tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55871757524045879262024-03-14T22:49:28.492-07:00Global PilgrimJohn Soos, PhDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03139928669902751027noreply@blogger.comBlogger116125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5587175752404587926.post-82709788402166278572024-01-02T18:05:00.000-08:002024-03-14T22:45:34.458-07:00Travels in the Western Balkans <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span><div style="font-family: Times; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: medium; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: Times; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: medium; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><span><br /></span></span></div><div style="font-family: Times; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: medium; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt93r8Lc4X3AUx4QRegw4R3uFhs1eN-lK8wVlwkaSxpCULNxWmtupGctYKu7JEHEg78Ri_koxDevkaagy9G8KcvKS3amGcfNd8NpPV_ln0MmzqqIt6SGjdoPFWvkAx7hvprZzaxTXaz6-fj79r7RbETi7zI4S7NDJiqpK1ejQDLT6qOuY8f2hFPrCvWKbV/s4032/IMG_6138.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt93r8Lc4X3AUx4QRegw4R3uFhs1eN-lK8wVlwkaSxpCULNxWmtupGctYKu7JEHEg78Ri_koxDevkaagy9G8KcvKS3amGcfNd8NpPV_ln0MmzqqIt6SGjdoPFWvkAx7hvprZzaxTXaz6-fj79r7RbETi7zI4S7NDJiqpK1ejQDLT6qOuY8f2hFPrCvWKbV/s320/IMG_6138.jpeg" width="240" /></a></span></div><div style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span><br /></span></span></div><div style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-family: verdana;">It was time to move on from the familiar embrace of Hungary and to explore further afield. Transitioning from home into the unknown, entering that liminal space, is always a curious blend of excitement and trepidation - as we move from certainty and stasis to fluctuation and adventure. </span></span></div><div style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-family: verdana;">And thus it was time for a road trip! Given the relentless European summer heatwave, my duffle bag is half empty, music is downloaded, and my nostalgic peanut butter and jam sandwich is ready for the long drive ahead. </span></span></div><div style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span>Várpalota, Hungary to Trogir, Croatia (via Zadar, Croatia) is 675 kilometers. </span><span><span>Trogir to Split is a short ferry or a 27 km drive away. Trogir is the more tranquil of the two. Both are stunning - architecturally and in terms of landscape. From intensely ornate medieval cathedrals to gorgeous beaches, these two Croatian cities on the Adriatic Sea</span><span> are superb destinations to explore.</span></span><span> </span></span></div><div style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtOmP5ymB8WK4tbbdaqBHLbMTD6iMN5_j_JIl6S7oNCEPOQeT0uDTqEL-LKoKqtlDlR4BvEvandu-W64pfURmTg2074809_5YSoV67ng8cSC1CR1mzaXHeywBBAvxNIE3qNz9killG2ZA4reyvwgLE7ZIlrVI5N9-3P8kWAkAFWTXuGwq9jZfQVfB-byIe/s4032/IMG_5978.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtOmP5ymB8WK4tbbdaqBHLbMTD6iMN5_j_JIl6S7oNCEPOQeT0uDTqEL-LKoKqtlDlR4BvEvandu-W64pfURmTg2074809_5YSoV67ng8cSC1CR1mzaXHeywBBAvxNIE3qNz9killG2ZA4reyvwgLE7ZIlrVI5N9-3P8kWAkAFWTXuGwq9jZfQVfB-byIe/w200-h150/IMG_5978.jpeg" width="200" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span><span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span><span style="text-align: justify;">While the joy of swimming in warm, secluded, protected waters is easy to understand, </span><span style="text-align: justify;">the grotesque medieval carvings on the 13th century portal of St. Lawrence's Cathedral in Trogir is baffling. The contrast of the cathedral's sublime, sacred interior spaces with the external deranged iconography is jarring. And maybe that's the very purpose of these otherworldly creatures: leave the external world of materialism, temptation, evil and ego on the outside, as you enter infinite, spiritual space inside the church. </span></span></div></span></div><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><br /></p></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghQ-PqjHE6fy0gGqthrkY_70VJNfq14XohB6ij8onis2MrDFT9CMcpo853o22ZaDFvZ0yRIeJmNqiM9DLkxQeRuHHOpNvDei2suZGwB3mXCzkjNKJD_uiOaz37GEc-z93j1TthYr44EIWp_anuyRYw2PGEalSYKknRnfwMp1iBx18m5nhT6-Vd-pSyng7E/s3073/IMG_5998.jpeg" style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: large; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3073" data-original-width="2305" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghQ-PqjHE6fy0gGqthrkY_70VJNfq14XohB6ij8onis2MrDFT9CMcpo853o22ZaDFvZ0yRIeJmNqiM9DLkxQeRuHHOpNvDei2suZGwB3mXCzkjNKJD_uiOaz37GEc-z93j1TthYr44EIWp_anuyRYw2PGEalSYKknRnfwMp1iBx18m5nhT6-Vd-pSyng7E/s320/IMG_5998.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-family: verdana;">I leave Croatia and my travel companions behind to continue my Balkan adventures as a solo traveller - perhaps travel in its most purest form.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></div><div style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: large; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: helvetica; font-size: large; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh41xwidbP5c8PLpbrBLcqXuMT9IiIHlG7LOebysbRXX1c1mRyFBvyE2-5_5HWyr6bCWSwi6bQ4ZC34Lbs95l0Eg6Dd9b5IOvORmkDhJ_hYQlxyA8MFL0-r3MiNYej_OYUfwwFGn_wWwIP1-AL6Oa8uKw9qkxybbDrMkxtItkjqWyARU_boFBP3wUD-Kgvz/s3512/IMG_6049.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2493" data-original-width="3512" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh41xwidbP5c8PLpbrBLcqXuMT9IiIHlG7LOebysbRXX1c1mRyFBvyE2-5_5HWyr6bCWSwi6bQ4ZC34Lbs95l0Eg6Dd9b5IOvORmkDhJ_hYQlxyA8MFL0-r3MiNYej_OYUfwwFGn_wWwIP1-AL6Oa8uKw9qkxybbDrMkxtItkjqWyARU_boFBP3wUD-Kgvz/w400-h284/IMG_6049.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: helvetica; font-size: large; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: helvetica; font-size: large; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Arriving late in the evening by bus from Trogir, Croatia to Sarajevo, Bosnia and Hercegovina wasn't straightforward. The bus terminal was closed, public transport was nowhere to be found, and taxi drivers were wildly negotiating fees at breakneck speed which my sleepy brain was having trouble processing. A persistent yet amicable driver and I finally connected and we found my hotel in a dark, narrow alleyway next to a river. It was midnight. The very pleasant elderly gentleman who greeted me was the father of the guesthouse owner. As a weary traveller at the end of a long day, I was glad to be embraced by his genuinely warm hospitality.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Sarajevo captivated me completely. I simply was incapable of leaving this magical city. Echos reverberating back to its not too distant tragic, genocidal history are undeniably present, yet the city's triumphant and joyous emergence from the collective trauma is hopeful and inspirational - perhaps especially now as we again are confronting these darkest dimensions of humanity. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqjToenX1LCBYpe4T4O_ms6_PU5vj_PyONZIrUD1wRHSsfSLfUFnkDCDc6usfTIreFDxi-_lSHAX6gRGkriYSF7oI9riR9PlZ0bKlSapzg5ktHQGN6dP2Tzl5liD_MRZi85lzYTzZNT8fpMsL60tsyInLWVLxdP85VVmWzYdlTyiQu-DlM3NS2jMeH8ErN/s3638/IMG_6015.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3638" data-original-width="2810" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqjToenX1LCBYpe4T4O_ms6_PU5vj_PyONZIrUD1wRHSsfSLfUFnkDCDc6usfTIreFDxi-_lSHAX6gRGkriYSF7oI9riR9PlZ0bKlSapzg5ktHQGN6dP2Tzl5liD_MRZi85lzYTzZNT8fpMsL60tsyInLWVLxdP85VVmWzYdlTyiQu-DlM3NS2jMeH8ErN/w246-h287/IMG_6015.jpeg" width="246" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">One of two hundred Roses of Sarajevo.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span>They mark a spot where mortar fire killed at least three people during the Siege of Sarajevo between April 5, 1992 to February 29, 1996, during which nearly 14,000 people were killed, including 5,434 civilians. The fragmentation patterns left by the explosions were later filled in with red resin as memorials to those who lost their lives during the Bosnian War. As I walk about enjoying the city's vibrant post war energy, it feels important to have these reminders of the pain humanity is capable of perpetrating - as a way of hopefully preventing subsequent atrocities.</span><span> </span><span>Sadly, the genocide we see unfolding in Gaza, Palestine these days tells me that we're still not ready to transcend violent tribal </span><span><span>attachments.</span><span> </span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi3MVFcG1nnT2Jawb3_EpBBFq8en8byzK0j95q7tm6a-pbzU4ruaW97ATxrjVN9Flz2T4ioeAGJyJwmgW4I7NRYIuw_8GO0TOAxEtfhGoQAD7kokq2WNcDQvgox3sh_pfS6dXXVIahXb1XgnmLYeEk8JW65e81_GnGgDfcJSEDtUDxi0Wu1_JrZ4VQ9j70/s4032/IMG_6016.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi3MVFcG1nnT2Jawb3_EpBBFq8en8byzK0j95q7tm6a-pbzU4ruaW97ATxrjVN9Flz2T4ioeAGJyJwmgW4I7NRYIuw_8GO0TOAxEtfhGoQAD7kokq2WNcDQvgox3sh_pfS6dXXVIahXb1XgnmLYeEk8JW65e81_GnGgDfcJSEDtUDxi0Wu1_JrZ4VQ9j70/s320/IMG_6016.jpeg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS_rmwhD1TVHLg-fQ3HquHZJs1vc1Ort32qzpf5e56pz_yU51vIioUtBjSC6H6GrWjiyQMGyQYQW6g5GjtpqW_3M-D_5a4aYGnA8e43oz5wSw0JPl2COLrV2zyUgW_CjococFdrDRGrQDCY3W6NNPkJ8gH-TewOrdYrnMIAQZYkOv8tGzqcec1_mytKMjs/s2939/IMG_6095.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2939" data-original-width="2802" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS_rmwhD1TVHLg-fQ3HquHZJs1vc1Ort32qzpf5e56pz_yU51vIioUtBjSC6H6GrWjiyQMGyQYQW6g5GjtpqW_3M-D_5a4aYGnA8e43oz5wSw0JPl2COLrV2zyUgW_CjococFdrDRGrQDCY3W6NNPkJ8gH-TewOrdYrnMIAQZYkOv8tGzqcec1_mytKMjs/s320/IMG_6095.jpeg" width="305" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjb6qLYuHpkHuF5Mok50pd6JBRGVpWvqVd8mD6xiMNSaHzmnyD3Y2AKcwxO34z_SDBaOgz5Ps1RauNt1Daj-GGtPVjp7U_YuD3IlZ1IDDZ6qlYhS3xasGPGchqemhm5YOiOx5BZ07AViMNxKGW3wYxfelrhZY_NmX30K-pFlqy4lv1flxfbMX7XU3tHUHaP" style="clear: right; display: inline; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="769" data-original-width="1024" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjb6qLYuHpkHuF5Mok50pd6JBRGVpWvqVd8mD6xiMNSaHzmnyD3Y2AKcwxO34z_SDBaOgz5Ps1RauNt1Daj-GGtPVjp7U_YuD3IlZ1IDDZ6qlYhS3xasGPGchqemhm5YOiOx5BZ07AViMNxKGW3wYxfelrhZY_NmX30K-pFlqy4lv1flxfbMX7XU3tHUHaP=w200-h150" width="200" /></a></div></span></div></span></div></span><span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The unique East meets West vibe of the city - striking me like Budapest meets Istanbul - is a pleasure to explore. In fact strolling along Ferhadija Street, one can literally take a single step and be noticeably transported from a European to an Asian urban landscape, at the point inscribed, "Sarajevo - Meeting of Cultures". </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Taking the Sarajevo Cable car up to Mt. Trebević made for a fine afternoon. Hiking amidst cool, pine fresh trails and the views of the city below are lovely. I had a chance encounter where the forest trail led to a viewpoint from where one could take in the charming urban landscape below. A gentleman slightly limping and accompanied by his daughter were speaking English and I said, "Hello". He recounted how he was a small boy when he was with the first family to be airlifted by the UN out of Sarajevo after his home was amongst those bombed by Bosnian Serbs - from the very surrounding mountains we were now hiking in. It was during the 1992 to 1995 siege of the city that he sustained the leg injury with which he returned to his birthplace for the first time since his childhood rescue. He was one of the 50,000 Sarajevans wounded. More than 10, 500 residents of Sarayevo were killed during that four year period. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">As I am finally getting around to writing this on March 7, 2024 - we enter the fifth month of the genocide in Gaza. I can't help but think of the over 30,000 Palestinians killed by Israeli forces there. The rate and severity of this annihilation is unbearable. Moreover it is totally disheartening and painfully unbelievable how often we need to repeat, "Never again!" The failure of humanity to even call for a ceasefire while 150 Palestinian children are killed every day is a crime so evil that it's unfathomable. The searing, traumatic repercussions of this will haunt us all for generations. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></span></div></span><span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk8m0oLAOdIb3nNW7V9BeX5RqOYCv-PXqZNFew_ZGwdw70yOyNMsC201e_5zc6TCgtj2QlJBkUZb7YvtEsoT70Y_jBzEH8bhyduCu75rDfeKj7vyBNaIPUvHZQlihv-S_wPRx9aFot3eJ81p0cwdZEzoMGiGaifBm1RZ0kyWm60Yu2dsFwb6fC5Ugo_XMF/s4032/IMG_6037.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk8m0oLAOdIb3nNW7V9BeX5RqOYCv-PXqZNFew_ZGwdw70yOyNMsC201e_5zc6TCgtj2QlJBkUZb7YvtEsoT70Y_jBzEH8bhyduCu75rDfeKj7vyBNaIPUvHZQlihv-S_wPRx9aFot3eJ81p0cwdZEzoMGiGaifBm1RZ0kyWm60Yu2dsFwb6fC5Ugo_XMF/s320/IMG_6037.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></span></div></span><span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Continuing to hike through the forest, one eventually arrives at the post apocalyptic</span></div></span></div></span><span style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">scene of the graffiti - covered ruins of the 1984 Sarajevo Winter Olympics bobsled track.</span></div></span></div></span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx8N8_s-Wr4bJgfVLyXbYYwh9s11uisYyut0D3IHkNi-ow-1wTtPOrYSEsEUBWyYrV98CfWswP8rmpU_0btxwmL-skBNhA6eJXI6_e_IXFXjmnxLEHEG4pPR6ULXgvD4rulppMIp_QwPd8XoX78He4q2i8WKiz5ibEqcXIZuYfhGNlRvGFQ7iYxrCdWquN/s3922/IMG_6036.jpeg"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="3922" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx8N8_s-Wr4bJgfVLyXbYYwh9s11uisYyut0D3IHkNi-ow-1wTtPOrYSEsEUBWyYrV98CfWswP8rmpU_0btxwmL-skBNhA6eJXI6_e_IXFXjmnxLEHEG4pPR6ULXgvD4rulppMIp_QwPd8XoX78He4q2i8WKiz5ibEqcXIZuYfhGNlRvGFQ7iYxrCdWquN/s320/IMG_6036.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I travelled to Mostar from Sarajevo with a small group organized locally by the excellent outfitter, Meet Bosnia Tours. Mostar is the home of the world renown bridge built originally between 1557 and 1566. It was deliberately destroyed in 1993 during the Bosnian War of 1992 to 1995 during which it's estimated over 100,000 people were killed. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHjTRlGeWf5I_ywNCTX916KEitW6BNh3OJuK7XuRYfmSlomH-4EBFJmqqKONzMDfJ7cY2McnrgRHQIgVsdUugyftBn5OwxHYEjteFBQ4sisEZHfOtYwhcJDypnHG7-fjqS63T5X8SRLTq_o9WCQ1omO19D6ul3LWA54h3NT2OHRdY_DN6EcvL4zkFEr3Jb/s4032/IMG_6079.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHjTRlGeWf5I_ywNCTX916KEitW6BNh3OJuK7XuRYfmSlomH-4EBFJmqqKONzMDfJ7cY2McnrgRHQIgVsdUugyftBn5OwxHYEjteFBQ4sisEZHfOtYwhcJDypnHG7-fjqS63T5X8SRLTq_o9WCQ1omO19D6ul3LWA54h3NT2OHRdY_DN6EcvL4zkFEr3Jb/s320/IMG_6079.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The 600 year-old Dervish Monastery, Blagaj Tekija just outside Mostar is a sublime and evocative place to reflect on the power of connecting to the sacred whilst reverberations of the terrible history of the region abound. Looking Heaven-wards through tiny, star-shaped, coloured windows, one can perhaps sense the transcendent light which unites all God's creations.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijrjQ0FuCEXphNXEFFX37eFiNvPuHrBQJVv8Gn_dlW-1jc_b65ifNNE-n1d3Y4Jw5FOaM3-6EpJRZzTAwoe50GV7AJ4BkCxygSoTd6__V8icIu8Q5iQoRKbshXm7_dTeqNNj5Kb2evpFMoTYu6_jE0SzwBsZDqfyF124jI90sIkdhDY3CvQt348QFAvP2c/s3705/IMG_6088.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3705" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijrjQ0FuCEXphNXEFFX37eFiNvPuHrBQJVv8Gn_dlW-1jc_b65ifNNE-n1d3Y4Jw5FOaM3-6EpJRZzTAwoe50GV7AJ4BkCxygSoTd6__V8icIu8Q5iQoRKbshXm7_dTeqNNj5Kb2evpFMoTYu6_jE0SzwBsZDqfyF124jI90sIkdhDY3CvQt348QFAvP2c/w326-h400/IMG_6088.jpeg" width="326" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPWB6ijhEhHauFd2zF2rahXv1XPWzH1fuHvO7E2B_yMYbJx3dy2YZyinCBnctBgz4WJ0BPB8KYVjXbPnfQvXJ3lUJX0plFy6apac7yui6NJzz52rtE2N2FgzmR3wo4RjdJVMDFi3Jkbitf-ASIW8KEJJh8P3wHNBmnlMKJoKBQeT8b7OfU_j9t2X8T1j9O/s4032/IMG_6086.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPWB6ijhEhHauFd2zF2rahXv1XPWzH1fuHvO7E2B_yMYbJx3dy2YZyinCBnctBgz4WJ0BPB8KYVjXbPnfQvXJ3lUJX0plFy6apac7yui6NJzz52rtE2N2FgzmR3wo4RjdJVMDFi3Jkbitf-ASIW8KEJJh8P3wHNBmnlMKJoKBQeT8b7OfU_j9t2X8T1j9O/s320/IMG_6086.