An Ode to My Tevas

One of the weird subjects you end up discussing when backpacking are your own feet. Specifically, you talk a lot about footwear. For example, I figured out many years ago that I hate flipflops and would rather go barefoot than wear uncomfortable shoes (which I have done many times). Nothing ruins a trip faster than blistered feet.

The best travel investment I ever made, hands down, was my pair of Teva Women’s Tirra Athletic Sandals (which I have conveniently linked here for you in hopes of getting a kickback from Amazon. Just kidding.) I actually didn’t buy them at Amazon but at a local store in Princeton. I’m sure you can find them at boutique shoe stores and most outdoor stores, too.

The same pair of shoes lasted me through all my hiking in Israel, my fall break in Europe, my walks to class in the US, and all over Southeast Asia until the very last trip I took, to Myanmar, where they finally said “enough.” The stitching between the sole and the ankle strap on the right shoe had unraveled. Even so, I managed to wear them for the remainder of my trip by just velcro-ing the ankle strap around itself. But I decided to leave them at my hostel in Shwan State in order to save room in my backpack. I still think of them there, stuffed in the trash can. It was a very poor ending for a very noble pair of footwear.

I really can’t recommend these shoes highly enough. Many people over the years have asked about them, and I always say how much I love them. We’ve been through a lot together. They are currently in five of my facebook profile pictures. Clearly, I’m obsessed.

So here is one final eulogy to the most comfortable, durable, reliable shoes I’ve ever had. Rest in peace, Tevas.

Dancing with my Tevas in the Golan Heights.

I found you in style, inside a new store
Where brown paper shoe linings littered the floor.
You cost me much more than I then could afford
Yet you tempted me, won me
With cushy, soft soles.

Your velcro and criss-crosses gave me a tan
That’s stayed on my feet through summer and winter,
tatooed shadows reminding me
of hot afternoon climbs.

With socks, you warmed me
in Autumn in Prague.
In water, you carried me
through rocks and through fog.

Up mountains, down valleys,
down cobblestone alleys,
Your grip made me sure
I’d not slip nor unravel.

We spent four long years
foot by side,
we saw ten fine countries,
and a lot of goodbyes.

Till one fine day in May,
your crevices caked with clay,
your velcro delayed
and—riip

Farewell, dear friends,
my trusted travel companions.
I’ll miss your reliability,
your light-weight portability,
your eternal tan-lines.

I hope you enjoy retirement in Myanmar.

With love,
Melanie

PS-Sorry for the stinky feet.

Is Writing Selfish? Or Is It Service?

When trying to live a life of service to God and to others, what room is there for egotism? Where does egotism end and our God-given gifts begin?

**************************************************
I’ve been state-side for one month now, with little to occupy my time other than my own thoughts and the warm comfort of friends and family. As I sit in my little, cluttered home, replete with dog hair and worn-down magazines, I think and pray a lot, maybe too much, about my own future.

I long to continue my education, which leads most well meaning folks to ask me, “what do you want to do as a career?” My usual response is “I don’t know,” which elicits sighs and confusion, mostly from myself.

The truth is, I think I do know, but I don’t feel like admitting it. I want to write. And read. And study. As a career. That seems like something that’s impossible to exhaust…study. One man can’t ever know everything so how much more can we use this life to learn? I think now of one of my favorite little memoirs, Twenty Years A Growin,’ where the narrator gleans this advice to me:

“What good are you unless you study and travel the world while you are in it?”

I take these words to heart and often feel that there’s so much to see and do and learn that I couldn’t ever possibly choose just one path and stick to it. But maybe this is just naivete.

As I contemplate the possible paths before me, I try to see into the future and imagine what would be required of me in a certain setting. How much of myself would I be required to give? How much of myself would I have to die to? In the Christian context, walking with Christ means dying to yourself, taking up your cross (your burdens–see Pilgrim’s Progress) and following Christ.

But how much of me is what I need to die to, and how much of me is given by God to fulfill?

If God gave me a talent for writing or speaking (not saying He did, but I’m certainly no accountant), then shouldn’t I use it for Him? But writing is a very personal activity, and these days I feel like I’m spending too much time alone, in my own head, instead of being present with others.

How much of me needs to die to be filled up instead with Christ?

It’s easy to discern external sins: avarice, greed, addiction, egotism, things that we all struggle with. Sometimes our failings manifest themselves externally in our relationships with others, our addictions to material things, or something else. But sometimes they sink deep inside our skin, and we don’t realize they are there until we try to break ourselves free and instead feel chained to our own sloth, our own internal egotism that sits quietly beneath our breath.

Is this my cross?

If it is, how can I follow Jesus on a path that would confront me with more of the same…the long, solitary afternoons, alone with my books and my thoughts? Our thoughts can sometimes betray us.

