TravelStream™ news feed for member ruthcape on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/ruthcape en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Wed, 09 Sep 2009 03:34:44 -0400 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/ruthcape/5/1252439058/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/ruthcape/5/1252439058/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/ruthcape/5/1252439058/tpod.html Wed, 09 Sep 2009 03:34:44 -0400 Tent of Nations: Building Bridges in Bethlehem

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Nairobi, Kenya

For the final part of this very special summer, I travelled about 4092miles south of where I had been and was met with a big hug from my Mum in Nairobi.

This is the city in which she grew up and this was her first time to return to the country of her childhood - I feel very lucky to have been able to share this with her. It felt especially poignant after learning so much about one amazing family in Palestine, to then come to find out a bit more about my own.

That family gave me a wonderful send-off and as I walked down to the gate and waved my goodbyes, I felt a comforting certainty that I will see them again.
I made my way to the airport, again nevous about passing through Tel Aviv security. It was, as I'd expected, much more intense than the first time round, but mainly just felt arduous and tiring after they had checked carefully through all of my bags and asked the same probing set of questions at every check. I have to say, it felt such a treat to go through passport control in Nairobi and not have to justify why I was there, exactly what I'd be doing, with whom, why I happened to be carrying a sleeping bag and for what reason there was a small crack on the screen of my phone.

So I joined my parents and brother in a very friendly wee hostel in Nairobi and we had a couple of days to centre ourselves before the trip to Mt. Kenya.
We visited the National Park and National Museum and tried a nostalgia tour for my Mum but it was a rare occasion when she could find something which hadn't changed since she last saw it in 1974. The parliament, the churches and, later on, the sign marking the equator seemed to be the majority of what she could recognize. The biggest difference she said, was the pure number of cars and people. Over the years, Nairobi has bacome a very busy place.
We also met for lunch with a lovely woman called Stacey and her family who's education, as a girl, my grandparents had sponsored.

Once we'd got our bearings and I'd adjusted myself to my new African surroundings, we set off for our trek up Africa's second highest mountain.
We were joined by another British family and had a fantastic team made up of a set of staggeringly strong porters who made us feel pretty pathetic as we puffed up the slopes and they jogged by laden down with food, tents, their stuff, most of our stuff and - to our amazement - a big box of eggs. We also had a delightful and talented cook called Demitrius and a wonderfully patient and knowlegable guide, Sammy.

Our very first day began with some excitement; boots, bags and hats on, we were all ready to set off when a family of elephants decided to cross the track we were about to start down about 200ft infront of us.We waited for about half an hour until it was decided that it was safe to go. 5 minutes in to the walk and we heard some heavy snapping of twigs amongst the trees to our right. There was a sudden shout of "run!" from behind and before we'd even had time to settle ourselves into a good walking pace, we found ourselves sprinting up the track.One porter fell over under the weight of his bag but, laughing, he got up and no elephant appeared."Oh, he was just curious," Sammy explained.
So that was the start of our 5 day adventure. Mt. Kenya is a stunning mountain; trekking through wonderfully changable landscape; from rainforest to bamboo, to giant heather, to funny trees which look like huge pineapples on sticks, to rocks, to glaciers...

The most challenging day, predictably, was the day of the summit. Having taken the whole day to acclaimatise the day before, we awoke at 3.30am to start the ascent.
Wearing at least 6 layers, we braced the cold and set out into the night; black shadows rising up around us and stars plastering the sky with astonishing intensity. Mostly I just recall having my headtorch fixed on Sammy's steady feet infront of me and feeling glad that it was dark enough not to be able to see the steepness of what we were climbing.
My first real moment of awe was seeing an orange glow creep over the horizon, turning the lower sky into a deep blue and casting just enough light for us to switch off our torches and gulp in the jagged peaks rising and falling around us. We made it to a stony plateau right on time to see the huge yellow sun rise up over the bank of cloud resting far below us. Sunlight splintered the now pale sky and this was my second moment of awe. Sitting on a rock, high above almost everybody else in Africa, letting the light of a new day wash over me.
As soon as the sun was free of the clouds, we marched on, this time able to see the steps we were taking. Soon came my next two moments of awe. First, clambering round a corner to see the cliff drop into the next valley - the largest remaining glacier glistening white, a tiny mountain hut in the distance and - best of all - the flagpole reaching into the sky such a managable distance ahead. Second, that final scramble over the edge. The Kenyan flag proclaiming the 4985m altitude and Sammy's lilting voice; "Karibu! Welcome to Point Lenana." I sat on the highest stone and gazed out over the incredible expanse of cloud, it was 7.45 and the sun was just high enough for it not to be too blistering cold. When the cold did begin to creep under our layers, we took a last deep breath of where we were, jumped down from the ledge and started to descend.

By 10.30am we made it to one of the small huts where we were to have breakfast and meet Mum, who had taken the porters' route that morning instead of attempting the summit as she had unfortunately suffered from mountain sickness and, especially after hearing tales from a Danish couple who had summitted the previous day and had vomited all the way up, decided she was happy with her top of 4700m. This was pretty impressive considering she had barely eaten in 3 days.
What she found frighteningly stark about being up there, though, was the drastic difference since what she remembers from when she climbed it 37 years ago; the peaks were covered in snow with glaciers streching deep into the vallies and lakes brimming with fresh water. Now the snow has vanished, the lakes dried up and there are only a couple of small glaciers remaining. Four of Kenya's major rivers run off Mt. Kenya, and with a vast number of the population depending on this water, it is frightening to already see the reality of global warming hitting the developing equatorial countries hardest. Already the people of Kenya are suffering from a drought and praying for decent rain in the coming months. But with this mountain as a forecast for the future, it looks like things are only going to get more difficult. Having been in two very different countries in which, for both, water is a scarce resource it makes it all too easy to see why people are saying once we have no oil left to fight over, water will take its place. I guess being aware of this is the first step...

We continued to the next camp after breakfast and completed the trek the following day, arriving at a beautiful set of huts which we shared with Colobus Monkeys and, at night, a disconcerting number of buffalo.
It felt like quite an acheivement and unique, for me, to conclude (almost) this summer in which I feel I have learnt a lot about the value of working step by step to realise our goals and setting this in the context of a very tanglible journey where Sammy's catchphrase was "poli, poli" (slowly, slowly) to get us to the top.

The following week was a fascinating mix of meeting with and learning about the nomadic, cattle-herding Massai people, spotting everything from lions tearing up a zebra to crocodiles waiting for wildebeasts to cross the river to baby warthogs bouncing, tails up, through the long grass and visiting salt lakes dyed pink with flamingos.
This mostly took place in the Rift Valley - a great cut down Asia and Africa, which - as a nice link to my trip - runs from the Dead Sea right down to Mozambique.

We returned to Nairobi for our final night and had a very special last day, attending a service at the church which my Mum and her family used to go to and where my grandpa played the organ (they gave us a very enthusiastic welcome!) and meeting for lunch with friends of my parents who they hadn't seen in 17 years and had lost contact but had, almost by chance, managed to find in the mush of people that is Nairobi.

My Mum has stayed on for a conference over there and I have returned - after what feels like years - to Scotland.
It has been an incredible couple of months and I so appreciate- now more than ever - my freedom to travel, to meet people and to gain more of an understanding of what is going on in the world.

Unfortunately I have returned to fairly predictable Scottish weather - I just wish I could send these unwanted rainclouds on a little journey to be appreciated in the dry lands where I have come from...

]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/ruthcape/5/1250955390/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/ruthcape/5/1250955390/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/ruthcape/5/1250955390/tpod.html Sat, 22 Aug 2009 11:37:31 -0400 Tent of Nations: Building Bridges in Bethlehem

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Bethlehem, West Bank and Gaza

Somehow the time has fluttered by in that strange way it does which leaves you feeling like you have been somewhere forever while at the same time you have the impression that you only arrived yesterday.

The last weeks have been hard work but just as wonderful and tiring (if not quite as hectic) as the summer camp.



