Reminiscing about the Campaign

One morning, a man, Richard, came into our office carrying a guitar. We asked him if he wanted to volunteer. Yes, he said, but just to play music for us.

For the last year, whenever stateside, I had volunteered. I flew to New Hampshire and Indiana for the primaries; I canvassed in California before Super Tuesday and helped with voter registration in Virginia. But I wanted to do more in the closing days. Which is how I ended up at the Obama for America office in rural Asheboro, across the street from a gun shop.

I went there expecting few other volunteers. I should have known better: like Richard, they streamed in daily. Some even drove up from Georgia. Many were newly motivated high school students; others had been Democrats since Kennedy. Together we knocked on doors, made calls, and rationed out yard signs.

Some encounters were awkward. One older visitor grumbled he would never “vote for a nigger.” Wrote about him a few posts ago. Another woman walked in with a little girl and asked to share a prayer. Once had everyone had gathered, she claimed Obama would have murdered her daughter in the womb. The girl seemed unaware she had become a political statement: for that moment, at least, an object more than a child.

But for every one of those moments, I ran into so many other more inspiring ones: the immigrant voting for the first time; the woman who broke her ankle canvassing and insisted on continuing in a cast. (She ended up on phone call duty instead.)

One encounter stood out for me more than the others. It was months earlier, in New Hampshire. I assisted an elderly African-American woman limping up the street to cast her ballot in the primary. Her speech was slurred, maybe from a stroke. Afterward volunteers from different campaigns put down their signs to help me figure out how to get her home. One couple had hosted the Clintons’ wedding reception in Arkansas; another man had served in Vietnam with John McCain. I saw people in our country really do come together when someone’s well-being is on the line.

I often wish I had done more. But then: I spent Election Night in a crowded room in downtown Asheboro, with new friends who had come from throughout the county to eat pizza and watch the news together. In the end we lost the county 70-28—but it didn’t matter. At 11:01 pm, some Republicans from up the street brought us a basket of apples, and Richard struck up America the Beautiful.

Beware of Dog

The elevators in the Beijing Airport warn you not to bring dangerous animals aboard.

How to Score Free Tea

Visit a hotel, explain you're organizing an international academic tournament, and ask if they'd be interested in hosting about two hundred participants for at least three nights. Ten minutes later, you'll be drinking your choice of tea, coffee or juice with a friendly sales rep.

Eleven Things I Learned in Central America

A few weeks ago, I took a trip to Central America. Eventually, I'll write a longer blog about it. For now, some things I learned about the area:

1. Parts of it are very cold. The highland areas feature alpine forests and demand blankets at night. The lowland areas are sweltering. The hotter the area, the poorer it seems. When people warn you against visiting Central America, they’re probably thinking of these parts: trash runs on the streets, music blares from every storefront, and mosquitoes bite you. Up high, volcanoes rim the sky and people have fewer skin problems.

2. El Salvador is lucky to have a delicious staple food: the pupusa. Pupusas are circles of stuffed dough, fried in lard and filled with beans and cheese or various meats and other vegetables. The two most unusual pupusas I tried contained shrimp and, on the Guatemalan border, unidentifiable dark leaves. One very good pupusa vendor asked me to take her back to the United States to open up a pupuseria. “Seramos socios,” she said. (“We’ll be partners.”) It seemed like a good idea, minus the visa issues. Pupusas really ought to be as popular as tacos.

3. When travel guides say the city of Antigua is very colonial, they mean everyone there is a European tourist. (Americans are strangely absent.)

4. It is possible to fit 36 people in a van with 18 seats. The word “in” is deceiving, however, as some of these people may hang out the door. The passenger count can surpass 50 if you include chickens and machetes.

5. You know a country has had a hard time of it when there are more signs at restaurants prohibiting guns than there are prohibiting smoking.

6. It’s not hard to fall asleep near a night market, provided you wait to go to bed around 1 am. It’s hard, however, to stay asleep, since the music starts again around 4 am.

7. Korean immigrants have settled in their own sections of Guatemala City, reportedly even introducing their own schools and supermarkets. In other words, they have recreated Granada Hills.

8. Always check hotel sheets for hair and bread crumbs—preferably before you move in.

9. Retired school buses can run indefinitely if exported to Central America and repainted with sufficient references to Jesus.

10. The town of Chiquimula has only one thing going for it: good, cheap food. (That, and it's sort of named for my puppy.) It’s neither good nor cheap enough. And it's also named for a mule.

11. Central American governments must design their roads to make any two cities seem as far apart as possible. For example, one 30 km stretch in northern El Salvador, to the town of Metapan, took three hours. This technique probably helps people believe their countries are larger.

One Puffin or Two?

"Would you like one puffin or two?" the waitress asked. (Years ago, applying to Harvey Mudd for college, I selected the puffin as the animal I would most like to be. I never anticipated eating one.)

Later, walked around town, which felt like something built (with help from IKEA) for a ScandinaviaWorld amusement park: very prim, neat and colorful. Even the buses.

Late Sunrise

At 10 in the morning, Iceland is tidy, cute, and still very dark. I'll write more about it when the sun comes up. (I'm assuming it will. We're not that far north... are we?)

Right now, I'm huddled in a cafe with a dense mixture of tourists and locals, indulging in a second almond croissant. Somehow, I've gotten in the habit of eating too many desserts lately. No doubt it'll have consequences later on. My friend Chuan-Mei, who persuaded me to take this trip, is off at a museum being a better tourist than me.