Passport Magazine Fall 2009

PASSPORT Duke University’s International Magazine

DON’T FORGET YOUR ALLERGY

CZECH-LIST

SURVIVING THE SWINE

EGYPT AND ETHIOPIA’S RELIGIOUS MEDLEY

HIKE THE A.T. EVER HAD A

FERRET DOWN YOUR PANTS? Volume 10 Fall 2009

EDITOR’S NOTE Senior year can bring a whole host of symptoms: shock that your experience is coming to an end, sudden memory flashbacks, and the strange clash between a reluctance to leave and excitement over the novel and unknown. You find yourself viewing the old familiar landmarks you’ve walked by numerous times over the past few years with a renewed sense of appreciation that you have not experienced since orientation week. Even something as trivial as a crumpled receipt can be elevated in importance when it is associated with good times. You look around at your friends and realize that you have shared in a once-in-a-lifetime experience together. Clearly, the classic comparison of the college experience to a journey is more than a metaphor. After all, aren’t those the same symptoms we often experience at the end of our travels? As we scramble to pack and prepare ourselves for our next destination, it is far too easy to feel similar mixed emotions. We hold on to little scraps and photographs in hopes that they will always bring us the same joy and memories. If you truly want to pay tribute to your experience, however, put your pen to paper. While a picture may be worth a thousand words, it is surprising how quickly those words can fade and the memories grow hazy. By writing down reflections, you can ensure that funny anecdotes, witty quotes, and thoughts remain preserved. This semester, Passport writers have commemorated their travels by documenting and sharing their diverse experiences from exploring magical Bath to braving the Appalachian Trail, from surviving near-death allergy experiences abroad to enjoying Japanese delicacies. Share in their delight and learn from their tales. Put yourself in their place and enjoy the ride! To my senior staff, it has been another amazing semester. Lindsay and Nick, I could not have done it without you two. As for any seniors out there reading this, I propose a toast. It’s been a great journey. Cheers,

Michelle Fang

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Michelle Fang PRODUCER Nicholas Chan MANAGING EDITOR

Bengisu Kuscu

SENIOR EDITORS

Kara Li Linda Qu Sarah Newman

GRAPHICS EDITOR

Lindsay Emery

GRAPHICS

EDITOR

WRITERS

Sharon Chan Rosie Kilgore Hanah Lee Natalie Macaruso Minette Yao Linda Yi Sarah Zhang Alice Zhang Tyler Atwood Nicholas Chan Jonathan Cross Philip Gnaedig Rhea Kaw Bengisu Kuscu Wendy Liu Kyle Ott Jessica So Minette Yao Sarah Zhang Yuhan Zhao

Passport Magazine is a Franchised Publication under the Undergraduate Publications Board and sponsored by International House. The views expressed in this publication are the authors’ own and do not reflect the opinions of the magazine. photo by Jonathan Cross

FALL 2009

CONTENTS Warning: May Contain Grenades

Placing Bets in the Navajo Nation

¡Luces! ¡Cámara! y... ¡Acción!

eXtreme Athletics

Summer Down Under

Bath on a Budget

Oink, Cough!

A “Taste” of History

Walking the Distance

by Kyle Ott

by Bengisu Kuscu

by Sarah Zhang

by Passport Senior Staff by Rhea Khaw

by Tyler Atwood

by Nicholas Chan by Yuhan Zhao

by Philip Gnaedig

Shining, Shimmering, Stagnant: UNESCO World Heritage Conservation & Constraint by Minette Yao