I welcome each day at 6am as the sun breaks over the nearest settlement to the east – dappling this land and that in a soft, yellow glow. Megumi and I prepare the breakfast (unless Daoud's mother, Miladi, is about); a spread of zatar (an olive oil, thyme and sesame dip), tomatoes, olives, homemade jams, grape syrup and occasionally humous, cheese or yoghurt eaten with bread and sweet sage tea. After breakfast we work until we have a sage tea break at 11, work again until 1.30 when we stop for lunch – normally a rice dish cooked by Jihan (Daoud’s wife) – and rest, escaping the sun, for a couple of hours then work until dinner at about 7pm. Evenings float by as very pleasant rest time and vary from cardgames to chatting and smoking 'waterpipe’ round the bonfire to learning Dabkeh (Palestinian dance) with Jihan.

The work I have been doing has also varied a lot. I have swept up mountains of dust which, though quite therapeutic is not my favourite job – more satisfying is working with the trees; digging around them, watering, pruning – working on the grape trees is the best as you can sustain yourself by occasionally stopping to pick fresh, sweet grapes, glistening purple and warm from the sun. I have mastered the art of mixing cement as we are filling up the gaps in the stone walls for the theatre. I also now know hoe one goes about digging a water cistern as I spent a few days helping to finish off the work of the German volunteers who spent three weeks down the hole, making it deeper. That was probably the most strenuous but, ultimately, most satisfying task. It is amazing to stand in the now 5 by 4 metre well after hours of drilling rocks, filling up buckets with rocks, heaving buckets of rocks to the surface and tipping about buckets of rocks.

In addition to this very physical, practical work, Daoud asked me to write a report on the summer camp and make a presentation with the photos to give to the children. I did these with pleasure and from then on was given a variety of different writing tasks such as writing the Tent of Nations summer newsletter, the volunteers guidelines, an explanation of the water situation for the toilets (as in, we have very little so use with care – 1 minute shower max!). Actually, it is incredible to think of how much water we use back home. Its hard to believe that I usually have a shower every day (here it’s a pretty exciting event!), that we don’t reuse the dishwashing water for washing the floor, that we can simply turn on the tap and expect it always to come flowing out, plentiful and clean. Its such a basic resource, it really makes you think when its in short supply.

In this last week a new set of volunteers arrived for the almond harvest, I joined them for a couple of days; picking almonds, cracking them open, tasting to check whether it is a sweet tree or a bitter tree and collecting them in buckets. Unfortunately, the harvest is pretty poor this year – Daoud said because it rained too late, but he is hopeful for next year’s…

Mostly though, I have spent my final few days painting murals on some of the walls. I am so pleased to have the opportunity to do this as I always feel that I do not give myself self the time for art expression. It is lovely to have the creative space and be able to leave a really tangible mark here. I have painted the door of the just-started giftshop and, with the kids’ help, Aztec designs on the walls around it. I have painted the stairs leading to the kitchen, also which the kids were delighted to help with, and I did a Tent of Nations timeline – a sort of road, pictorially telling the story of this land from 1916 until today. It is left with space to continue for the years to come, so I have tied myself in to returning to update it in the future!

As well as the children, I have had the helping hand of Neil – the resident invalid; a volunteer from England who, on his first day at the farm, was kicked in the head by a horse. It was a horribly dramatic morning. Breakfast was finished and I was sitting in the tent, preparing my things for the day, when a sudden shout ripper through the air. I ran outside, with a couple of other volunteers, to see Neil stumbling towards us, his forehead scarlet and seeping blood down his face. Quickly, we sat him down, pressed a towel to his head and shouted for help. Shaking, he explained how the horse had unexpectedly wheeled round and kicked him while he was stroking her and asked us if he was going to be ok. We reassured him as everybody came running but I wasn’t sure how honest I could be… Any lower and he would have lost an eye, any harder and it could have been fatal. Within minutes, Daher (Daoud’s brother) was driving him to Bethlehem hospital and we spent an anxious day saying "Inshallah, he’s going to be fine" and waiting for news. He returned that evening, properly bandaged up and feeling incredibly lucky with a severe, hoof-shaped, wound but no internal damage. As a nurse back in Britain, it was an interesting experience for him to be on the other side over here and he came back brimming with admiration for how the doctors cope with such comparatively meagre materials and saying that if anyone dares to complain about the NHS back home, he’ll have a story to tell them!

The accident didn’t knock his enthusiasm for the project and the following morning – while steering clear of the horse (which Daoud says they will now sell) – he was raring to go to the trees. I suggested maybe he help me with painting instead and he seemed pretty keen on this idea, realising that working hard in the sun all day probably wasn’t the best form of post-injury recuperation. Once he started, he couldn’t stop. Pretty much everything in his path over the next few days changed colour – so, along with shiny new pillars and railings, we now have a nice collection of red trees and blue rocks…! I did try to remind him to take a rest sometime, until he told me that I sounded like his mother…

There has been the usual coming and going of people – giving my stay here a nice flow, always changing. This place has some kind of magic about it which makes it feel as though whoever is currently staying here has been here forever. Through all of these greeting and farewells, I am extremely glad that Megumi has been here throughout. Having arrived on the same day, led Team Rainbow together in the summer camp and slept in neighbouring beds for 6 weeks, I feel a strong connection to and a huge fondness for her. She is an amazing woman, the epitome of a multi-cultural spirit! She grew up in Japan, but has Korean nationality, she was once married to a French man who she met in India but now she professionally dances Spanish flamenco in Israel while volunteering in Palestine. She is the kind of person who can make anybody feel at ease and I think this is a wonderful place for her to be as, for her, being here is about discovering the other side. She has a deep knowledge and attachment to the Israeli people so, for me, she is a fascinating person to talk to, to try to build up a more circular and objective picture of the situation.

Last week, I used my free day to go with her to Jerusalem. There are two ways to get there from the farm – one is to catch the Israeli coach which goes from the Neve Daniel settlement, the other is to take a servis iinto Bethlehem and, from there, the Arab minibus which takes foreigners and those Palestinians with valid permits to enter Israel.

The first, I found incredibly surreal as it confirmed that real people actually come and go from these surrounding settlements. They are there, constantly in the background – bright orange lights, rows of identical houses, watertowers sporting the Star of David – but it is hard to believe that they are more than mere cardboard cut-outs… that they are ‘real’ places, where real people lead lives full of luxuries and unaware of, or unfazed by, the fact that they are existing on stolen land and water. Also, the man sitting opposite me dozed while his gun rested on his knees, pointing disturbingly in my direction. This didn’t do much to placate my feeling of unease. The other route feels much more comfortable despite having to stop at several checkpoints on the way.

In Jerusalem, we met up with an old friend of Megumi’s – another amazing woman. An Israeli flamenco singer, severely handicapped and with a beautiful voice. We went for lunch, helped her with her shopping and visited her house for tea.

Both of my other free days, in the preceding weeks, I spent in Bethlehem. The first, I planned to meet a group who’d been to visit the farm the previous day and were going to be painting houses somewhere in the outskirts of Bethlehem. I thought it would be cool to join them so carefully arranged a place and a time (I still never got my phone to work), was proud of myself for arriving early, waited for an hour before finding out that they had met at a different entrance and had left already. With no way to find them, I had to swallow this plan and think of how to spend my day in Bethlehem. I wandered back to the bus stop where I had first arrived a few weeks before and found the shop of the man who had been so friendly and helped me call Daoud. He remembered me immediately, exclaimed “now your face is brown!”, asked me how I liked his country and treated me to Arabic coffee and falafel. I then went to visit Daoud’s sister, Amal, who works as a physiotherapist in the children’s hospital in Bethlehem, spotting all of the famous Banksy graffiti on the way. She showed me around the hospital and I helped her to make a PowerPoint presentation for a talk she was giving on ‘baby massage’ the following week. It was a lovely day in the end and I was glad to be able to help. I am very find of Amal – as well as this job, she has done a course as a ‘clowndoctor’ and I designed a colourful ‘doctor’s gown’ for her to wear. Her name means ‘hope’ in Arabic and, like all the family, it is not something that she is lacking. She has many interesting things to say about her country and one of her observations which stayed with me particularly was when she talked about the problems of how people react here. When Christians loose hope, she said, they tend to leave the country – when Muslims loose hope, they tend to become more radical. This seems to be exactly what all the difficulties are being engineered towards – and this is why it is so important for people to react in a different way. There is another option – this is one of the philosophies behind Tent of Nations which I admire most.