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Ever-shifting, strong and contradictory feelings accompanied me throughout my travels in Bosnia & Hercegovina. Waves of sadness, confusion and anger could unexpectedly sweep over me, triggered for instance by a sight of fading graffiti on a war-damaged building. Alternating emotions of genuine happiness were sparked by pleasant, peaceful and care-free interactions I regularly had with strangers in the streets and in cafés, or during time spent in places of worship. During contemplative periods I had in both a mosque and a cathedral in Sarajevo, I reflected on the messages of peace central to both religions. I thought about how people who had once lived harmoniously together could be manipulated and enraged by extremist political leaders. These warmongering tyrants would exploit ethno-religious differences to further their murderous political agendas. The deadly violence, trauma and destruction finally ended with the Dayton Agreement reached on November 21, 1995 by the presidents of Bosnia, Croatia and Serbia.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtlhDSfJNgzJyouepn3JCRpHroIWYWi_JR7N6c2npuGz7M7UEQ7k5ZcGuzsFrE4TBQun7UAUE2vI2oobvfwqa8XusbbKK1l5M4i_JZU-MsBKsLozZ76os0EqflQfr1XtI2EwiO0xd0daGx_ysm4DWvC9fRPcjVFooW-331UJ3LuPEKH9qTgDI6KC1GBUSM/s4032/IMG_6094.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtlhDSfJNgzJyouepn3JCRpHroIWYWi_JR7N6c2npuGz7M7UEQ7k5ZcGuzsFrE4TBQun7UAUE2vI2oobvfwqa8XusbbKK1l5M4i_JZU-MsBKsLozZ76os0EqflQfr1XtI2EwiO0xd0daGx_ysm4DWvC9fRPcjVFooW-331UJ3LuPEKH9qTgDI6KC1GBUSM/w300-h400/IMG_6094.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">From Sarajevo, Bosnia & Hercegovina I travel by bus to Podgorica, capital of Montenegro. With a population of 151,000, Podgorica is compact, easily walkable and totally delightful. In fact the population of the entire country is 167,000. I realize quickly that I must return to Montenegro. My time here was simply not enough to experience all what this land is about. From rugged mountains with mind-bendingly beautiful hiking opportunities, to elegant, walled cities with grand plazas, courtyard cafés and stunning architectural gems, to up-market, sea side villages with ridiculously beautiful mountain views - I was astonished by this tiny country. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_v3dyOmwTuBzZGhLRyG_Xxq0VBJp7oMGkXU4SfAsIXQ_SyODmqFwUzyQvNWOPdtd0qe1s9RZoRQrq6io6et9sPB1Iok7TIxMLhaZZ12dQjbHhJXmraltv-57XMrY4tZDsjluRRPJ1C1o6I7AzG_Z7mC39T3gVcUV8LCOTiB4DtdFXA0vhxiFbpmVeXe8w/s4006/IMG_6114.jpeg" style="clear: left; display: inline; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4006" data-original-width="2728" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_v3dyOmwTuBzZGhLRyG_Xxq0VBJp7oMGkXU4SfAsIXQ_SyODmqFwUzyQvNWOPdtd0qe1s9RZoRQrq6io6et9sPB1Iok7TIxMLhaZZ12dQjbHhJXmraltv-57XMrY4tZDsjluRRPJ1C1o6I7AzG_Z7mC39T3gVcUV8LCOTiB4DtdFXA0vhxiFbpmVeXe8w/w273-h400/IMG_6114.jpeg" width="273" /></a><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div>One excellent day trip out of Podgorica consisted of taking local busses to Budva, on to Kotor, and later that night, the bus back to my guesthouse in Podgorica. Walking happily along atmospheric narrow Medieval-era streets, one now finds alongside the many lovely churches, fine Italian seafood restaurants, funky, affordable cafés, friendly neighbourhood bars - and a park for overly pampered stray cats! Adding to the allure of these two nearby cities along the Adriatic, are seaside promenades and nearby jagged mountain vistas. Both are dramatic and delightful places to explore from the capital, Podgorica. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFDCcEcoTE4hE8t50xtzy5q2wpZKOdLEzKHBIGuAF3Z_DQU0klGIy6dfL-rH7HHMKRmgVdba8grWsG5aC4niPDDFt_UDgwdFKkTKr0MdL-eaJw-Pzf_QTkhrm0esEy8X5kXqYyQCQgi3ZJo2NtdLTJ5_l_gynIe1fLiw7AukckgQ_iqm2wV3GSyMcTjXBL/s4032/IMG_6104.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFDCcEcoTE4hE8t50xtzy5q2wpZKOdLEzKHBIGuAF3Z_DQU0klGIy6dfL-rH7HHMKRmgVdba8grWsG5aC4niPDDFt_UDgwdFKkTKr0MdL-eaJw-Pzf_QTkhrm0esEy8X5kXqYyQCQgi3ZJo2NtdLTJ5_l_gynIe1fLiw7AukckgQ_iqm2wV3GSyMcTjXBL/w300-h400/IMG_6104.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPJ9TOZQSC3UItxovnpcmYGsX4PcYUSWhgiqpcf-MDnOMYJU2SBpJmTS6e99WTv28bxqfFfl1_jUzdVjktvs43hPbmDg7F8a3DYM7FhKd5Vx7kLfkJd4_xONyoWZuRvTt70wt-p6BLxLowmLeL0IVjhC4kaQ1akhriHbLTIOgLzsP0w4ONrlCl1-bXKXl3/s4032/IMG_6113.jpeg"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPJ9TOZQSC3UItxovnpcmYGsX4PcYUSWhgiqpcf-MDnOMYJU2SBpJmTS6e99WTv28bxqfFfl1_jUzdVjktvs43hPbmDg7F8a3DYM7FhKd5Vx7kLfkJd4_xONyoWZuRvTt70wt-p6BLxLowmLeL0IVjhC4kaQ1akhriHbLTIOgLzsP0w4ONrlCl1-bXKXl3/w320-h240/IMG_6113.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">From the young hotel receptionist, to fellow railroad passengers and in every guidebook and online post, I was told that the Orthodox Christian, Ostrong Monastery had to be visited. It's a truly remarkable place, constructed in 1665 into two giant caves overlooking a cliff face, 900 meters above the Zeta Valley. I join the queue of pilgrims waiting to enter a small, atmospheric shrine where St. Basil's relics are wrapped in fabric and over-looked by a priest. Some tell me that the in fact the miracle of St. Basil is that his body is actually fully preserved under that shrud. What is undeniable, is that one is visiting a revered and holy site. I joined those around me in making the Sign of the Cross, and said a brief prayer, before descending and hiking down the mountain to the train station. </span></div><span style="text-align: left;"><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: helvetica; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"> </span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: helvetica; font-size: large; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtAkEmtGbca6hlOYxRgoUPVado-kpqAtx6Bk_LqbkK86jyPVgQ-jrsTANpe7BVbEPhZJm-ZMbgl3H6XjQ18UljuQBXIqu4Kpu_hjv6EV7OqAJXAYR1f6x9Udks0aDCtBH-b78SKxKRQ_-MTcm8-r1l3_14VwqeaKyIBBFbhe1e2gSWlBJnqq-LUxBBl75X/s4032/IMG_6120.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtAkEmtGbca6hlOYxRgoUPVado-kpqAtx6Bk_LqbkK86jyPVgQ-jrsTANpe7BVbEPhZJm-ZMbgl3H6XjQ18UljuQBXIqu4Kpu_hjv6EV7OqAJXAYR1f6x9Udks0aDCtBH-b78SKxKRQ_-MTcm8-r1l3_14VwqeaKyIBBFbhe1e2gSWlBJnqq-LUxBBl75X/w300-h400/IMG_6120.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The hike down to the train station quickly turned into an unexpected, at times quite puzzling as the trail was long abandoned and difficult to follow. After the initial, in retrospect, somewhat misleading, confidence-inspiring sign stating "Train" with a red arrow pointing downwards, the terrain quickly became overgrown and with meandering, side tracks that seemed to lead nowhere in particular. An elderly gentleman came by and when awkward yet smiling gesticulations ended, I concluded that I was lost. It was getting dark, and it was doubtful that I would reach the train station in time to catch the next back to Podgorica. I retraced my steps to where I felt somewhat confident I made an incorrect turn. The map apps on my phone were inoperable. </span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNelxyYgbPAr1NbXzEKa-r-ScxkRWyVnkcXrVdKTUFWQk006SC2Afz__Wgz5xlwGcogOz2Ik1MSihH8UbOZPPynQ7UyzUxATfWNlNJ_RCpjSS3uRi_zwAZjJWokc4qxMvw7LVZz4-C6BkMv3PZQ2jtzjJiAqyOjFZE4elCiSDcJ6NopmYBIS4Zh3wVH3ld/s4032/IMG_6122.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNelxyYgbPAr1NbXzEKa-r-ScxkRWyVnkcXrVdKTUFWQk006SC2Afz__Wgz5xlwGcogOz2Ik1MSihH8UbOZPPynQ7UyzUxATfWNlNJ_RCpjSS3uRi_zwAZjJWokc4qxMvw7LVZz4-C6BkMv3PZQ2jtzjJiAqyOjFZE4elCiSDcJ6NopmYBIS4Zh3wVH3ld/s320/IMG_6122.jpeg" width="240" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I finally spot a way marker. It's written in Montenegrin. It occurred to me that using the camera function with Google Translate, I may be able to decipher it. I choose Serbian, and luckily I got back on track and happily worked my way down the steep, wooded trail to the rain station. As I scramble down to the base of the mountain, I see the graffitied train roaring into the station. I run towards it, but just as quickly as it appeared, the train departs. I sit down, somewhat dejected and say another small prayer. Perhaps St. Basil will come to my aid. Well, a bedraggled Spanish tango dancer shows up at the station. We happily greet one another, and reralize that our hike down from the monastery to the train station was almost identical. He too got lost, retraced his steps a number of times and took far longer to </span></div><div style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM93xe9WGL2SOc51GmcficTjzZA7PLShA4UTuFNuRff8mHSAEsJmcdNM4cejxNj6ErIT1uZ6y-Dizde2IM8t2eWp29d2t7dLW9l5nZJcxrxiSHEIVaOUtsac4GDhF-us22u34X5tkqusRsjD7e-5vCG3G1ow7ZHWCG76VuEDWR7I_sBjJYy_siUYMwDnz-/s4032/IMG_6125.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: helvetica; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="507" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM93xe9WGL2SOc51GmcficTjzZA7PLShA4UTuFNuRff8mHSAEsJmcdNM4cejxNj6ErIT1uZ6y-Dizde2IM8t2eWp29d2t7dLW9l5nZJcxrxiSHEIVaOUtsac4GDhF-us22u34X5tkqusRsjD7e-5vCG3G1ow7ZHWCG76VuEDWR7I_sBjJYy_siUYMwDnz-/w380-h507/IMG_6125.jpeg" width="380" /></a><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">arrive then he had anticipated. Suddenly the uncertainty was replaced by a happy time sharing travel tales. That another train back to Podgorica was arriving in an hour was a bonus. Thank you, St. Basil!</span><span style="font-family: helvetica;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: helvetica; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipFzlPFlK89nnxV3PBQTWbNVidg7UyRpFbxOfX9KEYpBoubTG-7P84W66Q6x3xSMnwv1F2BmNv3aCLecEmXm9kkQcm-Ft0lDSBaF3klDa4OdsDSLn4S2Y361AAPuuTWDfQRQUkOQrNugW43bhMv8gtcIfPMj9O0z6F5SES0Y1xsyY41g3x5c7o90OhrTa9/s4032/IMG_6129.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipFzlPFlK89nnxV3PBQTWbNVidg7UyRpFbxOfX9KEYpBoubTG-7P84W66Q6x3xSMnwv1F2BmNv3aCLecEmXm9kkQcm-Ft0lDSBaF3klDa4OdsDSLn4S2Y361AAPuuTWDfQRQUkOQrNugW43bhMv8gtcIfPMj9O0z6F5SES0Y1xsyY41g3x5c7o90OhrTa9/s320/IMG_6129.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">From Pogorica, Montenegro I traveled by bus to Shkodra, Albania. The record-breaking heatwave was continuing to broil and smother Europe, while at the same time forcing the world to take note and hopefully take action to reverse the climate catastrophe that our collective thoughtless, wasteful behaviour was responsible for. Unable to find my lodging in the extreme heat was not easy. Google Map on my smart phone was useless, as was the map in my guidebook. Asking repeatedly for directions seemed to lead me in circles. As it turned out, the people I asked in the street were generally giving me correct directions, it's just that the building was nondescript with no visible signage or address and I walked by it repeatedly until by good fortune, I asked the baker directly next door, if she knew where the guesthouse was! OK. "All's well that ends well." Thank you, William.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Shkodra is a marvellous city and frustrations surrounding my arrival evaporated quickly. Care-free locals intermingle with happy travellers in busy streets with art galleries, small shops, cafés and outdoor bistros. I especially treasured the easy, tolerant mix of churches and mosques, oftentimes down the street from one another.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: helvetica; font-size: large; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: helvetica; font-size: large; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2970" data-original-width="3024" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5EgI4YKPQk0k7-J0Q6V00T0k6-JKjasMCCQVY2pniEvmUwcQC-v7qRSpIOLtDb08bJC5AXTE6KRj79o1TRkynqKDhE0nFAw_h2Di6_82qOQHzzRnN6mSXZWD0xV1jWap2CC9t81yFQrZzC5JEp1lM8Mx5-c9CLlxB4BkWX4YGdkL_RNeJiKEaE_-IRnWl/s320/IMG_6195.jpeg" width="320" /> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmBXDHr1WNTRDa1l_wOz4BaMuokc1F1HoBEPsNgxp_iqOUtV_TlGfoMjIQZ1-Q1jOxClGoaTpRnIG6AB79ZzGcEN2py02ecTb4UEJCgp9n8KuQ1lJlCZ5QvBVa_LzbGkI0t2qaHtNq4EnQS_m6gabRBAetq0J2xUwIfJVKbWEyEqRv_VLe7HAw2pRRi9t8/s4032/IMG_6197.jpeg" style="clear: right; display: inline; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmBXDHr1WNTRDa1l_wOz4BaMuokc1F1HoBEPsNgxp_iqOUtV_TlGfoMjIQZ1-Q1jOxClGoaTpRnIG6AB79ZzGcEN2py02ecTb4UEJCgp9n8KuQ1lJlCZ5QvBVa_LzbGkI0t2qaHtNq4EnQS_m6gabRBAetq0J2xUwIfJVKbWEyEqRv_VLe7HAw2pRRi9t8/s320/IMG_6197.jpeg" width="240" /> </a></div></div><div style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: large; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: large; text-align: left;"><br /></div></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The lady running the guesthouse mae arrangements for me to travel by mini bus and boat from Shkodra to Valbona to do the Valbona to Theth hike. The ship and drive to Valbona, the day in the remote mountain village of Valbona, and the astonishingly beautiful hike the following day through the stunning Accursed Mountains to Theth was truly one of the highlights of my entire journey. But "accursed"? Far from it - the landscape in fact is blessed with eye-popping grandeur.</span></div><div style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: large;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: large;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji8CrmgGkfFJSebm4x4h3FBSruR_IDDpuXrfpEWRDmqRuDBdzpNFu8TDN3_DUjYXMpQetYXh_nd8Vs4O38QnrqUc5s0M3xS90rofj-6y7uoUY4aScfCroBU-YkB7TLL1k0gfmry0XqgBEpz_J-PVQSzU_Eo-eXsyUkK8iYFwBeLDxmYQrS2PBWx-5HDTjG/s3391/IMG_6156.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3391" data-original-width="2934" height="323" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji8CrmgGkfFJSebm4x4h3FBSruR_IDDpuXrfpEWRDmqRuDBdzpNFu8TDN3_DUjYXMpQetYXh_nd8Vs4O38QnrqUc5s0M3xS90rofj-6y7uoUY4aScfCroBU-YkB7TLL1k0gfmry0XqgBEpz_J-PVQSzU_Eo-eXsyUkK8iYFwBeLDxmYQrS2PBWx-5HDTjG/w277-h323/IMG_6156.jpeg" width="277" /></a></div><br /> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbCxPPYvH54A_3r-cBzFwLsUGnjSHTvaIkKb8wOE3IqqH7xh0ZUIjOzu2rGEY5hePVZGMEod9seAB0_kUbZtABDia2z6uHsb6pzVmEqWgm-3CYfANhrPUGQckHfOju5cSFFxVvak_Y40KvNXtegxbhaEX2EYsjfY5UvoFz3D6YU_SoXjgftxaUJB96gP89/s4032/IMG_6160.jpeg" style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="379" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbCxPPYvH54A_3r-cBzFwLsUGnjSHTvaIkKb8wOE3IqqH7xh0ZUIjOzu2rGEY5hePVZGMEod9seAB0_kUbZtABDia2z6uHsb6pzVmEqWgm-3CYfANhrPUGQckHfOju5cSFFxVvak_Y40KvNXtegxbhaEX2EYsjfY5UvoFz3D6YU_SoXjgftxaUJB96gP89/w256-h379/IMG_6160.jpeg" width="256" /></a></div><br /><div style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: large; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWau4WbwDmSqsV06wu8ju4CoUWRmM1Jh1Y69gVAgt0ODlnskJHjF01OIR-mac02C1mm1NZ2x-qkQr79bwFQeibT4f5-NPAcRgqJEVz25Lfo-zYHwFxk6n2ODAnPDoEFY8TeYrFiEmu7_nLmLLF069dOauG9DJgGuNQPNThxzfnMsEOzGbVj4dBuBVjMafT/s4032/IMG_6186.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWau4WbwDmSqsV06wu8ju4CoUWRmM1Jh1Y69gVAgt0ODlnskJHjF01OIR-mac02C1mm1NZ2x-qkQr79bwFQeibT4f5-NPAcRgqJEVz25Lfo-zYHwFxk6n2ODAnPDoEFY8TeYrFiEmu7_nLmLLF069dOauG9DJgGuNQPNThxzfnMsEOzGbVj4dBuBVjMafT/w400-h300/IMG_6186.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq0mW5m7vIkLc3vY1J6G5KchPZ-xlRR4ZmOP5SKF9yPJ4wKpHfrrs0ckJl1l2hTw4Ek4XTVk7rlymYtFzSsepuzqwEm6p5gN1fHWYO-J6IpLPj6sxUdjYmdEO5lFTDLxqOha73VOhCTjl-fIHbsIWHE_uzqWbwxd6j0vZ_xImMVN2oR7pXoVnKJlpq7hE0/s4032/IMG_6180.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq0mW5m7vIkLc3vY1J6G5KchPZ-xlRR4ZmOP5SKF9yPJ4wKpHfrrs0ckJl1l2hTw4Ek4XTVk7rlymYtFzSsepuzqwEm6p5gN1fHWYO-J6IpLPj6sxUdjYmdEO5lFTDLxqOha73VOhCTjl-fIHbsIWHE_uzqWbwxd6j0vZ_xImMVN2oR7pXoVnKJlpq7hE0/w200-h150/IMG_6180.jpeg" width="200" /></a></div></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwqDFzE1-qqTlD5C9gjE3FVaDdizfbBq22FP6Zmr7nw4GD8D_Cn36iixZs-oCHV36WwVOtPNPutD1VA2KjuWacFfvmXjfnMh9QA0heE38BiIVT07xBVupsr20TKcdchfpZqxVQLtr66Wmvz3p8xy9Cg5ZYLwvERH12EV3cAaRXZLrEZy7JSH2w8HODt-3c/s4032/IMG_6175.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwqDFzE1-qqTlD5C9gjE3FVaDdizfbBq22FP6Zmr7nw4GD8D_Cn36iixZs-oCHV36WwVOtPNPutD1VA2KjuWacFfvmXjfnMh9QA0heE38BiIVT07xBVupsr20TKcdchfpZqxVQLtr66Wmvz3p8xy9Cg5ZYLwvERH12EV3cAaRXZLrEZy7JSH2w8HODt-3c/w300-h400/IMG_6175.