Egypt and Ethiopia: Mother of the Earth and the Cradle of Life by Jonathan Cross

Tokyo Trance

Not Your Typical Barbecue

by Wendy Liu by Jessica So

cover photo by Allison Stashko photo by Lindsay Emery

Fall 2009

WARNING: MAY CONTAIN GRENADES

In the summer of 1997, my family and I traveled to our vacation home in Bunnaton, Ireland. A coastal town of no more than 100 inhabitants, Bunnaton is situated on Lough Swilly, an inlet of the North Atlantic. Our cottage is just one of the very few homes perched along the cliffs of this beautiful coastline—our closest neighbors are more than a mile away. Since the “driveway” is not paved, when it is muddy the fastest way to our neighbor’s cottage is by tractor or foot—and it’s almost always muddy in Ireland due to the near constant rain. In 1997, the house had no television, no cell reception, not even a landline phone; all we had was a radio. There wasn’t even an official address; it was simply, “the house at the end of the coast road,” or “the house of the Americans.” While visiting Bunnaton is truly a remarkable experience, it can also be an isolating one. Our plot of land is sixty acres of rolling hills and craggy mountains with sheep roaming all around it. Our view overlooks the inlet and the town of Buncrana just across the water, very close to the border of Northern Ireland. As a ten year old, exploring the property was a thrilling and unusual experience—at least compared to the New Jersey suburbs where I grew up. On the third day of our stay at the cottage, I awoke to a promising morning filled with hiking, exploring, and sheep chasing. I always started my day with Tony the Tiger, so I prepared myself a bowl of Kellogg’s Frosted Flakes for breakfast. As I was eating my flakes, I remember reading the cereal box and perusing the various games and information. While I was scanning the list of ingredients, I noticed a little disclaimer at the end: “May contain peanuts.” Panic. Freak out. I have a life-threatening allergy to peanuts and I was in the middle of nowhere. The morning was foggy, but it was nowhere near to how unclear and clouded my feelings and thoughts were at that moment. After convincing myself I was going to die, I put my face down into my pillow and cried. I did not die that day, nor did I even have a reaction. The cereal company was most certainly protecting itself against potential lawsuits, as it is rather unlikely that there are peanuts in Frosted Flakes. For my entire life I have been severely al-

by Kyle Ott

lergic to peanuts. Contrary to popular belief, peanuts are not actually nuts; they are legumes, so I can still enjoy walnuts, cashews, etc. Diagnosing my allergy was quite an experience; when I was two years old, I accidentally put silly putty in my hair, and my father used peanut butter to grease it out. My face broke out wildly in hives. I was tested for food allergies and, sure enough, the results came back positive for peanuts. After successfully avoiding those awful legumes for three years, I had another unfortunate mishap. At five years old, I ate a granola bar that I thought was safe as an after-school snack. I awoke in the middle of the night unable to breathe. Almost six hours after ingesting the granola bar, I was suffering from anaphylactic shock, the lifethreatening reaction to my food allergy. Anaphylactic shock is a grave condition which occurs when the body radically reacts to an allergen. It results in a sudden decrease in blood pressure and constriction of airways. If this type of reaction is not treated as soon as possible, it will result in death. In fact, over 1,500 deaths each year in the United States are due to anaphylaxis.1 Luckily, I was able to make it to the hospital in time to recover safely. While I have not had an involuntary reaction to peanuts since then, I have suffered allergic reactions during food challenges. These challenges were part of the peanut allergy research study at Mount Sinai Hospital in New York City in which I was a participant for six years. I took on a food challenge every year to gauge my tolerance of the peanut protein after undergoing immunotherapy, an experimental drug I received through a series of monthly injections with the intention of desensitizing my body’s reaction to peanuts. Every half hour during the study, I would swallow pills that contained increasing amounts of peanut protein until I

