Baby Zebras! And MORE

Jambo! Karibo!

I'm writing this on the bus back to Oxford from Gatwick airport, after flying Kilimanjaro to Dar es Salaam to Amsterdam to London.  Yuck yuck yuck.

quick digression Amsterdam is the first place I've been repeatedly misidentified as a native! Which just resulted in me making a fool of myself repeatedly:
      Situation: Dutch stewardesses/employees/cute little kids in store/etc. talk to me in Dutch.
      Me: Dumb blank stare. Awful at responding smoothly or even realizing what was going on.    
      Stewardesses/kids/etc.: Look at me strangely. Graciously apologize.
      Me: Awkward attempt at reducing awkwardness: "Well, my blood is Dutch, but I'm American!"
      Launch into family history which just prolongs awkwardness without realizing they weren't
      getting half of what I was saying.  Happened several times.

Anyways, on to Tanzania, a.k.a. land of adorable baby zebras!  Every year, my family takes one big trip a year around Christmas.  This year we went on safari, which has single-handedly ruined zoos for me for the rest of my life.  Because it is SO MUCH MORE INTERESTING to watch animals interact than just watch animals in a cage.  Doubters? Presenting the top 10 safari moments from Tanzania that we saw LIVE:

1. Three brother cheetahs chase down second-to-last wildabeast in herd of 200.  Eat wildabeast alive.
2. 12 elephants take mud bath together. Teenagers wallow and play and smile a lot.  Elephant slippage everywhere. 
3. Colobus monkeys make 30 foot jump over road between two trees.  About 90 feet in the air. 
4. Baby lions sleep together. Paw at each other.  Roll over.  Yawn.  Annoy mom. Too cute to handle. 

   

   Lions taking advantage of truck shade next to us. 

5. Dumb wildabeast herd try to cross muddy lake.  A few get stuck.  Rest of wildabeast follow in line until 100 are stuck.  Spend next hour trying to keep following in line. No one thinks to turn around. 
6. Hyena chase off pack of about 50 vultures to eat some dead zebra.  Vultures fight like crazy for the rest, and then have to dry their wings off to rid of blood. 
7. Mama gazelle gives birth to tiny baby.  Baby learns to stand and tries to run.  Falls a lot.
8. Horny zebra males get repeatedly rejected by females. The ladies were not feeling it.  Back kick to the face.  On that note, baboon boners also deserve to make this list. 
9. Super healthy giraffe males fight by wrapping necks around each other.  Kind of looks like dancing.
10. Mad (HUGE) bull elephant decides our truck got a little too close.  Chases after us.  Trumpets and flares ears.  Terror. Those are some long-ass tusks.

Bull starting to chase our car. Note how close the tire marks were.

Really good pictures of top 10 will come soooooon.  They are on my parents' camera which is flying back to the States, where pictures will be sent to me.   I tried my hand at wildlife photography which was oodles of fun.  

Anyways, we also stayed in the area of the Maasai tribes of Africa, who are nomadic herders that maintain their traditional culture.  Polygamous/polyandry society.  Men are circumcised at the age of 15-20 without anesthetic and without making noise; we saw some newly circumcised teens dressed in black.  Squirm.  Our amazing Tanzanian guide Isaac was telling us how hard the Maasai are on women: they build the houses, cook, raise the cattle, and raise the children, while the men trade animals and drink liquor, according to him.  Also they are really sharp dressers.  

It was hard to fathom how different the lives of these women were. I couldn't help imagining that suppose there was a clone of me born in the Maasai tribe. There is hardly any way she'd end up at Oxford, through no fault of her own. She'd be married by 12 or 13 without any choice in the matter. It makes me feel fortunate or guilty or both, I can't decide which.  It's just one of those life questions that puts things in perspective. 

It was wonderful to see my family again, although it was even harder to say goodbye this time since I don't know when I'll see them again.  Sniff.  All in all though, a great holiday.  Now to bury my nose back in books. 

Lalla salama!  (Sleep well in Swahili) 

Lisa 

Addendum to Amsterdam: A discussion of prostitution

I've been wrestling over what bothered me about the red light district.  I couldn't at first put a finger on it, because I thought it agreed with my philosophical stance for the following reasons:

