Greetings Go Girl Readers!!!

Greetings Go Girl Readers!

I'm so excited to be writing my very first blog with you!

First off, I want to ask some very important questions:

1. Are you going on a vacation?
2. Will you be traveling to another state? 
3. Are you planning on studying and/or living abroad? 
4. Do want to study and/or live abroad?

If you've answered yes to ANY of these four questions, you've come to the right place! I'm here to cater to your traveling needs! My desire is for every Go Girl reader to have fun, safe travels, whether they're traveling inside the United States or going abroad.

But WAIT! For those who couldn't answer yes to any of those questions, it's ok because you can benefit from this column too, even if you're just traveling to another state. Also, I'm pretty sure you know of someone who may benefit from this information…so, send them right here to me!

So, what qualifies me as an "expert?"


Well, I actually lived abroad and attended a university in Guanajuato, Mexico. It was my first time ever leaving home, so you can imagine the overwhelming sense of frustration I endured. Unfortunately, from the time I left the States, it was complete chaos! My host family's number was incorrect, I was bitten by a scorpion, became extremely ill from some fruit, almost robbed, etc. etc…the list goes on and on.

With that being said, I want to share my experiences and knowledge of what I learned through tips, advice, and suggestions. They say that experience is the best teacher? Well, I beg to differ! If you've gone through it, someone else can learn from it, too, so that they don't have to repeat same mistakes—and that's why I'm here! I want to help you avoid these simple mishaps so that you are able to enjoy your time abroad.

So, let's get started!

Also remember, NO question is a dumb question! Please, feel free to ask advice!

Looking forward to having some fun, see you every other Thursday!

--Lakia Gordon


(Picture Attributed to IK's World Trip)

How do you prepare for a trip to India?

By Megan 

I decided that there is no one way to properly prepare for a visit to India. You can read novels, guide books, ask other travelers opinions, but in reality, you probably just have to experience it yourself. Take, for example, the train travel system. I booked my ticket nearly three weeks in advance, paid for it online (after the credit card company figured out that I was not trying to steal my own identity- thank goodness!), and I am still in wait list limbo. There has been advice on whom to bribe and how much, other traveling options, and still, I have some sort of faith that everything will work out just the way it should. (Of course, there will be an update regarding the ticket crazies.)

I've packed everything I think I might need including a key turn powered alarm clock, insect repellent, and my glasses. Of course, there is a journal to record thoughts and a camera to snap at least a few photos to share. I cannot wait to share my adventures with Go Girl, but I've got to go catch a plane. So, until next week, travel safe!

Bluesfest!

Big news for Go Girl.

Marianne will be representing our writers at the Byron Bay Bluesfest in Australia!

The festival will be taking place on April 1-5, 2010 and will feature top artists such as Jack Johnson, The Fray, Gipsy Kings, Jeff Beck and others.

Stay tuned for some great news about how it goes-- and maybe an interview or two while we're at it, too!

Saying Goodbye

By Beth

December 17, 2009

On my last full day in São Tomé, the sun is blazing. My boyfriend, Kilson, and I spend the day at the beach, swimming off Ned's dock, taking pictures, dancing in the street to neighbors' loud music, sipping beers at a cafe strung with Christmas lights. From Ned's dock, sopping wet and in our bathing suits, we watch TAAG- Angola's airline- touch down on the runway close to Ned's house. Kilson's sister's boyfriend is on that plane and we take my motorcycle and rush to the airport, as do a couple hundred other São Tomeans.

And as I watch the crowd at the airport in the setting sun, I can't help but think about the fact that the next time I see the sun again, I will be in the very same airport, with my suitcase, leaving. Kilson is very good at detaching and putting on a smile so I don't know if he is thinking the same thing, but he must be. A knot forms in my stomach. On one hand, I have got to go back to the States because I have the best chance there of finding someone to finance more computers for the São João school. On the other hand, I can't bear to leave Kilson behind.

I have wondered if Kilson and my relationship is mostly enchanted by the new surroundings and the paradise-like atmosphere. That may have been how it began. But I also think I am just simply enchanted by Kilson, and the man that he is. So many times our lives in São Tomé have been a hindrance to our relationship rather than a help. We never have a place to go that is our own, for example. But we have survived it all and with flying colors, and now leaving a boyfriend behind is one of the hardest things to do.

