Update Costa Rica: Part 1 "Initial Observations"

Many weeks have passed since I submitted my last article. For that I must apologize, but I was struck with a severe fever of laziness while lounging out for a month at the beach in Nosara, Costa Rica. I have now been officially living in this rich Central American country for three months. Adjusting to life here has posed its challenges and I am meeting them with a joy and determination I never would have thought possible.

This is the first time that I have actually lived in a foreign country and going through this experience as a “foreigner” has been truly eye-opening. In the United States I grew up around foreigners. I knew people from Israel, China, India, Korea, Japan, Iran, Iraq, Yugoslavia and enough from other countries so that we could have created our own United Nations of Orange County. I grew up thinking that being a foreigner must be so exciting and a constant adventure. I began travelling at age 1 and so I figured that the immense joy I felt while being in a new culture abroad must feel like that all the time for foreigners living in my country. The last few months in Costa Rica has been an important lesson in understand the plight of the foreigner in my own country.

Not being from the country you’re living in is hard. No matter how much you love a place there are always the challenges of absorbing a new language, accommodating your body to the food, learning how to get around, making friends etc. The list is endless. The entire process of solving troubles is a journey that any foreigner goes through. Although I can’t say that living here in Costa Rica I have experienced “culture shock”, I do learn everyday how different I am from everybody else here, although I must clarify this statement.

On a fundamental level I believe that all human beings are essentially the same. Of course there is always an exceptional aboriginal tribe that seems to defy our conceptions of “normal” human behavior, but I believe I am fairly safe in making the following observations. I believe that most humans in all parts of the world want the same things: a place to call home, a means to making a decent living, having people in their lives that they may call their “loved ones” and simply to have the opportunity to live happy and fulfilling lives.

This does not mean that even though we are the same in the core of our beings that it is impossible for people to feel foreign. The human race has an ugly history of intolerance, and on a less extreme level we tend to have uncomfortable dislikes for that which challenges our conceptions of our everyday reality. Simply put, foreigners are treated differently no matter where they are in the world. This isn’t always bad, but it’s a feeling that one experiences every single day of existence while being in a foreign country. Personally, every time I step out of my house I immediately feel different from everybody and out of place. It can be something as small as not knowing how to say “zipper” in Spanish and as big as having bus drivers not stop for me if there’s nobody else at the stop.

Sometimes, before I even open my mouth many people will speak to me in English. It doesn’t matter that I’ve lived here for months and that I speak the language; I’m just obviously not Costa Rican. Costa Rica is chalk full of tourists, so I obviously become upset sometimes when people automatically assume I’m a tourist. I am certainly a guest in this country, but I am by no means a tourist.

I have had interesting experiences in some of the more heavily toured areas of the country where, after only a couple sentences in Spanish using the local lingo prices fall at least in half. There are definitely two economies that exist in Costa Rica: the Costa Rican economy and the Gringo economy. What this means is that in areas where tourists can be found, there are ex-patriot Americans and Europeans selling their wares at American and European prices. Many unknowing tourists who don’t want to wander the three blocks into town to find the locals often end up getting ripped off by the Americans and Europeans, doling out money that no Costa Rican would ever pay while the Costa Ricans who sell goods at normal local prices often miss a great deal of the tourist economy. Although tourism has obviously brought a great deal of opportunity and money to Costa Ricans, much of what comes through in that industry still ends up in foreign hands. In fact, a great deal of the money Costa Ricans see from tourism is by getting jobs from businesses that foreigners own. They often earn little more than $2 an hour while the outsider earns 1^st world money while paying 3^rd world wages. Although I feel this is the norm there are also great exceptions. For instance some of the surfer kids I know in Nosara make $40 a lesson teaching people how to ride waves.

Although this phenomenon can be quite frustrating, one accepts it as a part of life here.

The food on the other hand, is amazing and much less depressing than the local economy. Costa Rica is about as tropical of a country as they come and the fruit is absolutely astounding. All over the highways one can find papaya, mango, coffee, guava and a slew of other amazing plants that bear fruit almost anywhere a root can find the earth. Most everywhere in the country one can buy a cold fresh coconut for forty cents. I’ve barely been here more than three months and have learned about at least twenty new fruits since my arrival.