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div> <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Sadly it was time to leave the mountains and continue on to Tirana, the capital of Albania. I had been curious about Albania for many years as for much of the 20th century it was a European country closed to outsiders. In 1946 the People's Republic of Albania was proclaimed and the autocratic/paranoid Enver Hoxha became the tyrannical leader of what became an isolated, totalitarian nation. The population lived in fear of the secret police. Many were tortured and jailed for absurd acts like listening to foreign radio stations. Hoxha was afraid of internal dissent and foreign invasion alike. This led him to install 750,000 concrete bunkers around the country should Albania be invaded. They were never used during his reign. Today many can be found scattered and abandoned around the country, while others have been re-purposed as art museums, tourist attractions, and historic sites. Tirana, like that proverbial phoenix, has risen from the ashes and is in a continual and exciting process of redefining itself as a a vibrant, colourful - literally - modern city where it's inhabitants warmly welcome international travellers. I hope to someday return to Tirana and then travel further afar to explore deeper its charming towns and varied, stunning countryside. Oh how those dramatic mountains beckon. Maybe the daunting name of the range, the Accursed Mountains will help keep the masses away. At least until word gets out, that these dramatic peaks are also known as the Albanian Alps. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Colourful ultramodern towers and this beautiful Catholic church </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">would have been inconceivable in Hoxha's Tirana. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5CF8lvxJ-6RyjTIzAQXtlnq5ExexQ0Wr5Ot7rbW320fTZkX7R7h0XflVeu47h0z50ikDkuY2W9F7l__uyu9ncKILIASqAcYMyukJB_XJTunTD1XWC-MtoCDyMRwadbT7eCemBic00FkkDJzPbZ4O7KAV3K9WiscrdxFAM8s5vnfP5od-sBIqyaCFxYOMV/s4031/IMG_6218.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4031" data-original-width="2851" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5CF8lvxJ-6RyjTIzAQXtlnq5ExexQ0Wr5Ot7rbW320fTZkX7R7h0XflVeu47h0z50ikDkuY2W9F7l__uyu9ncKILIASqAcYMyukJB_XJTunTD1XWC-MtoCDyMRwadbT7eCemBic00FkkDJzPbZ4O7KAV3K9WiscrdxFAM8s5vnfP5od-sBIqyaCFxYOMV/w283-h400/IMG_6218.jpeg" width="283" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The infamous bunkers - literal externalizations of Hoxha's paranoid delusional inner landscape are everywhere. No longer menacing, a child fearlessly explores a graffitied one in downtown Tirana. </span></div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy6L_SX0IwRhFylOjRSra5oOJWfQmCT893Wdczt_-pAtKBs4mTHT_6VKwHhaX4Zf5nGSiM9WTktgbhZX7AY_pSypyD9SsU_alJ6MTQVFGO9Dtomf4ICwlfdiwlcfERvEPKrYut-9cRK7Elu34-Ml5BQ5dm8Z1WtgZUdsL7wX4T2KVGsYxn0OHMtA_Q4fMM/s4032/IMG_6219%202.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy6L_SX0IwRhFylOjRSra5oOJWfQmCT893Wdczt_-pAtKBs4mTHT_6VKwHhaX4Zf5nGSiM9WTktgbhZX7AY_pSypyD9SsU_alJ6MTQVFGO9Dtomf4ICwlfdiwlcfERvEPKrYut-9cRK7Elu34-Ml5BQ5dm8Z1WtgZUdsL7wX4T2KVGsYxn0OHMtA_Q4fMM/s320/IMG_6219%202.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Bunk'Art is a must-see historic museum and contemporary art gallery converted from a massive, elaborate underground Cold War bunker built for the Communist Party's political elite in the 1970s. The facility remained a secret throughout its existence. Classless society my ass!</span><br /> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQPan_eJnATaVZ-ItuAVQhUgE0PudUJyMD9sK877AwrMkYM4jzgVlAqPSLMmJesiNlUG2pjYddAbh5qbXbGqNkBqdvYmMo2kpsnJIdVn0flGhS3rfBaQG7sp-b7PTvL7LGUldbvIBuAN7wQAwhYSxgDqcIzetqDxFlYdlZp8fATJTv7FlGGh7ELVR0s12G/s4032/IMG_6231%202.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQPan_eJnATaVZ-ItuAVQhUgE0PudUJyMD9sK877AwrMkYM4jzgVlAqPSLMmJesiNlUG2pjYddAbh5qbXbGqNkBqdvYmMo2kpsnJIdVn0flGhS3rfBaQG7sp-b7PTvL7LGUldbvIBuAN7wQAwhYSxgDqcIzetqDxFlYdlZp8fATJTv7FlGGh7ELVR0s12G/s320/IMG_6231%202.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">And by all means - beware of those dangerous, hippy, vagabond enemies of the State! </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghhlJ2T3RK9JwltkYTLcn55_l8q-TR2lCpl4us6QxWry9jQAKMZUI-1o7xY6tY_v201ii_KysNm0tyA9BKiwyLtqX_LyHWV43StkR3Khi_jS9pXmfOruH-2WRFKxjH0gWiQBgvrO-Cc4UQgZF2w_U51B7uFN-Wypu14UzKVXhyWCKAEpYmghbP0DWpO_Re/s4032/IMG_6228.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghhlJ2T3RK9JwltkYTLcn55_l8q-TR2lCpl4us6QxWry9jQAKMZUI-1o7xY6tY_v201ii_KysNm0tyA9BKiwyLtqX_LyHWV43StkR3Khi_jS9pXmfOruH-2WRFKxjH0gWiQBgvrO-Cc4UQgZF2w_U51B7uFN-Wypu14UzKVXhyWCKAEpYmghbP0DWpO_Re/w300-h400/IMG_6228.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></div></span><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>John Soos, PhDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03139928669902751027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5587175752404587926.post-18052705266335073242023-12-20T19:17:00.000-08:002024-01-04T10:26:53.265-08:00The Saddest Christmas (2023) and Bleakest New Year's Eve (2024)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW0zYSH0KfUD3mEHiQauMxFQrHOXxvwAvUkolvcVOYxxsmH08ETS3Ojolyr8m4COBMRXBxjpG7gGBsGnPRgsa3msNOmL9byxYsFDQXfhXB7VD2iUwi44gDra7jApznKweicyHvpA8q02BsQ-S7vUI37CQ0ypJpMGmd7EHTz_cKt5pM54lOdX7j5CkRWkG5/s900/IMG_6511.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="663" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW0zYSH0KfUD3mEHiQauMxFQrHOXxvwAvUkolvcVOYxxsmH08ETS3Ojolyr8m4COBMRXBxjpG7gGBsGnPRgsa3msNOmL9byxYsFDQXfhXB7VD2iUwi44gDra7jApznKweicyHvpA8q02BsQ-S7vUI37CQ0ypJpMGmd7EHTz_cKt5pM54lOdX7j5CkRWkG5/s320/IMG_6511.PNG" width="236" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;">How to say, "Merry Christmas" while Gaza is being annihilated? How to say, "Happy New Year" when more than 22, 000 lives have been taken by Israel's barbaric genocide? Western media is parroting absurd propaganda lies that Israel is defending itself against Hamas terrorists. Repeating this dishonest, racist formula only emboldens the vicious, indiscriminate bombing and ethnic cleansing. The horror is live-streamed onto our phones, yet even calling for a ceasfire is reframed as somehow being antisemitism. Since when is demanding an end to human rights violations and war crimes reflecting racism? </span><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;">70% of those slaughtered in Gaza are women and children. </span><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1HNt7-ysOiVf50O79Spr5BzWsTDJFVZ7B93gdRrVEVqufefjh01MieRRHE5UnZHR8pPtekPz1nveBnuLf6njoKoRyVQPhnVWjCG8gN73tuwhpkG_GwJe2iyKa73FI_psD8RWsELtJuVJTZkTXyohd2Oqfr-nf8UO_J1tuGlI0wX2l9waGV2eZqi1bqz3U/s1396/Screenshot%202023-12-23%20at%2012.05.15%20PM.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1396" data-original-width="1106" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1HNt7-ysOiVf50O79Spr5BzWsTDJFVZ7B93gdRrVEVqufefjh01MieRRHE5UnZHR8pPtekPz1nveBnuLf6njoKoRyVQPhnVWjCG8gN73tuwhpkG_GwJe2iyKa73FI_psD8RWsELtJuVJTZkTXyohd2Oqfr-nf8UO_J1tuGlI0wX2l9waGV2eZqi1bqz3U/s320/Screenshot%202023-12-23%20at%2012.05.15%20PM.png" width="254" /></a></div><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Are they all "terrorists", that nuclear weapons-enabled Israel needs to defend itself from? By non-stop massive, deadly bombing campaigns? Where starving people are huddled together in makeshift tents in "safe places" they were ordered to go to. Whose homes are demolished. Who are being deprived of food, water and medicine. These unfathomable mass atrocities have nothing to do with a "war on Hamas", but instead we are witnessing an intensification of a seventy-five year-long campaign of ethnic cleansing of Palestinians by a settler colonial, Zionist project intent on replacing the indigenous Palestinian population with a Jewish-only ethnonocracy. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Israel has been violently oppressing Palestine for decades. In addition to militarily occupying Gaza for 56 years, Israel has cut-off Gaza from the rest of the world since 2006. It is an isolated, besieged territory. Claiming Israel has a "right to defend itself" when beleaguered, encaged people resist their captors is simply nonsensical. A conqueror cannot claim self-defence when the oppressed people resist their subjugation. This is not a war between two armies. There is brutal, long-standing, illegal, military occupation confronting a people denied their fundamental freedoms who understandably refuse to be erased. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Peace cannot come about by a continuation of Israeli oppression and denial of basic freedoms. Lasting peace comes with justice. Justice means upholding international and humanitarian law, where all people are treated with dignity, freedom and equality. </span><span style="font-family: helvetica;">From the River to the Sea.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbaB6kLaSkS-wR0y3NGxm6DEu1SCenno9HoRKkomgj2bQXPy3B_olqJQpomNJZzbvAa8o0cW8JqVPQjcBtgZZDh_CbQxHU83P1do6StX6W2z11qmJ6_D4hDetsrXIl-IZPkzL_56zp5cWszSRDydXywEHhvElxDYHVPtBzp3Ko6S2oaejpMckBpvQxxSBJ/s612/IMG_6510.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="612" data-original-width="585" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbaB6kLaSkS-wR0y3NGxm6DEu1SCenno9HoRKkomgj2bQXPy3B_olqJQpomNJZzbvAa8o0cW8JqVPQjcBtgZZDh_CbQxHU83P1do6StX6W2z11qmJ6_D4hDetsrXIl-IZPkzL_56zp5cWszSRDydXywEHhvElxDYHVPtBzp3Ko6S2oaejpMckBpvQxxSBJ/s320/IMG_6510.jpeg" width="306" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">In spite of the mind-numbing horror unfolding in Gaza and the West Bank, the good people of Vancouver did not succumb to despair, but instead creatively mobilized on New Year's Eve to express love, hope and solidarity with the Palestinian people as they continue to resist their oppressors and move ever closer to their liberation. It was a powerful, beautiful and meaningful New Year's Eve after all. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUqSTlMwpqmA3gGIenguVKAgy4sqhWTy9Vs82CHJMfScDKReEysBqkYD-uqxFdN6CjsBYmzd5mBmVrZDUNft1_EgSG56FFQG1AZu-EntfbARLdSjlpHg4bO7CntJCY0FpQkZvy33RIOxraNyFeim4DhCJKSE3FCHY7XVvYhl-hcl_v5vk10PKiZNZ5om2V/s4032/IMG_6518.jpeg" style="clear: left; display: inline; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUqSTlMwpqmA3gGIenguVKAgy4sqhWTy9Vs82CHJMfScDKReEysBqkYD-uqxFdN6CjsBYmzd5mBmVrZDUNft1_EgSG56FFQG1AZu-EntfbARLdSjlpHg4bO7CntJCY0FpQkZvy33RIOxraNyFeim4DhCJKSE3FCHY7XVvYhl-hcl_v5vk10PKiZNZ5om2V/s320/IMG_6518.jpeg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQNQMNXzjYa2E7o4viO49uvswFJwpmNk4u8QLoTp_opNxBwHx_ARP57WZ0Qqkj5ATyK7bIpSJL1JO_V0CHpeQWaiUVk1dIgIjKeLvW9vpAX-6lzgBmqhOHAPiHp4rVFCQUFWDW0nMO7GoWo_B6NKAc3oHnSz6CH_EbpC1XI0oSAqW4A2f4phkIlQP1F4GZ/s4032/IMG_6521.jpeg" style="clear: right; display: inline; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQNQMNXzjYa2E7o4viO49uvswFJwpmNk4u8QLoTp_opNxBwHx_ARP57WZ0Qqkj5ATyK7bIpSJL1JO_V0CHpeQWaiUVk1dIgIjKeLvW9vpAX-6lzgBmqhOHAPiHp4rVFCQUFWDW0nMO7GoWo_B6NKAc3oHnSz6CH_EbpC1XI0oSAqW4A2f4phkIlQP1F4GZ/s320/IMG_6521.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div></span></div><div><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div>John Soos, PhDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03139928669902751027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5587175752404587926.post-11796642820150748052023-12-11T16:34:00.000-08:002024-03-14T22:48:56.484-07:00Summertime in Hungary <p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV-LXG0zGSdZ1gNy3Rh8zxjrOTEA_d-TdULVTfKGM6skb5KXkRN4lqRg3pHaK1oseInK8muJ_mhwU6YpTisB08Y05VS-kt_rHK7jF1-JaAm596znGUV82tXSZR__69Kuu2q0p_5RDUGLCV-dnxtJ2eRf_DxQi5eJbWwzTroM7IIXapqgp08QHNfxiupEi-/s4032/IMG_5939.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="483" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV-LXG0zGSdZ1gNy3Rh8zxjrOTEA_d-TdULVTfKGM6skb5KXkRN4lqRg3pHaK1oseInK8muJ_mhwU6YpTisB08Y05VS-kt_rHK7jF1-JaAm596znGUV82tXSZR__69Kuu2q0p_5RDUGLCV-dnxtJ2eRf_DxQi5eJbWwzTroM7IIXapqgp08QHNfxiupEi-/w631-h483/IMG_5939.jpeg" width="631" /></a></div> <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">My cousin and I were cycling around Hungary's Lake Balaton in 36 degree heat. Global climate change ensured that our outing was taking place during the absolute hottest month of July (2023) ever recorded - ever since even humans learned how to cycle! As I was visiting from Canada, and because we're both avid cyclists, we decided even though the entire European continent was enveloped in an infernal heatwave, that this was the day to set-out. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Lake Balaton, Central Europe's largest, is a defining feature in the Hungarian landscape - both the natural, external, geographic landscape, and within, the interior, psychologic landscape. People literally love this body of water. One can frequently hear Hungarians talking about how while they may have swam elsewhere in the world, nothing compares to swimming in their precious Lake Balaton; sometimes referred to as the Hungarian Sea or the Hungarian Mediterranean. Beautiful indeed. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrI0KZjBy5RTJcez9MfqlQFEe32oqo3yfNl081A90jVFUYlocqFawOTTWVXO-4Uxg-G3Kim-bQvedGw7LwbuPSnrXGuvU2yC0f0EuBaxtSRG88n1OlGBiTGKQn6VM3Kk58IXhLt_o0Qt6ufkmQaeeA6YVZt2z0ltnW8dhA1wK64WkCBYr-j5n02ul8d_8V/s4032/IMG_5936.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrI0KZjBy5RTJcez9MfqlQFEe32oqo3yfNl081A90jVFUYlocqFawOTTWVXO-4Uxg-G3Kim-bQvedGw7LwbuPSnrXGuvU2yC0f0EuBaxtSRG88n1OlGBiTGKQn6VM3Kk58IXhLt_o0Qt6ufkmQaeeA6YVZt2z0ltnW8dhA1wK64WkCBYr-j5n02ul8d_8V/s320/IMG_5936.jpeg" width="320" /></a>Given the record-breaking heat, we decided to tackle the smaller 85 kilometre circuit (see the accompanying Strava route map) which included a short ferry ride. In addition to stunning sunflower fields, we were able to cool down en route at some lovely, popular beaches. The wild cherry draught beer (naturally in moderate quantities) was also real nice. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">Next time, I hope to cycle the entire "Balatonkör" - the complete 204 km circuit of Lake Balaton. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl2Oi5SjBVKIW82BmTwrbv3VZEjPAiqwrNvJfmM7_ZWBAw4G4OM4wg_mzfY6bs2C6g6xmI4q_teK-X5OuC9C2VY-QMZ6qcTFguZQEvGDIy_PRXqp4vTIFblQwnGOEKjmHxI3azPYyGcs2G_wtF68_GewTAdgilpPtmO9R6fO9M9gzS3T2o09BliaB0BxRr/s1638/IMG_5940%202.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1638" data-original-width="1125" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl2Oi5SjBVKIW82BmTwrbv3VZEjPAiqwrNvJfmM7_ZWBAw4G4OM4wg_mzfY6bs2C6g6xmI4q_teK-X5OuC9C2VY-QMZ6qcTFguZQEvGDIy_PRXqp4vTIFblQwnGOEKjmHxI3azPYyGcs2G_wtF68_GewTAdgilpPtmO9R6fO9M9gzS3T2o09BliaB0BxRr/w275-h400/IMG_5940%202.jpeg" width="275" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My summer in Hungary - Magyarország in Hungarian - turned out to be quite an active affair which included a week-long hiking trip through Nográd County in northern Hungary. At times we simply walked in and out of Slovakia through the ancient forest straddling the two countries.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I aim to weave a spiritual dimension into all my travels. Sometimes I actively plan this, while on other occasions the sacred unexpectedly reveals itself - allowing me a momentary, luminous glimpse into Heaven on Earth. As such, my heart quickened when I learned from our guide that we were walking in an area near Salgotarján where 18th century hermit caves had been carved out of the basalt. After climbing up the steep slopes and looking out at the expansive landscape from within this cave - for a moment, I understood that I was peering out into the infinite.</div></div></div></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAf7FCwew-DQ07j2TgnpgHptziIx6309vYfouF1z6NKdlEOd3ALLDP0-uYWvpNEuXLgIZH0QRUurWYeyRg3RKH0vK0BYcvyWQNa824vtdEkvFxjp75q8P8UOym0cRsBHWEJ-qafBjy8SzLt0GKoFfCFWUwsptz_WMw8bNv0855mPXZgmIC8dcCsf0Y37YL/s4032/IMG_5874.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAf7FCwew-DQ07j2TgnpgHptziIx6309vYfouF1z6NKdlEOd3ALLDP0-uYWvpNEuXLgIZH0QRUurWYeyRg3RKH0vK0BYcvyWQNa824vtdEkvFxjp75q8P8UOym0cRsBHWEJ-qafBjy8SzLt0GKoFfCFWUwsptz_WMw8bNv0855mPXZgmIC8dcCsf0Y37YL/w480-h640/IMG_5874.