Personal

December 1, 2018

8 hours and 20 minutes until Vienna. I’ve never been on an airplane where they say everything in Dutch before English. I laugh at my own shallow view of the world.

I am sipping on a new drink called Almdudler, flirting with my flight attendant. I suspect we both may be gay; this flirting is not the type to take you home but rather a friendship that bonds over an unspoken truth. He asks me my age and I stumble over saying I am 19. “It’s an international flight dear, you can drink here”, he laughs at me, dances off and brings me a glass of red wine. He teaches me to say thank you, I stutter “dank-a-sha”. We laugh more, this time I feel light and bubbly, not so afraid of my platonic lover.

I step off the airplane and into Grace’s arms. We are both exhausted. Now, from Vienna, my best friend and I will travel down to the end of the Earth—Cape Town. A five-hour layover breezes by.

On flight number two I blink in and out of sleep. In this foreign place people gather in the cabin, drinks in hand, laughing in languages I can’t quite make out. As I move down the aisle, strangers smile and greet me as I stumble to explain I only speak English. They switch over in seconds like its second nature. They are happy to speak in any tongue. I question my own identity, how am I surrounded by all these humans who hold so much knowledge? What limits have been placed on me from the place I call home?

I fade in and out and wake up to the bluest pool. The fog is rolling in over Table Mountain, palm trees line the sky. Night owls don’t often see 6am, but jet lag has shown me a little travelers magic.

Hours later I trudge up that same mountain from my morning view. My group speeds ahead of me, even Grace has left me far behind. I didn’t realize I was so out of shape, though I try to tell myself it’s okay. I’ve come here to reconnect with myself, to rediscover who I am. So perhaps a trek up a mountain alone will be good for my head.

As I reach the peak I scan across the hazy ocean and gawk at the city scape. How foolish us Americans are, categorizing Africa as one massive impoverished desert. Despite poverty, Cape Town is one of the most developed and cherished cities in the world. I silently confront my ignorance once again.

A top of the mountain we sit for a lecture, today we are focusing on wealth inequality. A question is posed: is it ethical to drive a Bugatti, one of the most expensive vehicles on the market, flying down a freeway that passes by tin homes where people have nearly nothing? I rephrase the question in sorts: is it ethical for us to spend thousands flying across the country, dressed in our Patagonia and Lululemon, only to walk down the streets to “study” the lives of those who have less than us?

As the week passes by, this question circles through my head. I am in this space, speaking to people who have lived through the Apartheid, a horror I have only learned about through textbooks. During my wine tasting the South African man cautions us, “please, don’t worry about our problems, we are going about healing just fine. We don’t need your American meddling, or so you call it, ‘help’.” South Africa’s world class and exceptionally inexpensive wine is a direct result of the aftermath of the Apartheid. I enjoy this drink with ease at the hands of someone else’s suffering, yet, these people don’t want my help. This is the death of my American Ego. My sip that follows is much larger.

On this plane ride home, my feet feel heavy. Grace carries her bag like its weightless, I am uncertain she carries the same lessons home as me. I think, this trip has been about me entirely, and also, not at all. 18 hours till I’m home and I am starting to feel small. It was my first time out of the country, and I feel ignorant, but I guess not so ignorant anymore. I wonder what it means to call the United States home. I wonder how I’ll walk off this airplane and live my life knowing that after all, we are were not all that.

Multimedia

Because the new coronavirus stopped me from returning to the U.S., and secondly very thankful that this outbreak has given me more time to stay in China and have time to walk around the country a bit. Coincidentally, I just completed a driving tour of Yunnan with a friend last week.