Aside from the amazing selection of tropical goodies available at the most dirt cheap prices imaginable, the local cuisine is not lacking. The most typical plate you will find here is the famous Tico casado. Casados generally come with rice and beans (or sometimes gallopinto which is rice and beans prepared and mixed together) some vegetables, a small salad and a meat dish. There are dozens of local dishes but you can’t get more Costa Rican than a good old fashioned casado.

Getting used to the culture in Costa Rica has definitely been a sort of spiritual practice for me. I moved here after two years in Los Angeles where the pace of life is a steady pace of “not enough time”. People drive fast, eat fast, talk fast and live fast. Costa Rica maybe isn’t the most opposite place on earth compared with Los Angeles, but it’s awfully close. The most commonly heard motto hear is Pura Vida and this local saying beautifully captures the essence of this country’s culture. Everything here is just so incredibly laid back. The vibe you get when you go out in public is “what’s the rush?” That is, unless you’re driving. City driving is like playing Russian Roulette; you probably won’t die, but you might.

Becoming accustomed to the slow pace of life is here was quite a challenge at first. Depositing a check at the bank can easily be a one hour ordeal. Don’t be surprised to find two tellers helping fifty waiting customers and be even less surprised when the line continues to fill up and one of them takes their coffee break. It has also been a great test of my patience getting used to how people give directions. I went from being given a precise address and cross-street to, “Take the highway until you see the green painted bridge. Get off at the dirt road and the house is located 70 meters past the mango tree. You’ll know you’ve gone too far if you see the coffee plantation.” Keep in mind directions like this are given even though “the highway” is what every single highway is called here, half the roads are dirt, mango trees grow like weeds and there’s probably 10 coffee plantations per capita. All in all it’s not such a bad system once you get used to it. Once you come to terms with the fact that you will never get anywhere on time it’s all good. Pura Vida, right?

Be sure to stay tuned because now that you’ve gotten an introduction to Costa Rican ways of life the next part in this series will focus on my month in the beach town of Nosara.

Killer Monkeys?

Although this is obviously not funny because it resulted in somebody's death...this really is pretty hilarious and I felt that I had to share this with the world.

Killer Simians!!!

For the record, I have actually been to India and spent a good portion of my time in New Delhi. I can vouch for these poor people that the monkeys there are crazy! Where else in the world do policemen use aggressive monkeys to hunt down smaller aggressive monkeys?


















Simian Wanted: Suspect is considered to be armed and dangerous.

Can We Please Move On?

It’s been awhile since I started this blog, and the time has finally come to post an article complaining about the George W. Bush administration. It was only a matter of time before I could resist the chance to exercise my right as an American to free speech, and say a few words from my little hole in Costa Rica.

The last few days I have found myself feeling dumbfounded by the fact that we elected this man a second time (or was it actually the first) to one of the most powerful positions on the face of the planet. Especially considering the fact that “the other guy” we could have voted for back in 2000 recently was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize.

It seems like one never can really tell what President Bush has up his sleeve, and where his interests lay. During his first presidency, the Republican Party managed to squeeze through a Medicaid bill that cost our government far too much money, and was clearly to galvanize more of the elderly vote for our conservative Elephants. Not that I’m against legislation that helps our nation’s sick, but at the time I was highly skeptical and these last couple weeks I have realized where this skepticism has risen from…

George Bush is not an actual human being. He is, in fact, a highly sophisticated robot designed by the Nixon administration during the Cold War as a last resort weapon against the left-wing hippies and eco-bolsheviks that would dare threaten America’s stability. How do I know this you say? How else do you explain a president that rejects a bill designed to give health insurance to our nation’s poorest children, after passing a bill to help our elderly? Nobody with a soul would ever consider vetoing such a bill. Even some of his most loyal supporters in Congress claimed that perhaps the President was just “receiving bad advice” on the matter.

Yet, perhaps I do understand where he’s coming from. We’re now engaged in a war of liberation, purging the Islamic world Muslim by Muslim of radical terrorist who loom in our midst waiting to blow us up. How could we possibly afford to help our own nation’s sick when we’re spending over a billion dollars a day blowing up other nation’s children? Lord knows we’re going to be fighting this war against terrorism for quite some time, because the way I see it, the conflicts we are currently involved in are fuelling the next two generations of vehement anti-American terrorists. Fortunately, we have private armies run by civilians such as Blackwater who gladly bill the government to defend our nation by attacking innocent civilians and drink while patrolling Iraq’s war-torn suburbs with semi-automatic rifles. Makes me proud to be an American taxpayer, that’s for sure.

