A Literary Tour of Surya Nagar Farm

Surya Nagar is Sanskrit for “House of the Sun.” This is an appropriate name for this few acre farm and home to Lonnie Gamble, his wife, their newly-born son, and another super-friendly couple who live there during the growing season. Powered solely on sun and wind power, my time at Surya Nagar was my first experience with off-the-grid living. Since the wind turbine was down for repairs during our three week stay, all our power came from the energy absorbed from the sun by a large array of solar panels. I am not very technologically-savvy, but, luckily, we were blessed by the presence and knowledge of Josh, student of mechanical engineering living on the farm in return for working on solar panels and the rotors of the broken wind-turbine. I quickly became accustomed to using the sun’s energy when it was available (in other words, during the day), but I made a few mistakes during the first few days. For instance, I was so excited to have access to a freezer the first night, that, without thinking, I plugged in the freezer in the intern kitchen without telling or asking any one. It quickly sucked out enough energy from the batteries that it depleted the energy storage to a level lower than desired. (Capturing solar energy requires only a solar panel, but to store it for more long-term use when the sun is not shining, batteries can be used. To prolong the life of such batteries, it is common practice to fully charge them, and then deplete them to only about 50% before recharging. This saves the energy user money, as well as decreasing the amount of battery corpses chucked into landfills.) I soon learned that a bucket filled with cool water set outside at night makes a perfect substitute for a freezer or refrigerator. To further conserve battery life, I learned to think ahead when using major appliances or electronics such as a computer or television. I checked my email and watched some of Lonnie’s permaculture movies during the day when the sun was bright.

Adjusting to life on Surya Nagar was not difficult; it simply required a small amount of forethought and the willingness to alter one’s habits. As I learned how my actions were impacting the surrounding environment, I was only too willing to do things the permaculture way. For instance, instead of cooking meals in the gas-powered oven, with a little planning, I would chop up vegetables for ratatouille and place them in the solar-cooker. This simple machine uses mirrors and the greenhouse effect to trap heat in a satellite-shaped contraption with a plastic lid. When aimed at the sun, it gets warm enough to cook eggplant, zucchini, tomatoes, and garlic into tender morsels of deliciousness. Planning meals became quite fun, because it was an adventure to learn how to use what was in season on the farm. However, this meant that one did not go out to the store to satisfy every little craving. But, who would grave a frozen dinner when one can pick fresh okra and eat it with a salad made from greens and tomatoes picked minutes ago?

While at Lonnie’s, we slept in the loft of his barn, used the newly-constructed composting out-houses, and used a black bag to warm water for showers. Except when cooking, we spent our waking hours outside. Surya Nagar was a nice transition back into living in a stationary home after calling home to a different state each night. I was actually excited to use the outhouse, as I knew that my waste was going to be used to increase the fertility of this land on which I was living. According to permaculture, and common sense, all waste is really an unused resource. Why is this society so afraid of dealing with our physical waste? Very little is actually garbage. In fact, if you have enough creativity, you can completely delete this concept from your mental vocabulary. As well as recycling our human waste, we composted all food scraps and recycled this back into the ground as well. What was unusable one year nourished the food that would be consumed in the next year. This is a beautifully simply cycle.

A bit on the physical design of Surya Nagar: The intern kitchen, the barn, and Lonnie’s home were constructed from hay bales covered in plaster. This inexpensive building material is multi-purpose. It serves as the structure of the home as well as the insulation. Windows were used strategically in these buildings to take advantage of passive solar heating. Placed in certain angles, a window can block intense summer heat, maintaining a cool indoor temperature, while also allowing passage of the winter sun in order to heat the home. This reduced heating and cooling bills for the home owner. Outside, garden space was arranged around homes in order to maximize the efficiency in harvesting. For example, herbs used in daily cooking were located right outside Valerie’s door, while nuts trees producing an annual crop, were planted on the edge of the property. Finally, for domestic water, the Gambles utilized a constructed pond and rainwater catchments. A solar-powered pump moved water from the pond to showers and a cistern in the greenhouse for irrigation. The gutters on building rooftops moved water to the cistern as well.

Overall, Surya Nagar was an amazing example of self-sufficient living. Granted, Lonnie had an outside job, which made possible the on-site projects. However, it was a good starting point for me in order to critically examine the next communities I was to visit, as well as the community I have dreams of creating, one day in the future.