My friend AJ tells me of friends of his that left behind relationships upon finishing the Peace Corps. When you're countries and countries away and not sure when you will be back, it's impossible to ask the other person to wait for you, no matter how much you want them to. Kilson and I only dated for maybe six weeks but he very quickly became my best friend on the island. Yet during the last two weeks, our relationship was very trying. We got into countless arguments. In addition to the fact that I was leaving, his sister was coming home for Christmas- the first time he would see her in nine years. I was hustling to get the computer program at São João minimally stable, writing guidebooks, meeting with teachers, writing grant proposals.Often we would start play-fighting...but then it would end up as a real fight. Both of us were about at the end of our ropes...stressed out of our minds.


But our last day together is perfect. We have both reached a level of peace with the fact that I am leaving. There is nothing we can do to stop it. And in this recognition the stress drips off and let ourselves enjoy each other. We fall in love all over again. We are done fighting with each other; for each other. We surrender our stubborn selves to the inevitable.

If Abercrombie São Tomé existed, it would be us in this picture.

The next morning on the plane to Portugal I rub Kilson's necklace that he gave me. It is a grain of rice that he got in Cuba with his name painted onto it. For four of the six hours of flight I write in my journal about him. I am not ready to get him go. When I arrive at my cousin João's house in the little town of Val Florido in Portugal, a stopping point on my journey home, João's wife, Elsa, offers me their phone. They say if I need to call my dad or anyone else, to feel free.  I call my dad but then I call Kilson. I hear his voice light up on the other end. “I'm so glad you called,” he says. “I've been thinking about you all day.”

Straddling Two Worlds

by Emily

When I decided to come to Utah for college, it was a big deal. A lot of people thought I was throwing my academic future away by not attending school on the East Coast, or at least the West Coast. No one listened when I explained how prestigious the BYU professors were, or how competitive admissions were. (The average GPA of incoming freshmen is currently above a 3.8). Other New Hampshire friends worried I’d be sucked into the whirling eddy that is Utah patriarchal culture, or that I’d come back with straight, blond hair and a face full of make up. And in all honesty, their fears weren’t unfounded.

My older sister, a natural blond with wavy hair and poor eye sight, came back from her first semester at BYU with a straightening iron, contacts, and a slew of Mary Kay products. She already liked country music, but now she loved it more than ever, ecstatic to have finally found a place where it was cool. She embraced the area’s mild winters, early springs, and gaping mountains, while I saw Utah as a desert devoid of the trees, plants, and water I loved.

Perhaps I too would have liked Utah if I hadn’t arrived during a hostile election season. Or if I’d been in love with George W., like ninety percent of the students I encountered. Whatever the reason, I saw everything about Utah through an outside lens. The people seemed backwards, the culture archaic, and even BYU seemed intellectually impoverished.

It’s hard to say when my perspective changed, but today I feel like a sheepish anthropologist who only realizes she’s been looking down on the local culture after spending years in its midst. We all know how important it is to keep an open mind and control our culture shock when we travel to another country, but I forgot everything I’d learned about fighting ethnocentrism, the first time a history TA said I’d be voting for the devil if I voted for Kerry.

So you see, I might as well be leaving the country when I fly between New Hampshire and Utah. You can tell the difference as soon as you step on a plane. Flights connecting to Utah are filled with young families, most of the women and children blond. All the teen and tween girls wear make up, and most of them have straightened hair. Also, everyone is smiling and friendly, to the point that it almost makes you sick. The women are especially friendly, speaking to you in these breathy, high-pitched voices, as if it would be rude for them to speak in a deeper voice, for even a second.

Flights connecting to New Hampshire or Massachusetts, however, are filled with people who are either talkative and down to earth, or deliberately quiet as they keep to themselves. The women aren’t as skinny, blond, and make-uped; the men are less likely to wear business suits; and most of the adults drink coffee. And it goes without say that everyone wears Red Sox paraphernalia. When you step into the airport, it gets even better: everyone walks fast, New England accents are everywhere, and there isn’t a Yankees cap in sight.