Before the Bush administration blatantly fabricated a link between Al Qaeda and Saddam Hussein, Iraq’s population did not in any way want to seek revenge against the United States for any previous hostilities. Today it’s a very different scenario. Many naysayers have pointed to the fact that much of the Iraqi population wants the US military to stay for fear that the civil war will break out to an even greater extent than we have seen. Though I believe that this is true, what many are forgetting is the fact that once the dust settles between Shia and Sunni in Iraq, both sides will remember the blood spilled by Americans in a war that they feel was unjustified. An article in the Economist recently pointed out that many Iraqi’s want to kill Americans, but no just yet.

It’s not like Saddam Hussein was a shining example of human rights and ruled Iraq with fair and balanced approach. He was a brutal dictator, and met an end that he probably deserved. On the other hand, am I the only one that sees the hypocrisy of the American government in the ever-recurring patterning of supporting dictators that we like, and deposing them when we see fit? Perhaps many of my fellow citizens have forgotten our misdeeds in toppling liberal governments in Iran, Guatemala, Argentina, Nicaragua, Saudi Arabia, and El Salvador….just to name a few. One doesn’t need to look into a history book to learn about the many brutal regimes we have supported (including Iraq at one point not so long ago). Just pick up a newspaper and you’ll see our friend Pervez Musharraf, a partner in the war on terror, who controls Pakistan through the executive branch as well as the military. Of course, because he attacks his own population in Waziristan just enough to keep the US off his back, we allow him to do whatever he wants without objecting despite that it enrages another population of liberal Muslims who see nothing but the Bush administration’s willingness to support one corrupt regime and attack another.

Once again, I’m not condoning the actions of any of these groups. Waziristan is a hotbed of terrorism and has been helping to refuel the Taliban in their quest to continue oppressing the people of Afghanistan through imposed Sharia law. This too is highly unacceptable and should be condemned and dealt with, but not unilaterally by the United States. I’m just sick and tired of traveling around to different places in the world and being from “that country that attacks all the other ones”. It’s hard to explain to people you don’t support militaries when you’re from a country that has a military base in nearly ever single country on the planet for our “protection”.

I for one believe the American population would be far better off if our military expenditures were spent more on our failing education system, instead of continuously enlarging what is already the world’s biggest military budget. The US military budget is larger than the next six largest ones all put together. Are we really so in danger every day from attack that we need such a massive amount pumped into weapons of mass destruction? America and the world would be safer if we began destroying these terrible weapons instead of coming up with more creative ways to kill people. Just google “Rods from God” and you’ll see what I’m talking about.

Although this article has been aimed mainly towards venting my negative emotions about the Bush administration, I do not want to exonerate any preceding administrations either. Although I feel that this current administration is perhaps the worst this country has ever seen, many of these atrocities have gone on since this country was created and will continue for a long time. Unfortunately, basically all governments tend to be corrupt and engage in vile behavior. The world is an ugly place, and sometimes I feel those of us with privileged lives tend to forget that about 80% of the world lives in abject misery. Instead of alleviating the woes of those who needlessly suffer, we make political decisions to promote our “interests” overseas and start conflicts with perceived “enemies”.

Well I for one am sick of not saying anything about it and here I take my stand. It saddens me that the 50% of the population that does not approve of our government’s action doesn’t do anything. These people, who my elected officials tell me are my enemy, are not the enemy in the sense of a daily threat. The odds are that as long as I live I will never be involved in any incident involving some sort of armed conflict or terrorist plot, and I absolutely refuse to live me life as if I am inextricably linked to these various ongoing conflicts that the TV screens tell me are an intricate part of my life.

The people that truly scare me are the ones that continue to urge congress to take away the civil liberties and freedoms that have been enjoyed for centuries by the American people. I say no to eavesdropping, no to sweeping away members of our own population to Guantanamo like we did to our Japanese population during WWII, no to torture and secret prisons in Eastern Europe, and I say no to more war.

Remembering a Fellow Journalist

Five years ago, Wall Street Journal report Daniel Pearl was kidnapped in Karachi, Pakistan while trying to get a rare interview with a local Sheik. After an exhaustive search and rescue mission, the world learned the shocking, tragic, and brutal truth about his end as he was beheaded at the hands of his captors.

