News: February 16, 2008

Latest News

February 16, 2008 (San Ignacio, Belize)

Old Friends

It’s been almost a year since my last entry, which is hard to believe. Or hard to “Belize,” I should say, which is where I’ve been lately. I just got back from a service trip there and am posting stories about my amazing visit plus other recent happenings. And in case you’re wondering, I’m still living in Portland, Oregon and am still doing computer mapping with Otak. In fact, I worked the entire year without taking much of a break – except for one memorable week in July when one of my oldest and best friends, Carole, flew up to see Oregon for the first time.

So before I tell you about Belize, I’ll tell you all about Carole (she’s blushing now, I can tell!)

Carole and I met in World Studies class during our first day of high school and we’ve been great friends ever since, even though we’re pretty different. In high school, Carole was lively and rambunctious while I was quiet and reserved, and we’re each still that way. She taught me a lot in high school, like how to cook great pork chops and how to ride a horse, and we spent many hours galloping through the bucolic hills above San Jose, then afterwards we zipped around town on another “horse,” her little Ford Pinto. She was a real firecracker, often joining my buddies and me for Friday night poker, dragging me to parties on Saturday nights, and toilet-papering my house on at least one occasion.

We went to colleges in different parts of the state but wrote each other every week and have kept in close touch ever since. She got married several years ago to a great guy named Greg and they have a wonderful daughter, Brandi (see News: June 14, 2001). Carole has mellowed a bit since high school and no longer toilet-papers my house much, but is still one of the kindest, gentlest, and most caring people I know, and she'll always be one of my very best friends. It’s nice to know someone like that, someone you know you’ll be close to for the rest of your life, no matter what. Friendships like that are exceptionally rare, and Carole is a real gem.

Above left: I've visited Carole all over the country during my many cross-country roadtrips. This is, um, a "few" years ago in San Jose. I love the hair!

Above center: By the next year, she was in Atlanta managing a restaurant. Visiting Carole was a good excuse for me to take a sabbatical from grad school and make another cross-country drive.

Above right: She moved to Southern California a few years later, so once again, I got in my truck and tracked her down (she just can't get rid of me). This is in the mountains near Lake Arrowhead.

Beware of Flying Pigs

I’ve visited Carole all over the country since my college days and she promised that someday she’d come up to the Northwest to visit me. After hearing that story year after year, though, I began expressing some doubts. Actually, my exact words to her were, “Yeah right, when pigs fly.” Well, last spring she warned me that pigs were going to fly and in mid-July they did just that.

Carole came up on a Friday evening and I greeted her at the airport with a “flying pig” balloon. It was actually a ladybug balloon, but I thought it was a pig when I first saw it in the store and got excited, and she got a big laugh. We had a blast during the next week, hitting the road early each morning to explore a different part of Oregon, then returning to my place each night “tired but happy,” as we put it. On successive days, I showed her the northern Oregon coast, downtown Portland, the Columbia River gorge, the central Oregon coast, my old town of Bellingham, Washington, and finally Seattle, another former abode. From there, I left her in the capable hands of her friend, LeighAnn, who spent another week with her showing her around Washington. Carole and I enjoyed an endless buffet of beach picnics, eating smoked salmon, cheese, crackers and clam chowder until we nearly burst, then we porked out again (in keeping with the “pig” theme) a few hours later on a different beach.

Here's Mary McCaslin singing Old Friends.

Requires a RealPlayer. If problems, see Help.

Soon after she arrived, I introduced her to Fred Meyer and she fell head-over-heels in love. Greg doesn’t have anything to worry about, though, because Fred Meyer is a grocery store. They don’t have Freddies in Southern California and she was totally enamored with the concept of one-stop shopping, Northwest-style. As I was showing her around the Fred Meyer in Tualatin, she spotted a nice pair of Columbia shoes, but they the wrong size and were discontinued to boot, so to speak, so during the next week we stopped at every Fred Meyer we saw so she could dash inside and check their stock. That includes stores in Tillamook, Sherwood, Newport, Florence, Hillsboro, Olympia, Bellingham and a few places I can’t remember (it was all a blur).