Faifield, Iowa: An Oasis Amists a Monocultural Desert

What a contrast between Muscatine and our next destination! We planned to reach Abundance Ecovillage and Surya Nagar Farm by the evening, located in Fairfield, Iowa. Well, we made it there, and made an extra friend along the way.

Since we departed from the Adventure Cycling route in Muscatine to go south, we used Map Quest to trace a route to Fairfield. Big mistake! Even by selecting "shortest route" and "avoid highways," this service is designed for those traveling by car. Not 5 miles into our trip did we realize that it would be a miserable 80 miles to Fairfield. We were on a heavily traveled road, fighting the headwind while attempting to bike a straight line between tractor trailer trucks on our left and the rumble strips on our right. We found a cute roadside produce stand and pulled over to use the restroom and ask for an alternate route. What we did not expect was for the farmer/owner to sit us down, crack open a juicy watermelon picked from the surrounding fields, and chat for an hour about the evolution of farming in the state. He just could not compete with the grocery stores which receive produce from different sites across the U.S. and the world depending on when it is in season. In addition, although he tried selling heirloom varieties of squash, melons, and tomatoes, he commented that consumers are accustomed to the uniformity of mass produced hybrid varieties. When a shopper spots an unsightly bump, they perceive the entire vegetable or fruit as undesirable. This is unfortunate, because I have found that heirloom varieties, which are open pollinated varieties cultivated from saved seeds for at least the last 50 years, taste bolder and come in many more combinations pleasing to the eyes.

This farmer was a pleasant man, but I sensed his deep frustration behind his willingness to share his life story with two young travelers willing to listen, as the watermelon juice dripped down our faces. A few years prior, he invested in a gas station/diner on the side of the road. But, the loans were too much for this budding entrepreneur to pay back, and so the bank reclaimed the property. Now the building sits empty in the lot next to his produce stand. He seemed like a man simply trying to earn a living so that he could support his children and wife and enjoy some free time as well. A businessman-turned farmer, he had a good sense of the market pressures surrounding a farmer who sells his produce instead of focusing solely on self-sufficient food production. Despite this knowledge, however, he was unable to compete with "the big guy" down the road.

Looking for a bit of excitement in his routine, instead of writing down directions, he offered to load our bikes in the back of his truck and drive us the rest of the way to Fairfield. Thanks to our travel angels (was it just luck that landed us in these situations? I have a hard time believing this....), what would have been an all-day bike ride transformed into an hour tour from the farmer's point of view. We were able to ask John, our new farmer friend, about the large hog confinement farms, a landmark in Iowa. This is how it works: companies such as Purdue rent space from farmers to raise company-owned hogs, which are force fed in their own filth until they weigh enough for slaughter. These poor creatures must inhale the same rank odor that cause neighbors to complain to nearby farmers. This confinement is used simply for efficiency's sake, so that American's may eat a few strips of bacon everyday with breakfast. These animals never see the light of day; they are born in a barn until fattened, loaded onto a truck, and dumped off at the slaughter house. The farmers suffer in this system, as well. The meat processing companies may decide to move their contracts at a moment's notice, leaving the farmer to pay the expenses of an empty hog barn. In most states, there no longer exist any independent slaughter houses. This means that if a farmer wanted to raise his own hogs or other meat animal, he or she would not be able to slaughter the animal in a manner approved for sale of the meat. In other words, hog farmers must go through the agribusiness or not at all. Meat raised in such a fashion, without respect, is no meat that I would like to eat.

Anyway, an hour later, John dropped us off on the campus of the Maharishi School of Management. Suddenly, we found ourselves surrounded by two gold-plated meditation domes. Before us rose into the air a proud, nonfunctional brick tower encrypted with the words "Tower of Invincibility." It is thanks to this college, founded in the 70s by Maharishi, the same man with whom the Beatles passed many a meditation hour, that Fairfield became the cultural fusion that we found it in mid-September. Immediately confused, because the meditation domes reminded us so much of the Matrimandir in Auroville, India (www.auroville.org), we set off to find Surya Nagar Farm and the Abundance Ecovillage. Surya Nagar is located another mile or so down the road from this budding ecovillage. The community at Abundance was a bit disappointing; although equipped with communal solar panels, many of the homes are still in their construction stage, and there seemed to be little on-site interaction between those who lived there. However, a few community members had started a CSA program on site, and another man whom we were to meet later has started building a tree nursery on site as well.