While the ruthless, inhumane terrorists that kidnapped Daniel held him captive, they repeatedly asked him what his religion was. Fully knowing what the consequences of an honest answer would be, he bravely looked them in the eye and coolly responded over and over again that he was Jewish. This refusal to buckle even under the most extreme circumstances serves as testament to his strong character, and dedication to his convictions.

Daniel Pearl dedicated his life to exposing different sides to stories that people would otherwise have never seen nor heard. He made friends wherever he went, regardless of race, sex, religion or denomination. Through his journalistic work, compassion, and love of music he was able to transcend these barriers, and he vigilantly worked towards a better world.

The Middle East is currently rife with tension, and this conflict has spread beyond the borders of these hostile lands into the very depths of our souls here in the West. Sadly, this conflict has manifested itself into an almost “Jews vs. Muslims” battle where each religious group attempts to uncover the other’s malicious and unfiltered evil.

Daniel Pearl saw beyond this conflict, and spent much of his journalistic years exposing stories that Westerners would have normally never hear about from areas such as Pakistan, Iran, and many other countries from this region. He saw that people around the world are just that, people. The vast majority of human beings are not bloodthirsty and hateful, they just want to live peacefully and have fulfilling lives surrounded by their loved ones.

In my parent’s synagogue the other day during Rosh Ha’Shana, one of the holiest days on the Jewish calendar, a man addressed the congregation basically saying that Iran must be harshly dealt with. He said that Ahmadinejad would readily drop an atomic bomb on Tel-Aviv the moment he had the chance, and that we must not stand for this and act accordingly. Although he did not directly say we should obliterate Tehran off the face of the earth, the intention of his speech was quite clear.

Such blindly hateful remarks, the kind that we decry here constantly in the United States but seem to reciprocate, can lead to nowhere but more violence and destruction. In Buddhism, it is a common practice to visualize one’s enemy and behold them as your supreme Guru. By doing so, the hoped for result is that the practitioner will realize how much of one’s own suffering is created not by an externalities, but from within.

In the upcoming days, President Ahmadinejad will be visiting New York. He will be a guest speaker at Columbia University, as well as at the United Nations. Perhaps a different response will be elicited by trying this practice of finding the good in our perceived enemies, instead of greeting them with banners that say, “Go to hell”.

What is being suggested is not to greet such leaders with bouquets of flowers, and Hershey’s Kisses. It is common knowledge that this regime is the largest state sponsor of terrorism, violently punishes homosexuality, and oppresses women among a number of other tragic practices. The point being made is that greeting such a person with equally hateful responses does not bolster our position in the West; it only makes us look hypocritical.

All too often on our television screens we see terribly sad images from the Middle East of people gathering in circles to burn Israeli and American flags, and holding up signs equating these states with Nazi Germany. Such nonsense is dangerous, and if we continue to counter these practices in the United States with similar behavior it is this journalist’s opinion that the human race is in store for a short and sad demise.

Thankfully, there are still those who have not given up hope and also believe that “giving them a taste of their own medicine” is not the best course of action to solving our modern day dilemmas. Shortly following Pearl’s death, his family united to create the Daniel Pearl Foundation. The Foundation was formed to further the ideals that inspired Daniel's life and work. Its mission is to promote cross-cultural understanding through journalism, music, and innovative communications.

Since its inception the Foundation has grown tremendously, and has influenced people around to the world to change their perspectives in profound ways. This October will be the 6^th Annual Daniel Pearl World Music Days, where musicians from around the world will dedicate events in the theme of, “Harmony for Humanity”. You can check out the website at www.danielpearlmusicdays.org

Travel Update: Guatemala

Guatemala City, Guatemala

5:34 AM

All I can keep asking myself is, “What the hell am I doing in this airport?” At 11 o’clock last night I took off from LAX, and began a two year journey outside of my home country. I’ve been planning on doing this trip for about a year now, and I can’t believe that I’ve actually finished college, and am beginning what I have waited so long for.

I expected to feel a variety of emotions, but at this juncture the only thought that keeps running through my head is, “Gilad, you’re a freaking idiot for not paying the extra twenty bucks to get a direct flight to Costa Rica.” It’s not that the Guatemala airport is not without its charm. I mean, who doesn’t want to be sipping flavorless coffee, eating a dry croissant with some not so American cheese inside, and writing a story on their laptop at five in the morning?