reacted seriously enough to stop the challenge. The entire process was highly controlled and I was monitored by a team of doctors. The first moment I felt a tingling in my mouth or experienced any shortness of breath, the challenge was stopped and I was given a dose of epinephrine, which relieves my symptoms. At the end of the study, I would drink four cups of liquid charcoal to purge my stomach of the peanut protein. While it may seem daunting and scary, I was completely confident that everything would go smoothly. One of the benefits of the challenge was that I was able to experience what the first symptoms of a severe reaction would be like, so I could be more prepared if I were to face a similar situation in the future. In addition to my peanut allergy, I have an equally severe allergy to shellfish (shrimp, lobster, clams, scallops, etc.). Luckily, I somehow went the first eight years of my life without trying any shellfish before I was formally diagnosed. My food allergies are very real and very serious, but they do not hinder me by any means. I carry an Epi-Pen (a self-injector apparatus of epinephrine) at all times. In addition, I always carry an allergy pack, which some call my “manpurse,” that contains Benadryl and Prednisone. These three drugs are my first line of defense against any allergy attack. But even after injecting the Epi-Pen and swallowing the pills, I must seek medical attention at a hospital immediately.

4 When I was younger, I lived in constant fear of an allergic reaction. In fact, the elementary school lunchroom was my biggest nightmare—just about everyone brought a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. During my last two years of elementary school, the administration offered to designate a “peanut-free” table, to which I intently declined. Sitting alone at such a table would mean social suicide and there was no way I would ostracize myself thus. By fifth grade, I became more comfortable with my allergies and since then, I have almost perfected how to handle just about every situation imaginable in a safe and tactful manner. While food can easily be taken for granted, for me every meal is a constant reminder of how fragile life really is. Even so, I do not label my allergy as a handicap. I see my allergy as an opportunity to live life in the moment. Since I relish every opportunity that comes my way, traveling has always been one of my biggest passions. My experiences traveling have been the most gratifying and exciting times of my young life. I have frequently visited the United Kingdom and Ireland with my friends and family. I have been on many Caribbean cruises and also to Acapulco, Mexico for spring break. In the fall of 2008, I studied abroad in Prague, Czech Republic. I mention all the places I have traveled to show that I have not let my severe food allergies discourage me from engaging in any or all cultures. In fact, there are still many countries I wish to see. I have

not yet been able to visit Asia for example, but I know that while much of Asian cuisine heavily features shellfish or peanuts, my allergies would not stop me if I chose to travel there. My passion for travel is unyielding, and while life on the road is not always easy with my allergies, it tends to always work out in the end. Nevertheless, traveling with dietary restrictions becomes difficult when one does not speak the native language of the country. Perhaps the most interesting, frustrating, and downright bizarre situations have occurred during my travels to places where the local people do not speak English. Almost 4% of the U.S. adult population is estimated to have a food allergy.2 It is very likely that you know at least one person with a food allergy seeing as the latter has (unfortunately) become more common. Dining out with food restrictions in the U.S. or in a place where English is spoken is very easy. However, problems do rise when the wait-staff does not understand English (and I am usually not a lot of help because, besides English, I can only speak very little German). In an effort to combat this language barrier, I had allergy cards created for me in different languages that I could carry with me when I traveled. But this idea turned out to create a whole new set of adventures. When I arrived in Prague last fall, I did not know one word of Czech. I waited until the sixth day of my study abroad experience

to talk to one of the program directors. I should probably have dealt with the problem earlier, but I was busy being caught up in the orientation craze of an Eastern European city: staying at a club until four a.m. and then heading to the local “Herna” bar, which is open throughout the night. The program director decided that it would be best if she typed up a laminated allergy information card for me, with English on one side and Czech on the other. The English side said, “cannot eat any products containing: shrimp, prawn lobster, crab, scallops, mussels, etc.” I showed my green allergy card every time I dined out in Prague. It turns out that typographical errors in the Czech language are more problematic than one would think. Just shy of three months into my semester abroad, I was at a little restaurant near the Charles River with my parents. As usual, I flashed my green allergy card at the waiter. He read my card and burst out laughing. I wondered what could possibly be so funny. He gave me back my card and started acting out the motion of throwing a grenade. I had absolutely no idea what was going on; I thought that this was just Czech humor getting lost in translation. The manager spoke some English and came to our table to help clear things up. He read my card and explained to us what was so funny: there was error so that it read, “cannot eat any products containing: shrimp, prawn, lobster, grenades, scallops, mussels, etc.” My first thought was