I’ve never understood why women like to buy shoes and I don’t date women with more than five pairs of shoes (my Dating Rule #4), which partly explains why I'm still single. But I have to admit, by the Newport Freddies, I was really getting into it and eagerly raced up and down the aisles with her, searching for those elusive Columbia shoes in a size 8. We never found them but had a lot of fun looking.

Above left: On the first day of our week-long adventure in Oregon last July. Note my fleece pullover, which you'll see several times on this page.

Above center: We headed out to the Columbia River Gorge one day and hiked among many of its spectacular waterfalls. It was absolutely gorge-ous.

Above right: And we stuffed ourselves on the beach at Oswald West State Park. It's a mile-long hike down to the beach but was definitely worth it. Note root beer, cheese, and lots of smoked salmon.

Above left: Enjoying the amazing 360-degree view from the Larch Mountain overlook, east of Portland. That's Mt. Hood in the background which, at 11,235', is the tallest mountain in Oregon.

Above center: We spent a few days exploring the central Oregon coast, including the picturesque coastal town of Florence. I've loved this town since... forever.

Above right: The next morning, we hiked a few miles across the dunes to the ocean and the beach was deserted, just the way I like it. After the hike, our next stop was the Florence Fred Meyer in search of shoes.

No Shirt, No Earplugs, No Service

At the end of the week, we visited my sister Doti in Bellingham whom Carole hadn’t seen since high school. The three of us went to a Mexican restaurant in Bellingham for dinner and, since it was a warm and pleasant evening, we ate outside on the patio – and right next to some train tracks. Um... that wasn't a good idea.

That's because partway through our dinner, a train slowly approached and stopped within spitting distance, then blew its ear-piercing, body-numbing, taco-shattering horn, causing Carole to jump about two feet in the air and scatter salsa all over the table. For the next half-hour, the train slowly moved back and forth, constantly harassing us by blowing its shrieking horn every so often. It was fun to watch Carole jump out of her chair every few minutes and fling her salsa about, and I’m sure she felt the same about me. We laughed at the ridiculous situation as we tried to enjoy our dinner in “peaceful” Bellingham.

Despite my permanent hearing loss, it was great to reconnect with Carole. We had a lot of laughs and long talks, we did lots of hiking, and it was the best vacation I’ve had in years. She felt the same way and after getting back home, she mailed me a box of presents as a “thank you,” including mementos that she’d collected during her travels around the Northwest, which was really sweet. Let’s see, there was a beautiful framed photograph of a lighthouse (she loves lighthouses and we explored several), a train whistle to commemorate our unforgettable dinner, a battery-powered flying pig with wings that really flap, a can of Campbell’s Chunky Soup (one of my staples), and several other things. She wrapped each gift carefully, even the soup, and mailed it all First Class. By the way, it looks like pigs will be flying again this summer.

Things quieted down after Carole left. The fall was pretty typical for me, working during the week and then racing from one sporting event to another on the weekends, including volleyball, Portland State football, and University of Portland soccer, and as usual, I drove up to Bellingham to celebrate the holidays with Doti. I haven't gone camping in about a year but I hope to go solo camping in a few weeks at Olympic National Park, one of my favorite Northwest hangouts. Like Thoreau (see News: July 23, 2001), I relish the moments when I can be alone in nature, an experience that always rejuvenates my soul and restores my sanity, or what's left of it.

And so now I'm all caught up with my website. But not quite... Now that I've told you about a special person, I'll tell you about a special place. In the rest of this update, I’ll describe my recent visit to Belize – so buckle up, muchachos, and here we go!

Above left: No luck finding shoes at the Florence Fred Meyer, but afterwards we stopped at the Heceta Head lighthouse north of town. Carole loves lighthouses and we explored several, including this one. But first it was time for another beach picnic -- and more smoked salmon!

Above center: Cook's Chasm near Yachats (pronounced Yah-hots). I've seen the coast dozens of times, but it was all new to Carole. She was blown away by the Oregon's scenery so it was fun to show her around.

Above right: Seattle was having a pig celebration and there were pigs all over town, including this flying pig. Needless to say, we totally cracked up.

Above left: The Seattle waterfront while riding the ferry on Elliott Bay. This area was my hangout a few years ago when I worked with Parsons Brinckerhoff. My office was halfway up the brown building on the right.

Above center: A couple months after Carole left, I made my annual trek to Eugene to watch my Washington Huskies (in purple) beat the Oregon Ducks in volleyball, 3-2. Yeah, baby!