  1. First, we went to Lijiang. On the first night, we stayed in an inn in the ancient city of Lijiang. There are many inns in the ancient town, each with its characteristics. The next day, we strolled around Lijiang’s old city, Lijiang ancient city as a minority city, from the town’s overall layout to engineering, architecture melts Han, white, Yi, Tibetan ethnic essence well from the Naxi unique style. The ancient city of Lijiang was not affected by the side of nine miles, next to the three gates, nine meridians, and nine latitudes in the country, through the nine tracks of the Central Plains built the city copy. No rules in the city road network, no city walls, the layout of the ancient city of three mountains for the screen, a river connected; water system using three rivers through the town, family water; street layout meridian set with a song, ghost, narrow, up to the style. The pattern of Lijiang’s ancient city is the spontaneous formation of sitting northwest toward the southeast direction of the form. The Old Town of Lijiang has colorful local ethnic customs and entertainment activities, such as Naxi ancient music, Dongba ceremony, divination culture, the antique town bar, and the Naxi torch festival, unique style. The Old Town of Lijiang embodies ancient Chinese urban construction’s achievements and is one of the distinctive types of Chinese dwellings with specific characteristics and styles.
  2. Yulong Xueshan: Yulong Xueshan is the nearest equatorial snow mountain range in the northern hemisphere, across the Jiangxi and Zhongdian Xueshan, east and Miamian Mountains, north from the mouth of the Sanjiang River, extending south to latitude 27 ° north, like a fan to the ancient city. The mountain’s 13 peaks from south to north longitudinal arrangement, the main peak fan steep highest elevation of 5596 meters, year-round snow, snow line-height between 4800 ~ 5000 meters. It is the closest temperate marine glacier in Asia and Europe to the equator.  Jade Dragon Snow Mountain is called “Oulu” in the Naxi language, which means “Heavenly Mountain.” Its thirteen snow-capped peaks are incessant, resembling a “dragon” soaring and dancing, so it is called “Jade Dragon.” And because its lithology is mainly limestone and basalt, black and white, it is also known as “black and white snow mountain.” It is the Naxi people’s sacred mountain and is said to be the incarnation of the Naxi protector god “San Duo.”

– Ganhaizi

Ganhaizi is located in the Yulong Snow Mountain’s eastern foothills, formerly a high mountain glacial erosion lake. Due to the snow line’s rise, the stagnant water decreased and dried up, known as “dry sea,” which is a highland meadow surrounded by mountains on three sides, the entire considerable meadow length of about 4 km, the width of about 1.5 km.

– Blue Moon Valley

The Yulong Snow Mountain, where the snow and ice melt into a river, is a valley at the eastern foot of the snow mountain because the moon is reflected in the blue sky in the blue lake, and because the valley of the blue moon in the “Vanishing Horizon” by British writer Hilton is similar to this. Therefore, the name “Blue Moon Valley” is derived from the fact that the blue moon is reflected in the blue sky.

The mountains block the river in the Blue Moon Valley from flowing, forming four larger water glasses, known as Yu Liquid Lake, Mirror Pool Lake, Blue Moon Lake, and the Listening Lake. The lakeshore is surrounded by lush vegetation and backed by snow peaks in the distance.

– Baishui River

There is a valley, the valley woods, streams, streams, valley bottom spring long flowing river, called the white water river from the dry sea to the spruce ping. Because the river bed and tableland are made of white marble, charcoal stone fragments were a gray-white; spring from the stone flowing through, was white, because of the color named “white water river.” The water of the White River comes from the meltwater of the glacial snowfield at the height of four to five thousand meters.

3. Dali’s Erhai: Erhai is the “mother lake” of the Bai people, the Bai ancestors called “golden moon,” is a beautiful plateau freshwater lakes, with superior location advantages, remarkable comprehensive function, massive history and culture, right development environment, is the basis for the sustainable development of the economy of Dali Prefecture. The cradle of Dali’s politics, economy, and culture, and also the basis for the sustainable development of the autonomous prefecture’s economy. The clean and transparent surface of the sea is just like the blue sky, which gives people a tranquil and distant feeling and makes them appreciate the poetic and picturesque mood of “boats floating in the blue waves and people swimming in the paintings.” In the southernmost tip of the Erhai, there is an Erhai Park in Tianshan, an excellent place to enjoy Mount Cang and the Erhai.

The point: all attractions in China are now free to medical professionals.