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibijfC0B1JhNb7Msg871cXSlk7e5TBb0AKI0He1R-kVozKu1NQ9ig6hrdC_oJfHrMhoVZeW2Rat7jl64r7zDopqfNiLwoFDJ-DzhX-XNoZoFcC4HHWndGkMNZ_S7HYaRLfrdU1Q1fPCsAhOUftcNjnFFag2_BJMJorwt4AAfON8GywuAZSV_lnYSi2ssoG/s4032/IMG_5866.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibijfC0B1JhNb7Msg871cXSlk7e5TBb0AKI0He1R-kVozKu1NQ9ig6hrdC_oJfHrMhoVZeW2Rat7jl64r7zDopqfNiLwoFDJ-DzhX-XNoZoFcC4HHWndGkMNZ_S7HYaRLfrdU1Q1fPCsAhOUftcNjnFFag2_BJMJorwt4AAfON8GywuAZSV_lnYSi2ssoG/w480-h640/IMG_5866.jpeg" width="480" /><br /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfyRSsIkcg5nZuZ8yKpIWkEU_yDbtMXUiYXKwu-yamzgUBscjDKlLcDX6FeZQept4gX8D92372pM-jND2-ZJF9fG-ZYTG_LRk43QIDOdgNYWH9ftwfIyxjCA7ReGP5YHtxfRAVyDQ7vN5STC3GSew78_27KIqg148sWmEqBpnJ55fyenzHzUB2buPLN9sa/s500/sztupa_02.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="375" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfyRSsIkcg5nZuZ8yKpIWkEU_yDbtMXUiYXKwu-yamzgUBscjDKlLcDX6FeZQept4gX8D92372pM-jND2-ZJF9fG-ZYTG_LRk43QIDOdgNYWH9ftwfIyxjCA7ReGP5YHtxfRAVyDQ7vN5STC3GSew78_27KIqg148sWmEqBpnJ55fyenzHzUB2buPLN9sa/s320/sztupa_02.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">On another day of hiking, our small group visited a Buddhist temple. Now, while I knew of the Hungarian pilgrim-scholar, Körösi Csoma Sándor (at times, he used the Anglicized, Alexander Csoma de Koros), I was astonished to visit an authentic Buddhist Temple in this rather remote region of Hungary in the small village of Tar. Here a Peace Stupa was constructed by the local Karma Kagyüpa Buddhist Community </span><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">and later consecrated by His Holiness the Dalai Lama </span><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">to honour the life of the itinerant Hungarian mystic, poet, seeker and linguist, Csoma Sándor. It was he who opened the eyes of the Western world to Buddhism by creating the first ever Tibetan-English dictionary whilst living in harsh, self-imposed isolated conditions in another remote hermitage cave; this one in Zanskar, in the faraway, enchanted Indian Himalaya. </span><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipaANfTHk6i396LKcI5unq3ot9tTQu19I7t9ugqFjzuy9Gi-l9Z7ADsrV54HOK2Kc0bMIkVrg5zB9ReuiCNz-Xf-RUhNdw8__jImGsawNyUk2KjBIHAYtcqSpQWEe1lK7P-PuT1vmbDi96rHPyI0yBPmPqo2xoaPMDwffQ85X_gkJsQpwqgQcbI4dEtC7u/s4128/Image.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2006" data-original-width="4128" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipaANfTHk6i396LKcI5unq3ot9tTQu19I7t9ugqFjzuy9Gi-l9Z7ADsrV54HOK2Kc0bMIkVrg5zB9ReuiCNz-Xf-RUhNdw8__jImGsawNyUk2KjBIHAYtcqSpQWEe1lK7P-PuT1vmbDi96rHPyI0yBPmPqo2xoaPMDwffQ85X_gkJsQpwqgQcbI4dEtC7u/w400-h195/Image.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Earlier this year I had been trekking in the Nepal Himalaya and was familiar with Tibetan flags strung across high mountain passes. Seeing them here flutter in the hot Hungarian landscape surrounded by linden leaves and not along glaciated high altitude peeks, I had a sense of the universality of, and indeed, the need for, their essential message of peace, unity and compassion for all sentient beings.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">(The credit for the two photos from this Buddhist community do not belong to me. The stupa in the sunset is from the Group's website and the Tibetan prayer flags were photographed by my cousin, Magda. In my astonishment to have stumbled upon this reverential place, I was so swept away that I remembered to take only one picture of a sacred text.)</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ6ASrRsPgj1MOB6LyTQ6NYU0zwvnoWtl6qJDVawm0a-LuGhkOhRqUPKI4L_QZKC19uu9cBUMnaTyu3JHN0iLWhZicyoquhweIPVdfCQcYJJ9J38If1M6TR62psiK06mwe5FN7MPlUe2VpIjxUEDOTP1BpVSJrQdvswymZjMtbWfsdoQqHR8TPh5DK-dOk/s3955/IMG_6236.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3955" data-original-width="2846" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ6ASrRsPgj1MOB6LyTQ6NYU0zwvnoWtl6qJDVawm0a-LuGhkOhRqUPKI4L_QZKC19uu9cBUMnaTyu3JHN0iLWhZicyoquhweIPVdfCQcYJJ9J38If1M6TR62psiK06mwe5FN7MPlUe2VpIjxUEDOTP1BpVSJrQdvswymZjMtbWfsdoQqHR8TPh5DK-dOk/w288-h400/IMG_6236.jpeg" width="288" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Bús Zsófia was my father's grandmother. Little is known of her, except that she was born on April 14, 1874 and passed away on August 8, 1922. She was born in Várpalota, the same Hungarian village where my dad was born and where this summer I was visiting with my few remaining relatives. She is my great grandmother. I gathered this limited, preliminary information by talking with archivists and searching birth and death certificates at City Hall. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">One afternoon, whilst hiking in the ancient oak forest with my cousin, she told me that another relative (everyone I meet seems somehow to be "a relative" in this town) recalled stories of how Zsófia was buried in the nearby, abandoned old cemetery. As a little girl she would occasionally visit Zsófia's tomb and was therefore able to describe for us the location of her gravestone. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium; text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi49XBnq49gB53f6ORGUZx80itr2C5rDbzDfw9NQgk1tK4v7RGw5q733-voTpLEA32SWjyOxGEtQKSxf5NYbJwCP21H_FyzK7WMroswa-cbriXyjc20xncSPxj-n2OzGCx8pleOi86jsa2n7tlAIU-mMLNdiZNmF4BdKAZ_6tDObdvEtchxUvg66Aev72u_/s4032/IMG_5851.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi49XBnq49gB53f6ORGUZx80itr2C5rDbzDfw9NQgk1tK4v7RGw5q733-voTpLEA32SWjyOxGEtQKSxf5NYbJwCP21H_FyzK7WMroswa-cbriXyjc20xncSPxj-n2OzGCx8pleOi86jsa2n7tlAIU-mMLNdiZNmF4BdKAZ_6tDObdvEtchxUvg66Aev72u_/s320/IMG_5851.jpeg" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: helvetica; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We found the overgrown tombstone and began clearing it up. What a totally unexpected, meaningful and powerful encounter it was for me to discover the place where my great grandmother had been resting for over a hundred years. And so the journey goes on ...</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdGl-9XbNtmaEl6kMwHm1ErQ3jA6XZ9JhXBaE1dBJuC1FP05X-Yvc8uBM58Gta5bp9f5K2DV-MG83JxabZGkHiiIQGZwNbIXYdnVWSNfDENrpd2CDVbl8wVOLsBE0z_pYNA2eNYDE20g06AsZdFvGeRnxBCaLUt14UVxQjUMxQTEJ2z6EnG33yAxeJfPvC/s4128/20230713_130137.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: helvetica; font-size: large; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4128" data-original-width="2006" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdGl-9XbNtmaEl6kMwHm1ErQ3jA6XZ9JhXBaE1dBJuC1FP05X-Yvc8uBM58Gta5bp9f5K2DV-MG83JxabZGkHiiIQGZwNbIXYdnVWSNfDENrpd2CDVbl8wVOLsBE0z_pYNA2eNYDE20g06AsZdFvGeRnxBCaLUt14UVxQjUMxQTEJ2z6EnG33yAxeJfPvC/s320/20230713_130137.jpg" width="156" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: helvetica; font-size: large;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: large;"> </span></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: helvetica; font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ1UH8FPBiNlsN8uFnQVvPRxqQ5ngLKSaL5qObdCsy5yfE6AecKd1RJfctmm9_B2zHPZVrT7M2tE0vwXvp_g2WeXBZ-Fubrcb-0VHHjGoxVcKg1pk-z9KcpsQtX8fdZbtNW0pqXEZmXXOPqnaCFMbGcsLtlYW9hs0YXHFfVVxvJrVXuJi63usyDyJ_veW7/s4032/IMG_5944.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ1UH8FPBiNlsN8uFnQVvPRxqQ5ngLKSaL5qObdCsy5yfE6AecKd1RJfctmm9_B2zHPZVrT7M2tE0vwXvp_g2WeXBZ-Fubrcb-0VHHjGoxVcKg1pk-z9KcpsQtX8fdZbtNW0pqXEZmXXOPqnaCFMbGcsLtlYW9hs0YXHFfVVxvJrVXuJi63usyDyJ_veW7/w300-h400/IMG_5944.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div></div></div></div></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> </div></span></div></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><br /><p></p>John Soos, PhDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03139928669902751027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5587175752404587926.post-25847366032934112622023-05-21T21:38:00.014-07:002023-05-24T10:59:22.756-07:00A Birthday in Nepal. Or: What's another year, when you're walking amidst a 45 million year-old mountain range? <p><br /> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2WY0lW6AzNjJd4wUq1UA1E6ufhfOfMxWrgXfeeuJL4EG6v9D90HO77VwIw2qCVS0eCB6RQ9TsGybyTKQ4VOSpB1qPFOQ6dm3z43B5yfgVLa7V1f-rFwUj4WZGgVrvzjh4LxRZnFrUT1yeEeJjykOeUeYsoC7teqVYBriGRvqCK6xW8Tj5cpVFq4J9Hw/s3634/IMG_5505.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2732" data-original-width="3634" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2WY0lW6AzNjJd4wUq1UA1E6ufhfOfMxWrgXfeeuJL4EG6v9D90HO77VwIw2qCVS0eCB6RQ9TsGybyTKQ4VOSpB1qPFOQ6dm3z43B5yfgVLa7V1f-rFwUj4WZGgVrvzjh4LxRZnFrUT1yeEeJjykOeUeYsoC7teqVYBriGRvqCK6xW8Tj5cpVFq4J9Hw/w400-h301/IMG_5505.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Since my first journey to Nepal in 1989, I have been drawn back to what was then the Hindu Kingdom of Nepal, and after painful political upheaval, now the Federal Democratic Republic of Nepal - at least a half dozen times. The charming and remote Himalayan villages, the cacophony of Thamel in Kathmandu, the unabashed display of spirituality, including a seamless interweave of Buddhism and Hinduism, the children greeting you with choruses of Namastes - each one a prayer recognizing our inherent divinity - the magic of this land continues to warmly embrace me.<p></p><p>As I live in Vancouver, I reside at sea level. Consequently, even though I am familiar with the signs of AMS - acute mountain sickness - I always experience some pre-departure anxiety around this topic. I obsessively review the altitude at which symptoms are to first appear (2,500 meters above sea level is the usual threshold) and check whether my Diamox tablets have expired or not - which I take with me like some sort of pharmacologic rabbit's foot, as I haven't had to use them in years. This is all part of my pre-trip ritual, like packing and unpacking a thousand times in an attempt to shave off a gram or two in my luggage. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzouSJ_b1UvVFo14MViePCcLrfVLTXUdVtm3KpNIPyJZtpWyNZYznv9wZ7d1r4IAmtlEPtjhE1HTgx7QkEbKfZzsmoMlJ1AJdGgU2AaGfu-7qCTDtuT8MQsMwgYBfERvP4rdOrKj649iHCtLt2yLkIW5Lt68J0qznUmrgVPNjdFxXMhMoNoUV1_0CxzQ/s4032/IMG_5764.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzouSJ_b1UvVFo14MViePCcLrfVLTXUdVtm3KpNIPyJZtpWyNZYznv9wZ7d1r4IAmtlEPtjhE1HTgx7QkEbKfZzsmoMlJ1AJdGgU2AaGfu-7qCTDtuT8MQsMwgYBfERvP4rdOrKj649iHCtLt2yLkIW5Lt68J0qznUmrgVPNjdFxXMhMoNoUV1_0CxzQ/s320/IMG_5764.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div>Arriving in Kathmandu after a far too long flight always thrills me. The city has of course grown over the years. Some of the changes are positive. The redevelopment after the catastrophic 2015 earthquake is impressive. The artful reconstruction of ancient temples flattened by that horrific disaster is a joy to behold. The increased traffic congestion and accompanying pollution is obviously far less pleasant. Here I confront one of many inescapable challenges and paradoxes facing the contemporary traveller to Nepal. While many longtime Western adventurers to Nepal bemoan the gradual urbanization of the country, complaining for example that development of roadways detracts from the traditional tranquility of some trekking routes, I find it selfish, disrespectful and smacking of a type of "tourist colonialism". Why in the world should children residing in remote mountain villages have to continue to walk for half a day to go to school so one can have an "authentic trekking experience"? <p></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGeq0obeUSkeGviTKD0rpBTeDyjYjXO6DvofkC4rRPBzfGP9kWORb41G8BobEB_1y606k8Ja00z_k-NmYE18ER2l2OgdXrrP2onj8L_GRToOO-NLsArFPFGKA7_L49G0W44O8fEANunElWcFtxdl18sNJshBIvEkHVtHQCMP-rutDf2wASBhwG4hJJcg/s4032/IMG_5772.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGeq0obeUSkeGviTKD0rpBTeDyjYjXO6DvofkC4rRPBzfGP9kWORb41G8BobEB_1y606k8Ja00z_k-NmYE18ER2l2OgdXrrP2onj8L_GRToOO-NLsArFPFGKA7_L49G0W44O8fEANunElWcFtxdl18sNJshBIvEkHVtHQCMP-rutDf2wASBhwG4hJJcg/s320/IMG_5772.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><p></p><p> </p><p><br /></p><p>The challenge is not to purposefully bypass modernity, but to ensure that the precious and unique culture, aesthetic and history of Nepal is preserved while not erasing and replacing it with a quick, uninspired project that lacks soul and integrity.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRVRFXKcrOszLSIWs2HgB-qt7dYZh7vtxLon8C6PkH456KvtVheBINYatDO5u-ZyLDbRMVgNw-eeNKbUkTZ1IdYMyk0E0Yqfcsf07ViXidSqolMImPCv6DLEt3um4ZlQigd4e0s0P-R-55lZB3_awy9Iu8SVykX8OUF8lbVBSV-YxlsGRWdVBBsLiLjg/s4032/IMG_5548.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjhBmINoTO_iU97d9bJOsWK1EqQpvCtAGOFQCirDdJQjxYqkEVG5vK3l4Uaa6_idPSB9J6lpkm5N_f8bOmy0sflEztwUEzii9jU1tnWJTwWGPP_W76SPOV-Q1ooNj0uisDDwpuKmcb-nHD5hFYSNwHmfFYjeuYvuTdhCtZGan3CdEZykv4i7tY5YaRTJA" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjhBmINoTO_iU97d9bJOsWK1EqQpvCtAGOFQCirDdJQjxYqkEVG5vK3l4Uaa6_idPSB9J6lpkm5N_f8bOmy0sflEztwUEzii9jU1tnWJTwWGPP_W76SPOV-Q1ooNj0uisDDwpuKmcb-nHD5hFYSNwHmfFYjeuYvuTdhCtZGan3CdEZykv4i7tY5YaRTJA=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table></a></div><p></p><p><br /></p><p>The itinerary this time was the Tamang Heritage and Langtang Valley Trek. The combining of these two separate trekking routes makes for a wonderful two week excursion. Tamang is next to the Langtang Valley. Tamang is a Tibetan Buddhist region. Walking amidst traditional villages is a richly rewarding experience. As in other parts of Nepal that I have visited, the Tamang people are very hospitable, gracious and kind. The views of the Langtang and Ganesh mountain ranges are spectacular. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRVRFXKcrOszLSIWs2HgB-qt7dYZh7vtxLon8C6PkH456KvtVheBINYatDO5u-ZyLDbRMVgNw-eeNKbUkTZ1IdYMyk0E0Yqfcsf07ViXidSqolMImPCv6DLEt3um4ZlQigd4e0s0P-R-55lZB3_awy9Iu8SVykX8OUF8lbVBSV-YxlsGRWdVBBsLiLjg/s4032/IMG_5548.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRVRFXKcrOszLSIWs2HgB-qt7dYZh7vtxLon8C6PkH456KvtVheBINYatDO5u-ZyLDbRMVgNw-eeNKbUkTZ1IdYMyk0E0Yqfcsf07ViXidSqolMImPCv6DLEt3um4ZlQigd4e0s0P-R-55lZB3_awy9Iu8SVykX8OUF8lbVBSV-YxlsGRWdVBBsLiLjg/w300-h400/IMG_5548.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>The Langtang Valley was heavily impacted by the enormous 2015 earthquake. The village of Langtang was entirely obliterated for example. Hundreds of lives were lost amidst the disaster. Over the ensuing years, villages have been beautifully reconstructed and the return of trekkers has provided income useful to further the reconstruction. Walking amidst the mind-bendingly beautiful landscape and chatting with friendly villagers, I couldn't help but wonder how much of the psychological trauma continued to reverberate in the people's consciousness. I hope that our return to their valley helped in some small way to soften that pain. <p></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEic1QDxBCFRfQSktGtVRM22X6b6XyqGGhxVSwrXg6ogS2GL_HmSVgqztXgE0PZujH1FHnGc9d6mf3GXf8nqUQnVJQOQufqmXzKlDjzR_p3wc201oEyzpm2SD30V9-AT2uevsnb4_qRR_22Y7aFkNmF7KoGW0OEUsyadldzk40ORmoHfkeBXdp4N9aMBiQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEic1QDxBCFRfQSktGtVRM22X6b6XyqGGhxVSwrXg6ogS2GL_HmSVgqztXgE0PZujH1FHnGc9d6mf3GXf8nqUQnVJQOQufqmXzKlDjzR_p3wc201oEyzpm2SD30V9-AT2uevsnb4_qRR_22Y7aFkNmF7KoGW0OEUsyadldzk40ORmoHfkeBXdp4N9aMBiQ=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAN21tkzx7Fz8CrN5hJHQ-Hp5xRw5EoDbvxnuUIOr8cyJQerOsXhAxsrRYbtNdT1nII_Om5_VDkjExqpjMGC9CUdfMq7ury6fy603AeUlZ_C7S3ofjPUn-qBk9w9XwUWhnZxs0m8DkRbzrIObMUw6lGdJ-G7yMPOvWb3WFn2mjoQGrej0X1dhgsQI3CA/s4032/IMG_5467.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAN21tkzx7Fz8CrN5hJHQ-Hp5xRw5EoDbvxnuUIOr8cyJQerOsXhAxsrRYbtNdT1nII_Om5_VDkjExqpjMGC9CUdfMq7ury6fy603AeUlZ_C7S3ofjPUn-qBk9w9XwUWhnZxs0m8DkRbzrIObMUw6lGdJ-G7yMPOvWb3WFn2mjoQGrej0X1dhgsQI3CA/w150-h200/IMG_5467.jpeg" width="150" /></a>On a much lighter tone - the Snickers momos were an amazingly delicious and creative way to recharge after a demanding day of trekking.