Even as I type this entry water is dripping on my computer from the ceiling (or lack of a ceiling I should say). As of this moment I’m having trouble believing the signs posted everywhere that claim this is, “The best airport in Central America”. If this was the best airport in all of Central America then I’d be able to score a damned fried egg but I’ll just have to wait until I get off my next flight and land in Costa Rica. Fortunately, I have four more hours of sitting around staring out the window, absorbing the astounding glory which is the Guatemala airport construction site.

Perhaps one day I will have the fortune of exploring Guatemala, but for now I’m off to the Rich Coast. But why Costa Rica, and why now? For nearly a year and a half I have been dating one of Costa Rica’s very own native Ticas. She told me that she’d drag my gringo butt down here eventually, and despite my whining I am glad to say that it’s everything I expected. The lack of order, and abundance of life is a refreshing new breath to my life as a suburban hippie. All this, and I haven’t even left Guatemala yet!

My initial idea for this piece was to talk about my feelings as a traveler, embarking on the first baby steps of what will prove to be among the most life changing experiences of my life. How can one begin to put into words the emotions that are running through my mind? Perhaps the best way to explain it as that I’m feeling, besides exhaustion due to lack of sleep, is a little bit of everything.

Of course, I’m thrilled to start another adventure, especially one of such magnitude. Last time I bought a one way ticket I ended up traveling up and down Mexico, and made a quick pit stop in New Delhi and Kashmir to visit my girlfriend. True to form, I have bought another one way ticket chasing my girl around the globe. For me, there is no greater thrill.

So what else is running through my mind? Apprehension? Maybe. Terror? Getting warmer.

The prospect of throwing myself into the unknown for the next couple of years is not the easiest thought to digest, so to keep myself from having a nervous breakdown I’m trying not to think about it. The book I’ve chosen for this journey, “The Art of Happiness” by His Holiness the Dalai Lama, has given me some solace by strategizing the thoughts I’m allowing my mind to have. Buddhists believe that having expectations is one of the first key elements towards suffering. Of course, this is easy enough if you’re the Dalai Lama and you’ve been meditating since before you could walk, but for this Westerner trying not to think of all the upcoming possibilities has proven a difficult task. I keep glancing at the book, and the Dalai Lama never ceases to stare back at me with his genuine smile. What’s he so happy about anyways? Answer: because he doesn’t have to suffer a four hour layover in Guatemala.

Besides terror and excitement, I’m already feeling a twinge of homesickness. I spent the last three weeks living with my parents, and what an experience that was. It’s been two years since I lived with them, and it was wonderful to feel like a spoiled kid again. Of course, like any family, we bickered and fought the day I got back but the feeling of love overpowered the petty arguments that resulted from not cleaning my room…an argument I never thought I’d ever live through again, but I suppose once a child always a child.

The entire week before leaving I had to watch my mother tear up any time the prospect of my impending departure was brought up. Apart from that, saying goodbye to the rest of my family, and all of my best friends was done with a heavy heart.

I grew up traveling, but I’ve never had to say goodbye to people. It’s a strange sensation saying goodbye to people knowing you may not see them for years. The next time I come home I could very well return to married friends with children and budding careers. Gone are the days of beer pong and keg stands. Everybody is growing up and moving on with life. Everything about home will stay the same in my mind, and coming back will surely be a shock.

Before getting on my first plane, I struck a conversation with a boy perhaps five years younger than myself. I told him about what I was doing, and he asked me whether or not I was afraid of the culture shock. I pondered his inquiry for some moments before truthfully answering that culture shock was not what was on my mind, it was family shock.

My girlfriend went through it, and now it’s my turn. At this point I’ve met her parents, brother, and a handful of friends, but beyond that nobody else from her life in Costa Rica. All of this was done in the comfort and safety of my homeland. Now the tides have turned and I’m to be the new foreign spectacle who will be introduced to about 100 new people over the next week. I think about the friends, family, grandparents, neighbors, and everybody else that create the community in which a person calls home. I’ve been dating this same girl for so long and have not been exposed to hers, while she has lived many months in mine.

I am truly excited to be exposed to all these knew things, even though I’m sure it will make me uncomfortable. The discomfort I expect to feel stems for the most part from my lack of Spanish skills. I can speak fairly well, but find myself having to ask people to repeat things and not fully expressing my ideas. Half-speaking a language will make it difficult to let people know who I really am, and I have already been freaking myself out. Then I just remind myself of the Buddha’s teachings, and stop expecting anything. Everything’s going to be great, I have to keep reminding myself.