Surya Nagar, however, was where we found the most excitement. Home to Lonnie Gamble and his wife and two month old son, as well as another wonderful couple, this farm was so welcoming that Gautier and I stayed for three weeks. The weather was so pleasant while we visited; only a few cold nights reminded me of the coming cold winds that would transform this prairie land into a frozen tundra. Otherwise, I danced around in a skirt I bought for $3 at a local thrift store, relishing the opportunity to be out of biking clothes. In exchange for helping with landscaping work and little farming chores, we received a warm, dry place to sleep in their loft, indoor kitchen space, and all the veggies we could eat. Downtown Fairfield had the best (if not most expensive) health food store, from where we purchased ingredients to concoct delicious meals, including portabella risotto, humus, and pesto. Not in Fairfield 24 hours, Lonnie had called up a friend and got us a job working in a 2 acre organic greenhouse. Now we had an income to replace some of our trip’s expenses.

During the three weeks at Lonnie house, we were able to connect with so many amazing people doing incredible projects. We visited a local organic dairy farm. The farmer, an ex-soil scientist for the USDA, practiced rotational grazing so that his fields were diverse and healthy, and his 80 jersey cows were happy milk producers. He sold his milk, cream, butter, cheese, and yogurt to the university as well as local grocery store chains. He was friendly and knowledgeable, and we had fun riding around in his golf cart while he gave us a tour of the farm. We also befriended two intelligent and creative young guys, named Josh and Brian. Brian lived down town in a house full of people. His home was like a jungle amidst concrete; he and his housemates were in the process of converting their yard into an urban permaculture Eden. Josh heard of Fairfield after his brother attended Lonnie’s summer permaculture design course, and was now doing odd construction, landscaping, and mechanical jobs in town.

We also met a fellow tourist, who, when passing through Fairfield during a north to south ride, liked the town’s atmosphere so much that he came back for good. We were able to catch a ride with him to Missouri to visit another ecovillage, called Dancing Rabbit, during their 10^th anniversary open house. Located in the same town was a communal farm called Sandhill. While Dancing Rabbit, founded by a group of 10 Stanford graduates, utilized many ‘sustainable technologies’ such as solar panels and windmills, the community itself seemed, to me, a bit haphazard. For example, new members constructed their homes wherever they could arrange a land rental. In this manner, homes did not blend well into the scenery; there seemed to be no greater vision for how people would live together in such a space. The land seemed dry and exposed. A few members had gardens, but there was no community-wide effort to grow food. There were several eating co-ops where members shared cooking and financial responsibilities, but the organization seemed super complicated. If I lived in such a community, I would want to live in a space which seemed natural, where people came together for meals naturally, not by membership only.

However, Sandhill Farm was quite the opposite. This farm was not a random collection of people; the long-term members seemed like a family, and interns worked hard helping to cultivate gardens for home consumption and larger crops of soybean and sorghum for the production of tempeh and sorghum syrup (an ‘old-timer’ sugar substitute). What differed most about Sandhill in comparison to Dancing Rabbit was that the former community’s main goal was to feed those who lived on the land. Some value-added products were produced to supplement the income needed to maintain the community, but folks did not have outside jobs. I believe it was this fact which made Sandhill appear so cohesive to the outsider. At Dancing Rabbit, it was up to the individual to scratch out a livelihood. On the other hand, at Sandhill Farm, the community thrived or failed together.

While at Fairfield, we were fortunate enough to observe many different types of communities. My time there provided me with an opportunity to research the aspects of community that I valued. Slowly, I am putting together a vision for a community that I would like to live in one day, whether in existence already or one I help to create. After biking so many miles and learning what, to me, are the bare essentials in life (tasty and fresh food, a warm place to sleep, and an occasional shower), I have come to the conclusion that my life does not need to be spent earning money. I can use my energy, as I did to travel 1,300 miles, to grow the food I need to eat, capture the water I need for drinking and hygiene, and build my own shelter. That takes care of my needs, but now the largest challenge is, how to I attract people with similar desires in order to build the community which I have also identified as a basic need? I cannot build a community on my own.

Musky Muscatine

It took only 2 days to bike through the narrow state of Illinois. Early in the afternoon on day two, we reached the Mississippi River. I had never seen this river before. I considered it one of the major landmarks on the bike trip, eagerly anticipated since we left Vermont. On the Eastern shore were flat lines of corn and soy stretching as far as the eye could see. Although I had seen these crops so many times before, the fertile river valley conjured beauty previously unconsidered. Since it was so flat, we could pick up and maintain a swift speed on the bike, maxing out at 17 or 18 miles and hour for me, and probably 20 miles per hour for Gautier, who raced ahead of me. I hesitated a few times because the scenery beyond the road tempted me to pull over onto the narrow shoulder to snap a picture or two. Every time I did this, I lost some speed, but the view was just so overwhelming! I was torn between reaching the great river and soaking up the sights hiding her flow. We continued on until the bridge marking the name of the river rose above the road. We maneuvered carefully over the bridge, as the cars had no concern for a pair of bicyclists overloaded with panniers and camping gear, but we paused nonetheless at the top of the bridge to view the river.