1. I'm a realist.  Prostitution has been and will always be a part of society.  There will always exist a black market for paid sex.  It's unrealistic to assume that outlawing prostitution will make it disappear.
2. Assuming prostitution will always exist, if it is illegal and therefore clandestine, prostitutes are some of the most at-risk members of the population: medical risks (STDs), exploitation, drug abuse, violence, impoverishment, the list goes on.
3. Legalizing prostitution, therefore, seems to be in-line with my philosophy: it provides a safe environment for an at-risk population without any judgment as to the morality of their job: help everyone regardless of their transgressions, a Christian view I do believe in. Concerns about safety and protection seemed to outweigh concerns about the morality of prostitution in my mind.
4. Furthermore, I wonder also if legalization removes the aspect of exploitation from prostitution.  Are prostitutes subject to the same exploitative environment that one hears about in the U.S. through pimps, etc.; or do they indeed enjoy more autonomy in their work in Amsterdam?  If it is the latter, theoretically this also takes away some concerns about the morality of prostitution, as in essence I support a woman's right to do what she wants with her body.  The argument would go in the U.S. that prostitutes aren't making a conscious choice of what to do with their bodies since it's such an environment of oppression and exploitation; absent of this oppression and exploitation, prostitution becomes a woman's rights issue. I doubt Amsterdam is entirely absent of these two factors, but even if it is closer to autonomy it would be an improvement over illegal prostitution operations.

In short, I thought that prostitution legalization here actually fit with my philosophy. Yet, something was nagging at my philosophical subconcious all day, which I think I've nailed down.

1. From above: prostitution will always exist and should be legal to increase safety and (theoretically) remove aspects of exploitation and oppression, returning it to it's place among womens' rights.
2.  Yet, does the legalization of prostitution actually increase the amount of prostitution taking place? Does the legalization of prostitution mean that it becomes more acceptable in the eyes of men to purchase women like objects from shop windows? This is where my philosophy starts competing with my morality.

What struck me about the streets of Amsterdam was the number of guys that didn't look like they were normally into prostitutes, who were suddenly into prostitutes.  The average Joe was rapping on those red-lit windows. Two conclusions could be drawn:

1.  Average Joes seek out prostitution normally; it's my perception that they don't which was wrong.
2.  Average Joes see the legalization of prostitution as a way to morally realize or access their dirtiest desires.  Legalization makes something previously not okay in their heads now okay.

If I go with my hunch and say that some Average Joes are indeed more likely to seek out prostitution in Amsterdam than places where it's illegal, my entire logical argument for the legalization of prostitution starts to unravel. Why? Because underpinning the concession that prostitution will be a part of society is the assumption that it shouldn't be. We'd like to get rid of it, but oh well, it exists.

But what if the legalization of prostitution increases the usage of prostitution? For instance, if it was legalized everywhere, would more of our average Joes start sleeping with prostitutes?  I find this thought disconcerting not because I don't support the right of women to do what they want with their bodies (I do) but rather that I have a hard time separating the issues with commodification of women from the idea of prostitution.  As much as I want to set aside my own moral judgments on these women's profession, I can't.  I guess seeing the Red Light district made me painfully aware that even if I want to be liberal and open-minded towards prostitution, I still see it as men objectifying and buying women.  And the red light district, where average Joes were doing so, nagged at me.  Because if it were legal, would more average Joes see the objectification and purchasing of women as a legitimate Saturday-night passtime? Would enough men take a moral stance against a legally-approved industry? Or would legalizing prostitution lead to a normalization of something that in essence I think shouldn't be normalized: seeing women as objects to be bought with enough money?  I want to support these women by protecting them, but I still seem to be unable to get past the concern that legalizing prostitution (and therefore more adequately protecting prostitutes) would validate views among men that I don't support.

Or does strolling through the Red Light district, and legalizing prostitution as a whole, merely show in sharper relief those who would purchase a women and those who oppose purchasing a woman on other grounds than simply that it is illegal?  Does it make men acknowledge openly what they're doing by bathing them in red light? Maybe that's not a bad thing either.

I'm still contemplating.  But the Red Light district was thought-provoking, at the very least.  If nothing else, visit it for that reason: to really examine your own views towards the industry.

Windmills and other W things

First update on location!  Greetings from Amsterdam! It's that awkward time when it's too late to see the sights but too early for dinner, so here I am in the hostel, waiting out the rain.

I have never seen a city that is quite so much of a juxtaposition of two worlds as Amsterdam is.  Every gift shop wrestles with putting quaint little porcelain blue-and-white dutch figurines clad in wooden shoes next to penis-shaped salt-and-pepper shakers.  Tulip stands sell tulip buds next to very illegal (in the U.S.) plants.  There's a sex store next to a traditional Dutch bakery where I bought Oliebollen.

It's even more confusing considering I tend to equate Dutch with frugality and conservatism.  I grew up in a Dutch community; 3/4 of my grandparents are Dutch.  The [American] Dutch I know value penny-saving and religion.  Very different than the open-minded attitude of Amsterdam towards drugs and sexuality.