Above right: Enjoying Thanksgiving in Bellingham with Doti (right) and friends... and the fleece pullover.

Belize it or Not! (Part 1 of 3)

Other than flying pigs, the other big event for me lately has been my trip to Belize. This is the first of several entries describing my recent 11-day visit to Belize, a country in Central America about as big as Massachusetts but without the funny accent. I worked in Belize in mid-February with a group of 24 volunteers via Portland Community College (PCC) and ProWorld, an organization that performs community service work in third-world nations. We worked in western Belize and helped build a library in one village and fixed up an elementary school in another. We also sweated like pigs (but not flying pigs), took several amazing side-trips, and sang some "unforgettable" karaoke on a live television show, our group’s 15 minutes of Belizean fame.

I’ve traveled quite a bit, but my trip to Belize was among the most fulfilling, memorable, and humbling experiences of my life. It was my first community service trip overseas but definitely won’t be my last and, as I write this, I’m already planning my next service trip. In retrospect, I realize now that many of my previous trips, while enjoyable, have also been a bit hollow and self-indulgent. My experience in Belize was a lot of toil and sweat and pain but I gained much more than I gave and, without a doubt, it’s altered the direction of my life’s journey. Service work gets in your blood and I want to do it again. Belize also gets in your blood and I definitely want to go back someday.

What made the trip especially enjoyable was the chemistry of our terrific group. We were a “mature” group (as our young ProBelize leader politely put it) and had diverse backgrounds, but everyone got along exceptionally well and we did impressive work, if I do say so myself. I enjoyed getting to know each person and learning why they decided to volunteer for a week in the steamy jungles of Belize instead of lolling on a sunny beach somewhere sipping Margaritas. Of course, we all had a common goal: to help the people of Belize and give something back, so that cemented our bond. Uh… I didn’t mean to say “cement” because after mixing cement for two days in the hot sun, I’ve had my fill of it for a while!

Belize, as I quickly learned, is a fascinating country. It certainly has problems, including a high unemployment rate, abject poverty, lack of educational opportunity, a high crime rate due to a growing drug problem, rampant corruption, and one of the highest rates of AIDS in Latin America. But the people are warm and generous, the politics are captivating, the culture is amazingly diverse, the beer is good, and considering the language and the currency, it’s the most accessible country in Latin America for Americans. It’s also stunningly beautiful and has a trove of Mayan archaeological sites, many of which, like an Indiana Jones movie, have yet to be discovered.

How I Ended Up in Belize

I went to Belize mainly because of my father, who was a great inspiration to me even after his death. He was an educator for 50 years before passing away in 2002 and, during his intrepid career, helped plan schools in almost every Latin American country. He was also adventurous and visited all seven continents, including Antarctica. Last September, I noticed a course in the PCC catalog called “Build a School in Belize" and after reading the description, I decided that as a tribute to my father and his work in Central America, I wanted to experience what he had, so I immediately signed up. This would be unlike anything I’d ever done before but I had no hesitation: it was what I was supposed to do.

Over the next few months, PCC held three orientation sessions and after the final class, in January, the group had gotten to know each other a bit and I was stoked and ready to go. Our group included 16 women and 8 guys ranging in age from 39 to 72 and our leader was a terrific PCC instructor named Cecelia Barry who had led several community service trips to Latin America during the previous 22 years but never to Belize. No one in our group, in fact, had been to Belize and none of us knew quite what to expect.

We would work with ProWorld, a service organization something like a privately-run Peace Corps. ProWorld was founded in Peru in 1998 and has since opened affiliates in Mexico, Belize, India and Thailand, each with a small full-time staff. Unlike the Peace Corps, ProWorld is self-funded from the tuitions received by volunteers and receives virtually no donations, grants, or government aid. In addition to paying my airfare, I paid $900 to ProWorld to cover my food and lodging, staff salaries, and the building supplies for our projects. Yep, you have to pay to volunteer but all the money goes to a worthy cause.