Fall 2009

one of sheer horror. Why had no one said anything to me in the past three months? Were these people even reading what was written? But for the most part, the Czech allergy card was useful. It put me at ease and it was the simplest thing to do to prevent an allergic reaction, short of becoming fluent in Czech or hiring someone fluent to order for me. During my semester abroad I had allergy cards written in Spanish, German, French, Norwegian, and Polish in addition to the one in Czech, to help ensure that I would return to New Jersey alive. I usually asked local people to help me translate. In Poland, a young woman who worked at the front desk of a hostel I stayed at translated my allergies on a homework assignment. A fabulous woman at the Help Desk in Oslo not only translated it into Norwegian, but also typed it up and printed it for me, for free! My girlfriend at the time translated my Spanish card and her mother, who majored in French, did the French version. Finally, my German professor in Prague translated my allergies into German. My cards remain special tokens of my study abroad experience, mapping out each place I visited. When I return to Europe, I will definitely bring them along. I know that I am not the first person to travel abroad with a food allergy. I have to be extra careful because any mistake could be potentially fatal, but anyone with any type of food restriction will face similar difficulties. My mother and sister both have Celiac disease, which is a type of gluten intoler-

ance (an inability to properly digest gluten, a protein commonly found in wheat). When they travel in Europe, they dine in extreme comfort, as Europeans understand Celiac disease more than Americans do. Likewise, my experiences in Europe have become smoother over time, especially in English speaking countries. There seems to be a growing awareness and a higher sensitivity toward food intolerances in Europe. But here in the U.S., while it is easy enough to avoid certain foods, there are still some strings attached. Whenever I dine at the Washington Duke Inn, for example, the waiters always tell me that “there are peanut and shellfish products in the kitchen and that the chef personally cannot guarantee [my] safety.” Many of the restaurants in the U.S. are more concerned about protecting themselves from potential costly lawsuits than helping me out. When traveling in Scotland on the other hand, I would never hear a waiter or waitress tell me right before I am about to eat my meal that I may die upon ingestion. My allergy is not going to subside; I will never

grow out of it. But this will never stop me from traveling to a new location or to a non-English speaking country. Factoring my allergy into my travel plans is an afterthought, as it was in Prague. I went there with absolutely no plan—I did not contact anyone and my mother did not call New York University’s study abroad office to alert them of my allergy—and everything turned out fine. I have dealt with allergies all my life and was confident that I could handle the food situation for four months in the Czech Republic, as I will be able to in other countries as well. I will always carry an EpiPen in my pocket and my “manpurse” will always be near. My experiences abroad have taught me many things. Most importantly, I learned that no matter what, traveling is well worth the process, money, and struggle. The experience in and of itself is worth every penny and every awkward encounter, such as my Czech mishap. I strongly encourage everyone (especially those with food restrictions!) to expand their boundaries and travel to a new place. Nothing is stopping me, so what is stopping you? 1 Tang AW. A practical guide to anaphylaxis. Am Fam Physician. 2003;68(7):1325-32. 2 “Food Allergy Facts and Statistics.” The Food Allergy and Anaphylaxis Network. Web. 6 Oct. 2009. <http://www.foodallergy. org/downloads/FoodAllergyFactsandStatistics.pdf>

all photos by Kyle Ott

PLACING BETS IN THE

NAVAJO NATION by Bengisu Kuscu

It is a warm and dry Sunday in New Mexico. We are driving out of the Navajo reservation to the closest town to stop by Wal-Mart and see a movie. We pass by the Church Rock Community en route to the highway, and there on the right is the newly opened Fire Rock Casino. It looks like an enormous hogan, the traditional dwelling of the Navajo people. It is barely past noon but the parking lot is crowded. “Is this place open 24/7?” asks someone in the car. “There are cars parked outside whenever we pass by!” I have many stories from my summer with DukeEngage in the Navajo Nation, but whenever I mention this experience to someone unfamiliar with the reservation, they are sure to bring up something about Native American casinos and gambling. Even as an international student, I had heard about these casinos from American movies and TV shows. But it was not until this summer that I got to see firsthand the