Instead of thinking of the minor awkwardness and discomfort that may possibly await me, I think about all the adventures I have planned in the near future. Before boarding I checked in my surf bag full of goodies. I made a checklist just to make sure all my toys were there:

-Two surfboards ready for any and every type of wave

-One Six foot aluminum Hawaiian spear

-One Fishing pole and tackle box

-One Snorkel, mask and pair of fins

-One Smith and Wesson switchblade for filleting the fish I hope to catch

My dream setup is no longer a dream.

For my graduation, my parents were incredibly generous and bought me a mini-HD (high definition) camcorder. To further my budding career as a journalist, I wanted a camera to help me decide whether or not I wanted to apply to graduate school in a documentary making program. I feel so fortunate to have some humble equipment in which to test the waters with over the next couple years.

I begin thinking about all these wonderful gifts life has in store for me, and that I’ve already been blessed with. To top it off, I’ll soon be boarding a plane that will take me to the love of my life, who I haven’t seen in over two weeks.

Outside at precisely this moment the sun is beginning to rise. There is a refreshing sensation of the coming of a new day, and of new life as the rains from the night are passing and clear skies are slowly wrenching apart the gray. I take this moment as a metaphor for this day in my life, that of a new beginning and a fresh clean start. What the day will hold is uncertain, the only thing that I know for sure is that the sun is only beginning to rise and that the possibilities are endless.

Suddenly the half built concrete ceilings look a bit more inviting, and sitting in the Guatemala Airport for a couple more hours doesn’t seem that bad after all.

Brief Musings on Oaxaca

Adventurers from around the globe are often to be found in the tropical beaches and expansive mountainsides of the mystical southern Mexican state of Oaxaca. What is it about this state that draws such a wide variety of tourists, and where can these various tourists be found? There is generally a disparity between the types of travelers and where they are found the state of Oaxaca.

Take the beautiful and increasingly bustling fishing town of Huatulco. Avid anglers find themselves aboard the abundant pangas in search of big fish and warm fun, often shelling out thousands of dollars to embark on such an adventure for merely a week’s time. At this point in time not too many Americans make their way to this classic Oaxacan town. Most of the tourists are Mexican who come to bask in the sun and escape the foggy, polluted, and overly-crowded Mexico City. What many of these tourists fail to see is the brilliant local culture that exists all around, yet manages to stay hidden under the radar. Easily almost every single traveler in a city like Huatulco is there to get away from it all, and is not necessarily interested in learning a new perspective.

During a recent trip to Huatulco with some of my family, The Wandering Jew found himself renting ATV’s for a day of riding.around Unfortunately, there were no ATV’s to rent until the next day, and that was the day of our departure. Instead of leaving right away, a guide was suggested to us to lead a hike up the mountain for a bit.

The guide happened to be ten-year-old Carlito, an incredibly humble and bright young boy from the town at the bottom of the mountain. Carlito had lived his entire life in this rural town, and his knowledge of the surrounding landscape was immense. At my behest he nonchalantly pointed out nearly thirty different plants explaining their medicinal purpose and how to prepare them, as well as warning of various poisonous plants that would ruin anybody’s weekend if stepped on.

Intrigued, I enquired further into this young child’s life that was so mysterious and foreign to anything I had experienced growing up in urban Orange County. He began to elucidate the local curandero (healer) culture in the local area. Nobody around there used western medicine, and relied on the local mountain to provide them with all their needs.

Such interesting aspects of the local culture largely go unnoticed by most travelers in these regions. Most want to enjoy their Coronitas with a lime, on the beach, and not have to think about a thing. Completely understandable and worthy of anybody who works hard, but there are great wonders to be found in the state of Oaxaca for those with exploratory spirits.

As an interesting example, the first westerners to every use hallucinogenic ceremonial plants which locals had revered since the height of the Mayan empire were discovered in Oaxaca. In 1955 a banker, author, researcher, and amateur mycologist by the name of R. Gordon Wasson trekked to the hidden mountains of inner-Oaxaca in search of the magic-mushrooms of legend. He found one of the last of a long line of mushroom healers named Maria Sabina, who led him through the first ever mushroom healing session ever experienced by a westerner.