But the real differences between New Hampshire and Utah show up in cultural values. At the liberal New Hampshire high school I attended, we learned about socialism as a beautiful and progressive economic system. In Utah, socialism is nearly synonymous with communism, which is synonymous with evil incarnate. Also, Fox New is scripture, Global Warming is a crock, Michael Moore is an anti-Christ, and Sarah Palin is a gift from Heaven. Oh, and feminists have destroyed The Family. After several months of Utahisms, I’m always anxious to return to New Hampshire, where nobody calls me a flaming liberal or makes fun of me for “dropping ‘r’s where they go, and adding them where they don’t."

And yet, after a few weeks in New Hampshire, I start missing Utah. I miss people who think my religious beliefs are normal. I miss the slightly warmer weather and the much-shorter winters. I miss the dull red canyon leaves, even though they don't compare to New England foliage. I miss how urban Provo is, compared to my tiny home town in NH. I miss hanging out with friends who never want to drink, and I miss being the one roommate who actually knew where babies came from before she was sixteen.

I miss being surrounded by friends who enjoy hanging out… sober. I miss my BYU-Liberal friends who, like me, are actually moderate. I miss renting a private bedroom in a nice apartment, for $295/ month during the school year and $175/month during the summer, including utilities. I miss tulips blooming in February, and snow so light and fluffy that you sweep it off the porch instead of shoveling. I miss grocery stores that refuse to sell alcohol but offer 25 different flavors of hot cocoa. I even miss being the one to explain why it’s offensive when someone compares homosexuality to a mental illness.

Sometimes I even miss the mountains.

The Toxic Lake of Phnom Penh

By Lillie
Catch more of her posts at http://www.aroundtheworldl.com

There is a toxic lake at the heart of Phnom Penh. If you swim in it, your flesh may sizzle, or perhaps the effects will cancerously explode in a few years. Regardless, though naked children slide through the brownest rivers of the Cambodian side roads, there is not a soul amid the silvery waves of Boeung Kak Lake.

Naturally, this is where I spent my first night in Phnom Penh.

All six hours of the bus journey from Siem Reap were in Spanish, as I fell in with a fabulous Colombian crew across the cramped aisle. When we got off the bus I decided to let Camilo do all the tuk-tuk haggling, as his skills were quality after a month as a photographer in rural Vietnam and Cambodia. His thick Spanish-Australian accent battled the choppy English of the Cambodian driver until we had a ride to the lake for a dollar.

Warnings of this seedy "backpackers-who-no one-wants" area abound in the guidebook, but so, too, do reports of the strikingly beautiful view and vibe, as well as the great prices. Sure enough, the moment our feet hit the rocky pavement, we were offered opium. (Opium! Do people even DO opium any more? Rest assured, we fully declined.) Also, sure enough, once we walked through the pool-table-filled narrow alleyway past the stray animals and grubby children, the gorgeously rickety veranda spread its arms wide to show: the lake!

Floorboards creaked and almost broke under the weight of us plus the skittering geckos. But potted plants, hammocks, soft chairs, and inviting tables lay all around, and as the sun set, the toxic chemicals of Boeung Kak mixed with the air and gave an otherworldly glow to the whole scene. Gorgeous!
We took our $2 room which hovered on stilts over the water (twinkling through the giant cracks in the wood). My bed had fleas in it; Camilo's had ants. I requested two extra sheets and a towel and slept on those. We were offered drugs again and declined.

Over hot chicken amok and rice, we watched the eerily empty piers on either side creak with the forlorn dance steps of the Cambodian workers. It is low, LOW tourist season in Cambodia. It is so low that tons of places are utter ghost towns, with the Cambodian staff idly playing games, texting on cell phones, and throwing blue-lit nightclub parties which they pray will bring in the three tourists. On either side of us, music thumped in an empty echo: plaintive wails of Cambodian music on one side, reggae on the other, yet both giant over-water dance stages had no one on them but two small children and a drug dealer.

I awoke with no bedbug bites! Yes! A miracle.

Camilo hopped a moped to the airport to fly back to English lessons in Melbourne. I told him as he left that he had to follow his true love who moved to Africa. One must always follow true love!
By now I had contact information for my Aunt's awesome co-worker, whose house I walked to. On the way to the riverfront cafes, we dodged screeching mopeds on this city with no sidewalks. Mike and I had a wonderful, informative chat, and I bow down to him for surviving Phnom Penh for a whole year. It is an intense, intense city.