</p><p><br /></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiYb-VhmhLlXSkyrMDIM301Y0V5Glxao5p6Wm8Nv3yvcWr3meApitb_pk5xHkEr2wyw1n614KoaP3r8TGOnTd7HBXw2w_Rjm8u2Li0ctDhcKx9CK_oZRJtmaT-zbDvtgLsbBqBTp37yYLvZ_nmO5Xz9iWEVwfeZrcr4ymSTOdRvDSazP0bOHWj9ghHYAw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiYb-VhmhLlXSkyrMDIM301Y0V5Glxao5p6Wm8Nv3yvcWr3meApitb_pk5xHkEr2wyw1n614KoaP3r8TGOnTd7HBXw2w_Rjm8u2Li0ctDhcKx9CK_oZRJtmaT-zbDvtgLsbBqBTp37yYLvZ_nmO5Xz9iWEVwfeZrcr4ymSTOdRvDSazP0bOHWj9ghHYAw=w240-h320" width="240" /></a></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi-S22AH5SmTjhk34lronn07Vyr4gz1s-T-WWpHks5Ek_uce45fvuzeo2OmmcrqkcGJqJEirOyMidtdbSUNYrc5jfGKj9jyk1g8-2KwP_Mrw5ByWcbAASNjLZqyI4yiMNlD49leQIi9iR6xq39QDoXy7_ysuXtxG83etnd_RjmC1cKprs4r9GNYjPdxRA" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi-S22AH5SmTjhk34lronn07Vyr4gz1s-T-WWpHks5Ek_uce45fvuzeo2OmmcrqkcGJqJEirOyMidtdbSUNYrc5jfGKj9jyk1g8-2KwP_Mrw5ByWcbAASNjLZqyI4yiMNlD49leQIi9iR6xq39QDoXy7_ysuXtxG83etnd_RjmC1cKprs4r9GNYjPdxRA=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>One of the most memorable experiences was to spend my birthday in the Tamang village of Thuman. Participating in devotional chanting (and occasionally sipping yak butter tea and later chang - fermented barley wine) at one of the ancient Buddhist monasteries was an unexpectedly blessed and enormously meaningful birthday gift. Suddenly my notion that all travel is a pilgrimage was again crystallized. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>I felt an unmistakable sense of connectedness to all which was present; there in that welcoming sacred space - and beyond. </p><div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjhpbUeVlqK4p1vTGM8V_2FCxfu3Pcvo_blxMWwR6CsXjgwy4nBIJ42dQ7NQl1GkEp-jew2IqbVJptOIJeWajrNKKzJawWGMZP4h3l7DRY5jRivSwcvl7S9B5NZQiflFh92ZKKOs_GqGV6tnWgMlxjMYxK_5MnNpDQLcDysBGgKoLRZt5Pvvyd8tpOLjg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjhpbUeVlqK4p1vTGM8V_2FCxfu3Pcvo_blxMWwR6CsXjgwy4nBIJ42dQ7NQl1GkEp-jew2IqbVJptOIJeWajrNKKzJawWGMZP4h3l7DRY5jRivSwcvl7S9B5NZQiflFh92ZKKOs_GqGV6tnWgMlxjMYxK_5MnNpDQLcDysBGgKoLRZt5Pvvyd8tpOLjg" width="180" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgKNs2KiQl9yMigInwZkjtwNiF5pfajRk4ac2qHRTJPhL5H9qeEtFHiP5eueAA3d3spVDpEfCrWmNwMZawa3F6QF4kyYyUvBowXaymYihzY1hLfQdAUWuZ8YWurTfUNwmDJSbbn-VijCaCerm48lXZVT29yULwmud7lTAOrZdJDJesdZ2DwHLokJ7o2jw" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgKNs2KiQl9yMigInwZkjtwNiF5pfajRk4ac2qHRTJPhL5H9qeEtFHiP5eueAA3d3spVDpEfCrWmNwMZawa3F6QF4kyYyUvBowXaymYihzY1hLfQdAUWuZ8YWurTfUNwmDJSbbn-VijCaCerm48lXZVT29yULwmud7lTAOrZdJDJesdZ2DwHLokJ7o2jw=w150-h200" width="150" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>As I didn't wish to draw attention to myself, I refrained from mentioning my upcoming birthday to my travel companions. Nevertheless, our guide gleaned this information from our passports and later that evening, in the small, family-run guesthouse, our small group of intrepid travellers secretly arranged a surprise birthday party for me. A wonderful and happy culmination of my birthday in Nepal.</p><p><br /></p><p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh4wj1i1vL_JsTC9eQ3Tj0QdzcaYszhNDC1kqUzg2d-hlwbGpu7vrTm1dBvcoHfseBVpx_NZAJNVu0ZEM4SjGauefGToZg4A9F3NiolOA4_B8ZV-FeLWN9AeW3-jgq0XRVROqYH_uXZzK7vM8GkyUAuJjENwuHQKBze9jwVD6BynPruFdw6VrO5lorlPQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1592" data-original-width="1108" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh4wj1i1vL_JsTC9eQ3Tj0QdzcaYszhNDC1kqUzg2d-hlwbGpu7vrTm1dBvcoHfseBVpx_NZAJNVu0ZEM4SjGauefGToZg4A9F3NiolOA4_B8ZV-FeLWN9AeW3-jgq0XRVROqYH_uXZzK7vM8GkyUAuJjENwuHQKBze9jwVD6BynPruFdw6VrO5lorlPQ=w223-h320" width="223" /></a></p><p><br /></p><p>The village of Kyanjin Gompa was the final destination of the Langtang Valley Trek. I did not sleep much the night prior to that last day. Anticipating the early morning 4:30 departure in total darkness to greet the rising sun at Kyanjin Ri (Nepali for "peak"; elevation 4,400 meters and a 600 meter ascent) made for a fitful night. The effort was of course well worth it. The view was spectacular. Our supportive banter motivated one another over the rougher patches and the camaraderie deepened with each breathless, slow step.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEht9tpNSdh9REgpIM88niu9HTwYNDIFLpR6_6jnTnjDuaBCqZ2577MJXCR10zz09yu3tPN5R6auni-z87MQAbeNR35jwLCgUELeCTFlmmRDvs4CSlK-ri3WwDiGlPwo3UxOayOHS9WORMc7GDH7AsWGjVlElvlOJ_Ak48HjzdjueQwkTItiebGnguWI2g" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEht9tpNSdh9REgpIM88niu9HTwYNDIFLpR6_6jnTnjDuaBCqZ2577MJXCR10zz09yu3tPN5R6auni-z87MQAbeNR35jwLCgUELeCTFlmmRDvs4CSlK-ri3WwDiGlPwo3UxOayOHS9WORMc7GDH7AsWGjVlElvlOJ_Ak48HjzdjueQwkTItiebGnguWI2g=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">Back in the village later that afternoon, I notice a lady working at - well I'm not quite sure what she is doing. She continually empties basins filled with crystals while white particles flutter away. A beautiful and enigmatic image. I am curious and smile. She returns the smile and thus I approach her. Before I know it, I join her in her task. Two hours working together ensue and we have cleared all the sacks of salt crystals from the tiny pieces of material that have gotten loose from the bags containing the salt. The bags of salt were transported by donkeys to Kyanjin Gompa village to be used to supplement the diet of local, domesticated yaks. The technique was to empty the sacks of salt crystals into the basin which then are poured out to the ground. As the large, heavy salt crystals fall onto a tarp, the wind carries away the lighter fabric that had broken off from the sacks during the transport by donkey caravan. </span></div></div></div><div><div><br /></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjLROZzDQif4NesE0Kk4_oXhPLKBGvXCErCQjI2dd55fs-ExbhMJsvcxC95YQITvN7re01TpL5T-pDlbVWJuLonkfvmJbLRnLsJ3PGskZSMRePZv44tmX2yF2uaZI3YBHwDQ8u47WENF5YUHnGRzpDqzYuHQGuFbO-3ErkMGnMbU_utosUtfAII8cd-Fg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjLROZzDQif4NesE0Kk4_oXhPLKBGvXCErCQjI2dd55fs-ExbhMJsvcxC95YQITvN7re01TpL5T-pDlbVWJuLonkfvmJbLRnLsJ3PGskZSMRePZv44tmX2yF2uaZI3YBHwDQ8u47WENF5YUHnGRzpDqzYuHQGuFbO-3ErkMGnMbU_utosUtfAII8cd-Fg=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p>After completing the job, she thanked me for my assistance with a lovely smile while gently caressing my cheek. Beckoning me to her very simple home nearby, she gave me four small roasted potatoes. A precious, serendipitous encounter winds down. Another unexpected gift from Nepal that will stay with me long after I leave.</p><p><br /></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh9jFaXZAhMoCwBfq3_yKwtfbzbzrbvnMDvOkPLXWMa0YXcVoxHrMzmEVgvUYVLeeI4d8u_WZF3yUCDE4GfQJ9e-eNJBA_9EYGjPDgWSl_F6-ewKGqshRaFqO9nK4kgA66jqsGCUIX63E0NYMEjAeRu7YX3HepUPgFJuDFSQp6BKREYFq1GiYqvAqb7Lg" style="clear: right; display: inline; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh9jFaXZAhMoCwBfq3_yKwtfbzbzrbvnMDvOkPLXWMa0YXcVoxHrMzmEVgvUYVLeeI4d8u_WZF3yUCDE4GfQJ9e-eNJBA_9EYGjPDgWSl_F6-ewKGqshRaFqO9nK4kgA66jqsGCUIX63E0NYMEjAeRu7YX3HepUPgFJuDFSQp6BKREYFq1GiYqvAqb7Lg=w240-h320" width="240" /></a> </p><p>Returning to the Kathmnadu Valley, I take a few more photographs before I start my long journey home. The magic of Nepal will likely draw me back into her embrace. Hope it'll be soon.</p><p>Namaste.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDkgR9w8LT_TiPeNtqJP-KromBLFWhFQ54CetsLTlZbl-aNtF06RLh2aAjyNG9E-_jPW0UNY8jxT3E066hPDOnzHjZ03E_DS_V14-c_oQptA5Gfgumu1Fq2E3GmtCFidVm3syO0U1cjflstszlDlVby-JiE4-9YBGXmh5a8qrIzUZIk6XC3UCpPz2fBg/s3561/IMG_5749%202.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3561" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDkgR9w8LT_TiPeNtqJP-KromBLFWhFQ54CetsLTlZbl-aNtF06RLh2aAjyNG9E-_jPW0UNY8jxT3E066hPDOnzHjZ03E_DS_V14-c_oQptA5Gfgumu1Fq2E3GmtCFidVm3syO0U1cjflstszlDlVby-JiE4-9YBGXmh5a8qrIzUZIk6XC3UCpPz2fBg/w544-h640/IMG_5749%202.jpeg" width="544" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5hYNFWjH24pypUygrnkoNeN4u5ITBbT7vfomtpcZnM5x4xDPf0No6rRNL0ge2OK61T2cgwo_iV-cILy8lNLR-b0YxRlQUNc7ka5_4mRCtgJ1yOeKxjVyXeaKU_-yo7jcXoRYQEig6tPG9ze6BZgunEsdcq2spm3vd1QlUMRFeuiMWR5qVY8yp0I9bxA/s4032/IMG_5783.jpeg" style="clear: right; 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margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a></p></div>John Soos, PhDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03139928669902751027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5587175752404587926.post-11487739879824388842022-09-23T14:52:00.000-07:002022-09-23T14:52:25.158-07:00My letter to the leader of the federal New Democratic Party of Canada<p><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: ChalkboardSE-Regular; font-size: 18px; text-size-adjust: auto;">Dear Mr. Jagmeet Singh, MP, September 23, 2022</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: ChalkboardSE-Regular; font-size: 18px; text-size-adjust: auto;" /><br style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: ChalkboardSE-Regular; font-size: 18px; text-size-adjust: auto;" /><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: ChalkboardSE-Regular; font-size: 18px; text-size-adjust: auto;">This is Dr. John Soos, a Vancouver-based clinical psychologist. I have a long-standing personal and professional interest in Palestine - as a human rights advocate and as a psychologist who has been to the West Bank and Gaza on numerous occasions. I have personally seen the devastating impacts of the ongoing grave human rights abuses, including violent, state-sponsored military actions such as night-time raids and abduction of children in the West Bank, and indiscriminate, deadly aerial bombardments in Gaza. In addition to witnessing such atrocities, I have conducted training seminars for my Palestinian mental health colleagues on the treatment of psychological trauma stemming from decades of oppression, military occupation and siege. The reality on the ground is truly heart-breaking.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span><br style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: ChalkboardSE-Regular; font-size: 18px; text-size-adjust: auto;" /><br style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: ChalkboardSE-Regular; font-size: 18px; text-size-adjust: auto;" /><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: ChalkboardSE-Regular; font-size: 18px; text-size-adjust: auto;">Orchestrated Israeli propaganda campaigns are designed to obfuscate this harsh reality and indeed invert reality by claiming that Israel is the victim when in fact invading Israeli troops are violently subjugating the indigenous Palestinian population on a regular basis. All of us who have criticized Israeli policies have had to endure bad-faith, false accusations of antisemitism and I am certain as a result of your principled, courageous statements, you too will be vilified. Please remain steadfast and do not allow yourselves to be manipulated.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span><br style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: ChalkboardSE-Regular; font-size: 18px; text-size-adjust: auto;" /><br style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: ChalkboardSE-Regular; font-size: 18px; text-size-adjust: auto;" /><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: ChalkboardSE-Regular; font-size: 18px; text-size-adjust: auto;">I am just sharing this bit of context to underline the importance of recent NDP policy proposals on Palestine-Israel. They are a welcome development, and I applaud your integrity and compassion completely. I want to therefore thank you for taking this important approach and ask that you stay firm in your commitment to international law, human rights and common decency that have always characterized New Democratic values.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span><br style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: ChalkboardSE-Regular; font-size: 18px; text-size-adjust: auto;" /><br style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: ChalkboardSE-Regular; font-size: 18px; text-size-adjust: auto;" /><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: ChalkboardSE-Regular; font-size: 18px; text-size-adjust: auto;">Specifically, I’m pleased to see that the NDP is calling for increased pressure on the Israeli government to stop its plans to annex Palestinian territory. This is urgently needed considering the rapid expansion of Israel’s settlements on the ground. As you know, land theft and population transfer - in the form of Jewish-only segregated settlements are war crimes and hideous, unacceptable reminders that Apartheid and colonialism is an ongoing reality in Palestine-Israel.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span><br style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: ChalkboardSE-Regular; font-size: 18px; text-size-adjust: auto;" /><br style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: ChalkboardSE-Regular; font-size: 18px; text-size-adjust: auto;" /><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: ChalkboardSE-Regular; font-size: 18px; text-size-adjust: auto;">I’m counting on the NDP to advocate for human rights and international law in Palestine-Israel in Parliament. Occupation, colonialism, and apartheid are crimes against humanity and dismantling injustice is the way to attain peace, health and happiness for all persons residing there.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span><br style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: ChalkboardSE-Regular; font-size: 18px; text-size-adjust: auto;" /><br style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: ChalkboardSE-Regular; font-size: 18px; text-size-adjust: auto;" /><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: ChalkboardSE-Regular; font-size: 18px; text-size-adjust: auto;">Sincerely yours, </span></p><p><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: ChalkboardSE-Regular; font-size: 18px; text-size-adjust: auto;">John G Soos, PhD</span></p><p><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: ChalkboardSE-Regular; font-size: 18px;">Vancouver, BC</span></p><p><br style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: ChalkboardSE-Regular; font-size: 18px; text-size-adjust: auto;" /><br /></p>John Soos, PhDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03139928669902751027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5587175752404587926.post-52929503813203841582022-08-22T15:52:00.009-07:002022-08-23T12:38:42.020-07:00Resuming International Travel<p>Because of global restrictions on travel stemming from the pandemic, I'm only now writing about my first international trip in two years. Ironically I write this under strict quarantine conditions imposed by the Canadian Government. I won't call this "solitary confinement" as I don't want in any way to trivialize deplorable conditions political prisoners are subjected to. Let's just say, "home alone" for ten days. Why? An app and algorithm selected me for a "random, mandatory" covid test to be done 24 hours from receiving an email message at the Toronto airport after shortly landing from Manchester. I'm fully vaccinated with the addition of boosters and have no symptoms. In fact I just cycled 175 kms with ease. More on that later. But as I'm a big fan of public health and I just came back from the UK where there is near-zero remaining covid consciousness amidst the highly infectious Omicron strain, I adhere with the request. The test came back positive - perhaps picking up noninfectious antigen remnants from an earlier covid exposure - but I comply fully. Here we go ...</p><p>Big Ride for Palestine</p><p>The Big Ride for Palestine was set up in 2015 by Palestine solidarity activists wanting to combine their love of cycling with an aim to raise awareness about Israel's brutal, ongoing military occupation and to raise funds for charities working in Palestine. I joined this year's Big Ride. Money we raised goes to the Middle East Children's Alliance (MECA) specializing in assisting children traumatized by living under occupation, and The Gaza Sunbirds - a cycling club championing para-cyclists aiming to send a team to the 2024 Olympics in France. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPh-xQyx2TzHZdCQ7U5D6s4iezenYrKbrWFP8djgeT9bGxYOK9EB1V_4QO7XPJDUpgfcc-9mun8ZG4Fyuaj9pLOn07S47Gyht4h1LzxxvGvxyPtYzTO3smjSjbW0SLDT3_8dQAxuAY9qx1HNKgc7MRxxPmvSyP1GU1A0Rh5B0RNcwZ-NwSlTD-PN-Usw/s3264/IMG_5141.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPh-xQyx2TzHZdCQ7U5D6s4iezenYrKbrWFP8djgeT9bGxYOK9EB1V_4QO7XPJDUpgfcc-9mun8ZG4Fyuaj9pLOn07S47Gyht4h1LzxxvGvxyPtYzTO3smjSjbW0SLDT3_8dQAxuAY9qx1HNKgc7MRxxPmvSyP1GU1A0Rh5B0RNcwZ-NwSlTD-PN-Usw/w300-h400/IMG_5141.