He later wrote an article in Time magazine describing the experience, and he inspired an entire legion of curious scientists, researchers, adventurers, spiritualists, and intellectuals who made the trek to seek the wisdom of Maria Sabina.

At the end of her life, Maria Sabina was quoted as saying that after the westerners came, the mushrooms had lost their powers and were corrupted by the hedonistic misuse of the whites who had come seeking God. She said that God was not what they [the mushrooms] showed, and that they were used for healing purposes only.

Nevertheless, there are stories of a few of these ancient healers still living in the Oaxacan mountains. Shamanism plays a large role in the life of many rural Oaxacan villages, and it is in these unheard of towns where the true travelers may also be found. The true adventurers who get by on twenty dollars and their wits for weeks at a time.

Who is to say what is a better experience, and whether or not the life of an adventurer is for everybody. There truly is no right answer. Yet, one fact remains. There aremany uncovered treasures that remain to be seen for those who are willing to find them in the magical Mexican state of Oaxaca.

The Piercing Jordanian

It would seem fitting that the first piece I have chosen to write for this blog would involve myself, The Wandering Jew, and a recent experience I had with a Jordanian body pierce in Berkeley, California on its famous gathering, Telegraph Street.
Why I was in Berkeley in the first place is another story. My brother was recently accepted as a Developmental Studies major, and so in typical fashion we loaded up a van full of junk and people and made the lonesome trek up the I-5 into the beautiful Bay Area. I myself was interested in checking out UC Berkeley’s Journalism program, but was glad to have a few extra days to just hang out and absorb the diversity which characterizes this great town.
I have probably been to Berkeley nearly a dozen times, but the uniqueness of the town never ceases to impress me. Perhaps its most striking feature is the deep sense of history and connection with the sweeping cultural revolution of the 1960’s. Berkeley is no longer the free for all, twenty four hour a day hippie circus that it once was. Fortunately for those of us born post 1970, it’s still pretty damn close. Groups of grungy street folk can be found up and down Telegraph asking pedestrians for money, food, and marijuana. Most seem to prefer getting handouts of the latter.
Vendors with hair down to their waste and beards that compete in length sell shirts claiming , “United Republic of Berkeley”, “Free Palestine”, T-shirts with Mao Zedong donning Mickey Mouse ears reading “Mickey Mao”, and other such communist paraphernalia that my Cold War era parents would shake a stick and decry as Stalinist in a heartbeat. As I wheedled my way through the throngs of dreadlocked wannabe rastas, new age Goths, meth freaks, ganja freaks, young hippies, old hippies, hippy dogs, conservative dogs, professors, frat students, and the occasional tarot card reading drug addict that can supposedly understand the universe and my future better than I because of he has been doing acid for forty years, I came to a realization. This was not the same Berkeley that my old professors in college used to attend in the 1960’s.
In fact, I remembered a story a professor of mine at junior college relayed to me once during a casual conversation in her office. This professor, who is perhaps the most adventurous woman I have met in my life, was the nerdiest student in the annals of Berkeley history. Allow me to explain:
Apparently one year during my professor’s time as a student in Berkeley, she found herself in her room studying for class. She was trying hard to concentrate on the material in front of her, but could not focus due to the ruckus coming from the room next door. Certain that if she didn’t do something about the noise, she would never get all the reading done for her class the following morning. As any eager and polite student would do, she got up to go see why there were so many people listening to loud music in the room next door, and would kindly ask them to keep it down.
It just so happened that the “ruckus” next door was non other than the quintessential 1960’s Berkeley psychedelic rock band The Doors playing at a small party. Anybody in their right mind would have asked for the nearest hit of LSD and joined the fun, but of course this professor of mine asked them to turn in down. Her request was met with little recognition, and instead of hanging out and listening to one of the most iconic bands of all time she returned to her room and continued her futile efforts to study.
For better or for worse, Berkeley is definitely not the same haven of radicalism and free love that it once was. Men and women in business suits can be seen walking around, as well as serious minded students who have no patience for nonsense of any sort. The spirit, in many ways, is still there but as Bob Dylan would say “Oh the times they have a changed”.
So now back to the piercing Jordanian.