I was supposed to go to the Killing Fields to see the bones and bashed-in skulls of the hundreds of thousands of Cambodians massacred under Pol Pot, but I felt so nauseous just thinking about it that the sun set before I could even make it nearby. I stalked the STA Travel tour group my friend Adie is on and moved my backpack out of the insect-infested lake and into the sweet residential area in which the group was staying.

Adie, who is the nicest person ever, had a love fest with the owner of the Cambodian sports bar which went something like this: Adie ordered a ton of food the day before. The owner was so happy he refused to take Adie's money the next day. Adie was so happy he went upstairs and got a brand new England soccer shirt and gave it to the owner. The owner's was so happy he pulled off his own shirt and put on the new one, then came out with a giant plate of green mangoes and chili sauce for Adie. Adie was so happy he ordered a ton more food. No tuk-tuks were around by midnight (which is the craziest moment I've had so far in Cambodia, given that every other second of every other day the grown men are literally fist-fighting to get you into their vehicle), so the owner revved up his own red mo-ped and took me back to my hostel himself, protecting me from weird street-lurkers until I was safe upstairs. So sweet! Adie ordered a ton more food. Thinking of both their beaming smiles in this friendship one-up-manship makes me grin all over again.

At the crack of dawn the next morning I had the most amazing vegetable noodle breakfast soup in history, then hopped the six hour bus to Sihanoukville in order to, 1) Get the heck out of crazy Phnom Penh, 2) Continue hilariously and somewhat loserishly stalking the STA Travel group (which was in a much plusher bus fifteen minutes ahead of me, and, 3) Hit the beach!

I found out on that bus ride that the toxic Phnom Penh lake is being slowly filled in and erased. This is both good (given that it is, you know, toxic), and sad (given that all the lakeside dwellings, including the neat hotel in which we stayed, will be razed and the dwellers displaced).

In some ways, this toxic lake at the center of the capital city reflects the horrific recent history of Cambodia. My friend showed me photos of the Killing Fields; teeth, arm bones, and tattered clothes of the massacre victims are still strewn along the path the tourists tread each day. How can a people move on from this toxic history? Can it really be "filled in" and converted into an educational memorial for tourists and Cambodians alike? One has to wonder whether a filled-in toxic lake sometimes just creates toxic land.

The Ethics of Exploration

Standing on the cruise ship's deck, staring at the brilliantly blue wall of ice in front of me, it was hard to tell which I wanted more: to see and hear the glacier calve with my own eyes, or for our ship to sail away and leave the wild Marjorie glacier as we'd left it. It didn't take two minutes for my inner conflict to be resolved. A rumble of thunder, a puff of ice slivers, and a rapidly expanding circle of ripples indicated that some portion of the glacier had simply slipped away into the frigid Alaskan water. By the time the ship moved along fifteen minutes later, the glacier had calved four times.

The convenience and accessibility of contemporary means of travel has had a dramatic impact on the way humans interact with the world and each other. The very fact of our online 'zine attests to the fact that people are traveling more frequently and more casually, and I don't think it's unreasonable for me to claim that a lot of us in the so-called Millenial Generation view international travels as a rite of passage between adolescence and early adulthood. For many of us, those experiences abroad have a significant impact on our self-perceptions as our lives mature. But what kind of impact does our travel have on the world?

To go back to the glacier story, let me point out a couple of things. The first is that calving is a natural part of a glacier's lifespan, occurring as the massive ice shelves shift and "travel" along mountain valleys in response to the weight of snow accumulation. The second is that there's a huge heap of evidence that most glaciers are receding- that is, are calving faster than they're forming new ice. The third is that, as I mentioned, I was standing on the deck of a cruise ship...and cruises constitute the vanguard of environmentally irresponsible forms of travel. What I was witnessing wasn't just the product of snowfall pressure miles and miles away, but also the product of the water and fuel usage of the ship carrying me along.

Environmental concerns aren't the only thing worth mentioning, however. Travel opportunities have certainly expanded in the last few decades, but the people to whom they're accessible are a limited segment of the global population. You don't have to be rich to travel, but you do have to be able to afford time off from work, documentation, travel tickets, and your food budget. On top of that, the places we're visiting are impacted by our decisions as well: as Lillie's posts have highlighted in the past, local economies and cultures are becoming increasingly dependent on tourism for economic survival, even bringing children into the equation. And, of course, in some areas this means that unique and rich cultures have been reduced to their most marketable elements- on Okinawa, Japan, it's impossible to find a shop that isn't trying to sell cheap shi-shi dogs to the thousands of tourists they encounter daily.