Below us was a half-mile wide muddy stream; hardly the roaring rush I imagined from reading Twain novels. No, this river seemed tamed, poisoned, weakened. As the cars rushed by on the bridge, I wondered if anyone who lived in the area ever paused to consider the history of this river, and their fortune to have such a great potential lifeforce in their neighborhood. As we finished the crossing and entered Muscatine, Iowa, we saw that this industrial city definitely used the river, but most likely did not appreciate it. There was a boat yard and a lock system for transportation. Most of the barges which ride up and down the river deliver coal and other fuel to riverside factories or transport their raw and finished products. Monsanto's presence was felt in the town in the form of a chemical fertilizer processing plant. There were also factories for the manufacture of office-bound furnishings and corn-derived rubbing alcohol. So, the largest contributors to the Muscatine economy were products for exportation; no goods produced in the town seemed to benefit the people of the town. What Muscatine did receive, however, was industrial pollution carelessly released into the river or atmosphere.

Gautier and I spent the night in Muscatine. We wanted to spend the afternoon lounging in the warm sun on the banks of the river, but when we explored the small city, the atmosphere did not temp us. It smelled bad in town, not to mention that all river front was already claimed by factories and boat launches. So, we spent the afternoon in the library. (Tangent: public libraries have been an amazing resource on this trip. They are a free, welcoming source of bathrooms, internet, comfortable chairs, and a dry place to warm up.) We could not find any campgrounds within a reasonable biking distance, so we called all the hotels in town to find the cheapest available room. As I crossed off the fancier options for anywhere from $90 to $110 per night, we settled on a room at the "Muscky Motel." The librarian who gave us directions to the hotel joked that this was a place where crackheads rented rooms indefinitely, but it was all we needed for one night. In fact, Gautier and I each had a full size bed to sleep on! What luxury! We did not quite know what to do with the television set suspended from a frame in one corner of the room. After a half-assed attempt to find a suitable visual distraction, we gave up and settled on the silence of the room.

We woke early the next morning in order to attend a free lunch at a local church (we learned of this from the same library the previous day). When you are on a budget, you take advantage of any offer of free food. It was not the best food to prepare us for a day of biking, but we gained a wealth of knowledge by speaking with the people who attended the breakfast. The 'church' was really a rehabilitated building on a main street, the basement of which held a kitchen and community space. The upper floor housed a women's support organization, also sponsored by the church. So eager to get in line for food, we arrived early, and had the time to observe the 'regulars' as well as speak to those who were curious enough to inquire about our loaded bicycles. There was a great mix of people: an older man who openly discussed his unemployment and mental disorders; a quiet teen-aged girl who sulked in the entryway, dressed to repel people and constantly text-messaging through her cellphone; a young couple and their baby in her carriage; a homeless Vietnam War veteran who would linger to chat in between helping the pastor with little chores, going on and on about his opinions about the surrounding church-goers who thought they believed in God but, really, did not "get it"; an alcoholic pregnant woman who warned us about the previous man, stating that he was a thief; a super friendly man whose job it was to make coffee and distribute orange juice. All ages and several shades of color were represented. All of them spoke highly of the new women pastor who was a real "go-getter." She was responsible for these programs and their success, and she was organizing more.

Breakfast consisted of coffee, juice, hard-boiled eggs, white flour toast, and instant gravy of an unappetizing gray color. There was also a toaster and bagels, peanut butter, and jelly. I passed on the gravy but had two eggs. They were not fresh, definitely store bought, sitting on a shelf for who knows how long. I satisfied the rest of my hunger with a bagel and peanut butter, as if I had not consumed enough of these two ingredients during the trip already. Another church member who helped serve breakfast told me that 15 to 50 people came daily. All the food was donated by local supermarket chains, such as the (new to me) HyVee.