My other free day, I visited Mays – a girl from Beit Jala (near Bethlehem) who had stayed with my aunt and uncle in Edinburgh a few years ago, doing a play at the Fringe festival. It was lovely to have a chilled day with her and her family, eating ( a lot) and casually being shown around the area. I told them that I was studying Arabic in university but mostly just the classical (known as ‘Fusha’). At this, they all started speaking together in Fusha, making things slightly easier to understand except that they would all burst out laughing after every sentence, saying it sounded so funny!

I has a funny experience on my way to her house, actually. I was waiting at the bus stop, passing the time by sketching the street in my book. A policeman came up to me and. In broken English, asked what I was doing. I told him that I was drawing a picture and he asked why. Just for fun, a hobby. He took my sketchbook and took out his mobile. Soon after calling somebody, a police car arrived and he handed over my book. I tried to ask if there was a problem while the policemen in the car flicked through the pages. They smiled, handed it back to the first policeman and asked where I was from before driving off. The first policeman then assured me that there was no problem before scrutinizing each of my pictures and asking questions about it. Finally he gave it back to me and said that I could continue which, by this point, I didn’t feel much like doing. I asked him why all of this, he said because the President was in town for the Fatah conference. As good a reason as any, I suppose…!

On my final day, we went as a group on a trip to Nablus. A city in the north of the West Bank, nestled in a valley and famous for its strong resistance to occupation and also for its ‘kanafe’ – a deliciously sweet cheesey desert (with which they recently made the Guinness World Records for making ‘the biggest kanafe in the world’!)

We visited Jacob’s Well – the place were Jesus was supposed to have been offered water by a Samaritan woman, Joseph’s tomb, a man who makes olive oil soap, the first hammam (bathhouse) in Palestine, wandered around the old city to get a feel for the slow bustle of life there – greeted by shouts of ‘welcome! welcome!’ at every corner – and, of course, ate kanafe.

We also stopped at a Samaritan village, watched men in long white gowns and tall red hats at prayer in their synagogue and spoke to some about their religion; very much a minority but surviving with strict rules (and a lot of intermarriage). There are a lot of similarities with Judaism and, for this reason, they have the respect of Israel and - though they consider themselves to be Palestinian – they are granted Israeli ID.

By the time we left this village, just outside Nablus, it was 7pm and we were all contentedly sleepy after a busy day and ready to get back to the farm. As it turned out, our trip was not yet over. We didn’t make it back for another 4 hours.

We did the usual stop at a checkpoint; all pile out of the bus, hand over the passports (for us, ID cards for the Palestinians), wait a bit while they check them before piling back on again and continuing the journey. However, not long after this checkpoint, the bus got a little lost and we found ourselves on a road passing by a settlement. We stopped the bus and Daoud asked the guard for directions to the main road. The guard, in English (as the ‘mutual’ language), told him to wait and took his ID card. We waited for a while, watching cars come and go through the settlement barrier until an army truck arrived. A group of soldiers, all fresh out of school on their military service, passed the card between them while Daoud tried his best to get us back on the road. It was over an hour before they finally said that we could go, but first we had to follow their truck back round and into the traffic, which we had already past, so that we could go through the checkpoint again.

It is this kind of ridiculous situation which can really bring me to understand how people do either give up or thrash out. They are engineered to cause as much hassle and frustration as possible and it takes a genuinely strong spirit to keep your head held high and stay measured and calm.

As all of this went on, I was in the bus nursing a migraine. As I sat with my throbbing head in my hands, I felt horribly lucky in that moment that I wasn’t Palestinian, that I happen to have a little paper book which gives me all the rights I need, and that I didn’t have to go through the weary process of humiliation and justifying myself.

Most of all, I found it painful to see somebody that I respect so much, subjected to such disrespect. By boys, younger than myself, guns slung over shoulders and exuding a cringe worthy arrogance.

Our energy was somewhat rejuvenated by a stop for falafel on the way and we returned to the farm with that comforting familiarity of arriving home.

So now has come my time to say goodbye to this country. I feel incredibly privileged to have had the chance to spend this time here and honoured to be a little part of this unique land and family and have them now forever as a little part of me.

It is an oasis of hope which I will always be able to think back to when things seem too much. Have a vision and take it slowly. Step by step, shuwe, shuwe and so much can be achieved.

A central goal behind Tent of Nations is to bring people together and connect them with the land. I have to thank them all for giving me such inspiration.

I feel very connected to this land.

Shukran wa Salaam.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/ruthcape/5/1250955246/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/ruthcape/5/1250955246/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/ruthcape/5/1250955246/tpod.html Sat, 22 Aug 2009 11:36:18 -0400 Tent of Nations: Building Bridges in Bethlehem

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Bethlehem, West Bank and Gaza

It's been such an incredible couple of weeks, I’m not sure where to begin. It has been a whirlwind of laughing kids, paint splattered hands, games in the sun, energy and exhaustion in equal measures!



This was the seventh childrens’ summer camp held here under the title "Bringing Nature to Life: Learning Hope and Planting Peace". Around 40 children aged between 6 and 14 came from towns and refugee camps around Bethlehem, the central goal of the camp being to encourage them to interact with and feel close to the environment around them, to give them space to realize their skills and creativity, express their ideas and have a voice. Plus, simply to give them a bit of fun respite from daily life under occupation.

It was also great to be able to expose them to such a variety of people and cultures. We had a group of 11 volunteers working on the camp – from Italy, Switzerland, Belgium, Finland, America, Japan and, of course, Scotland (I haven’t met any other Brits here yet). Also a group from Brazil came towards the end of the camp and did some activities with the children. One of the things I love about staying here is the incredible amount of people you meet, though, with native English speakers greatly in the minority, being here makes painfully stark how awful we are at languages. Often I find myself marvelling at the fact that I am the only one with English as my mother tongue while chatting in a group, and everyone is using my language. Though I guess it is useful to have a lingua franca, sometimes I wish it wasn’t my own. Still, makes me even more determined to eventually solidify one of my bitty other languages into something fluent.

Though not a particularly immersive Arabic environment, my main aim for this trip – in terms of the language – was simply to get a feel for it being used in a real environment and give me some context for studying it. I am really enjoying being surrounded by the childrens’ Arabic babble and short conversations with my slowly increasing vocabulary. I definitely find that everyday I understand a little bit more of what’s being said around me. The summercamp, in particular, was great for this.

The children would arrive on a bus at 9am and our day would start by picking them up at the roadblock and walking them back to the farm. We had games in the field from 9-10 then split off into our four groups (which emerged as Team Rainbow, Team Eagles, Team Butterfly and Team Phoenix of Hope). I led Team Rainbow (Fareek Kaws Kuzah) with Megume (the wonderfully friendly Japanese woman, who has lived a long time in Israel) along with a couple of Palestinian volunteers to help with looking after and translation. We took them for 3 hour-long sessions everyday, doing everything from music to art to drama to learning about the environment. This was a bit of a shock, as we found out only 5 minutes before the kids were due to arrive on the very first day that we were to take one group for everything rather than 'specializing’ on one activity as we had all thought. This meant that the first day was a pretty hectic make-it-up-as-you-go-along day but that evening we planned our activities for the week and, in the end, we were all really glad that we did it in this way, it was a nice challenge to have to come up with something for a whole range of classes and meant that we became very close to the children in our teams. The whole camp culminated on the final Friday evening with a performance which we put together for the parents of all the things that had come together over the two weeks. With the format of “Tent of Nations TV” (every channel being a different team) we saw a fantastic collection of songs, dances and skits from all over the world. Our group did an adorable rendition of a Japanese clapping rhyme and also a brilliant performance of the ‘Dashing White Sergeant’, I think my favourite part of the whole show was Muhammad, a very sweet and hyperactive 6 year old who we got sitting at the front, drumming on a bucket and grinning under the trusty ‘Jimmy Hat’ that I never travel without! It was wonderful to see the children singing and dancing so freely and with such confidence in themselves. It was especially poignant as they performed with one of the settlements as a stark backdrop for the theatre. We had everyone on stage for a big Brazilian finale before the final surprise… all the volunteers ran off to get changed while Jihan gave us time talking; we arrived back on stage - girls in traditional gowns, boys in kafirs, ready to show off the Palestinian dance, called Dabkeh, that we’d spent the evenings of the last two weeks learning. We did a pretty good job I think – everyone was suitable impressed at least! As well as having this international melange for the children, it was also lovely for the parents who came to see the support from so many different countries and after we had all introduced ourselves before the performance started, two of the grandmothers in the audience spontaneously stood up and gave incredibly moving speeches thanking us for being there and asking us to go back to our countries and spread the word, “You are our ambassadors for peace” one finished with, echoing a sentiment Daoud had expressed to us a few nights before. He gave a talk for us all, explaining the history of this place, how it is all about carrying through a vision of their father of one day using his land for a peace project. He told us if the endless court cases required to ‘prove ownership of the land’. 18 years since the first and it is still not settled, despite their presenting all the correct documents and paperwork. Every time they have been presented with some new obstacle – having to collect signatures from neighbours, having to find land assessors, having to move it to the Israeli supreme court… Every time they have gone through the process and every time it has been postponed or prolonged. They were once even offered an open cheque for the land, but as Daoud put it “This land is my mother and I cannot sell my mother.” So far the legal process had cost around 140,000 dollars. It seems crazy that it should matter whoever once owned the land, the fact that it was bought by the Nassar family in 1916 should be enough. Now it is their land, someday it may be somebody else’s, it is hard to understand a view that is so stuck in history. Someone once said to Daoud “You have papers from here but we have papers from God.” The overriding feeling that the family have towards the conflict of the land is that they do not want to say to whom the land belongs, they want to say that we all belong to the land – in this way, we will all respect and care for the land.