My one-day tour of Amsterdam was much of a mash-up of these two worlds.  Got here last night, made it safely to my hostel where I quickly met some Australians and French.  We all proceeded to a "coffee shop" which does not sell coffee but instead boasts the most disconcerting menu I've seen. A menu composed entirely of illegal substances; the Amsterdam approach is that it's easier to regulate if it's out in the open.  You almost cannot escape the smell of weed in the city: our french friends complained that no one smokes cigarettes here; it's always something different. 

We then proceeded to take a stroll through the red light district, famous for the ultraviolet rooms that line the canals and house scantily-clad prostitutes of all shapes and sizes that leer seductively as you walk past. 

In a non-surprising turn of events, I had mixed feelings.  On one hand, considering the profession of prostitution is not going away, I commend Amsterdam for taking really good care of those most at risk.  Yet, I couldn't help but think of how much it felt like window-shopping for women.  This was particularly evident when we walked past women sitting on backless chairs that were designed to prominently display their butts and not their faces. Objectification, commodification; clearly my feminist brain cannot turn itself off.

Anyways, after finishing the night by enjoying a Heineken in a pub (enjoying, really! I liked Heineken), I woke up this morning and trotted off to the Flower Market.  The Flower Market is this quaint row of stands that sell tulips of all types, along with other Dutch goods like kissing figurines and gouda cheese. All I could think of was my grandmother's dining room with all of her blue and white Dutch porcelain.  So I bought a bunch of things to zip off to my grandparents.

Then it was off to the Van Gogh museum, which is ONE OF if not THE BEST art museum I've ever seen in terms of well-designed layout.  It walks you through Van Gogh's life and artistic evolution, all the way to his death and lasting influence.  It was fabulous. Walked in some cheese stores and got the free tasters, and had a fried dough ball (Oliebollen) which was very good if not completely unhealthy. Stopped by Anne Frank's house, saw the Dutch palace, strolled the canals, went to the flea market, and bought some Dutch waffle cookie things. And then I went shopping because my hostel was smack-dab in the middle of the shopping district and I couldn't resist.  Ended up with black boots which my dad is going to scold me for when he sees them tomorrow (conversation will go: Dad: Those aren't Practical! Me: When in Europe...[point at the other 500 women walking through airport in boots]).

I am probably most proud of not getting lost on this trip.  Amsterdam is this city of concentric circles of canals, so the roads kind of fan outwards from the same starting point. All the canals look the same, roads don't connect to each other, and there's lots of lonnnng street names that all have almost the same letters in them.  But I didn't get lost! Proving everyone wrong, I tell ya.  Who says I need a Garmin (man, i miss my Gary). 

My family flies in to Amsterdam tomorrow!  I'm getting up at the crack of dawn to catch the train over to the airport, and then we're traveling for the next 10 days.  I am quite excited to see them.   I am bringing them mince pies as tastiest example of English food I've had so far (except for maybe fish and chips, but you can't fly with those). 


Off to dinner.  Happy holidays! Lisa

RrrrrrrOMA! And the Popemobile.

BonJOURno! [insert wide sweeping hand gesture]

Dear Rome, you are now my favorite city.  Despite the whole purse stolen thing (more on that later).  Still, you have won my heart.  Top five reasons why you're just the best:

1.  The Vatican museums. OH. MY. Rafael rooms are jaw-dropping. Sistine Chapel is jaw-dropping. It's almost impossible to appreciate it all because you start acclimating to room after room of incredible beauty and get symptoms called "breathtaking-sculpture fatigue" and "gorgeous-painting overdose."

I was most overwhelmed with how it demonstrated the power of the Catholic Church.  They commissioned some of the most famous works in the world.  They monopolized the time of the most influential painters of the era.  It's like if they took Britney Spears or Oprah or Michael Jackson or something and bought five years of their time, like they did Michelangelo.  Incredible influence.

2.  Pizza. Pasta. Italian pizzas are thin crust and swimming in grease and you have to fold the pieces to eat them properly.  But man are they good.  When you find a place that makes true Italian pizza; all the places around the tourist sights all make bad, not-Italian style pizza (first day misstep).  But turn down a charming side street and your taste buds will be thrilled.

3.  Colosseum.  Jaw-dropping for other reasons. It's a bit chilling to think how many people died in the structure, how people used to watch others fight to the death from the very balconies you're strolling. How the floor was covered in sand to soak up the blood.  It is just huge though, and it's not every day you get to wander through a building built around 80 A.D.