 

 

Travelogue

The Chicago skyline appears behind the wing of an airplane
Downtown Chicago from above. Credit: Pin.it/1TDUhMg

I get Dunkin Donuts every time I go to the airport. I don’t think this is romantic, nor is it beneficial to my health, but tradition is tradition, so I grab my coffee once again.

In March, I sat alone on a near-empty plane to visit my mother. Masks on. I wasn’t quite allowed to travel then. I was terrified of it, actually. When I stepped off the plane into my mother’s silver Kia, I kept my mask on. We both used hand sanitizer. Walking through the doors of my childhood home, I stripped down and emptied the contents of my suitcase straight into the washing machine. To say I had no idea what would lie ahead in this Corona would be an understatement.

Its September now, and again, I sit on an airplane. It’s not so empty this time, yet this pandemic plagued world seems worse. On this airplane back in March, I knew who I was. I knew what I had to do. Six months later and I have done it. I came out. Now I am coming home, again. My dad is getting married, mid pandemic, matching masks and all, so he is sending me across the country. Normally I might be upset about his irresponsibility, bringing his 70-year-old parents into the world of illness and vulnerability simply to celebrate himself (selfish), however; I need my family now more than ever, so I will let it be (selfish of me, too).

When the plane descents into Chicago, I either listen to Lake Short Drive by Aliotta Haynes Jeremiah, or a lesser known Lake Michigan by Rogue Wave. I love being from a place that people write songs about. It only strengthens my air travel traditions. If you’re lucky, you’ll have chosen the correct side of the airplane, the one that lines up perfectly with the landing pattern, flashing the gorgeous Chicago skyline alongside Lake Michigan. I almost like the city better from above than below. From the sky she is all beauty. I can sit alone in my airplane row and enjoy all my dreamy misconceptions of who the city really is. On the ground I walk through an airport filled with Black Lives Matter masks and maskless folks in MAGA hats. I wonder how all these people can exist in this space. I wonder how a city has fostered such a sense of division. I wonder how the value of Black lives could somehow make American less great in the eyes of some. The answers to these questions go back generations, but people still refuse to know them. My stepbrother picks me up from the airport. His hat totes an American flag, one blue stripe. He scoffs at my Black Lives Matter mask. My dad tells me I am being too political with my clothing choices, yet there is no comment for my stepbrothers. That’s the thing about being from a place people write songs about– you think it’s all wonder, big bustling city, a cultural hub. These illusions hide the truth of the reality for those who live there. One of the most segregated cities in the country, thriving police brutality, and wealthy white folks who insist this is all fine.

Driving home down Cicero, I look at a building draped in Trump flags with a homeless man begging out front. As someone who came out three days ago, I find the division in this space to be overwhelming. In Denver, I feel safe, pride flags line shops and street corners. Back home, I am faced with the reality that my rights as a queer woman are on the line. I am struck with the realization that unless you are a white, cis, heterosexual, able-bodied, wealthy man, traveling can be overwhelmingly political. To the point where it is threatening. This is the place where my best friend got beat up for coming out as transgender, this is the place where a girl had her hijab ripped off at school because Trump was elected, this is the place where a swastika was painted on my high school parking lot during the Black Lives Matter protests, after all.

Sitting at my dad’s rehearsal dinner, my family members ask me if I will be coming home after graduation. Chicago absolutely is home to stunning scenery, infamous foods, iconic sports teams. It is without a doubt culturally rich. Yet I always say no. This space does not feel safe to me. Despite the fact that this is my hometown, I am no longer certain of the degree in which I am welcome here. The handling of a global pandemic, a civil rights movement, a life-threatening election– 2020 has unveiled many of Chicago’s shortcomings. Perhaps it is not quite the tourist’s dream location.

As I prepare to board my plane back to Denver, I sip my Dunkin Donuts coffee under my mask. I am still uncertain if this is appropriate pandemic behavior. I am truly uncertain about nearly every aspect of traveling in 2020. Yet here I am. This time, I will listen to Rocky Mountain High by John Denver when my plane begins to land as I contemplate the meaning of traveling to a new place in the midst of what the world looks like today.