My Washington D.C. Adventure, in Six Parts

(This essay was a Christmas present to Mom and Dad. Now I’m passing it along to the world, but I realize it might take more than a true friend to read an essay this long.)

(The paragraphs set in Courier were posted to my social networks during the trip. They were fun poems, but, as poetry goes, they needed an essay to demystify them...)

DC, Day 1: Found the triforce at DCA, stole the declaration of independence, uncovered the lost symbol, watched Dr. No vote yes twice. 

I had come 2,489 miles for this. And I was expecting it to be the big moment. It was the end—my telos, my grail, my Land of Song.

But something was wrong.

My No-Baggage Challenge in Washington D.C.

I stepped off the plane in DCA and jogged to the National Mall (over 3 miles away) without any hassle. 

I also stayed on foot till my ride picked me up that night after dark. 

To do this, I had to travel light. 

Real light. 

I got this idea from Rolph Potts. It’s called the No-Baggage Challenge. I didn’t bring quite as little as he did (my excuse is that I’m a photographer), but I was close. Here’s what I brought...

Can Vibram Five-Finger Shoes Get Wet?

 

I’ve spent a lot of time this summer barefoot. Trying to heal a nerve in my foot by staying out of shoes. Or traditional shoes, at least. It’s also part of the paleolithic movement. ‘Cause I’m an ape-man, baby : )

Last week I went to British Columbia to visit my cousins. We went on two really awesome hikes. Both were several hours long, and included lots of varying terrain. And I wore my Vibram Five-Fingers.

Can you get Vibrams wet? 

Yes, but it’s best if you don’t. I have the Bikilas. They’re very thin, and if you step on anything remotely wet, it will get through. And if you’re hiking for a long time, your feet will be soggy and uncomfortable.

Do Vibrams damage your feet and legs?

Well, I don’t know much about physiology, so I’m not sure I could diagnose it well (it’s definitely possible I’m doing damage I’m completely unaware of; see this BYU Study on making the barefoot transition carefully). It’s important to transition from normal shoes to these—running only short distances until you build your atrophied muscles back up. I didn’t do this, and I was sore for 8 days the first time I ran in them. And sometimes I don’t run for a few weeks and when I go back I’m sore again for a day or so. But aside from muscle soreness, I’ve been fine. It’s saved me from a couple of ankle rolls (without the depth of a shoe’s sole beneath your feet, an ankle roll has no torque, so it saves you from lateral injuries). Also, my knees stopped getting sore while running too (this is because I’m once again using my body’s natural shock absorption system).

What terrain can you use Vibrams in?

Below I show all the terrain I crossed while I was in British Columbia last week. The large, sharp rocks were the worst. You have to go slowly. The snow is pretty cool, because you can quickly feel the change in temperature—the soles are so thin.

  

One cool thing about Vibrams is that they’re thin, so you can feel textures and temperatures well.

 

 

This photo on the right is next to a bear track.

It’s hard to tell in the photo, but the print showed clear claw marks.

This moss here was about 10 inches thick, and soft like a pillow—again, so cool to feel the texture.

Should I buy the Vibram Five-Finger shoes? 

Here’s my summary-review: First, they’re a little pricey. I paid $100 for mine (the Bikilas). Second, they’re not great for lounging in—because you don’t wear socks, they tend to get sweaty and smelly. UPDATE: I bought toe socks, which work just fine even in these form-fitting shoes. Third, they’re very thin—not much more protection than going barefoot. 

But I love them. They’re so light. And you feel free. In fact, I feel like I can run faster in them (even if it’s just psychological). 

Also, traditional sports shoes (since the 1970s), have serious “arch support” and sole cushioning. The counter-theory is that these are like a crutch for the foot—and they actually weaken it. (After I ran barefoot for the first time, my leg and foot muscles were sore for a week—muscles I hadn’t been using before.) 

The theory goes on to say that the foot is a natural shock absorber. And using it like it was designed—or evolved—will actually help your knees and back. I’ve experienced this too. 

That’s my review. The choice is up to you.

(Just FYI, I got in to this after reading a book called Born to Run.)

If you want more crazy ideas, here’s a sneak-peak at my caveman diet.