influence that gambling has on the Navajo people. The root of Native American casinos traces back to a lawsuit unrelated to gambling in the early 1970s. A Chippewa couple from northern Minnesota challenged the state for sending them a property tax bill even though they lived on Native American land. Eventually, the United States Supreme Court decided that states do not have the authority to tax American Indians on reservations or regulate any of their activities. This legal decision preventing government control set the stage for Native American gambling, and within a few years both individuals and tribes had started to operate bingo rooms. As tribes in California and Florida opened larger gambling enterprises in the 1980s, more lawsuits arose contesting the previously established laws. In 1988, Congress passed the Indian Gaming Regulatory Act, which upheld tribal sovereignty to open casino halls but gave states and federal government the power to regulate gam-

ing. Today, about half of the 562 federally recognized Indian nations have chosen not to establish gaming halls. The largest tribe in the U.S., the Navajo Nation, remained casino-free until last year, although they had previously allowed other tribal nations to build casinos on their land. You see these poor old grandmothers, sitting by the slot machines all day. They don’t even seem to realize where they are or what they are doing—they almost look like zombies. The possible harmful effects of gambling are the same on Indian reservations as they are elsewhere, which was why leaders of the Navajo Nation voted twice against building their own casino. They were concerned that alcohol consumption (illegal on the reservation) and smoking (previously banned in public places) would increase. So why did they finally give in? With unemployment rates nearly as high as that of a third world

Fall 2009

photo by Priya Bhat

photo by Bengisu Kuscu

country and over half of the population living below the poverty line, a casino would create new jobs and stimulate the reservation’s economy. According to Reznet News, the Navajo Nation’s casino, Fire Rock, was expected to generate one fifth of the tribe’s annual revenue—around $32 million.1 The benefits of such a venture would be numerous. Spirit Lake Nation in North Dakota, for example, used its gaming revenues to “improve roads, construct a health clinic and elderly home, [and] create small business loans.”2 The Navajo Nation hoped for the same impact and opportunities. The most important issue is whether the negative outcomes of gambling outweigh its positive effects. While gaming facilities could lower the unemployment rate, Navajos have raised concerns about the casino’s advantages in their community. The Indian Gaming Regulatory Act restricts the uses of casino revenue to five different categories, all related to promoting tribal development and supporting charitable causes. Although it might seem contradictory that the federal government is regulating a tribal right given to Native Americans as a sign of their sovereignty, at least the gaming revenues are used for local benefit. Because the Navajos entered the gambling industry relatively late, they can learn from the models of other tribes—particularly with regards to gambling addiction. A number of tribes have established addiction hotlines, and the National Indian Gaming Association (NIGA) offers workshops by licensed addiction counselors. These workshops attempt to help casino management establish responsible gambling guidelines, such as when to ban gamblers and where to refer them for counseling. According to the NIGA, Native American tribes provide primary funding towards programs

for problem gamblers in areas such as Arizona, North Dakota, and Connecticut, where some of the largest casinos are established.3 I don’t like the casino. People are already poor and now they’re losing more money gambling. Once, out of desperation I just went into the casino. It was a huge risk in a time when every penny mattered. I put in a dollar in the slot machine—and hit the jackpot. I never went back to the casino after that. When you win once, you think that you can do it again. But you can’t. Gambling and betting games are not new to the Navajo culture. There are numerous stories and songs about gambling, not to mention historical events whose outcomes were determined by the results of a bet. For example, in the folk tale the “Shoe Game,” nocturnal and diurnal animals challenge each other to decide whether the world should be light or dark. The owl tries to cheat and is blinded by daylight as a penalty; the game ends at sunrise when both sides realize that they have no power over the cycles of day and night. The story is not only about winning a bet, but also teaches an important lesson about gambling: that no one can truly win. Ceremonies called Keshjee are still performed today to commemorate the “Shoe Game.” Another story involving gambling took place during a tragic event in Native American history. In 1861, tension between Navajos and American settlers climaxed in violence after a disputed outcome of a horse race. The incident eventually led to the Long Walk—a brutal effort to relocate the Navajo tribe to a reserva-