This was the first night of the solar powered energy. After he finished his story, two bottles of wine – from their own grapes – was brought out to celebrate the big event. It was wonderful to be part of such a special development and we had a perfect evening to christen the new light. For the first time we were able to sit up in the light past 10oclock. The guitar came out and the solar was toasted with songs, wine and laughter.

The bus would come to pick the children up at 2, before lunch, so – in the first week – we had our afternoons free for visits to the surrounding area.

Our first trip was into Bethlehem which Daoud took us round. We saw the university, markets and the Church of the Nativity. The last of which was nice to see though I felt a little awkward in the section where Jesus was supposed to have been born. The small room, lit by flickering candles, was thick with emotion as crying visitors prayed and kissed the floor. It felt strange to wander around knowing that most of the other tourists would only be stopping for an hour or so to see the Church, get back on the bus and return to Israel, possible being told that it would be dangerous to walk around, none the wiser to the life of the Palestinian people.

The following day we went to Hebron. There was a striking difference immediately; in Bethlehem, no one looked twice at a group of internationals but here the locals could barely believe we were visiting. Within minutes some guys were taking us to the best places to take photos of the settlements, which are built over the Palestinian streets, and telling us of how stones, rubbish and sewage are rained down on the from above. Wire mesh hung over the market street, scattered with litter and the calls of “welcome! welcome! 20 shekels!” echoed off the many shut doors of shops closed with lost business. Some of the Palestinian volunteers took us round though I think it was a bit stressful for them, keeping us all together and nervous about being stopped by soldiers.

Our next trip was to Jerusalem, of course we had to make this trip by ourselves as they cannot enter without a permit. Again, we were back to streams of tourists but we had a nice time wandering the streets and drinking Arabic coffee and carrot juice.

At the weekend, we had a day trip to the Dead Sea and Jericho. As travelling with Palestinians the, otherwise 45 minute, journey took about 2 ½ hours, but it was a stunning ride – gazing out of the bus window as the landscape became drier and drier and we twisted our way down through a vista of sandy hills to the lowest point in the world. We arrived at 9am after 2 checkpoints, one of which one of our group, Dan, was ordered off the bus after being caught taking a photo out the window. While one soldier came on the bus to check our passports, another two questioned him and told him they could arrest him for this offence. Fortunately, in the end, they were satisfied with him deleting the offending photograph and we went on our way.

Even so early, the heat was pretty intense and we spent a lovely, surreal hour or so bouncing and floating on the water and lathering ourselves in healthy dead sea mud. We went to Jericho and filled ourselves with falafel and hummous before taking a cablecar up the Mountain of Temptation, where Jesus was supposed to have spent 40 days and 40 nights. At least he had some incredible views to pass the hours.

That night, back at the farm, I had a fascinating conversation with Sharon – the Israeli man building the compost toilets – as everyone was talking round the dinner table about Dan’s run in with the soldiers, he was telling me about how he had once been a soldier at checkpoints like that, he had to be as part of his military service. Either that, he said, or you say you’re a pacifist and you get sent to a psychiatrist.

My second free day I went to Ramallah with a couple of the other volunteers. We also had an interesting journey there – we concluded that you could easily spend a day here just travelling from bus to taxi to bus and you would come away having had numerous interesting conversations and situations. The most memorable on this occasion was a Palestinian Muslim man who got on the bus and as soon as he sat down asked one of the girls I was with is she was Christian. She gave a non-commital response and he wasn’t happy with that answer; “This is what is wrong with Europe!” he exclaimed (though she was from America). He moved on to the rest of us and we assured him that we were Christian, “You are welcome,” he said. He then saw my Lonely Planet guide to Israel and the Palestinian Territories and began to talk of how he thinks all the land should be Muslim land. We were relieved when he go off the bus, feeling a little at a loss for hope when there is example of such extremism on both sides.

We visited Yassar Arafat’s tomb - a beautiful stone building made of 2004 stones (the year he died), ate falafel and Arabic sweets and I bought the things I needed to make a piñata with the kids the next week.

The second week we used our afternoons to prepare for the Friday performance, apart from on the Wednesday when a group of school kids from Germany came and we took them for discussion groups talking about “the role of youth in shaping our society”. Most of them seemed pretty sceptical at first about what they could do back in their country to help but we had some good discussion talking a lot about not being overwhelmed by the bigger picture but bringing it down to a local and manageable level, working step by step and not feeling like you have to change the whole world in one go. I hope that they took something away from it. It was a great forum for me to express how much I feel that university is a fantastic opportunity to act on your beliefs and to encourage them to use the opportunity of the German civil service to do something worthwhile and inspiring.

The Brazilians left yesterday and the rest of the summer camp group, this morning. A group of 5 Germans working on the farm are here for another week and otherwise its me, Megumi, Lars and the family. I am very, very happy to be staying here for another few weeks – watch this space and here’s to the next section of my Tent of Nations experience.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/ruthcape/5/1247502211/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/ruthcape/5/1247502211/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/ruthcape/5/1247502211/tpod.html Sat, 22 Aug 2009 11:33:51 -0400 Tent of Nations: Building Bridges in Bethlehem

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Bethlehem, West Bank and Gaza

The journey here was surprisingly easy - I had prepared myself for a lot of difficulties, to the extent that I barely believed I would actually ever find myself at the 'Tent of Nations' project. In fact, I barely even believed I was evem going atall untill I got on the plane.... and even then...
However, I am very much here and this place is very much a reality.

While checking the boarding gate for the flight I noticed that the woman beside me was also looking for the same flight. I began chatting to her and was grateful for this early connection as she made my arrival a lot easier. She was an older woman who was travelling to volunteer for her 4th or 5th time in Israel, this time to an archeological dig near Jerusalem. I had formed in my head my story of being a Christian pilgrimm tourist to give to Israeli security at the other side and wasnt sure whether to go with this with people I was meeting along the way... I started with it but did divulge my going into Palestine also so she got a bit of a mixed picture of who I was and what I was doing.
We touched down to a strip of pink sky at 6am (Israeli time; 4am British time) and joined the hustling queue for passport control. I smiled at the woman behind the desk and hoped that she wouldn't ask toomany questions. Fortunately though she came across as sharp and suspicious she let me through without any problems. I collected my bags and followed the woman from the plane to the line of 'shabutz' (shared taxis). We took one into Jerusalem and I gazed out of the window awash with the surreality of it all. Those first steps off the plane really impressed upon me a feeling of how unnatural flying is. That I could be walking on Middle Eastern soil within the space of merelt five hours felt like such a bizarre concept that I still couldnt fully comprehend that I was where I was.While I have previously found purely excitment in this ability to jump with such ease across the globe, I now cant quite get over the idea that I am cheating somehow in being here. What I am cheating is getting any sense of distance or connection with the land and of course, I am cheating the earth and its atmosphere.. It is very much a double edged dilemma, however, as so much of the incredible things that happen in the world could not be possible without flying and now that I am here, I would not ask to be anywhere else.