4.  Nana-nana-nana-nana Popemobile! [cue the Batman tune] Here we were, sipping caffe in a caffe last Thursday. Little did we realize that it was one of the many Catholic holidays (something about the virgin Mary I think).  And the Pope was due to make an appearance.  My friend facing the caffe window casually commented "Hey, there's the Pope." And indeed, for a split second, there he was carting down the street in what looked like a space-age vehicle from the Jetsons with a white frame and a glass top.  Then followed about 100 other guards. Win!

5.  I'm having trouble picking only one 5th reason. Amazing fountains.  Crazy statues of Athenian gods and allegorical figures of Justice and Liberty and Strength, etc. The Via Sangra.  The Swiss Guards' outfits. The ruins of the palaces where the Roman emperors lived, on top of the Palatine hill.  The embarrassing huge self-serving monument complex the last king built himself. The weekend trip to Naples that will be saved for another blog post. Actually, my fifth reason will have to be the Italian language.

To speak Italian: Gesture. A Lot. Especially if you're speaking on the phone and the person can't see you.  Over-emphasize. A Lot.  BonJOURno!  ItaliANo! BellISsimo! Also as a side note to pass as Italian you should probably smoke a lot, own a motorbike, and wear boots (female) or extremely nice scarves (male).

I tended to revert to Spanish and then just trying to speak it with an Italian accent.  About half the time I'm pretty sure they had no idea what I was saying and I would've been better off staying in English because at least they've heard it from other tourists. Half the time it was real effective. I even bartered effectively.  I think I could learn Italian pretty quickly, it's a lovely lovely sounding language.

Italy has one strike against them due to the theives that stole my purse.  Sad day.  It had my camera, so the memories I have will have to be enough.  And it had my passport, which may cost me more than the whole trip combined.

But, in the course of life, lost passport and camera < amazing experience of seeing Rome.  Grazie mille, Italy, I hope dearly to be back.

How to Be British / FRISBEE NATIONALS

I know, I haven't updated lately. In a predictable turn of events, the end of the term got busy. Shocking.  Luckily that just means I have tons more interesting things to talk about now....

I'm developing a theory of How to Become British.  Here's what you have to do:
-  If there's an R in the middle of the word, don't pronounce it.  Hard becomes "Hahd"
-  On that note, if there's an A, it's an "ah"   Pahty.   Fahncy.
-  It's Zed, not Z silly.
-  Also a bathroom is not a bathroom because it's not where you're taking a bath.  It's a Loo or a Toilet.
-  Also, your questions must have a more sing-songy tonal pattern. Like your voice hits high and low pitches several times in a question.  I am working on a way to demonstrate the difference.
More theorizing later....

British Ultimate Frisbee Nationals were this weekend in the lovely city of Wolverhampton, which looked remarkably like suburbia U.S.A. except for the double decker buses and the old churches and all of the terrifying roundabouts.  So many roundabouts.  It's because they didn't do the whole grid-system for roads way back in ancient times when they settled here, I think, so they have these crazy 4-street junctions with 5 lanes of weaving cars. So glad I'm not driving here.

ANYWAYS, I digress, so the frisbee part... We came in seeded something like 15th, worked our way up to seeded 5th after day one, and then dropped down to 9th in the end. 9th best indoor team in Great Britain!  It's a bit funny because we hadn't practiced as a team at all; we relied entirely on the fact that we had individually skilled players.  We improved a LOT over the weekend and I learned a ton of indoor strategy very quickly.

The only Irish team took the title.  Gosh darn Irish.  We slept in a church hall with the other 32 teams there which went remarkably well (actually the most sleep I've ever gotten at an Ultimate tournament, huh).  We've also begun the attempt to rename the Ultimate team here the Oxford Wizards. Because we have to wear silly sub fusc robes, and because Harry Potter was filmed here, and Tolkien wrote about wizards while here, and Hermoine goes here, and well because it'd be a properly ridiculous ultimate team name.

Other things that have happened in the last two weeks:  I rowed in the Christ Church Regatta which is a novice regatta with about 60 other rowing teams, it was insane.  I went to London and saw Buckingham Palace and a biking parade centered on celebrating wearing tweed (could you be more British?).  I also made the pilgrimage to 221b Baker Street and celebrated my absolute favorite author.  I finished up the Netball season here and have mastered the Wing Attack position although I'd be hopeless at playing any other position because I wouldn't know where to go.  I also ate fish and chips.  Check that off the list.  I have also found myself absorbing more and more British terminology, like stash, rubbish, mate, pitch, loo, quid....

I also just now finished with my term which means on to Rome tomorrow! We fly out at some ridiculous early hour and have to catch the bus from Oxford at 2 a.m.  Nothing like sleep-deprived sightseeing.  I am on a mission to find good Italian pizza.  There will be lots of pictures.

Cheerio! Lisa