Why did I go to Belize? In addition to paying tribute to my father, I wanted to help others and give something back, considering that I’ve been incredibly blessed with good health, a stable and supportive family, and the privilege of living in the world’s richest country. I also wanted to see Latin America, never having been south of the border. Well, o.k., once when I was camping in southern Texas I swam across the Rio Grande into Mexico just to say I've been there -- that was during my cross-country trip to see Carole in Atlanta (see photo above). But this time I wanted to see Latin America, uh, legally. Also, I’ve always been a pretty solitary person and wanted to see if I could live and work with a large group of total strangers. On that count, I think I did all right.

Back in 2001, I quit my steady job to go traveling for a few years. After working at the same job for 10 years, I was drained and hoped that by traveling alone overseas I'd gain some unique insight into the universe and find more meaning in my life. While I certainly enjoyed my travels, that dramatic revelation never happened -- but it did after my work in Belize. After working there for a week, I realized that what brings me the greatest sense of accomplishment and happiness is not taking long trips or visiting distant places, but rather helping people. That's what I'm meant to do and it's a lesson I won't ever forget. My experience in Belize was utterly amazing and I hope to convey in my writings even a small fraction of my sense of awe, humility and personal fulfillment.

Above left: The three folks who made the Belize experience what it was for me. This is my Dad in 1999, a lifelong educator and adventurer, and the inspiration for me taking this trip.

Above center: Jonny, the affable leader of ProBelize.

Above right: And Cecelia, our wonderful PCC group leader. A big "thanks" to all of you!

Day 1 (Saturday, February 16): Heading to Belize

Saturday morning began for me in Portland at 2:45 a.m. with the sound of a blaring clock radio. I had gotten only two hours of sleep that night but was excited about the trip and quickly stumbled out of bed. After showering, I did some last-minute packing, then hopped in my van and drove down a deserted Interstate 205 to the airport to catch my 6 a.m. flight. I checked in at the Continental ticket counter and as I stepped away, I saw Cecelia, who greeted me with a smile which I tried to reciprocate but, frankly, it was 4:30 in the morning. We walked and talked to the security line, where we bumped into Michele, a friend of Cecelia’s and a veteran of many of her south-of-the-border adventures. Miscue #1 for me: I forgot about the ban on liquids, so TSA snared my pint-sized Nalgene filled with water. Doh! I really liked that bottle, too.

The morning flight to Houston was memorable. I always try to book a window seat when I fly and usually press my face against the glass for the entire trip, staring at the beautiful landscapes below (sorry, it’s the geographer in me). If I can get a window seat and look outside, flying is a treat, but if not, I dread it and feel like a caged rat. Having taken numerous cross-country drives (see My Previous Roadtrips), I like to gaze at the landscapes below when I fly and figure out where I am, then think about my former roadtrips there. Sometimes I even take a Rand McNally road atlas with me and follow the highways from 35,000 feet above. This gives you an idea of why I’m still single -- along with the issue I have with women's shoes described above. And I suppose drinking wine from a box doesn't help, either.

We were blessed with sunny skies on this flight. We crossed the snowy Rockies and as I looked below, I mused, “Hmmm, that little town looks like where I used to live.” Then I sat up straight because I realized it WAS where I used to live. We were crossing directly over Lake City, Colorado, population 392, my home for six years when I was the head BLM ranger and firefighter there (see News: July 4, 2002), This was the first time I’d seen my 100-square mile patrol area from the air and I snapped about 30 pictures in a half-minute, then watched it fade behind me as I craned my neck to get a final glimpse. Yep, this was a good omen, I said to myself.

Above left: Getting on the plane, bleary-eyed, for the 6:00 a.m. flight to Houston. But I had a window seat so I was happy.

Above center: "Gee, that place looks familiar..." This is Lake City, a small town in the Colorado Rockies where I worked for six years as the head BLM ranger and firefighter. Lake City is still like home to me.

Above right: And here's my 100-square mile patrol area, including several 14,000-foot peaks. I loved working here but it was only seasonal work, so I moved on. But I still miss Lake City (and being a ranger).

Above left: 35,000 feet over the Gulf of Mexico.

Above center: And arriving at the Belize International Airport that afternoon.

Above right: Belize City has the only International airport in Belize. It has about five or six flights a day from the U.S. but the rest of the time, it's pretty quiet.

Have Maxi-Pads, Will Travel

We changed planes in Houston and a few hours later, after crossing over the jungles of the Yucatan, we touched down at Belize International Airport. The first building I saw in Belize was the Belikin Beer Brewery next to the airport which, I decided, was another good omen.