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No More Henry

Henry's teeth are stained. At first I thought he was wearing braces, because I didn't see enough white in his mouth. He carries a green flag at the top of a four-foot extendable pole, so that we can find him in the thronging multitudes. His th's are s sounds. And some words have a glottal stop instead of an ending consonant. It's not so easy to write though. The olympic medals are made of ja-- (jade); something like that. Or the l's that sound a bit like w's: hote-- or we--come.

Maryann asked how long we'd be in the Ya Xiu market. He said, "I was planning on an hour and a half. But you're from a democratic country, so we'll vote." A bunch of Asians were really rushed--maybe a little rude--in getting us off a cart so they could get in. As we walked away, he said, "They were Japanese." But he said it with a hint of smile. Later, when we asked him who was the president of China, he said, "Hu is the president of China." We totally didn't get it. He said in China the husbands make the big decisions and the wives make the little decisions; but there are no big decisions.

On the bus ride to church, we asked Henry a few questions about religion. He said 90% of Chinese people don't have a religion. They believe that when the body dies the soul dies too. He said it's like you go to sleep, but you don't wake up. No more dreams. "No more Henry. It makes me feel scared."

Yu'en

There was this little cart or go-cart thing. It was tiny, smaller than the 3-wheeled taxis. And it was made of shiny metal--you could see the lines from the pieces being welded together. It passed right next to me, standing on the corner of the sidewalk. And I had this sudden--sudden but strong--urge to kick it, with the toe of my boot. I refrained. Strong enough to write about, at least.

We saw Forbidden City. Henry II said they have a step in the middle of the doorway, and one reason for that is because ghosts can't bend their knees.

This morning we visited the park that surrounds the Temple of Heaven. I got to play Chinese hackie sack with several different groups (I love hackie). They smiled a lot. It's only old people who exercise at the park. Some did the splits, pushups, pullups, and many other impressive feats. I played a Chinese frisbee game where you throw these soft rings, and your partner tries to catch them around his neck. It was way fun. A whole huge group was watching me and this one guy. I would throw them really high, then the next one really straight, and keep them coming as fast as I could. I think he had a good time. Bobbie took great pictures.

Henry II also told me about a Tai Ji game called pushing hands. I want to try it with Jeffer and Jax.

I talked to two young kids at the Silk Factory. Only one of them spoke decent English. They first tried to sell me some caligraphy, but then I just got to talking with them. They told me about this idea of yu'en. He said it was hard to explain but that before you meet a person, you have no yu'en. Then when you meet a person, you (the two of you) do. Then as you talk, your yu'en grows. I think it has something to do with brotherhood and friendship. Tanner later told me it has to do with fate too. If you don't have yu'en, you could live next door to a person and never meet him. Fate draws you together. No, yu'en does. I asked Tan if it was like karma. He said it has to do with people, and relationships. As I was leaving, the caligrapher painted the yu'en character in black on a red piece of paper and gifted it to me. My best souvenir.

Chinagain

Everyone smokes here. It's annoying. I used to like second-hand smoke. Now it gives me a headache. And I mean everyone.

We lost Tanner. He hasn't been with us in a day and a half. He was supposed to be a half hour behind us, on the next train. Of course, we never planned a good way for him to find us. Tienanmen Square is too big. So was our window of time. I hope we find him soon. It makes me appreciate cell phones.

For dinner we went to a grocery store. Couldn't really find anything appetizing. We bought a loaf of white bread, chocolate ice-cream, and chopsticks. All three were much better than expected. And you can eat ice-cream with chopsticks if you eat quickly.

Our new guide is more stern. I call him Henry the second. Our last guide was Henry the first. I want to ask him more about communism. But I hesitate. I wonder what he'd say...

I think I need to write something profound or not write anything at all. And I'm afraid this hasn't been profound.

China

The elevator in our Xi’an hotel makes four notes from this chorus: “Glory to God on high. Let heaven and earth reply. Praise ye his name.” It’s been in my head all day. Tanner took us down some alleyways where we ate cow’s stomach, roasted on a barbeque of coals.