Maybe I’m giving myself too much credit. I’m not a hermit…not yet, anyway, and I do love the great outdoors. It’s just that sometimes I love my pajamas more.

Is writing an inherently selfish endeavor? A good writer writes with an audience in mind, with a story to tell, with an argument to posit. Sometimes I just write because I can’t sit still unless I do. Oh, the novelty.

I wonder what it would be like to follow a path of academia, of writing and thinking and listening and learning and trying to convince others I’m right when I secretly know I’m not. Or what if I know I am? Maybe that’s even worse. Or maybe academia, like any other path, is not about being right or wrong but about growing and discovering and being present with others as you walk the road together. Is that naivete again?

What do you think, sage bloggers or writers? How do you reconcile your time in your head with your time serving others? Is writing selfish, or is it a form of service?

In Northern Mississippi

Playing with poetry, writing from the Delta.

In Northern Mississippi,
folks smile and wave.
They tip their caps
and let you go in front
of them
in line.

In Northern Mississippi,
clouds burst forth
from blue skies
like cotton candy
on sticks of sun-rays.
And when it rains,
it pours,
and dust sticks
in your teeth.

Dogs bark here,
and construction men
grown
in fast Spanish–
I cannot understand–
but I smile to hear it.

In Northern Mississippi,
fears are running out of gas
north of Goodman Road,
losing the state election,
paying higher taxes,
running out of space
for the family
photographs.

“Hi” is “hullo.”
And when you ask me,
“How ya doin?”
I know
you really want to know.

Taken last summer…in Northern Mississippi 🙂

The Sliver Moon

The crescent sliver moon
shines like honey on a silver spoon.
Its bright star shimmers above,
like a sideways
Turkish flag.

Magical Myanmar

Four months later and I’m writing again. There’s a lot to be said and many apologies to be made but for now I’ll say that I’m home in America almost fully recovered from a nasty parasite and spending quality time with family. I don’t plan to return to Thailand, but I don’t think this is the end of my wanderlust. I’d love to give this blog a makeover and write about travelling even while stateside, but I will need a few boot-camp classes in technology first!

Anyway, I want to write about Myanmar. Myanmar is unlike any other place I’ve been, and I think it was the best time I had. Here’s why: it really does make a difference when you give yourself plenty of time to spend in-country (especially if you’re going to buy a visa anyway). I spent nearly three weeks in Myanmar; I could’ve easily spent four, but I hadn’t planned for four so my money was low, and as it turns out, that timing was perfect. I got infected (>.<) the day before I was scheduled to fly back to Bangkok. 
Here’s what I loved about Myanmar: when you start exploring, you start to feel like you’re stepping back in time or into a fantasy world. There is so much natural beauty in that land, and it feels pristine and untouched. Coupled with an unbelievable history and the strong yet gentle spirits of the locals, and I quickly understood why so many people claimed Myanmar as their favorite stop in Southeast Asia. It’s just different. 

Understandably so. Myanmar (formerly Burma) had been closed off since its 1962 military coup and engulfed in civil war and war crimes for the past 60 years. According to Wikipedia, the military junta official “dissolved” in 2011 (the same year that the Lonely Planet guide was published, incidentally), but things had been loosening since the late 2000s. Still, when I went, there were in fact some ATMs and even whispers of Wifi, but nothing as self-serving as the resorts of Thailand. And that is exactly what I wanted.
Hiking the mountains in northern Shan State. Can you spot the tiny dots in the foreground? Those are houses.
In Myanmar, I hiked above the clouds, learned how to spot green tea plants, met the niece of the last Shan princess to rule in Northern Shan state before the military takeover, walked barefoot over sun-soaked marble temple paths, and climbed a lot of pagodas. A lot of pagodas.
One of the several thousand temples left standing in dusty Bagan.
We also did a self-guided city tour of former capital Yangon (Rangoon) where we spotted old mossy-grown British colonial buildings, the famous Strand Hotel, the old Post hub and other relics from a century long occupation.
Old governmental meeting house built under British occupation in Yangon (formerly Rangoon).
I didn’t really want to leave, but my body and my wallet felt otherwise, and so with a heavy heart and a weak stomach I departed Yangon for Bangkok three weeks after I touched down in Mandalay. I took a total of two fifteen hour overnight buses (with varying degrees of comfort), climbed an ungodly number of steps, and drank about seventy-five cups of green tea. Watch the video below to see how villagers in the Pa’Oh mountains in northern Shan State gather and process hundreds of pounds of tea!! (The video turns direction at one point…sorry about that, but trust me, it’s so cool!)
I miss travelling. Until next time, I’ll relish the pictures, the stories, the teacups and the hand-rolled Burmese cigars. Ahh, the simple life!
With love,
Mel