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting set to head-out from Derby, UK</td></tr></tbody></table><p>I cycled about 175 kms with 300 fellow cyclists - all committed to ending human rights violations in Palestine. We cycled from Derby to Stoke on July 29, Stoke to Manchester on July 30, and around the City of Manchester, July 31. Please visit their website for a deeper dive: </p><p><a href="https://www.thebigride4palestine.com/big-ride-summer-2022">https://www.thebigride4palestine.com/big-ride-summer-2022</a></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj04Fj-NqdhobikukI3vwnNiiKsAzTW1u3Ovtmp5BoSUppPPZ444pMLijdVGyv1yFIGbbMFymNoVxqorbH3qiNIyrIjo4jKUV_L3qFZvaBzA5r2rv28KVi4AJEpPaxm5rl3W_WrJyFEc4OGH8kpGGJKcbslVKU86NrJHMl188DXg1AA_0lp6lNJtfjp-Q/s3264/IMG_5155.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="454" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj04Fj-NqdhobikukI3vwnNiiKsAzTW1u3Ovtmp5BoSUppPPZ444pMLijdVGyv1yFIGbbMFymNoVxqorbH3qiNIyrIjo4jKUV_L3qFZvaBzA5r2rv28KVi4AJEpPaxm5rl3W_WrJyFEc4OGH8kpGGJKcbslVKU86NrJHMl188DXg1AA_0lp6lNJtfjp-Q/w300-h454/IMG_5155.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Entering Manchester </td></tr></tbody></table><br />The overall experience was extraordinary. Coming from Canada, I was struck by the wide-spread community understanding of the need to end Israel's ongoing political violence in Palestine. The enthusiastic, heartfelt supportive greetings we received as we cycled through towns in England was extraordinary. Sadly such impassioned embrace of human rights for Palestine is much less evident in this country. Canada speaks of its commitment to international law and human rights, but the hypocrisy and exceptionalism with regards to Israel is glaring. <p></p><p>As a cyclist who has been to Gaza on various occasions, including to conduct a seminar for mental health professionals on coping with their own psychological trauma, I chose to cycle in support of the Palestinian para-cycling team - The Gaza Sunbirds. </p><p>Please check out my page, "Soos Cycles for Palestine" here: <a href="https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/sooscyclesforpalestine">https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/sooscyclesforpalestine</a></p><p>If you can and wish to donate, any amount is greatly appreciated.</p><p><br /></p><p> </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> </p>John Soos, PhDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03139928669902751027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5587175752404587926.post-964019745000315742020-05-01T15:12:00.001-07:002020-05-13T21:02:07.756-07:00Colombia!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My last trip before the world unexpectedly withdrew her welcoming arms and shut down its borders in face of the menacing, global pandemic was thankfully to Colombia. And what an extraordinary nation she is! Think of Colombia and you may imagine a dangerous country fighting a longstanding civil war, pitting left-wing guerrillas against right-wing paramilitary groups. Or you might think of violent cocaine cartels battling it out with government troops in the cities and jungles. In fact, Colombia is emerging from its dark past and shining forth in new-found hope and confidence. While the country had just recently in 2017 signed a peace deal with the guerrilla group, FARC - safe, colourful, vibrant city streets are now filled with warm, welcoming people who are more then ready to turn the page from a danger-filled past and embrace a joyous celebration of renewed optimism. Beautifully restored Spanish colonial cities, resurgence of Indigenous culture, lush jungles, stunning beaches, mountains, museums, art galleries, street festivals, a cool urban vibe, and of course the world's finest coffee - Colombia has awakened with love and passion!<br />
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Cartagena. Or to be precise - Cartagena de Indias was my first encounter with Colombia. It has to be one of Latin America's most beautiful cities. The architectural grandeur of the walled, Centro Histórico is unforgettable. Plain to see why the entire Old Town is a UNESCO World Heritage site.<br />
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Castillo de San Felipe de Brajas is considered the greatest fortress built by Spain in any of their colonies. Peering over the massive ramparts, I enjoyed the contrasting view of the modern city in the near distance.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOZCww60K1_zS-mNKUwXd1RZAhK6gL4Vehubyu62zOyw0JKXmzSStLgGTlLwoLBLLT9QWHECvDlWZpp6GA0l8qxDYHBLhQ3F3i2P-GdfKPaJN-Uv0q0kxv_TwsCR8_4QDnjr0cppDwKMSH/s1600/IMG_0907.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOZCww60K1_zS-mNKUwXd1RZAhK6gL4Vehubyu62zOyw0JKXmzSStLgGTlLwoLBLLT9QWHECvDlWZpp6GA0l8qxDYHBLhQ3F3i2P-GdfKPaJN-Uv0q0kxv_TwsCR8_4QDnjr0cppDwKMSH/s320/IMG_0907.JPG" width="320" /></a>The street art, especially in Getsemani - the funkier side of Cartagena - is exciting, varied and impressive. We can see works protesting against gentrification of the artists' working class neighbourhood to murals celebrating the Nobel Prize winning Colombian writer, Gabriel García Márquez. <br />
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Long after returning home, I am still reading his magical realism masterpiece, "One Hundred Years of Solitude". Given our ongoing, world-wide self-isolation to mitigate the spread of the coronavirus, my pre-departure choice in reading was prescient. No doubt, I will follow this up with Gabo's (as he is affectionately known in his home-country), equally appropriate, "Love in the Time of Cholera".<br />
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From Cartagena my route took me to the Guachaca region where Parque Nacional Natural Tayrona is located. As luck would have it, the park was closed to help promote environmental regeneration. Occasionally the traveler can find unexpected magic amidst such disappointments. In this case, serendipity proffered an extraordinary gift in place of Tayrona. The opportunity to meet with Indigenous people in the village of Perico Aguao in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta, where the mountains meet the Caribbean Sea, and later hike in their sacred jungle will forever remain with me. I continue to wear the bracelet given to me by the shaman - as a souvenir of, but more importantly - as a treasured talisman to help ward off the coronavirus.<br />
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Barichara - literally, "place of relaxation" is - well, just that. This remarkably well-preserved colonial town with cobblestone streets, peaceful old churches, gorgeous, neon pink bougainvilleas flowing over golden sandstone houses is a delight. Shanti - the funky, delicious vegetarian restaurant was my daily hangout. It reflects perfectly the artsy, counter-culture vibe that has added an extra lovely touch to the local ambience. Not to be missed is the 10 km hike out of town along the Camino Real to the tiny village of Guane. Charming cartoon-like colourful buses provide welcome transport back to Barichara's central plaza.</div>
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Local unusual gastronomic treat? Pan-fried hormigas culonas. Otherwise known as, fat-bottomed ants! Yes, that's right - not only did I attend a cooking class - after all, she turned out to be a fellow psychologist - I ate some! We spoke of how the eating of ants can be seen as a way (for me) to break out of restrictive conceptual barriers. Anything to delay the inevitable! They came out of the freezer, which made the process somehow less intimidating. Heads and legs needed to be removed before being lightly fried in water with freshly squeezed lemon juice for a few moments. I told myself it was a vegetarian meal - sort of - and that delving deeply into local life is one measure of authentic travel. And in this day of world-wide diminishing resources - they are, after all, a tasty alternate source of protein.</div>
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Bogotá. The capital city is - among many things - cold. The contrast is especially jarring if coming from the warm Caribbean or hot jungles. Situated at 2,640 meters above sea level, besides cool temperatures, you may also experience symptoms of soroche - altitude sickness. It is a large, sprawling, vibrant city of some 7.4 million people, representing a wide socio-economic spread. The impoverished hillside barrio of Egipto is a ten minute walk from the elegant campus of a private university. </div>
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Catching a ride in a taxi with a miniature cathedral on the front dash
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Egipto
was once one of Bogotá's most violent neighbourhoods. Today, former gang
members will take you on a fascinating tour of their gritty streets -
still controlled by gangs and otherwise a no-go zone. Breaking Borders
was started by Universidad Externado de Colombia and Impulse Travel to
provide a new, gun and drug-free life for the inhabitants. I felt uneasy at the start of our walking tour. The peek into
this often overlooked segment of the city turned out, however to be informative, meaningful
and indeed very enjoyable.</div>
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Big. Exaggerated. Satirical. Whimsically fat. Colombia's most famous artist is Fernando Botero. Plaza de Bolivar in central Bogotá is where Museo Botero is located. His chubby, irreverent version of Mona Lisa was among my favourite pieces. <br />
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Stunning pre-Hispanic, Indigenous creativity is beautifully displayed in the nearby Museo del Oro (Gold Museum). The exquisite detail of these masterpieces is breathtaking. While admiring these marvellous early works, my wonderment later switched to rage at the conquistadors - who plundered the golden art while deepening the colonial subjugation and exploitation of Colombia's First People. </div>
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I ended my trip to Colombia in a cathedral. As a Catholic country, there are places of worship everywhere. Some churches are grand, ornate structures, whereas others are simple rural chapels. I often took time to slow my pace, get away from crowds or the heat, and say a quiet prayer in sanctuaries throughout my journey. To spend contemplative time in places where countless devout people over the years - sometimes centuries - have been drawn to before me, always comforts and lifts my soul. The Salt Cathedral was unlike anything I had ever seen before. It is an underground, ethereal cathedral carved out of salt in the town of Zipaquirá - about fifty kilometers from Bogotá and easily accessed by local bus. </div>
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In this dark, mysterious, cavernous place, I gave thanks to be able to spend time in Colombia, and promised myself that I will one day return to deepen my acquaintanceship with her.<br />
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In the meanwhile, while the coronavirus pandemic continues to restrict further travel, I will read Colombian writer, Gabriel Garcia Márquez', other fittingly titled novel - "Love in the Time of Cholera". </div>
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John Soos, PhDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03139928669902751027noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5587175752404587926.post-9110683289263559632019-12-14T17:44:00.003-08:002020-01-14T23:31:42.031-08:00The Baltic Way<br />
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At 7 PM on August 23, 1989 approximately 2.5 million people stood hand in hand in an unbroken human chain linking the capital cities of the three Baltic Nations. The people stood together along the 650 kilometers stretching from Tallinn, Estonia, through Riga, Latvia, and on to Vilnius, Lithuania. This massive, peaceful demonstration was a remarkably creative expression of unity, resolve and courageous defiance against decades of brutal Soviet occupation. This powerful act of resistance took place on the 50th anniversary of secret agreements signed between Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union in 1939 that divided Europe between the two totalitarian regimes, and which predetermined the Soviet occupation of the Baltics in 1949. The remarkable expression of an oppressed peoples' aspirations for freedom and statehood culminated in their countries' re-establishment of independence following the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991.<br />
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My journey - some thirty years later - followed this Baltic Way - from Vilnius through Riga and on to Tallinn.<br />
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The Three Crosses in Vilnius are a reminder of the important role the Catholic Church played in the long, popular struggle to end the Soviet Occupation. Hiking surrounded by shimmering golden autumn foliage on that cold, drizzling morning, I thought about the protective role maintaining faith can play in face of adversity. Occupation troops too understood this and hence the crosses were bulldozed by the Soviets. Only to be rebuilt again.<br />
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Having read of the Hill of Crosses near Siaulial, Lithuania, I was intrigued and determined to find this place of spiritual pilgrimage and political resistance and collective affirmation of independence. I travelled by train from Vilnius. First view of the crosses in the distance is impressive. It is not, however until you begin to walk and climb amidst thousands upon thousands of crucifixes that you begin to appreciate the sustaining, meaning-providing force spirituality has had and continues to have in the hearts of the people.<br />
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Crosses first appeared here in the fourteenth century and were associated with opposition to the Russian tsar. Much later, during the Soviet Russian occupation, placing a cross here was an arrestable offense. Indeed in 1961 the Red Army bulldozed approximately two thousand crosses. Overnight the crosses re-appeared. Today there are tens of thousands of crosses - crosses upon crosses upon crosses. Some small and delicate, others large and magnificently carved. A tear and a prayer spontaneously flowed from within me. I will not forget this sacred place. <br />
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The Baltic Countries came under three successive foreign, totalitarian occupations beginning in 1940. 1940 to 1941 was the first occupation by the Soviet Union. On a single day, June 14, 1941 - 10, 000 people from Estonia, 15, 000 from Latvia and 18, 000 Lithuanians were deported to Siberia and sentenced to 25 years in forced labour camps. The trains leaving that day for the Gulags included thousands of women and children. The occupation by Nazi Germany followed - between 1941 to 1944. The atrocities were appalling. 95% of Lithuanian Jews, almost 200, 000 people were killed by the Nazis. On November 30 and December 8, 1941 - 25, 000 Jews from Riga, Latvia were executed. Estonia's small Jewish community lost 950 people. The Soviet occupation resumed in 1944 and didn't end until 1991. The three countries were removed from the map of Europe as they were annexed by the USSR. The enormity of the losses sustained during this period is staggering. Latvia and Estonia lost nearly a third of their respective populations during the Soviet military occupation. There was a concerted effort to ethnically cleanse the indigenous Baltic people of their countries and replace the populations with Russians to deepen the incorporation of these Nations into the Soviet empire. For example, Estonia was 90% ethnically Estonia at the end of the Second Word War. By 1989 the population dropped to being 62% Estonian. Colonialism and Russification were comprehensive strategies designed to erase the history, culture and people of the Baltic countries.<br />
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The Baltics were the last European countries to retain Paganism.