If I were in Germany, I could at least pronounce the words I see on buildings and signs. I can’t here. I just see these symbols that mean nothing. I say ni hao to people when they do something nice. But they just look at me like, “That’s all you know? It’s too little. Doesn’t count.” I feel ignorant.

I realize the only thing I can do is smile. But at least it’s a strong word.

Happy St. Fecking Patty's Day!

feck (fek) (slang, has no sexual connotations)
n., 1. explicit nominative
[e.g., It's not just switching a vowel, ya twisted feck.]
2. one who fecks
[e.g., You mean that arseways fecker?]

v., 1. to steal
[e.g., "They had fecked cash" (James Joyce, Portrait
of the Artist).]
2. to throw
[e.g., He's a rude gobshite--I asked him for a drink and
he fecked the glass at me.]

adj. 1. expletive [e.g., Bloody feckin' 'ell.]
Commonly used by religious authorities and school teachers.
May be combined for added effect (e.g., I asked that feck to explain, but the fecker just fecked a feckin' rock at me or, more concisely, Feck the feckin' fecker).

*   *   *

Hope you have a wonderful day. And watch out for the fecking leprechauns.

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¿Como se dice “journal”?

I have an idea in my head: I want to say “wheat flour,” but I can’t. Our bread isn’t like that. It’s not white bread, it’s __. It’s different. It’s not white bread. I’m not saying anything. And so I might as well not talk at all.

This was yesterday. Today, when I ran into one of these walls, I ran up the stairs, my feet tapping on the second and fourth wooden steps. I grabbed my journal; it’s orange with black text; and I went back. Es de trigo. Nuestro pan, hecho de mí mamá, es de trigo. She still didn’t get it though: this bread is made out of wheat too. I know, but it’s white flour. Así the language isn’t necessarily the problem. Lack of knowledge in general can be a problem. And it separates us—we people—from each other. Very frustrating.

* * *

Mike told me that it’s better to live with a Chilean family than on your own. He’s about my height, with dark hair, but longer than mine. And he has a soul patch—just a bit of scruff under his lip. He said there’s just one down side: you can’t have sexual relations. Well, you can, he told me; you just can’t at home. I had this friend, he brought this girl home, and he was ******* ***. His family got all mad. But he was like, I thought I lived here. But they didn’t think it was cool.

Mike’s from Hawaii. He surfs. He told me my white tennies and my hoodie are just screaming gringo. I’ll try and fix that, I said. But he said there no problem, except that people might try to screw you over. Mike was here for a semester in 2005. Since then he changed his major to Spanish. Now he’s back. I wasn’t planning on bringing any girls home anyway.

Mí mamá, Ana Maria, thought I was lost this afternoon. I went with Mike down to the street Valparaiso. I was looking for a wall adapter, so I can plug in this laptop. I still haven’t plugged it in. Mike says I don’t need a converter, just an adapter. That’s what the little black box is for. I guess I should just trust him. But I didn’t get back to the universidad until 2:00. Her daughter, Kati, said I should be done around one. But I thought she wasn’t going to come until I called. That’s why she gave me her number. But she just came anyway. Then she had the school call Mike, but he said he’d left me a while ago. That’s because I went to look for an alarm clock. When I plugged mine in, with my other adapter (the one without a ground wire), it sped up. My alarm went of at 7:00, like it was supposed to. But it wasn’t really 7:00; it was 3:00 a.m. Nice. But I was pretty tired, so I fell right back to sleep. So mamá told me about seven times how I was supposed to get from the school to the bus station. It’s just a simple U, she said. Seven times. I think she thought I’d get lost again.

For lunch, we had spaghetti, but they didn’t call it that, with bread. I also had a way good pear and some bread. I had the same thing for dinner, but with jam on the bread. I ate the same meal twice yesterday too, but that’s because they asked if I preferred more fish and rice or some bread. It’s good food though. So far Mocteczuma hasn’t had his revenge on this Anglo.

If I don’t write tomorrow, it’s because Shanghai II got fried when I plugged it in.

Nate and the South-American Crossing

Today, as the world completed
a revolution, I traveled from
winter into summer, from
the eye of Polaris to
the watch of Chiron.