After an hour or so drive we were dropped off at Demascus gate in East Jerusalem and I bid farewell to my travelling companion. I needed to phone Daoud, who is the director of ToN, to tell him that I had arrived and also wanted to text my parents to let them know I had arrived safe and well. I found a spot of shade in the bus station and sat down to sort myself out. My (at the time I thought) genius idea of a windup mobilephone charger has been proving a little frustrating. I sat winding it up for over half an hour untill my arm throbbed and when I finally managed to turn it on I realised that my British sim would not work. Ma-lesh (nevermind)! I had a Palestinian sim card - given to me by a friend before I left - ... that, however, needed a pin code which after several tries I could not work out. Giving up on my phone, I decided to catch a bus into Bethlehem and work it out from there. Turned out I was at the wrong bus station. Some locals who had watched, a little bemused, me winding away, pointed me in the right direction and within minutes I was on my way.
I was a little nervous about this bit, expecting a roadblock or checkpoint at any moment. However the ride was smooth and the bus trundled into Bethlehem unpreturbed. I found out later this particular number of bus goes a route which bypasses any checkpoints). I got off at the last stop, thanked the busdriver, lugged my bag onto the pavement and looked around hopefully for a phonebox. Failing that, I walked along the road a little in search of someone to ask. I didnt have to walk long before a man in a cafe commented jovially on my heavy load. I asked him where I could find a phone and immediately he got out his mobile and asked for the nunmber. He called Daoud and, I presumed though my Arabic was nnot quite sharp enough to tell, told him where I was. The man, called Ibraheem, invited me to sit down and soon his son brought me a delicious cup of mint tea. His brother came in and immediately invited me to share his plate of hummus and falafel. i told them i was here as a volunteer and they would not let me pay for anything, exclaiming "you are here to help our country! we must welcome you." They certainnly did that. Daoud arrived, I said my "shukran"s, gave the boy a (pretty melted) chocolate bar and followe Daoud to his van.

This farm, which is perched on a hill just outside of Bethlehem has been in the Nassar family for generations. In 2001 they set it up as the 'Tent of Nations' - in essense, a place for peace in troubled lands. They are one of the only Palestinian Christian families around in the area and being such a minority can make life diffcult for them. They acheive what the do through their convictiong that the way forward is 'to build bridges not walls' and as you enter the gate to the farm, the first thing you see is a painted stone reading "We refuse to be enemies".
I have an immense amount of respect for Daoud. Everything he says makes so much sense, I often feel like I want to applaud after he has finished speaking.
He talks about the importance of not taking sides, of how both Israelis and Palestinians feel victimised and this is where the problem lies. He speaks of how everything set against the Palestinians - from roadblocks to the wall - are done to elicit a reaction, to incite anger so that they will, on one level, throw stones. On another level, he says that the war on Gaza was not to weaken Hamas but to strengthen them. The only way to cope, he explains, is not to react to how they are expecting. If an Israeli soldier cmes angrily towards him, he will politley ask " Hello, how may I help you" - more often than not, the soldier (most likely in late teens or early twenties, as all must do military service after school) will not react as thery were originally intending. It is so ingrained in them that Palestinians are dangerous people that when you challenge this, they are left confused.
The Nassar family are determined to keep their land. At least 5 Israeli settlements have cropped up on the surrounding hills and with new houses being built all the time, it is clear that they want to join them up around the land. Due to their strongwilled nature, fierce philosophy and the international presence they have managed to keep their land their own.
The Israeli presence is most striking at night time when the bright orange lights from the settlements spread far around the surrounding hills. There is a small Palestinian village nearby which contrasts dramatically with its sparse dull white lights. The farm has no access to electrocity (or running water) - a genorator is used for a couple of hours each night but that is all. However, this week a German engineer arrived to fix up solarpanels - everyone is very excited about the farm producing its own electicity.
As Daoud explained this, he laughed and said "and then we can be the light on the mountain!" One of his great desires is to show other Palestinians that it is possible to keep what is yours, and that there is hope.
In terms of the people who come here, it is incredibly varied; Palestinians, Israelis and visitors from all over the world. It attracts a wonderful mix of people, I find it so inspiring to see so many people from such a variety of countries brought together, all from such different backgrounds but all with the same vision.
At the moment, the other volunteers are Lars, a German guy who has been here for 11 months so far on his year of civil service; Camille, an American girl who - similarly to me - is on her uni summer break and is studynih Arabic in California; Sabina, a German woman who had to stop work through illness and became involved with Palestinian solidarity activities afterwards, she is - though I hate to steriotype (actually, that's a lie; you realise more than ever when travelling that we all fit in to one steriotype or another0 - very German. The kitchen is her domain (except when the Nassar family mother or wives are around) and she seems to find the soming and going, never-know-whos-here-or-when nature of the farm pretty difficult. Megume arrived the same day as me and is a fascinating character - a Japanese woman who has lived in Israel working ona kibbutz for 4 years and wanted to see the other side. Thomas is the German who works for a development NGO and is here to install the much awaited solar panels before heading back to his main project in Rwanda. Sharon is an Israeli man who has come to build compost toilets (which will be fantastic to reduce water usage) - it was so interesting to listen to him chat with the Palestinian electrician as we all sat drinking tea one afternoon. Just commenting in the absurdity of how, of course, they could sit together so easily so why is there such a conflict? This, mixed with Sharon's later reluctance to go into the nearby Palestinian village to pick something up really makes you think how bizarre and consuming the while situation is.

Daoud is one of 9 in the Nassar family and various gamily members are always coming and going from the farm. Daoud himself lives mostly in Bethlehem with his family as it is closer for the kids to go to school. I was met by all his family when they picked me up in the van on my first day. Jihan is his wife and they have 3 gorgeous kids: Shaadine, 10; Naradine, 7 and Bishara, 4. Bishara is an adorably cheeky little boy and, with his mop of curly-osh hair and twinkly eyes, reminds me a lot of Manu - one of the Spanish kids I looked after last summer.
daher is Daoud's brother and is the only one who is always at the farm. He is such a sweet man, his face is weathered from years of working outside in the sun and he has the most wonderful smile. His favourite phrase is "slowly, slowly" ("shuwe, shuwe") which, I think, sums up a lot about this place. the calm, thoughtful and sustained approach to dealing with an intense and emotional situation.

The last few days have been incredibly varied in terms of the work I've been doing. Everything from picking apples to wasking blankets to feeding the goats. Its a long day - breakfast at 7 to start at 8 and finish around 7 at night. But its refreshing to be busy with mosylt very physical work and to spend so much time outside. I have spent mamy hours heaving up buckets of water from the cistern (where they catch and store the rainwater fro winter) and filling up the water tanks. This job, in particular, really brings home how easy we have life in terms of the endless and simple tasks needed purely for living. We are so fortunate that our time and energy can be spent on other things.

I woke to a fresh Palestinian sunrise to welcome in my 21st brithday last Sunday. I spent the day pruning olive trees with Camille and had "Happy Birthday" sung to me in English, Arabic "Sana Hulwa Ya Ruth", Hebrew and German over the course of the day.
After breakfast I sat for a bit in my favourite spot just outside the tent where we sleep and opened the few cards and gifts that I had brought with me. I sat looking out over the surrounding hills and felt incredibly honoured to be here. Quite a place to bring in my 21st year - I'm sure it'll be a good one.

That evening a host of new volunteers arrived ready for the kids summer camp (starting the next day) so it felt like a fitting end to the first little section of my stay here and to an exciting beginning to the next couple of weeks, and to the next year.

]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/ruthcape/5/1246959157/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/ruthcape/5/1246959157/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/ruthcape/5/1246959157/tpod.html Tue, 07 Jul 2009 06:40:52 -0400 Tent of Nations: Building Bridges in Bethlehem

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London, England, United Kingdom

I'm on my journey to Bethlehem - so far I have let my donkey rest in Oxford and London, I hear they are popular stop-off points en route...!