Lithuania held out longest before converting to Christianity; they
fought off Christian crusaders until the 14th century. It is perhaps
ironic, that in spite of their longstanding resistance to Christianity,
Catholicism played a significant role in each Nation's struggle to
regain self-determination and end the reviled fifty-one year-long Soviet
occupation. As we know - the Stalinist project ended in failure. Today we can happily witness the creative re-blosomming of free and vibrant societies in Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia.<br />
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This new optimism is playfully enshrined in the Constitution of The
Republic of Užupis - the rebellious, yet fun and irreverent bohemian,
self-declared mini-state in Vilnius. I am standing in front of the
41-point engraved Constitution. It guarantees its citizens: The right to
make mistakes. The right to be unique. The right to love. To be idle.
To be of any nationality. A right to love and take care of a cat. No
one, however has the right to violence. I obtained an official Užupi
stamp in my passport.<br />
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The Art Nouveau architecture in Riga is the most flamboyant, outrageous, and perplexing that I have ever seen. It is easy to spend hours walking and gawking at the facades of these ornate, at times frankly bizarre buildings. whatever meaning you derive from the design elements, their artistry and intricacy is undeniable - and mezmerizing. <br />
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The hip, nonchalant art nouveau cat somehow fit right in.<br />
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Turning down a street, the scene abruptly changed. Couldn't help but
wonder, if at least some of the inspiration for these early 20th century
fantastical motifs weren't at times influenced by just a little too much - Jägermeister.<br />
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The three beautifully preserved Medieval capital cities of the Baltic countries - Vilnius, Riga and Tallinn were an unexpected joy to travel to. I am thankful that their determined, proud and resilient inhabitants didn't succumb to their oppressive histories, but instead, in face of adversity, they responded with post-traumatic growth and have continued to collectively flourish. Today the rest of the world can marvel, learn from, and enjoy these beautifully restored, fairly-tale like urban gems - lovingly showcased by their proud residents.<br />
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I ended my own "Baltic Way" in the magical, two-tiered, walled city of Tallinn, Estonia. The narrow cobbled stone streets, lively cafés, numerous churches, and fine museums are all reason enough to want to come back and explore this region deeper still. John Soos, PhDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03139928669902751027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5587175752404587926.post-35791117834603519072019-08-21T16:30:00.002-07:002019-08-29T21:39:34.124-07:00Magyarország/Hungary<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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"Úristen!", exclaims Tintin, the globetrotting Belgian adventurer and journalist. "Good God!" in a rare, Hungarian language edition of Hergé's, "The Crab With the Golden Claws". (For some reason, the official English-language translation uses the unlikely anodyne phrase, "What the ...", instead of the literal, more spontaneous and evocative expression I prefer.)<br />
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Why start an article on my travels to Hungary with a panel from a volume of "The Adventures of Tintin"? This is all a roundabout way to introduce a bit of clarification as to the title of my post. Tintin may be just as perplexed as are others, as to why the country of Hungary is called by Hungarians themselves, "Magyarország" - literally the Land of the Magyars - and not something like, Hungary? "Hungary" perhaps brings to mind the distant and maligned, warring Mongolian tribal people, The Huns. These horrifying, some have even written, "child-devouring", invading mounted hordes may not understandably rest well with contemporary Hungarian sensibilities. Falsely equating the Hungarian people with the Huns has a long-standing history. Current scholarly understanding of the origins of these enigmatic people however indicates that the two have different beginnings. The predecessors of contemporary Hungarian People - The Magyars, while indeed also an ancient tribal people, hail from the steppes of the Ural Mountains in present-day Russia. What we don't know is if the early Hungarian tribal alliances galloped on their horses from the western or eastern slopes of the Urals. Were the original Hungarian clans therefore European or Asian people? I like to imagine that these wild, adventurous nomads intermingled and hence my ancestors are in fact Eurasians. <br />
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And so, I am back in wondrous Magyarország.<br />
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In Budapest, I went for a swim amidst the sweltering 42 degree heat. As with many things in Hungary, this dip in the pool was far from ordinary. When I think of "swimming pool", this ornate, grand, cathedral-like ceiling isn't what customarily comes to mind. But here it is, the splendid dome at the entrance of the Széchenyi Baths. Its mix of twenty-one - yes, that's right, 21 - indoor and outdoor thermal pools would make Neptune himself smile with glee!<br />
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Victor Vasarely's eye-popping op art pieces are beautifully displayed in the recently renovated, Vasarely Museum in the area of Budapest known as Óbuda.<br />
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The Parliament Building on the banks of the Danube is perhaps the most famous of Budapest's many picturesque scenes. Because of its immense popularity, the iconic architectural masterwork can be difficult to visit without an advance purchased entry ticket. I was one of the many who was only able to enjoy the dramatic building from the lovely nearby embankment. </div>
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I did not however have any problem checking out the replica in the pretty town of Kesthely, a three hour train ride away at the western end of Lake Balaton. Thing is - this rendition of the Parliament is made of four and a half million snail shells! It took 14 years to complete this fascinatingly odd and obsessive project. The actual building took 17. <br />
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My graffiti-covered hotel was a short two blocks away from the elegant Andrássy Út, the very grand UNESCO World Heritage site honored, stately Budapest boulevard. This in fact is part of the very charm of Budapest. Beautifully restored turn of the century architectural gems are often juxtaposed with neglected and bullet-hole ridden derelict buildings - a testament to the long and oppressive Soviet occupation. As many of these aging structures have 'For Sale' signs affixed to them, it is only a short time before new boutique hotels and gourmet restaurants will again emerge from the rubble.<br />
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Europe's 2019 summer heatwave was oppressive. Hungary did not escape the smoldering effects of the global climate crisis. Everyone seemed to understand that our collective behaviour was responsible for the unprecedented, dangerous temperatures. While dizzyingly hot, this photo was not taken in Portugal. I stumbled across this pleasing coral pink stucco home with the olive green shutters in Pomáz, a small sleepy town thirty minutes out of Budapest on the HÉV suburban train.<br />
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When it comes to train travel in Hungary, unquestionably the most charming way to go is with the "Gyermekvasút" - The Children's Railway. It is a delightful, thoroughly enjoyable way to experience the forested hills of Budapest, on the Buda side of the Danube. The journey is an 11.7018 kilometer ride - the longest children's railway in the world. Precisely measured and certified by Guinness World Records! Even getting to and fro the train station is big fun. A short walk from the Budapest Metro, you can take a 15 minute ride on the cogwheel railway built in 1874 to where you board the Children's Railway. On the way back, I recommend getting off at "János Hegy" (John Mountain - the highest elevation of your excursion at 527m). From there it's a scenic ride back down to the City by chairlift.<br />
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Occasionally travel gives the wayfarer a special and unexpected gift. Literally, serendipity. As I disembarked from the train, I had the unexpected good fortune of meeting-up with someone who had stood next to my father and I in a fading photograph taken decades ago. "And who is this pretty girl?" I asked the woman greeting me at the train station. She looked at the photograph, and in one of those priceless moments said, "It's me!" And so began a fascinating exploration of long forgotten, ancient and far-spreading branches of my family tree. We figured out that her great grand mother and my great grandmother were sisters. Until then I had no real idea of the meaning of the relational term, "second cousin" - never mind meet her! </div>
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Walking silently in the wilderness amidst the oak trees and along the gorge in the Bakonyerdö (Bakony Forest), I found myself exploring places my father once told me of. I was now in the same enchanted woods that he as a young boy would have hiked together with my grandfather - whom I never met. As I listened to the river and continued walking, I gradually fell into a comfortable trance-like state. It was not much later that I felt a warm and gentle presence; I was mysteriously touched by my father's spirit.<br />
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<br />John Soos, PhDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03139928669902751027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5587175752404587926.post-76175411123151525412019-05-14T11:59:00.003-07:002019-05-14T23:36:01.397-07:00VietnamI travelled in Vietnam along the coast by ship and inland between Ho
Chi Minh City (Saigon) and Hanoi with the Reunification Express Train.
It is a slow, wonderful and historic 1,726 km overland journey. In addition to
the lovely and varied scenery, I enjoyed very much the warmth of the
people working on the train. Travelling the length of the country by
rail I was happy to celebrate the indefatigable hope, courage and
resilience of the Vietnamese People. The line was severely damaged by US
bombing campaigns during the American War (referred to as the Vietnam
War by imperialist Americans and their allies). Following the Vietnam
victory in 1975, in less than two years, over a thousand bridges and 27
tunnels were repaired. Once again the connection between
North and South Vietnam was established and the free and unified Socialist Republic of Vietnam was proudly proclaimed. <br />
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I arrived at Hanoi Train Station at 4:30 in the morning in the pouring rain. <br />
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Two seconds before pulling out of the station, and she made it!<br />
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Walking into the beautiful, bright yellow French colonial, Saigon
Central Post Office, I was nearly certain that I had time-travelled back
to when Ho Chi Minh himself might have posted a revolutionary message
from this impressive building. The fact that it was a hallucinatory hot
42 degrees, likely helped create the fluid time-frame I was
experiencing. <br />
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Everyone has a motorbike in Saigon. Until I figured out the steps to this urban dance, crossing the street felt terrifying and seemed impossible. I'd wait and wait for an opening in the traffic, but it never happened. All day. All night. The congestion never eased up. Traffic lights were simply ignored. A t-shirt said it succinctly: "Green Means Go. Amber Means Go. Red Means Go". Thing is, if you step off the sidewalk an amazing choreography begins. Without slowing down, the motorcyclists, like a massive school of herring, coalesce and drive around you as you make your way across the road. Whew!<br />
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Halong Bay.
It is no wonder that this ethereal collection of some two thousand
limestone karst islands has been designated by UNESCO as a World
Heritage Site. Like giant Rorschach ink blots, one can
easily project meanings onto the shapes. Evidently I'm not the only one
who sees the kissing chickens from the boat, as this formation is in
fact known locally as either Kissing Chickens, or less placidly, as
Fighting Cocks. I prefer amorous fowl to angry birds - no matter how popular their video game cousins are!
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In one Hanoi neighborhood, the train oddly travels within a metre of homes and shops. The train schedule is posted outside bars and cafés so that fans of trainspotting can gather and toast the passing train.
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John Soos, PhDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03139928669902751027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5587175752404587926.post-41506474055555216162019-01-05T17:11:00.000-08:002019-08-23T16:43:23.785-07:00Everest Three Passes Trek"This trek is a definite notch up in difficulty from the other treks covered here." That is, out of all the treks included in the latest Lonely Planet guidebook, "Trekking in the Nepal Himalaya."<br />
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Having trekked extensively in the Himalayan Mountains, I thought I was quite prepared to meet the challenge. In a word, "hubris". Big time!<br />
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The scenery was unquestionably huge and mind-blowingly stunning. The local people were, as always, extraordinarily kind and hospitable. Walking in the Abode of the Gods does fulfill my quest for travel to sacred landscapes.<br />
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Hiking at above 5,000 meters elevation for weeks is breathtaking; as in acute mountain sickness breathlessness! Especially so coming from sea level, Vancouver.<br />
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An easy walk in the low-altitude jungle to warm-up and check-out a baby rhino afterwards was a pleasant wind-up to the expedition.<br />
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<br />John Soos, PhDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03139928669902751027noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5587175752404587926.post-32936550348976358122018-07-18T15:53:00.005-07:002019-08-23T16:49:13.995-07:00Pilgrimage in the 21st Century? I walk along the Portuguese Way to Santiago de Compostela.In today's hyper-connected, accelerated and materialistic life is there still a place for pilgrimage - where one walks, often alone and frequently over great distances towards a sacred destination? It is slow, it is basic, it is introspective; in direct opposition to what characterizes contemporary society. To help answer the question, I decided to again pick up my knapsack and follow in the footsteps of medieval seekers along the Camino de Santiago. This time to walk the Camino Portugués from Porto, Portugal to Santiago de Compostela, Spain; a distance of about 250 kilometers.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stamps collected along the route in the Credencial. Required to stay at pilgrims' hostels and later at completion, to claim the Compostela certificate.</td></tr>
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How to prepare for such an endeavour? In addition to sorting through gear and roughly planning the itinerary, I decide that besides ensuring that I was physically fit, I wanted to spiritually prepare for the journey. But what does spiritual preparation actually mean? As I reflected about the purpose of my walk, the idea of somehow needing to re-connect with the Divine kept coming to mind. Communion with the sacred. Leave the everyday world to re-visit the mysterium. But how to enter into a mental framework conducive to such an other-worldly destination? Well, other-worldly to some extent, as at the same time, it is of course very much a long distance walk amidst our quotidian world of rain, sun, fatigue and needing to find food and accommodation along the trail. <br />
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Last time I partook of the Catholic sacrament of Communion was ten years ago following the death of my father. In preparation, I made confession for the first time in many, many years - to the priest who administered Anointing of the Sick to my dad - in a corridor of the hospital where he was dying, or as I liked to think - preparing for his own final great spiritual journey.<br />
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I felt that prior to embarking on this trip, that I would again receive Holy Communion as a way to identify this trip as not just a long distance hike through ancient villages but also as pilgrimage to help deepen my sense of connection to that which is Holy.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Early morning at the Porto Cathedral. Seagull and I alone at the closed gates. Obtained my pilgrim's passport and attended a glorious high mass with choir and chamber music prior to setting out - way too late as it turned out!</td></tr>
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I began walking after Mass at the Cathedral in Porto on April 1, 2018. It is Easter Sunday, and also curiously April Fools' Day! Auspicious day to start. Fool or Pilgrim? Maybe I'm both. The thought pops in: Am I kidding myself? Am I just a plain fool to attempt this sacred journey? As every peregrination starts with a first step, I distract myself from dark thoughts of self doubt and begin walking.<br />
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From Porto there are three main routes leading to Santiago: The Coastal Route, The Caminho Central and the Seaside Route. (As I did not begin my journey in Lisbon, I will not be discussing the route from Lisbon to Porto.)<br />
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The Coastal Route, initially confusingly, does not always hug the coast as does the newer, and some say, inauthentic, recently configured Seaside Route (Senda Litoral). Not wanting to slog through the industrial outskirts of Porto, I decided for my first day I would follow this Seaside Route out of the city. I joined the traditional medieval path - the Central Way - the following day and continued along it all the way to the Cathedral in Santiago.<br />
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I walked the Camino Portugués like this: <br />
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Day One: Porto via Matosinhos to Lavra. 22km<br />
Day Two: Lavra via Vila do Conde to Rates. 24km.<br />
Day Three: Rates via Barcelos to Portela Tamel São Pedro. 24km<br />
Day Four: Tamel to Ponte de Lima. 24km<br />
Day Five: Ponte de Lima to Rubiàs. 20km.<br />
Day Six: Rubiàs via Valença (Portugal) to Tui (Spain). 20km.<br />
Day Seven: Tui to Porriño. 17km.<br />
Day Eight: Porriño to Redondale. 16km.<br />
Day Nine: Redondela to Pontevedra. 20km.<br />
Day Ten: Pontevedra to Caldas De Reis. 22km.<br />
Day Eleven: Caldas de Reis to Padrón. 19km.<br />
Day Twelve: Padrón to Santiago de Compostela. 25km.<br />
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Along The Way, I stayed at albergues, the shared accommodation pilgrims' hostels. The camaraderie, commiseration and motivation provided by our multinational fluid community of walkers was always appreciated. The snoring is irritatingly identical in any language! Addresses are easily located in tourist information centers, by word of mouth, Camino handbooks and online sources. For lists of accommodations and general trip preparation, I used John Brierley's book, "A Pilgrim's Guide to the Camino Portugués", guidebooks I downloaded onto my iPad from The Confraternity of Saint James website, and the comprehensive, "Wise Pilgrim Guides" app for the Camino Portugués. In Porto, I picked up "The Portuguese Way to Santiago de Compostela" by Sérgio Fonseca. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crossing from Valença, Portugal into Tui, Spain. Smiling despite the blisters and a week of rain. The poncho was another gift along The Way - as we liked to say, from St. James. In this case, from a fellow peregrino.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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A highlight for me - aside from arriving in Santiago, was the magic of Padron; a town one day's walk from Santiago de Compostela. Padron plays great importance in the history of St. James' mythic journey from Palestine to the Iberian Peninsula. According to the legend, it is here that Santiago came to preach the Gospel in the First Century. After several years, he returned to Palestine and was beheaded by King Herod. It is also to Padron that Santiago's remains were mysteriously returned on a stone ship by his disciples. Over the centuries, the Cathedral in Santiago was built to house the crypt of Santiago. Pilgrims have been coming to venerate this place for two thousand years.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Monte Santiaguiño. A steep climb above Padron is an often overlooked secret of the Camino. This is the place that marks where Santiago preached in Galicia before returning to Jerusalem. It is also to where his remains were mysteriously transported - to begin the timeless pilgrimage along the Camino De Santiago.</td></tr>
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The walk was very satisfying along many dimensions. Travelling by foot through ancient medieval towns in Portugal and Spain was almost akin to time-traveling. To appreciate that millions of devout pilgrims - and lowlife criminals doing penance also walked this ancient route, gave me a feeling of kinship with a larger humanity. That we helped one another along the way reflected the ethic that comes from participating in this time-honoured grand walk.<br />
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The answer to the question that I posed at the start of these reflections is a resounding, "Yes!" Walking along these paths - sometimes indeed along ancient Roman stone roads - is a meaningful and necessary counterpoint to the contemporary social order which emphasizes the acquisition of limited material things and consequent unhealthy feelings of greed, envy and ultimately a disquieting sense of purposelessness.<br />
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The yellow arrows that guided me from my fist step outside the Porto Cathedral and onto Obradoiro Square in front of the Cathedral in Santiago taught me that no matter where I am, I can always find my way to God. <br />
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Buen camino! <br />
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With
work having begun in 1075, ongoing restoration of the Cathedral in
Santiago is necessary. A reminder perhaps that there is also continuous
work to be done along our own journey to self realization.</div>
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<br />John Soos, PhDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03139928669902751027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5587175752404587926.post-1039256280575839372018-05-30T14:13:00.000-07:002018-05-30T19:23:00.246-07:00Madeira Madeira is a Portuguese archipelago and Portuguese autonomous region situated in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. "The island of eternal spring" lies 600 km off the coast of Morocco and about 1,000 km southwest of Lisbon. Madeira's capital city is Funchal. The island's population is 280,000 with nearly half of her good people residing in Funchal. It is an archipelago as in addition to this main island, there is the tiny Porto Santo (population 5,500) and two other, smaller still and unpopulated islands - Desertas and Selvagens.<br />