When I was younger I had my left ear pierced, as well as my left eyebrow (I know what you’re thinking, and yes, I was definitely the coolest kid at my high school). For some inane reason about a year ago I thought that, since I’m graduating college soon maybe I should clean up my look a little. So off came the grizzly beard, my gorgeous long curly locks, and the sacrilegious metal hunks in my body. Although I can’t say it wasn’t refreshing to release myself of years of partly dreaded shoulder length curls, I missed my hair both facially and cranially within a month.
One year after that fateful day I found myself in Berkeley, back in full swing with an even more massive beard and a competing mane of curls. I had been thinking of getting my ears pierced as symbol of a new beginning, because as I write this article I am getting ready to move to Costa Rica in about three weeks to start a new life. I hadn’t made up my mind as to whether or not I really wanted to go through with it, but I happened to walk by a piercing shop and peeped in to see how much it would cost.
The price was fair, and the store seemed like a highly professional operation with a lot of traffic. I told an employee I would think about it over lunch.
Five minutes later I turned around and told the guy up front that I had thought about it enough, and so he took me to the back of the store to pierce my ears. Because I had pierced my a few years back, I wanted to know whether or not it was ok to re-pierce it. “My old pierced ear shouldn’t be a problem right?”
“Nah, shouldn’t be any problem at all, friend,” he amiably responded.
As soon as he responded I was certain that his accent was Middle Eastern. My curiosity aroused, I asked him, “What country are you from? I can’t quite place the accent, although I’m pretty sure you’re from the Middle East.”
“I am Jordanian,” he casually responded. As soon as he had said that I remembered the stories my Israeli cousin had recently told me about being in an airport in Jordan while in transit to India, and the disapproving looks he was given for being Israeli. Berkeley isn’t exactly known as being a bastion of Israel loving citizens regardless of background, and I was certain the conversation would become awkward for me since most of my family lives in Israel. All too often growing up in a Jewish community I had heard about the deep hatred all Jordanians harbor towards anybody with any relationship to Israel. “How could you tell it was a Middle Eastern accent? Most people think Mexican,” he joked with me.
Well, I’m sure as hell not going to hide it, I thought to myself. “My family back in Israel are from Iraq…Baghdad of all places. None of them live there anymore obviously,” I coolly responded. I knew some kind of derisive comment or look because I mentioned my family was Israeli was getting ready to emerge.
“Wow! Israel. I pray that one day I may get to go there. Right now I am too afraid because of the terrorism, but I hope for peace there so that I may one day visit.” My jaw nearly dropped as I realized how foolish, and prejudice I was for thinking he would feel negatively about me having Israeli family. I was a little upset at myself, but also interested by this compatriot from the Middle East.
“How long have you been in the states for?” I inquired.
“Twenty years, believe it or not. I still have this accent as strong as ever. But, I truly love it here, America is truly the land of the free. In Jordan we had no freedoms, but here…here I can do whatever I want as long as I work hard.”
The surprises seemed to keep coming. This Jordanian Muslim’s patriotism far exceeded anything I harbor for my country. I can’t wait to move out of this country, and this Jordanian never wants to leave it!
This experience was important for me to go through in these highly racialized times. It seems as if everybody has become so politically correct that we are often blinded to prejudices we ourselves harbor. There is no such thing as a completely unbiased person, especially in the United States where many minorities feel like the only thing that has improved since the Civil Rights movement is that segregation is no longer institutionalized and codified. Many of the same attitudes persist to this day although I also think it’s silly, maybe even dangerous, to say that race relations haven’t improved in the United States in the last 40 years.
It was sobering to think about how much my opinion had been shaped of Jordanians because of one cousin’s experience that he shared with me, and because of what I had heard as a child growing up. I began to lament the current degraded relationship between Jews and Muslims at home, and around the world. Many are afraid to come out and say it, but there is a very real resentment among many Jews towards Muslims, and many Muslims towards Jews. Many from my generation tend to not fully subscribe ourselves to the same ideas as many of our parents have, and tend to be more open minded. Despite this, the tension and many continue to believe that we should mistrust and hate each other.
Hopefully this madness will end one day, but until that day comes those of us who were raised under these various banners must realize that even of those who think we’re totally unbiased, it’s not true. Sadly, many of these beliefs are completely justified, but in my opinion being justified does not mean that people should let it affect their relationships with one another. Many Muslims have committed atrocities against Jews, and vice versa. Does this mean we must rise to arms and hatred in retaliation? If this course of action continues then it is indeed a grim world our offspring will come to inherit.