First stop was the 'People and Planet' Summer Gathering, the annual bringing together of this unique network of student activists. It was a lovely week of camping in the sun, bonfires, ceilidhs, some intense rounds of ultimate frisbee, fantastic vegan food, trusty teambuilding games and - best of all - days packed full of inspiring workshops covering a range of skills and updating us on the current campaigns. Its a wonderful week partly just to be reminded that we're all part of something bigger, which can be easy to forget when tackling the sometimes overwhelming issues as a relatively small uni group. To spend a few days in the company of a load of people who are all similarly passionate about bringing about the change that's needed in our world is refreshing and leaves me geared up and ready for another exciting year of campaigning ahead.
In fact, while we were there, P&P made the front page of the Financial Times and Channel4 news with the very exciting development in the campaign against the Royal Bank of Scotland's funding of human-right violating fossil fuel extraction projects. After a few years of keeping up the pressure, it has finally come to this crucial point in which P&P, alongside World Development Movement and Platform, are taking the Treasury to court, believing that the government has failed to do a proper assessment of the environmental, climate change and human rights impact
of the way RBS runs its business.
While I've got your attention, I might as well use this opportunity to ask you all to write to Alastair Darling in support of this Judicial Review as what's most important right now is for the Treasury to know that there is strong public support behind the campaign. So yeah, a chance to take some really easy action now! Go to www.peopleandplanet.org/ditchdirtydevelopment/legalchallenge/takeaction for a sample email to sign (even better if you could ask some of your own contacts to do the same!)
Cheers for that folks :) Right, 'do-your-bit' nagging over - we packed up the camp Thursday afternoon and I carried along my way to my cousin's house in London, where I have been since then spending - as always - a very lovely time with them all, particularly having a good ol' bounce on the trampoline with the wee uns and edge-of-the-seat watching of the Wimbledon final..
On Saturday I went to rejoin some of the P&P crowd who, with Oxfam, Greenpeace, Woodcraftfolk etc, were forming a human 'mili-band' around Kingsnorth coal-fired power station as a call to Ed to stop the burning of new and dirty coal. It was a lovely, chilled sort of day - a very family friendly protest in which everyone wandered down to the plant - P&P stealing the show with our banners and placards with such gems as "Use your 'ed, Ed" and (I'll take credit for this bit of poetic genius) "Miliband, don't be a silly-band" - and linked up in a huge 1000-odd person circle. A few mexican waves, chants and attempted chinese whispers later, we all wandered back again for a rally in the park and picnic in the sun. It was such a nice day and while not an action that will, in itself, change the world, its all part of the bigger challenge and is calling out to the government with the right message. Its always nice to be part of those sorts of demos where everyone from the littlest kids jubilantly shouting "No New Coal!" to old men with banners attached to the back of their wheelchairs has a voice.
Its easy to get a bit demoralised after something like hearing about the Drax protestors (obstructing a coal train) not having their case of 'fighting a higher crime' taken into account and prosecuted as common criminals but as Monbiot so eloquently says, protestors like these are the 'conscience of the nation' and it is so important to keep chipping away. Keeping up these actions can feel useless at times or like shouting at a brick wall but I really beleive that every bit does help and its about showing that there are people out there who really do care.
Its nice - just before I go away for a couple of months - to be reminded not to underestimate the power of action at home, giving me something exciting and empowering to come back to.

On that note, I fly out to Tel Aviv this evening so I'll sign off for now with a promise to update on the next step of the journey as soon as I get a chance.

PS. don't forget to send that 'darling' man a wee email!

]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/ruthcape/4/1238774340/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/ruthcape/4/1238774340/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/ruthcape/4/1238774340/tpod.html Mon, 15 Jun 2009 05:34:39 -0400 Fossil Fools Day in London

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London, United Kingdom

Weaving through the concrete maze of London city, the sun beamed down and glanced off our watches as we approached the crisp, glassy sheen of the European Climate Exchange offices. Six of us hung back on a corner and waited for the 'swoop'. The odd badly 'dressed down' business man walked briskly by and the street was quiet and warm. The clock hand ticked to 12.30. We began to move off and the air rushed with excitement. Suddenly swarms of people emerged from the woodwork. Within seconds the street was awash with colour, energy and purpose which turned the corner and flowed into Bishopsgate. A moment of questioning glances. Calls of 'tents!'. Bright, canvass molehills sprung up among the crowd. One collective effort and the camp was established.



Within half an hour the place was transformed. A positive space created from and emanating an intense and positive energy. Hope, peace, solidarity. Banners popped up, chalk decorated the pavement, messages shouted from tents: "Another world is possible" "Be the change you want to see" "Live simply so others can simply live" "Social change not climate change". A buzz whipped through the crowd to the beat of the samba drums. People danced, sang and shared their care for each other and the world. Workers watched from above, peering from behind dark windows. Down below multi-coloured windmills whirled, poets recited, friends were met and made and the message was strong. Money cannot make the world go round. Climate change is happening; it's devastating consequences will affect us all and are already affecting so many. Priorities need to be changed and real action needs to be taken.



I remember watching as a couple of policemen crossed to the other side of the street - they picked their way between tents, rugs and people and their apparent respect towards the space and what was within it felt like a significant gesture. Sadly this wasn't to be the lasting image of our guardians of law and order.



The sun began to lower and as the air became cooler, a fresh chill of uncertainty crackled through the camp. Police lines thickened and demonstrators held up their hands in a gesture of peace and non-violence. Soon it was clear that access both in and out of the camp was blocked. Suddenly our freedom and control was snatched away and as soon as it became a 'them and us' conflict, heightened emotions began to surface. Two completely incompatible sets of people were suddenly pitched against each other and with group mentality, on both sides, it's near impossible to see the individual spirit of any person on the 'other' side. They work top-down and solid; one command fits all with no questions asked. We work by consensus; all opinions are taken into account and a decision is reached collectively. These systems cannot coexist so when it becomes a struggle of one against the other, it is not a fair fight. The former will always hold the advantage of being quick and impenetrable.



The charged up policemen (and women) prioritised asserting their own power over guarding the calm and non-confrontational atmosphere of the camp. They exuded the desperate feeling of a need to 'save face'; to appear to be 'keeping things under control' when in fact there is no doubt that under their intimidation and pressure, fear and panic were planted and exacerbated. The atmosphere very tangibly changed. I witnessed people who I know to be calm, rational and honest being hit with batons, thrown against walls, dragged, laughed at and utterly demeaned. When attempting to find out the details of a policeman who had acted completely inappropriately, a demonstrator was chased with a baton. Where is the humanity in all of this? Where is the respect for fellow humans? How can people end up with such power and arrogance that they can degrade and abuse others and not be held accountable? As the police begun to cut away and wheel off inobstructive bicycles, they seemed to be thriving on committing crimes that no citizen out with 'the force' could get away with. It worries me that these people who did not act responsibly or honourably are supposed to be the upholders of justice, safety and, essentially, peace.



Dusk deepened into night and though the camp strove on - with the help of a ceilidh - confidence waned and, with police now allowing people to leave, numbers dwindled. The walls of police on either side moved in and riot police wavered on the edges. With demonstrators feeling smothered by confusion and apprehension, it is hard to keep the original objectives in mind. It felt ironic that we are trying to fight for something which affects us all - even those making it difficult for us to be heard. We are calling to the world's leaders to take sufficient and responsible action on climate change. They are accountable to us; this message which is about bringing peace and safety to the world and the world's people should not be silenced.



Though there were strong feelings that we should stay, it became clear that the camp was not going to make it through the night. However reluctant to go on their terms, I packed up my tent and made the decision to leave. As we walked out, the line of police jeered sarcastic comments with the artificial smugness that comes with winning a game by cheating and force. I could not look at them but was determined to keep my head held high. They had no right to turn it in to a walk of shame. As peaceful demonstrators we know that there is no pride or value in goading the police. But they goad us. Who should be ashamed?



As the bitter icing on the cake of frustration and disillusionment towards the system that rules us, I met a girl wandering the streets in search of somewhere to safely spend the night after being turned away at the train station. Protesters, apparently, were not allowed on the train and - identifiable by a splash of face paint and a flower in her hair - she was refused her passage home. I cannot understand how leaving a young woman alone at 3am in the centre of London with nowhere to go can be justified.