Or maybe not. After clearing immigration, I went to the carousel to get my duffel bags and found one of them but waited for the other. And waited. And waited. No luck, though, so obviously it had gone somewhere else. I’d brought a stash of health supplies to donate to the villagers, including lots of maxi-pads donated by Amanda, an Otak co-worker with a heart of gold. The duffel bag with the medical donations had arrived safely but the one with my clothes had decided to take a different flight, so although I didn’t have many clothes with me, at least I had plenty of maxi-pads!

During our final orientation meeting in Portland, the group had agreed to meet at the Belize airport that afternoon at 4:30 p.m. and, sure enough, everyone was there. Folks had arrived from all directions: a few were on my flight, some had arrived in Belize a few days earlier and had spent time on the keys, while others had gone inland for bird-watching. We were all cheerfully greeted by Jonny, ProWorld’s head man in Belize, who directed us to a school bus that had seen better days, and after throwing our gear in the back of the bus, we boarded through the front and spread ourselves among the empty seats. It was pretty hot and humid, so the windows dropped in quick succession.

After a quick pep talk by Cecelia and Jonny, our bus pulled out of the parking lot and headed west to San Ignacio, about two hours away on Belize’s best highway, two lanes of blacktop stretching for 80 miles to Guatemala. The bus was soon a cacophony of scattered conversations with new-found friends, though the roaring engine made it hard to hear anyone more than a seat away. I sat in the back of the humid and breezy bus surrounded by several amiable women who introduced themselves as Coleen, Laurie, Kate, Jean, and Tamera. I talked and listened, but mostly listened, and it was a very pleasant and relaxing ride.

An hour into the trip, though, and with the sun skimming the horizon, we heard a loud “Bang! Whop, whop, whop, whop…” It was definitely a conversation-stopper and everyone looked around in a collective daze. I was sure it was a flat tire, but the bus was still traveling, though the driver had quickly slowed from 40 mph to about 25. I was trying to figure out what had happened and why we were still moving, and after a few minutes, I realized that one of the two dual-tires on the rear had exploded and we were limping along on the other. Another tire blowout on the packed bus would’ve been bad news, so I kept my fingers crossed and just enjoyed the ride, figuring that I couldn’t do anything about it. I don’t think the women near me realized what had happened and there was no point in worrying them, so I didn’t say anything about our precarious situation.

Other than the flat, the evening bus ride was fascinating and I watched the landscapes slowly flow past. With the field bonfires, adults languishing on their front porches, kids playing on the road, barking dogs chasing the bus, and the stifling heat and humidity, I felt like I was on another planet though I’d been in America just a few hours earlier.

Later that evening, we approached the lights of civilization and the loud conversations died down as folks peered out the bus windows in fascination. This was, I guessed, the city of San Ignacio, our base for the next week. With the bus still limping along slowly, we passed several small grocery stores with Chinese names, a hard-fought outdoor basketball game under the lights, and a traffic accident with some bloodied victims staggering about. After a few more turns, the bus struggled up a steep hill and pulled off the road, then it stopped. Apparently we were home – and all in one piece thanks to our great bus driver.

Welcome to Belize!

Above left: The airport from the other side...

Above center: ... where our bus awaited us.

Above right: Amazingly enough, our entire group of 24 was here. We were all strangers but got to know each other quickly.

Above left: Cecelia and Jonny as we prepared for take off. "In the event of a water landing, please use your seat cushion as a floatation device..."

Above center: On the way to San Ignacio that evening. A few minutes later, one of our tires went ka-blooey.

Above right: But the driver got us safely to town. We were happy to make it and were excited about our upcoming adventure in Belize.

Next Update: Belize, Part 2 of 3 (Check back soon)

Previous News

May 28, 2007: Oregon Bound (Portland, Oregon)

August 7, 2005: Back To Work (Redmond, Washington)

June 25, 2004: Life in Bellingham (Bellingham, Washington)

December 7, 2003: The Greatest Generation (Bellingham, Washington)

March 28, 2003: My Father (Bellingham, Washington)

October 30, 2002 (Bellingham, Washington)

July 24, 2002 (Princess Louisa Inlet, British Columbia)

July 12, 2002 (Lake City, Colorado)