I realize that this article is starting to sound preachy, and I don't want it to- if for no other reason than preaching on this subject certainly makes me a hypocrite. The takeaway point shouldn't be to stay in our homes and never explore the world for fear of being unethical tourists. Rather, the point is that it's so easy to get caught up in the amazing things we see around the world that we forget that our actions have effects. If a cruise is what you're dead set on doing, do some research to see what various companies are doing to reduce their environmental footprint. When considering tourist activities, look into how the business enterprises in the area give back to their communities (if at all). And as always, take the time to learn local cultural expectations of politeness and respectful behaviour. Taking the time to do these things not only does great things for the places we're visiting, but can give us much more enriching experiences to tell our loved ones about when we get home.

Welcome Emily and Sarah!

Welcome new writers! Catch Emily on a monthly basis and Sarah every other week. Go team!

Emily: Emily has straddled two home states for five years now: Utah and New Hampshire. Socially and politically, these states are about as different as two states in the Union can get, which makes for nonstop adventures in culture shock. She travels more for necessity than pleasure, but years of flying across the US have taught her the ins and outs of booking cheap airfare, surviving dreadful plane rides, and transitioning between two cultures. Four years ago she spent a semester in Paris, and she's been dying to get back to Europe ever since. She has one year left of her MFA in creative writing and can't wait to graduate and embark on more pleasurable travel adventures. You can follow more of her antics at notanotherwave.blogspot.com.

Sarah: Ohio by birth, Arizona by choice, Sarah spent her youth in the backseat of a big red van while her parents toted her on cross-country road trips all over the US (If you ever want to know anything about Civil War Memorials or National Monuments, she’s your girl!). She recently graduated from college and (surprise) balked at the idea of getting a “desk job”. Instead, she opted to travel around for a bit and see what else is out there. With a journalism degree and camera in hand, Sarah plans to tackle bigger adventures in Central America. She will be living and working in rural Honduras for the next two years, teaching HIV/AIDS prevention. You can follow her personal blog at http://sarahlagringa.wordpress.com/

Hit the Road, Jane

10 Questions To Ask Yourself Before You Do

by Lisa

You feel the call of the open road. You want to pack up your car, step on the gas, and leave your normal life behind -- for a little while, anyway. You want to experience the world...or at least as much as you can get to on four wheels.

I’ve been there, and you know what? I did it. Solo. It’s possible, doesn’t have to be expensive, and is a million percent worth it. Before you make the big decision and set out, however, here are ten questions to ask yourself. Be honest with your answers, and before you know it, you could be re-creating Kerouac’s On the Road -- with your own 21st Century girl style.