Despite the unnecessary overreaction and disappointing aggression shown by the police, the action - overall - was a positive one. We remained peaceful and the aim remains strong. And what have I taken away from the experience? It is so important to stand up for what you believe in. We should all be fighting for what we think is right for the world and stay positive and strong in the face of injustice. Question. Don't be complacent. Don't just accept that the way things happen now is the way they should or always will happen.



Have a vision. Stay hopeful. Get active.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/ruthcape/3/1220277000/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/ruthcape/3/1220277000/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/ruthcape/3/1220277000/tpod.html Mon, 01 Sep 2008 05:37:10 -0400 Viva España

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Stirling, Scotland, United Kingdom

The last couple of weeks went by in a whirl of sun and games.
The weather improved to more normal Galacian summer temperatures meaning numerous trips to the nearby beaches. These excursions were generally with the usual gathering of extended family and friends and, for me, meant many hours of jumping waves, clambering rocks and exploring rockpools.
On one memorable beach day, we found an indent in the rocks which was just perfect to make a 'Sea-Cave' and after a bit of scouting around for drift wood, it was complete with wall, entrance, fireplace, weapon holder and throne for the King - this being Manu. Each of us had our own titles, allocated by his highness, which I scratched out on our entance-post. We had a 'Prince', a 'Soldier', a 'Mountain-Climber' and I was given the honour of 'Architect'. There was some confusion over Ollie's (one of the cousins, Alex's, friends) fate rising from my mix up of camarero and caballero; while I thought Manu was knighting Sir Ollie, infact he was merely being given the position as a waiter. I had already written 'knig' by the time I realised my mistake, which happened to be just below my name so, with the acceptance of King Manu, I was promoted to 'Architect and Knight Ruth' while 'Waiter Ollie' had to come to terms with his less glamourous calling.
Other days not at the beach involved playing with lego/playmobil/actionman, fishing for goldfish in a nearby lake, watching Spanish dubbed Star Wars (or 'estar watch')... once we made cardboard and pipecleaner monsters and put on a wee show for Pitu and Pachi which the boys even managed to do in English with shouts of "this my planet!" and "you dead!".

I had mentioned to Pitu that I could cook some Scottish food for them sometime if they liked - she took me up on this last Tuesday for when it was decided I would do the evening meal. It wasn't untill I casually queried how many people I should expect when we were in the car on the way to the 'super' to pick up the ingredients and she started reeling off the names that I realised that quite a Scottish Fiesta was being anticipated! I ended up cooking for about 16 people which was a little bit daunting when I'd never made any of my planned dished before.. but, with the help of Nick Nairn (and to my great relief), the Cullen Skink, Shepherds Pie and Cranachan all went down a treat. Pitu had decorated the table beautifully in blue and white, Pachi had hung up a banner over the driveway reading "Welcome to Scotland (Oza)" and my faithful ipod piped and jigged away in the background with everything from the Monarch of the Glen themetune to Auld Lang Syne.
Earlier that day, Manu and I had made a brownpaper and crayon kilt which, coupled with the jimmy-hat, he looked adorable in. I think he felt somewhat upstaged when the time came, however, and refused to wear it as the real thing arrived; sporran and all. The bearer of this spectacle which had all the Spaniards gushing was Andrew, a friend of the family (his son is in Manu's class) and the guy who arranged this job for me. He is a Scot from Thurso, married to a La Corunian woman, and added an extra authentic edge to the party!

On Saturday - my final day - we were invited to Andrew and his wife's hosting of a 'British Brunch'. Suitably the weather turned again and eggs, beans, bacon, sausages (proper tea!) and all the trimmings were enjoyed under the sheltered porch of his family's stunning new house. It was a lovely chilled day which later on involved a very atmospheric treasure hunt for the kids in the rain.
I was catching a bus at 11pm that night from the nearby town of Betanzos. Having gathered my things, we spent an hour or so at the cousins' house as they packed me up a feast of bocadillos y tartas (sandwiches and cakes) for my trip and I bid my farewells.
It was a surreal adios (as goodbyes often are) to Pachi, Pitu, Pancho and Manuel as hugs and kisses were exchanged on a night-fallen Spanish steet and the bus drove off to the lingering shadows of the final smiles and waves.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/ruthcape/3/1219071600/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/ruthcape/3/1219071600/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/ruthcape/3/1219071600/tpod.html Mon, 18 Aug 2008 06:06:13 -0400 Viva España

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Oza Dos Rios, Spain

It's been about two weeks now since that nervous moment when I stepped off the bus from Oviedo to be greeted by the welcoming waves of Pachi and Pitu and the chocolate-smeared grins of their two boys; 8 year old Pancho and 6 year old Manuel (or 'Manu').
Pachi and Pitu are great - warm and very accomodating. I´m staying in their (big and beautiful) house in the country about 30km outside of La Coruña in Galacia. My job is to look after the kids from 3-9 and try to teach them a wee bit of English in the process, this is fairly subject to change though and I generally spend my time not really knowing what´s going on but just going along with whatever. Often Pitu will surprise me with "¡Ruth, vamos!" and I don´t have any idea where we´re going... mostly I can make a pretty safe guess, however, that it'll be to the cousins' (even bigger and more beautiful) house which is the hub for the whole extended family who often gather for lunches or to spend the afternoon. Pitu's sister, Paula, had an Irish au-pair, Niamh, for her two little ones; Ricardo (6) and Lucia (4). Niamh left last Wednesday but for the first 10 days of my stay here we often watched the 4 kids together - it was great to have her there to explain the various family links of the masses of new people milling about - especially as I happened to arrive two days before the grand event of the Christening of Paula's newborn - Nacho (Ignacio). It was also quite a release to have an English speaking companion for a bit. I found myself suddenly hugely appreciating the ease and freedom with which I can speak my first language!
It is probably the most immersive language-learning environment I´ve been in and my Spanish, of course, is improving. It feels like a slow process though, especially in a situation which very much highlights all that you don't know. However, I am picking up new words and phrases everyday and it is fantastic just to be constantly surrounded by the language and hear how and when things are said. There's nothing quite like that feeling at a moment of sudden understanding or when you first use a new word. I have to keep reminding myself that a year ago my Spanish extended to counting to 10 and maybe buying an ice-cream...
Though tiring, I enjoy my afternoons with the boys. Pancho is a very cheerful and sweet-natured kid, not nearly as cheeky as his younger brother. Manu is a very cute little monster. His favourite phrase at the moment for getting his own way is "¡Si, o te mato!" ("Yes, or I'll kill you!") - as it goes, I've managed to get a slight improvement on this so now I have the ultimatum of "¡Si, o te mato! Please". Generally we spend our time playing football, hide and seek, cops and robbers, dressing up, swimming in the cousins' pool...whenever they´re not jumping about infront of 'Wii Tennis' or watching the Disney Channel (they´re big fans of that wonderful creation, High School Musical). I don't find the limits of my Spanish too constraining with them untill they have an argument or one is in a mood and I don't have the words to sort it out or console them.
I have a couple of free days each week so I´ve been in to La Coruña a few times. The weather unfortunately is making me feel very at home and I am constantly assured that Galacian Augusts are not normally this grey and drizzly. However, i've taken the opportunity to practise my Spanish with some trips to the cinema - so far I've seen the dubbed 'Mamma Mia' and 'El Caballero Oscuro' (Batman), neither of which were too profound or challenging (I highly recommend the latter!). After coming out of the cinema yesterday with my head swimming with Jokers and Batmobiles, I stumbled across stalls, parades and music in celebration of the current 'comic book' festival which is going on in La Coruña. Wondering about the city, you may catch a glimpse of Spiderman scaling a building or Tintin relaxing in the plaza.
I've also visited Santiago which is home to the Cathedral to which pilgrims on the Camino make their journey. It towers over a large plaza which buzzes with a sense of exhausted excitement as laden, blistered-footed travellers bask in their achievement. I spent most of my day sitting before this impressive building and soaking in the atmosphere. I ended up sharing wine and bread with an artist who lives off his paintings of the Catherdral and two of his pilgrim friends.
Last week Pachi took me and Niamh to see 'los toros' ( a bull fight). It was quite an experience (which is always my response when I am asked if I liked it..). It was fascinating to be part of this ancient Spanish culture, which does feel very ancient. There is a lot of ceremony and theatre involved and much of the process is majestic and stylish. It felt imcredibly surreal and bizarre, however, to be sitting in a staduim packed full of excited fans (its very popular with the woman for the guapo matadors!) round a ring in which anouther living being is tormented and beaten - in a very unfairly weighted fight - untill death. The matador does his final flourish with the red flag, swiftly sinks his sword into the bull which then stumbles and crumples to the ground as the studium erupts with the cheers of the spectators who stand up waving white hankercheifs and the matador proudly struts round the blood-stained sand soaking in the applause. Though glad to have had the opportunity to see such a spectacle, I can't say I've come away the biggest fan.
So, exactly 2 weeks since I arrived here, exactly 2 weeks more to go and, as it happens, exactly a year since I made that strange jump from Thailand to Scotland. Odd to think of the emotional journey I was going through this time last year, and all that a year can herald since then.
Here´s to the next two weeks then, and to the next year...