Although the food was donated, which allowed people who may not otherwise eat a breakfast to have calories before work, it was all corn syrup and soy bean/flour/lecithen filled bread and super processed toppings. I could not help but notice how many people who came for the free breakfast arrived by car, and how many sat outside smoking cigarettes as they awaited the breakfast call. When the ability to purchase necessities is limited, what IS really necessary? Were these people nursing hurts given to them from society when they pulled in the smoke from that cigarette, when they drank that bottle of alcohol or soda? Who pays for the medications some of them admitted to taking? Why the dependence on such substances? It seems to me that the poorest food, nutritionally, is also the most affordable. It is cheaper to buy processed peanut butter filled with hydrogenated corn and soy oils, or 'soda pop' (as they say west of Ohio) sweetened with high fructose corn syrup, or the 'family size' loaf of white bread which, although claiming to weigh one pound on the excessive packaging, can be compressed into a loaf as long as the length of my hand. Fresh fruits and vegetables are shockingly absent from grocery shelves. When present, they are the most expensively priced items in the store.

Why? Since the industrial processes which grow, transport, grind, process, re-ship, bake, package, and market our 'food' are so widespread in this country and globally, they have access to more capital. So, what would cost a small-scale, local operation much is relatively cheap to a large company which owns not only the food from seed to finished product. This does not take into account government subsidies designed to support larger farms producing those core crops (corn, soy, and wheat, remember?) over the small farmer growing a variety of crops. If you, the farmer, have no interest in selling a large amount of a single crop to a grain elevator operator, who can then sell the grain to the highest bidder, the government is not interested in helping you. This trend moves up the rungs of the latter until it translates as a low price in the grocery store for all processed and packaged goods containing wheat (the carbohydrate for energy), soy (the protein source and binding agent for texture), and corn (the sweetener, hooking our animal instincts designed to search for easily digested sources of food while, conveniently enough for the food seller, quickly raising our blood sugar so that is crashes just as quickly and makes one feel hungry again sooner). So, when vegetables and fruits appear much more expensive than processed foods, it is because the fresh, unprocessed, and more nutritious foods are priced at their 'real' price, while the processed foods are super subsidized.

So, when one has a limited budget for food every week, what does one buy? The most calories for the least cash. Typically, since the cheap food is also the most processed, it can be consumed with the least amount of cooking effort back home. This saves time and fuel for this person, who may also be considering how to pay for heating fuel or a baby sitter. However, this low price at the supermarket is a trick, because there are hidden costs when one buys food lacking nutrition. Obviously, one's health declines, so that their productivity weakens. I need to be in tip-top shape to ride a bike a 70 miles a day, and I ensure this by eating a balanced diet, containing whole or unprocessed grains (barley, oats for oatmeal), a vegetarian protein (lentils or other legume), fruit (usually dried because of transport on the road--but NEVER with preservatives such as sulfur), and quick snacks packed with energy such as GORP with raisins, peanuts, coconut, chocolate, and more oats. How can one function on white bread alone? Their productivity will suffer, and so will their ability to work and earn money. If this poor health continues, one may have to resort to the only medical treatment encouraged in Western society: visiting the medical doctor, who will prescribe expensive medicine to mask the painful symptoms instead of examining the root cause, identify a poor diet, and prescribe a healthier lifestyle. It is a deadly cycle which leads to more rich corporate CEOs and more low-income community members driving to free breakfasts provided by the 'charity' of these corporations.

Reconnections and Reflections

Wow, SEPTEMBER 12? I appologize to all my readers (if there are any left) for such a blank in my journal. This gap is evidence of how fully I have been enjoying my time on the road and in the depths of the alternative U.S. agricultural community. Much has happened for Gautier and I in the last 2 months, and I know that I could never report all of it accurately, but I will update you all on the fun highlights.

Indiana and Illinois flew by. On our way to Illinois we got lost in the maze of roads on the western boarder of Indiana. The simple grid system we had become accustomed to in the flat states of the midwestern U.S. melted at this one point on the map so that we could not take a straight route across the boarder. We were on our way to another Warm Shower contact's home, a nice young man named Paul. But, it was getting close to sunset, and the building winds hinted of the icy night that was to come. If we didn't get to Paul's house soon, we would be forced to set up camp on someone's property, something we did not want. In addition to the freezing temperatures and wind which would have easily ripped my tent stakes from the ground, the last 15 miles of biking through Indiana woods was an advertisement of "no tresspassing," "private property," and "will defend with rifle" signs warning strangers of even stoping for a breather on the side of the road. A few miles from the boarder, we flagged down a man driving a huge white pickup truck who was barrelling down the road which recently transformed into 'blacktop,' the type of pebble-and-tar road surface which road bike tires abhore. After 10 minutes of him explaining the most bike-appropriate route, our faces still wore baffled and tired looks, so he offered to load us and our bikes up and drive us closer to our destination.

