Pack your humor

Travelers need to remember when packing for adventures like going to the grocery store down on the corner or to the eye doctor to see clearly, or across town when they need to see friends, neighbors, strangers, aliens and relatives, to whisper goodbye, "I'm off to join the circus!" perhaps for the final time (one never knows if they'll return) to pack their sense of humor.

Many travelers forget to pack their sense of humor. Perhaps they don't consider their sense of humor important or valuable or a life saver on their super serious adventures into foreign worlds. Worlds filled with humans, languages, smells, sights, sounds, - sense data - dirt, dust, sweat, being lost in dire straits, wandering without a GPS or compass.

Strange. You'd think they'd remember to keep it light, stay calm, focused, let go of expectations and perceived outcomes and enjoy their travails, I mean travels, with a sense of humor. Packing a sense of humor means less baggage and less fear.

Before you swim past a wand man/woman at security you don't have to put your sense of humor in the plastic box so it can roll through the x-ray machine. You don't see many travelers collecting their sense of humor after passing through security. Some kept it with them, others forgot it at Home Sweet Home.

After you pack everything cut it in half. Except your sense of humor.

After clearing immigration keep laughing when you have NOTHING TO DECLARE.

Metta.

Small paper gifts open doors

Settling into the flow of the street, city, parks, lakes, and people. It's a joy.

Irony of remembering arriving about a year ago in Jakarta from Turkey. How, during the long flight I studied packaging, how plastic wrap and tin foiled meals are air tight and require a degree in engineering to open them without spilling the contents everywhere.

Miles of tourists waited to have their passports stamped so they could get to Balinese temples, massage parlors and blue-green waves of laughter along some forgotten coast. Where palm oil plantation owners destroy the rain forest so women have sweet facial cosmetics. Where poor farmers kill elephants with poison laced pineapples for the black market ivory trade. Where people spend more time looking back than forward.

How the young immigration man asked me, "Do you have a return ticket?"

No.

"Come with me." He led me to a desk where he talked to another man. My school employer had failed to tell me I needed a return ticket - they assumed I would be stopping in Singapore for a visa but this was never explained. Clearly.

They talked. The man returned. "You need a ticket out." I took my passport from him, opened it and put a $100 note inside. "Will this help?" His eyes brightened, meaning yes. Money talks.

He returned to the box office, whispered to a colleague stamping tired expectant tourist faces and led me down the hall toward immigration officials. We passed rows of people waiting for their final turn at Stamp Entry Verification Headquarters. He went to an important man sitting in his cubicle staring at a computer. Mr. Big.

"Go through and wait there," he said, pointing to the free zone. He handed my passport to the man, they talked, the official stamped my document and returned it to him. He walked over, handed it to me, smiled and said, "Welcome to Indonesia."

"Thank you for your help. Goodbye."

When I shared this memory with the woman in charge of administration for foreign teachers she smiled, "Yes, that's the way things are done here."

So it goes.

Metta.

Wandering

How does it feel in hot, humid, steamy Hanoi? Delightful.

It's the poetry of the street. Diversity of life's energy. Fascinating documentary of modern tribal realities. Blond backpackers wear rubber flip-flops. Hard going through the mud and meadows of reality. Influences and migration.

Ha Noi Handicrafts is a fine place with friendly people. Feel free to see their site: 

I am Anon-o-mouse. Enjoy fresh tea near the lake at dusk. Dancing yellow lights. Fish are jumping.

Massage away your tension, anxiety, fear. Practice sitting and walking and breathing like a monk. Calm, serene and spine. This is a quiet simple dignity.

Metta.

Joy

Greetings,

A simple joy is being in Hanoi savoring delicious Chinese tea.

I am liberated from tolerating the tyranny at a private Catholic school in Jakarta. I completed my penance. A beautiful universe.

It feels fantastic to be back in the University of the Street. So it goes.

Metta.

Zeynep - Wonder Kid

Once upon a time there was a traveling teacher and he left Asia Minor after a year of exploring and returned to Southeast Asia.

He began helping 4th graders. As a student he was making new friends and sharing on another very small part of the spinning planet filled with orchids and astonishing butterflies. Ah, the joys of travel, teaching and taking risks!

Meanwhile, back in Bursa, Turnkey, a magical place on a border between Asia and Europe, at the Western end of the Silk Road, Zeynep is a precocious 5-year old.

The front of her t-shirt reads, "Nobody's perfect." 
The back reads, "I am Nobody."

She pointed around her restaurant and whispered across the table.

"See these adults? Why do they look so sad and/or angry? Because, when they were young, they were punished for dreaming."

"Yes, fear is a real imaginary way with them, this perpetual adolescence."

"And I'll tell you another thing," said Zeynep. "I experience joy through writing, painting, drawing, singing and dancing."

"Yes," I whispered, "I am happy we met here. You are my best friend in the world. I trust you and love you." We shared a hug and dissolved into tear reflected light.