyard, I see a lone, quaint structure to the right. “What is this cute little cottage with its own little chimney?” I ask, with furious curiosity. “Guest quarters? Teleportation chamber?”
“Um, Joel, that is our latrine.”
A latrine is a place where people can do their business. Others would refer to it as a comfort salon. I'm not sure what that means. Anyway, if the relative opulence of their latrine was any indicator, I could not wait to set foot in their actual home. The anticipation was mounting like those mashed potatoes Richard Dreyfus was mounting in Close Encounters of the Third Kind.
The courtyard is a lovely sanctuary, a place where animal, insect, and human alike can enjoy Burkina Faso's diverse foliage. The courtyard is home to eleven species of noxious weeds, two cats, one chicken, six large rats, and a colony of lizards. Shade is provided by an encroaching shea plant and various west African endemic trees. The high courtyard walls allow you to have practically no idea what events may be unfolding outside, in the town of Titao in the country of Burkina Faso. If you're thinking oasis, you've got it.
Perhaps my favorite part of the entire estate is the terrace. Shaded by a lattice-inspired thatch hangar, this shady area is a great place to read one of Jill and Markus's many outdated National Geographic Magazines. Plenty of rocks are on hand to throw at the chicken, which is an old McKay-Fleisch Titao family tradition. Markus is generally on hand to help you with long division and adding fractions in between rounds of tea, if you are so inclined. Jill is on hand to tell you all about Sigmund Freud, evolutionary psychology, and how the two combine to epitomize her love for the social sciences.
Upon entering the house, be not surprised if you smell something tasty coming from your right. No, it is not the smell of the litter box situated just next to their very own solar panel power system. It is probably Markus whipping up some concoction that involves mayonnaise, taco seasoning, and canned processed chicken. Snap! Culinary genius. The salon is a modest open floor plan, with the kitchen area to the right, and a petit bois table to the left, piled with all kinds of science magazines, GRE prep books, and old paperbacks. There is no shortage of pulp in this house. Their west-facing wall is clothed in postcards from around the world.
Beyond the salon is what saw as a labyrinth of rooms, corridors, secret passageways, and hidden staircases (probably). I am still not entirely certain how many rooms Jill and Markus have in their house. Frankly, I am not entirely certain that they know. I lost count at four, not counting the newly tiled bathroom, which I will get to in a moment. “What do they do with all those rooms?” you may ask. I asked the same question. Room 1: the master bedroom. This is, I assume, where Jill and Markus sleep the two months out of the year that it is not too hot to sleep inside. The water stain in the northwest corner of their paneled ceiling add a nature lover's feel to the bedroom. Moving on. Room2: this is where the care package cardboard boxes go to rest. Without this room, they would be forced to address the issue of their ever growing arsenal of cardboard. Luckily, the room is only 40% cardboard. Room 3: in the very back of the house, these is a hidden room, of equal size to the other rooms, which contains seasonal items. On one visit, I saw a table with two chairs. Another time, I saw two bikes and a confused cat. Hallway 1: when the bikes are not in room 3 nor are they transporting their owners to and from the high school, they are most often left in hallway 1. Other than that, I have no other comment on this dark corridor of sadness. Hallway 2: this hallway ultimately leads to a secret second entrance into the McKay-Fleisch residence; however, one must never open this door. Ever.
And finally, on to the bathroom. I know, I know, you must all be confused. If you refer to paragraph two of this piece, you will be reminded that they do have a latrine house. But nothing says bling like having a latrine AND an indoor douche, complete with non-functioning European style toilet and sink. The McKay-Fleisches recently went guns blazing and got their bathroom floor professionally tiled. I even think they made a friend out of the mason. Either that, or he simply fell in love with their house. Can you blame him?
All good things, like a smothered black bean burrito or a game of Scrabble must come to an end. Such was the case with regards to my visit of the McKay-Fleisch estate. The house alone leaves the guest satisfied, but let us not forget the wonderful hosts, Jill and Markus, for it is they who put the “we” in SWEET. Is it possible to fall in love with a married couple's home? Well, if this isn't love, I don't know what love is.
The End.
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