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I travelled to Madeira only; flying from the city of Porto on the Portuguese mainland. While flipping through travel books and atlases - old school trip preparation - okay, and the occasional digital resource - I had initially imagined a far more ambitious itinerary: Macaronesia - including in addition to Madeira, the Canary Islands, Cape Verde and the Azores. I was so bewitched by the numerous charms of Madeira that I dropped this far-flung itinerary to enjoy Madeira more fully. Good choice!<br />
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To say that the landscape is breathtaking, is to utter an understatement.<br />
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Madeira is a hiker's paradise. Most famous are routes along the ancient water channels - the levadas - that criss-cross the island. Many trail-heads are easily accessed via public transit. And those bus drivers - as they expertly manoeuver along scenic, serpentine roads precipitously hugging deep gorges are truly wizards. What a trip!<br />
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But to be honest, even in the dry season, in order for this garden of eternal spring to flourish as it does, it must of course rain. Sometimes a lot. As can be seen here, a washed-out section of the track needed a little improvisation in order to continue.<br />
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<br />John Soos, PhDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03139928669902751027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5587175752404587926.post-13016279147257052092018-02-08T11:05:00.000-08:002018-02-13T10:01:34.452-08:00Costa Rica<br />
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Travelling in the small Central American nation of Costa Rica, one is impressed by the varied topography and the stunning array of
wildlife. From the Monteverde Cloud Forest to Caribbean beaches to
mangrove jungles and volcanoes - the fauna and flora are incredible. Tiny psychedelic, neon green and blue frogs, iridescent purple hummingbirds, massive
day-glow orange lizards, sleepy, and, well - slothful sloths - can all be
readily encountered in their natural and preserved habitats.<br />
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Life is glorious, abundant and uninhibitedly in your face here!<br />
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Of course, Costa Rica is not just its wilderness. The people are kind,
proud and very hospitable. And as it is an election year - the people of
San José voice their opposition to oppression, and as everywhere -
proclaim their need to live and express themselves freely.</div>
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John Soos, PhDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03139928669902751027noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5587175752404587926.post-42012868516101316082017-11-20T12:49:00.001-08:002017-11-22T09:03:04.977-08:00Roger Waters on Palestine. In Vancouver.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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An extraordinary evening involving rock music's legendary Roger Waters took place last month in Vancouver. Yes the concert was politically charged, musically brilliant and visually spectacular. But this was different. At the end of Roger Waters' North American tour and prior to the Vancouver concerts, he generously agreed to sit down with the people of Vancouver to share his thoughts on the role of the artist as social change agent and in particular, the reasons behind his strong support for Palestinian human rights.<br />
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On Thursday, October 26 2017 - two days prior to the first of two Vancouver "Us and Them" Concerts, Roger Waters, the creative power and songwriting force behind Pink Floyd, presented his evolution as a human rights activist and his support for Palestinian rights in a magnificent cathedral.<br />
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Roger Waters’ long-time political activism became focused on Israel/Palestine in 2006. He is one of the most prominent celebrities to join the BDS (Boycott, Divestment, Sanctions) movement, speaking out against Israel's longstanding military occupation of Palestine.<br />
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In 1965, Waters co-founded the progressive rock band Pink Floyd, often called “the best band of all time.” He performed his iconic album The Wall in 1990 to commemorate the fall of the Berlin Wall. The wall that today needs to be dismantled is the Apartheid Wall in Palestine. Indeed Roger has been to the West Bank and he has spray-painted messages of political liberation onto that oppressive, massive structure. <br />
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Roger has been widely attacked for his views, and accused of being anti-Semitic because of his criticism of Israel's decades-long human rights abuses. But as Israeli journalist, Gideon Levy writes, when Waters “talks about Israel, it’s with pain, criticism and anger, but not hatred, and anti-Semitism is not part of the picture here.”<br />
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Roger Waters spoke at St. Andrew's-Wesley United Church in Vancouver on October 26, 2017. He was interviewed by Martha Roth, a member of Independent Jewish Voices. The event was chaired by Itrath Syed, an Instructor at Langara College and Simon Fraser University.<br />
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The video of the event can be seen here: <a href="https://vimeo.com/243417578">Roger Waters. On Palestine. In Vancouver.</a><br /><br />
<br />John Soos, PhDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03139928669902751027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5587175752404587926.post-70308977959025895752017-09-05T14:28:00.000-07:002017-09-14T08:54:36.972-07:00Travels in Madagascar <br />
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"Moramora". Malagasy for "slowly, slowly".<br />
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Not only am I happy to
hear this oft-repeated mantra reminding me to travel mindfully in this
enchanted land, but why in the world would I not want to savour each minute of this astonishing place?<br />
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Baobab trees and lemurs are among the first indicators that Madagascar is home to unique and dazzling creatures.<br />
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As roosters crow and the sun begins to rise, I am not the only one to be swept away by the sight of emerging giant silhouettes. These dogs too appear to be inspired by the sublime beauty of Baobabs at daybreak.<br />
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In the Indian Ocean off the coast of Mozambique in south eastern Africa, the country of Madagascar is the world's fourth largest island. While humans began their gradual spread across the planet from Africa 80,000 years ago, Madagascar - just 400 kilometers away - has only been populated a mere two thousand years. World civilizations arose and vanished over the millennia while life on Madagascar evolved in its own unique way. Indeed eighty percent of all living things in Madagascar today are to be found only in Madagascar. The first people who did eventually arrive here followed an extraordinary circuitous route - from the Indo-Malaysian island of Borneo.<br />
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Contemporary Malagasy culture is thus a wonderful blend of Indonesian, African, Arab and more recently, French influences. Two items central to Madagascar life today illustrate the Indonesian-African nexus. Rice from Asia and the zebu - cattle from Africa - are mainstays of the Malagasy diet. The fascinating cultural interweave of languages, music and religious practices was a happy reminder to me that we can indeed celebrate a life which values unity in diversity. I will not forget the genuine welcoming warmth of the Malagasy people that I encountered daily. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghT3dJREzCTsuJ2g80kiFDkQpwgCGtNv_4YZbolhGFVu_uGRWYAA_ZKHkAJB0ExFkDdjB_7-wp05uYFeEXyabF_gFLBsKljoaNVgp19x0uZTqSFpE-5yMA9h5pZe9ziGDxuS54R1udt9xJ/s1600/IMG_0424.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1266" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghT3dJREzCTsuJ2g80kiFDkQpwgCGtNv_4YZbolhGFVu_uGRWYAA_ZKHkAJB0ExFkDdjB_7-wp05uYFeEXyabF_gFLBsKljoaNVgp19x0uZTqSFpE-5yMA9h5pZe9ziGDxuS54R1udt9xJ/s320/IMG_0424.JPG" width="253" /></a> Sea of Joy.<br />
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The children gleefully playing in the Indian Ocean on the west coast of Madagascar, at Ifaty and Morondava put an enormous smile on my face. <br />
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Three boys proudly showed me their handcrafted little boats that are ready to set sail in the Mozambique Channel.<br />
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It was not far from here, that humpback whales could be seen on their annual migration from Antarctica - to mate and give birth in these warm waters.<br />
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Like them - I too hope to return to this extraordinary place.<br />
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<br />John Soos, PhDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03139928669902751027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5587175752404587926.post-49296867261835012392017-07-20T19:09:00.000-07:002017-09-05T18:01:17.968-07:00Haida Gwaii: "Islands of the People"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The Haida Gwaii archipelago lies fifty to a hundred and fifty kilometers off the northwest coast of British Columbia. These remote islands - more than 400 - provide the traveller with an opportunity to explore a stunning ancient landscape with powerful reminders of First Nations culture. The two main islands are Graham Island to the North and Moresby Island in the South.<br />
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The Haida people have inhabited these islands for more than 12, 500 years. Today the gradually decaying remnants of vanishing villages can be visited in the protected, and now largely uninhabited southern portion of Moresby Island known as Gwaii Haanas (Islands of Beauty).<br />
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Since 1993, Gwaii Haanas has been jointly managed by the Council of the Haida Nation and the Government of Canada. This remarkable place is a designated Haida Heritage Site, a National Park Reserve and a National Marine Conservation Area Reserve.<br />
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It is an honour to have visited this awe-inspiring sacred landscape.<br />
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Haida Gwaii Watchmen welcome visitors and act as guardians of the Haida Heritage Sites.<br />
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Rapacious industrial logging practices borne of the greed and cultural disregard associated with ongoing colonization was threatening the survival of this beautiful Land and her People. Clear-cuts were destroying what were then still called The Queen Charlotte Islands.<br />
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Protests against logging began in earnest in 1985. The Haida people and their non-aboriginal supporters were arrested for blocking loggers and their vehicles. Civil disobedience eventually led to the cessation of logging and the protected ecosystem we see today.<br />
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Sgang Gwaay (Anthony Island) on the southwest coast of Hoida Gwaii is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. <br />
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The Legacy Pole was carved by Jaalen Edenshaw and was raised at Windy Bay on Lyell Island in 2013 to commemorate 20 years of cooperative management of Gwaii Haanas between the Council of the Haida Nation and the Government of Canada. It was the first monumental pole raised here in 130 years. The figures represent the brave protesters who locked arms and stood their ground in actions which led to the preservation of this precious land. </div>
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Given that Haida Gwaii is in BC, a playful nonconformist sensibility lives harmoniously and respectfully side by side the region's indigenous culture. The Moon Over Naikoon Bakery housed in a repurposed, funky old school bus serves delicious baked goods and organic coffee.<br />
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Perfect after a long stroll on nearby North Beach on Graham Island.<br />
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<br />John Soos, PhDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03139928669902751027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5587175752404587926.post-12373707084567651562017-05-12T15:02:00.001-07:002017-05-12T15:52:43.764-07:00My MP repliesSix months ago, I wrote Hedy Fry - my Federal Liberal Party of Canada Member of Parliament, to express my appreciation for the Liberal Party for restoring funding to UNRWA. UNRWA - the United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees in the Near East - is the UN agency responsible for providing services that include, education, medical and psychological health care, relief and social services to some five million Palestinian refugees. The prior Conservative Government of Canada, under Stephen Harper, cut aid to UNRWA in a misguided and mean-spirited act related to kowtowing to Zionist pressure and Islamophobic racism.<br />
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I take some small comfort in the idea that a simple letter can ripple through a vast bureaucracy and moreover hopefully play a role in bringing health and social justice to a traumatized people. Lasting peace is of course contingent on ending the longstanding, brutal military occupation of Palestine. <br />
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Here is my letter:<br />
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Dear Hedy Fry MP,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Greetings from English Bay, Vancouver! </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I just want to let you know that I am very pleased that you and the Liberal Government made the wise, humanitarian and indeed compassionate decision to restore support for the UN agency assisting Palestinian refugees. I know personally that the work UNRWA does in Gaza is of profound importance. Earlier this year I was there with a medical and psychological delegation providing training to mental health professionals treating the traumatized Palestinian population. UNRWA's work is necessary. I saw it myself. Their schools, mental health and medical programs are superb. Without their dedication and professional contributions, this beleaguered society's suffering would be far greater then what it already is. As you can well imagine, the psychosocial needs of Palestinian refugees are enormous and so I was glad to see aid was reinstated. Parenthetically, I am sorry that misguided and self-serving organizations have voiced criticism of the </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">decision. I can assure you the accusations are baseless. People in Palestine are deeply traumatized and providing assistance to alleviate pain is obviously the ethical thing to do.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Yours sincerely, </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">John Soos, PhD </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Vancouver, BC V6G 1N2</span></div>
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And her is her reply:</div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Dear Dr. Soos,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Thank you for writing my office to voice your support for the UNRWA and the well-being of Palestinian refugees. I appreciate hearing from constituents, as it keeps me grounded and helps me to focus on your priorities as your Member of Parliament.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Canada is back. Our funding of $25 million will directly support the education and health care needs of vulnerable Palestinian refugees. With this funding, Canada joins all other G7 countries in supporting UNRWA’s efforts to meet the ever increasing needs of Palestinian refugees, assist in providing basic services for vulnerable people, and contribute to stability in the region. As with all Canadian development and humanitarian programming in the West Bank and Gaza, enhanced due diligence will ensure that the aid we provide will go where it’s needed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">These contributions will help approximately 5.5 million Palestinian refugees – particularly women and children – receive the assistance they need, including access to healthcare and the opportunity to go to school. Access to a quality education is the key to the future of young Palestinians in allowing them to play a positive role in their communities. This is crucial for peace, stability and security in the region.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Once again, thank you for your positive email in support of UNRWA funding. Please do not hesitate to write again should you have any further questions, on this topic or any other.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Sincerely,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Hon. Hedy Fry, P.C., M.P.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Vancouver Centre</span></div>
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<br style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;" />John Soos, PhDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03139928669902751027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5587175752404587926.post-80978817301869319722017-04-16T16:56:00.001-07:002017-04-16T18:02:25.532-07:00Walking with the Busó<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I was walking with the Busó - men in fantastically carved, horned masks, wearing sheep skin cloaks - in the small Hungarian town of Mohács.<br />
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Mohács is situated on the Danube across the border from Croatia. The Hungarians were defeated there by the Turks in 1526 at the Battle of Mohács. The Nation was occupied by Ottoman Turks for one hundred and fifty years.<br />
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Busójárás - walking with the Busó - is a curious blend of pre-Lenten Carnival; farewell to winter/welcome to Spring; and re-creation of a 16th century legendary battle. It was then that the Mohács townspeople, amidst a fierce storm and dressed in the frightening attire, scared the occupying Ottoman troops away and thus regained their freedom and their town.<br />
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Over the years, the confluence of these strands coalesced into today's fantastic Mohács Farshang (Carnival) . In 2009, UNESCO listed it as a World Heritage event.<br />
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On the night of Shrove Tuesday (Mardi Gras) - the final day of Carnival - winter is placed inside a coffin and the Busó send it off in flames amidst a large bonfire in the center of town.<br />
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The town is liberated, winter is dealt a final blow, spring is welcome and Lent begins.<br />
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<br />John Soos, PhDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03139928669902751027noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5587175752404587926.post-49940218422101566042017-04-14T14:28:00.004-07:002017-04-17T09:55:47.719-07:00The Transient Beauty of Cherry Blossoms<br />
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Sakura: Japanese for cherry. </div>
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Hanami: Japanese for gathering together and viewing the transient beauty of cherry blossoms.</div>
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Yozakura: Marveling them while illuminated in the night. </div>
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The Buddhist doctrine of impermanence is seamlessly entwined with Japanese floral aesthetics. <br />
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John Soos, PhDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03139928669902751027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5587175752404587926.post-62206385766360860462017-03-23T12:30:00.002-07:002017-03-23T12:53:43.239-07:00The Dual Pilgrim: El Camino de Santiago to Kumano KodoMany years after walking in the footsteps of St. James along the Camino de Santiago from The French Pyrenees to Galicia in Western Spain, I more recenltly walked across Japan's Kii Peninsula to complete the Kumano Kodo. UNESCO has designated these two long distance trails as World Heritage pilgrimage routes. Those who complete both are recognized as Dual Pilgrims. Taking my first steps on the Way of Saint James in 2000, one can say that I took seventeen years to complete the journey across Spain's Christian Medieval pilgrimage route and on through the thousand year-old Japanese Shinto-Buddhist pilgrims' path. In truth, I am still walking the Way.<br />
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<br />John Soos, PhDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03139928669902751027noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5587175752404587926.post-968188286228281662016-12-23T15:46:00.001-08:002016-12-23T15:50:02.032-08:00Liberate O Little Town of Bethlehem<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Today the United Nations Security Council (finally) passed a resolution that brings the liberation of Palestine a little closer. This unexpected Christmas gift is indeed a Joy to the World!John Soos, PhDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03139928669902751027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5587175752404587926.post-49176994569656178712016-12-20T11:52:00.000-08:002016-12-20T11:52:15.228-08:00Merry Christmas. Peace on Earth. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />John Soos, PhDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03139928669902751027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5587175752404587926.post-86614111792316265522016-05-01T20:49:00.001-07:002016-05-02T20:29:52.952-07:00Ice Mountains of the North<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I flew over the Bering Sea, taking the Polar route to the fabled city of Kathmandu - reading Thomas Merton's Asian Journal as he reflected on "the utter happiness of life on a plane." I look out the window and was blessed by one of those transcendent views astronauts describe; a glimpse into the eternal. It was a remarkably perfect moment.</span><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8RpOzY7LJVkbGtV0ElfhJ-kPc0bfncYITtAWKSPm8o8TeHMETKsTGE3VL0KXXuvuqdSThbSAyhpbi16A1gurUzJ9ZoJ-ajv3wJUEwOeA8XiDKFSdRU1YJzph0OZZBhV0QCCvQxQAM6AFl/s640/blogger-image--573902021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8RpOzY7LJVkbGtV0ElfhJ-kPc0bfncYITtAWKSPm8o8TeHMETKsTGE3VL0KXXuvuqdSThbSAyhpbi16A1gurUzJ9ZoJ-ajv3wJUEwOeA8XiDKFSdRU1YJzph0OZZBhV0QCCvQxQAM6AFl/s640/blogger-image--573902021.jpg"></a></div><br></span></div>John Soos, PhDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03139928669902751027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5587175752404587926.post-86789718689758016802016-04-12T21:16:00.005-07:002016-04-12T21:49:44.709-07:00 Sidewalk Sakura Vancouver<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The Japanese tradition of viewing (hanami) cherry blossoms (sakura) in appreciation of their ephemeral beauty and delicate impermanence (mono no aware) can produce a kind of gentle sadness in the viewer. The artistry of the soft and fallen petals caught my eye.</div>
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