]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/ruthcape/3/1217759640/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/ruthcape/3/1217759640/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/ruthcape/3/1217759640/tpod.html Sun, 10 Aug 2008 04:03:44 -0400 Viva España

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Oviedo, Asturias, Spain and Canary Islands

Similar to my arrival in Tarragona a couple of weeks earlier, I stumbled off the bus and into the lull of a stretching and yawning early Tuesday morning of Santander. After reviving myself with some coffee and a trip to the trusty Tourist Office, I decided to find a hostel there for that night.
It was an interesting day; I watched a street performer drill a spoon through his nose, had a horrible panic convinced that my wallet had been stolen (possibly by that same trickster, I thought..) though it was in a pocket in my bag all along, stumbled across a free exhibition of one of my favourite artists... though mostly I spent the day deciding what to do with myself over the next few. My vague plan had been to do a section of the 'Camino de Santiago' though after much to-ing and fro-ing between the Catherdral, the Pilgrimm´s Albergue, the tourist office and internet cafes, I decided that with the little time and information that I had coupled with the walkable-with-but-still-bloody-heavy nature of my rucksack that it probably wasn´t the best idea.
My cousin had told me of a little 'feve' trainline (separate to the main Spanish operator) which runs across the north coast so I decided to take the Santander to Oviedo line and stop off to stay in towns along the way. The track curves along the coastline with sweeping mountain-ranges to one side and vast open sea to the other. The towns that I stopped off at (I ended up staying in two, both for two nights) were both along the way of the camino and were set between this dynamic combination of mountains and ocean.
The first was called 'Llanes', a pretty little town with alcove beaches and a lot of character. The pier jutting out between the bays is lined with huge, brightly painted concrete blocks - a permentant art peice called 'Cubos de la Memoria'. They look like the toys of the BFG´s baby washed up and scattered on the shore - giving the place quite a unique feel.
I spent the day exploring where I´d found myself; wandering through the old town, finding viewpoints, swimming in the sea.. I also scouted out a sports shop and bought a tent for, though I´d found a hostel for that night, it happened to be situated right beside a campsite which put the idea in my head and I thought camping would be more of an experience (as well as being a fair bit cheaper..).
The following morning then, I checked out of the hostel and went as far as next door to pitch my new acquisitioin. I decided to spend that day doing a small section of the Camino and set off for the neighbouring village which, amusingly, was called 'Poo'. I got a bit lost on my search for Poo but found it eventually - a quaint little place complete with a 'Playa de Poo' where I spent my afternoon.
I packed up early the next morning and headed for the trainstation where I´d arrived two days before. Washed with that satisfying feeling that comes with remembering the first steps into a place, the first street and buildings that you see when you know of nothing in relation to anything else to the moment of leaving when it us suddenly all linked together and now a part of you and your memories.
At Llanes station I met an amiable Italian man called Luigi who was on the trail to Santiago but was in need of a bit of a cheat day - getting the train to the town where I was headed and walking to the next Albergue (pilgrim´s hostel) from there. I spent most of the morning with him; arriving in 'Ribadesella', looking for the (again, indespensible) tourist office, waiting for it to open, searching for my campsite and finding the continuation of his Camino. After we´d parted ways, I spent another day exploring a new and also very beautiful and atmospheric town. I walked up to a little church on a hill and ate my habitual dinner of bread, cheese and olives as I gazed down into the valley where the little town was nestled. That evening a band was playing in the street by the harbour and it was enjoyed in that wonderful continental way - not starting till half 10-11, just as people are finishing dinner, and all from the youngest kids to the oldest grandparents dance into the small hours.
Ribadesella is known for two things - being the finishing point for the annual grand canoeing race down the Sella River (which I missed by a week though did see the ceremony for the 'mini-sella' - kids - competition) and also for the fact that it was here in the 60´s that some potholers discovered a set of prehistoric paintings hidden in a cave, unseen for thousands of years.
They´ve made some of them accessable so I went to the 'Cuevo de Tito Bustillo' to see these discoveries. By the torch light of our guide I could see fairly detailed and still amazingly vivid black, violet and red images of horses and deer decorating these stone walls deep below ground. It was quite surreal to see such familiar shapes painted by human hands such an incomprehensible amount of time ago and incredible to imagine whoever may have formed the strokes before me.
After a couple of days enjoying this interesting wee town, it was Sunday and time for me to finish the train ride to Oviedo and catch a bus to La Coruña where I would meet the family with whom I am now staying...
I´d never travelled by myself or without any sort of plan quite like that before, its an unusual feeling to have this time completely at your own disposal. Unusual though refreshing to have the freedom for a few days to just see where the wind takes you.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/ruthcape/3/1217241900/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/ruthcape/3/1217241900/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/ruthcape/3/1217241900/tpod.html Wed, 06 Aug 2008 07:16:35 -0400 Viva España

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Barcelona, Catalonia, Spain and Canary Islands

The camp was two very intense weeks of classes, lesson planning and exam preparation. I found the teaching for the initial days quite a challenge (despite only having 12 children) - not being used to the discipline involved with such little ones and the fact that they have the attention span of... well, of excitable 7 year olds. My relatively limited Spanish made it tricky also and lessons were generally conducted in Spanglish with much gesticulation. I gained an odd vocabulary from these classes; such words as 'tijeras' - I had to confiscate numerous pairs of scissors from my most wild child whos favourite pastime was to run around the classroom 'shooting' them like a gun; 'pegatinas' - I gave them stickers for finished work which they loved (slightly too much) and spent much of the classes trying to bargain for more; 'piojos' - nits ... speaks for itself... though my wild boy realised what a wonderful and effective weapon they were with which to terrify the other kids! By the second week I´d gotten into the swing of it and was enjoying my classes with lots of old classics such as ´heads, shoulders, knees and toes´ and games with the faithful Jimmy Hat (actually, not so great for the class with the piojos..).
Every evenning has a different theme with monitor-organised entertainment ranging from the Olympics Opening Ceremony (complete with flaming torches) to Oscars Night (all dressed up to the nines) to Polynesia Night (with a staged sacrifice... going slightly beyond British PC standards...). Us teachers were sometimes asked to contribute with a dance or something though the best had to be the Wild West Night for which we dressed up as Indians, scared our unsuspecting students, did a hilarious 'dance' in the volleyball sandpit and proceeded to rob the fake bank from their earlier gambling activities and throw the 'froggy dollars', as they were called, into the crowd of scrabbling kids.
There wasn´t masses of free time though when we could find the odd spare hour we could swim in the nearby pool with stunning vistas of the surrounding mountains, ice skate in the sports centre or escape the campus and wonder in to France..
The end of the term was upon us incredibly quickly and the students' final evening was themed 'Love and Friends' Night which was utterly bizarre and basically consisted of every single child from age 7 to 16 bawling their eyes out. We looked on both bemused and amused to see the cheekiest, naughtiest boys with tears pouring down their cheeks.
The parents arrived the next day and after a presentation, mingling and goodbyes the place was suddenly oddly quiet. Teachers and Monitors were treated to a wonderful restaurant meal (a huge treat after the ... lets say, not-quite-gourmet, camp food...) and night out before we all went our separate ways the following morning.
I spent the next night visiting my cousin who lives just outside Barcelona, the following visiting one of the other teachers in a town called Altafulla, then four of us enjoyed a day in that beautiful city of Gaudi buildings and tourists before I caught an overnight bus back up north to Santander, after which I had a week to myself with nothing in particular planned...
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