1. Do I Want To Bring Anyone Along? Are you yearning for a living by-your-own-wits, completely independent solo adventure? Or do you want to share the experience? Think carefully about this question. Having a road-trip companion can be great, but spending hours with the same person -- even someone you adore -- in the confines of a car can drive anyone to the brink of crazy. Just make sure everyone is on board -- with the plans, the goals, and the budget -- and make a pact to be extra considerate of each other before you go.
2. How Much Time Do I Have? Are you going for a week? A month? Six months? How much time you have will dictate how far you can get, what kind of a budget you’ll need...and whether anyone else has that kind of time to go along. Short trips are a way to get your feet wet without committing to a lengthy journey, but longer ones are the only way to really transform a road trip from a vacation into an experience...and will help create a better balance between driving and doing.
3. What’s My Budget? Road-tripping can be a really inexpensive way to travel. Yes, gas prices are tough, but aside from that it’s simple to eat cheaply, and if you are willing to stay with friends, in cheap motels, or, better yet, to camp, your road-trip dollar will go far. Think carefully about how much money you can save and how much you’re willing to spend per day. (I did my six week trip on an average of $81/day, and I probably could have shaved that even further!)
4. What’s the State of My Transportation? Do you have a car? Is it in good condition? Do you know how to handle minor issues, and do you have a service like AAA to call for major ones? It’s a good idea to have your mechanic give your car a once over before any big trip, and especially important for a long-term road trip.
5. Where Do I Want To Go? Do you want to head across the country, or do you want to stay closer to home? Maybe there’s a particular road you want to travel (route 66? The Pacific Coast Highway?) or activities you’re interested in (southern BBQ, National Parks, haunted places). Decide what your trip is about...what the theme will be...and go from there.
6. Where Can I Stay? Once you know where you’re going, take a look at what’s available for lodgings. Are the hotels and motels within your budget? Campgrounds where you can pitch your tent? Or maybe...
7. Who Do I Know? ...you could crash with friends. People are surprisingly willing to open up their homes when you’re passing through on an adventure like this. I was floored that even relatively minor acquaintances, when they heard I was driving around the country, offered to let me sleep on their futons and couches. They want to be a part of your adventure...so let them!
8. What Do I Need To Bring? The answer to this question depends on what you’ll be doing, how long you’ll be on the road, and what the weather will be like. Make sure you consider equipment you’ll need to buy if, for example, you’re camping and hiking. Also, there’s a temptation to overpack on a road trip since you can just cram everything into your trunk. Take it from me that you should treat this like any trip, try not to overpack, plan to wash clothes while you’re on the road, and be organized about packing and storage.
9. Can I Keep Myself Entertained? If you’re going alone, think hard about whether you like being alone. Sure, you’ll meet people on the road, you might visit friends, but there will be long hours in a car with only the radio for company. There are plenty of ways to keep from being bored, and the excitement and freedom of being out on the road can trump brief bouts of boredom, however, so don’t worry if it makes you a little nervous.
10. Am I Brave, Confident, Independent? Do I Want To Be? Solo road-tripping -- particularly for women -- can be a scary endeavor to contemplate. Many women I’ve talked to about road-tripping express concern for their safety, or worry that they wouldn’t be able to handle things on their own. They’re wrong. They can, and so can you...and figuring that out about yourself is freeing, invigorating, and teaches you something about yourself along the way.

Montserrat

By Megan

I knew that Montserrat was supposed to be gorgeous, but I had no idea. I also knew that it was of religious importance because the Black Madonna (wikipedia it for more information) and a monastery resided there, but other than those few things, I was in for a surprise. It was a delicious day in Catalunya when a friend and I headed out for a weekend adventure.

We purchased our tickets for 19.50 euros and woke early enough to catch the train that would take us outside of the city. After the train outside of the city, a cremallera (a 'zipper' train) took us to a the funicular de St. Joan, which pulled us up into a religious community nestled between these impressively smooth mountains. We grabbed some bocadillos (sandwiches) and a water bottle to split before exploring what we could of the church and other worship spaces. To be honest, I was really there for the outdoor views and the opportunity to explore a new space; the religious importance was of secondary interest to me.

By that point, the sun had come out and started to warm everything up and I was ready for a hike. Camera in hand, I spied a cross that stood out on a mountain side across a little valley, and decided that that was were I wanted to go. There was a path that lead us out there and the views were incredible. But, it was not enough. I had my purple wrap around skirt on, sweater stuffed in my heart print bag, and legs ready for climbing.

It was one of those adventures that made you feel as if you were the first person to discover that spot, the first to experience the thrill of standing that high on a mountain even though you knew that you were not the first and that it was not necessarily unique experience. Having a good hiking partner who was willing to go along with my desire to climb higher and higher also made the day lovely. Sometimes you just need that person to smile with and realize how wonderful something so simple can be.

You Can See The Stars

By Beth

My friend Alessandro is visiting the USA for the first time while I am in São Tomé (see included picture; he is on the left). I met Alessandro while living in Portugal. He was an Italian spending his time traveling around Europe and writing romance novels. He lived with a few American friends of mine in a big spacious apartment with no furniture.

Alessandro has a child's face and a small, tight, extremely muscular, body. He is your quintessential Italian stereotype- crazy about women and alive purely to enjoy the world around him and, when possible, the ladies in it. During the year he lived in Portugal, he got a huge tattoo of big black wings spread over his back. It took quite a few sessions and I remember seeing him with bandages over his back more often than not. He speaks very little English, but is one of those people that can amazingly communicate anything he wants using creative combinations of the few words he knows. On his Facebook profile, he has pictures of him having sex. This is Alessandro.