It was a quick ride with this stranger, who turned out to be a rough Indianan farmer on his way home from a doctor's appointment in Illinois. As we crossed state boarders and entered Illinios, he directed his comments and answers to our questions to Gautier, and I found myself feeling like a silly little girl because that was exactly how he was treating me. He described to us the agricultural economics of the area as we drove through some of the most varied crops we had seen for weeks. In a matter of minutes, we passed pumpkin patches, rows of cabbage, fields of ornamental flowers, and acres of top grass (the green carpets one rolls out for an instantly green lawn--yes, even these take up our precious resources in this country. Instead of using space and water for food production, we dedicate this energy for manicured lawns. What good is a perfectly trimmed lawn if those inside the associated home have no nutritious food in their stomaches or pantries?) Matter-of-factly, our newly-adopted choiffier told us how this soil is much sandier than the soil in nearby Indiana, and so it must be irrigated by large center pivots, which are elevated irrigation systems supported by wheels which span the length of large fields. In addition, he described the diversity of people in the area: many Latinos (mostly Mexicans and Guatemalans) lived there, permantly or seasonally, working in the fields. Squash and cabbage are more labor-intensive crops because they are too fragile to be machine harvested. Logically enough to him and our goverment, we outsource this undesireable job to those so desperate for work that they leave their family and travel thousands of miles for a dirt-cheap wage. Nearby was also a large African-American population. According to this farmer, we were lucky that we did not ride our bikes through this area, because we would have been robbed, no questions asked. Well, I'm not so sure about that; I thought his comment was a bit presumptuous, but perhaps he knows the area better than I.

Thanks to this man's help, we met Paul and his girlfriend just as the sun's light was leaving the sky for the night. For the first time on the trip, we went out to a restaurant to eat. It was at this little local bar and grill where Gautier finally got a taste of an American classic, the Tenderloin sandwhich. When we left Mike's house in Ohio, we asked him about some traditional American foods. He came up with this meat sandwhich, supposedly the prized possession of Indiana. Well, Gautier did not try one in Indiana, and perhaps that was why he was dissapointed with the result. Basically a pulled pork sandwhich, deepfried and served on a bun, after a long day of biking in headwinds, the meager portions at the restaurant did not satisfy. Perhaps if they had served it with cheese and pickle, as we heard was traditional, it would have been better? I'm still skeptical. I was content with my eggplant parmesean sandwhich and the extra baked potato I ordered to fill the gap in my grumbling stomach.

It was a quick visit with Paul, who shared with us his experiences on the road, particularly his trip with a buddy southwest through the desert to California. Paul, however, does not seem to have much time for long bike trips lately; he is dedicated to his job. Paul reminded me of many people we met along the trip who were super excited about our ambition to plan such a trip and our freedom to carry it out. So many in this country are tied to the life of school, job, or family. I am not suggesting that it is bad to put one's energy into the aforementioned, but if biking is what makes one truly happy, why not go out and do it? Why not make the time, put that job on hold for a moment, and do something for oneself that will enrich life? At first I thought this opinion of mine was just a result of my naivety, my lack of experience in 'the real world.' I, of course, am still a student, and have not even completed my undergraduate education. But, in this society, what comes after college? Grad school? A job to pay back that hefty sum of loans? Hopefully a fullfilling career and the money to support a family? This is expected to satify all. If one is lucky, he or she can accumulate enough vacation time to escape from the monotony of a 9 to 5 existence for a week or two in a location dreamed about for years. But even this week-long get-away is dissatisfying because it was spent at a resort, a pre-packaged existence for Westerners, meant to skim the surface of a new culture and climate, and ingnore the true faces of the people, plants, animals, all organisms, whether those faces are lined with joy or pain. No, it is not my naivety after all. It is my resistance to being forced into a box, one that can be neatly categorized and stacked on the shelves of society so that I do not get in the way of efficiency. (More on this idea in a later blog....the libray is about to close, and I must wrap up this entry.)

So, as we left Paul's home town, our bellies filled and bodies rested, thanks to his hospitality and calm spirit, we biked on, yet again reminded of why we were on this trip in the first place: to find our place in the world. Not a pre-determined career with a fixed rate of raise increase, but a true fit, a way to live in peace while giving back to the Earth which sustained our lives for a short, sweet moment.