And Alessandro, for years, talked to us of his dream of coming to America, the land of the free. He wanted to see it for himself- the towering skyscrapers of New York, the rich and famous of Hollywood, the rolling plains of Iowa. Then one day he sent me and our American friend Jason, who also lived in DC at the time, a Facebook message. “My friends, I am coming to America! I will be there in April. I am in love to see the land of beauty that is your paradise.” This is a rough and very generous translation from the English that he typed to us.

So, a few months later, in October, we get another Facebook message. “I am coming to America in November! I have bought my tickets!” This is all good and well, except for the fact that I am in São Tomé and Jason is in Brazil doing a semester abroad. So Alessandro is on his own. Which doesn't bother him at all.

A couple of months ago I thought I would be a good non-hostess and check in. See how he was liking the States. What I get is a very romantic and poetic description of the majesty of New York, which Alessandro never wants to leave. He is in love with Greenwich Village. “Have you seen how much stars there are in the sky?” He types.

I laugh to myself. Stars?? In Greenwich Village?? I tell Ned, the American with whom I am living in São Tomé.

“Can you even SEE stars in Greenwich Village?” he asks me. I tell him I don't think so.

But it's such an Alessandro thing to say. In fact, maybe his poetic English has struck again. Countless times I look up into the night sky of a new place and am shocked by the number of stars I see there. It always seems like more than there are at home. In Portugal, São Tomé, the mountains of northern Maine- the stars are always a marvel. And perhaps it is the stars that allow you to experience the sheer awe of being in a new place- whether they're actually visible or not.

And in New York, where you can't see stars at all, maybe it is the Tim O'Brien way of saying that life is beautiful here. That in New York, Alessandro feels as liberated as if he had the whole universe to himself.

Australia Day Ponderings

Now that I have celebrated Australia Day for the first time, I have a confession to make. I had absolutely no idea what I was celebrating. I knew it was a big day – I don’t think I know anyone in Australia that didn’t spend Tuesday in the vicinity of a barbecue, and most likely some beers, Aussie banners and some body of water if you were lucky (or a kiddie pool in my case). I know I had a good day, listening to Triple J’s Hottest 100 songs of the year, eating steak and hot dogs and lounging in the inflatable pool. I even branded my cheek with the Australian flag (and a little British pride on my forehead...). But what was it all for?

First I tried comparing it to other holidays I am familiar with. England has St George’s Day. The day they celebrate their patron saint. It’s also England’s National Day. But to be honest – how many English people reading this right now can tell me when St George’s Day occurs? Not many I’m guessing. It’s April 23, but I just looked that up. All the nations in the UK have a day like this, most well known is easily St Patrick’s Day, when everyone in the Western world claims their however-distant Irish heritage and drinks a Guinness or two, or more… But Australia Day has nothing to do with patron saints.
The USA has Independence Day on July 4. They celebrate the day they officially claimed independence from Britain back in 1776. The celebrations are definitely similar. Lots of barbecues are brought out, as well as some classic American beers, and traditionally a lot of fireworks. But Australia never claimed independence from Britain. So that’s not it.
So what is it?

Turns out that Australia Day celebrates the arrival of the ‘First Fleet’ of British settlers. Or, in other words, it celebrates the invasion of Australia by the British. Some groups, including the indigenous population, not surprisingly, in fact call it Invasion Day, and it is not a date to be celebrated but rather a good day for a protest. For obvious reasons there is a lot of controversy surrounding the day. Drinking beer and having a barbecue doesn’t seem quite right when you’re celebrating invading a country and doing a good job of ruining the lives of the indigenous tribes. But, like all holidays, while it is based on historical events, I think the majority of people here see it as a day off work and a good excuse for a party. And who can blame them when it’s this hot outside? Plus, whether you believe it’s right or not, the descendants of those European invaders are still the ones who run this country so you can hardly blame them for celebrating their own history I suppose. To make things clear, I’m not condoning the way the indigenous population is treated now, but that’s a very long battle that is far far away from being solved.So is it really okay? I suppose that’s the question. Australia certainly isn’t the first, and probably won’t be the last to celebrate a day with such a dark history, but is it alright to celebrate a holiday when the origins and memories are so painful for at least one group of people? Something I’ll be pondering this week. But, whether you are an Australian or, like me, a visitor Down Under, I hope you enjoyed a day of good food and good company on a hot summer day.