tion over 200 miles from their homeland. Although nearly all of Navajo Nation cite these stories as reasons why they are against gambling, many also admit to visiting the casino on occasion. It is hardly surprising that people would be tempted by the flashy casinos lining the highways of Arizona and New Mexico. Unfortunately, this means that a significant portion of casino customers are Native American themselves, thus reducing the casino’s original benefit to the tribe. Furthermore, since Southwestern Indian Nations are located in areas much less urban than those on the East or West Coast, the proportion of non-Indian residents and tourists who visit the casinos is lower as well. The relationship between the Navajo Nation and its casino culture is complex—full of history, moral dilemmas, and cultural clashes. While the Navajo Nation has a rare opportunity to use casinos as a means of improving the quality of life for its people, it must recognize that gambling is a doubleedged sword and act accordingly. Hopefully, with a heightened awareness of the negative consequences that gambling can hold, the Navajo leaders will search for ways to minimize the harm of casinos while retaining the benefits. As the largest tribe in the country, the Navajos have the potential to inspire and set a model for all other tribal nations. 1

“First Navajo Casino Opens This Week | Reznet News.” Front page | Reznet News. Web. 13 Oct. 2009. <http://www.reznetnews.org/article/first-navajo-casino-opens-week-24900>. 2 “NIGA RESOURCE LIBRARY.” National Indian Gaming Assoc. Web. 13 Oct. 2009. <http://www.indiangaming.org/library/articles/north-dakota.shtml>. 3 “Native Gaming Resources.” Welcome to the Tribal Court Clearinghouse. Web. 13 Oct. 2009. <http://www.tribal-institute.org/ lists/gaming.htm>.

¡Luces! ¡Cámara! y... ¡Acción!

by Sarah Zhang

oviephotos

photo by allm

As one of the largest and wealthiest nations in South America, Argentina is home to a unique blend of Latin American culture and urban modernity. Less known to the casual visitor is Argentina’s hidden history of cinema and its continued influence on local culture. Argentina caught on to the cinema craze in the nineteenth century and in about half a decade, quickly established itself as one of the early pioneers of documentary and animated media. During the early to mid-twentieth century, when films with sound first became mainstream, Argentina’s film industry dominated the world market. However, military coups and censures in the 1960s, 70s, and 80s strongly repressed further growth and it was not until recently that the industry was able to make its comeback. Since then, Argentinean cinema has become among the largest and most well-known conglomerates in the subtropical world. It is no surprise that when speaking of leisure to the average Argentinean, the pleasures of homegrown cinema and advanced media development are likely to come to mind.

The art of cinema first reached Argentina in the 1880s, not long after its debut in Europe. During the early years, when the Argentinean film industry had yet to reach prominence on a global level, a number of key directors distinguished themselves in animation and documentary arts. The first full-length animated feature debuted in 1916: Quirino Cristiani’s ten-minute, 58,000-drawing political satire entitled El Apostol. It was an enormous hit in both Argentina and abroad, drawing attention to the possibilities of animated media. In addition, the silent film era produced a number of renowned directors in the documentary genre, including Mario Gallo and Ernesto Gunche. Derrego’s Execution by Mario Gallo was one of the first documentaries to utilize point-of-view techniques. Alejandro Posadas created the world’s first surgical cinema by documenting footages of his own patients’ surgeries.1 In total, over 200 Argentinean films in drama, comedy, animation, documentary, and—most notably—tango were shot during this era. While these pioneers were largely ignored by the

global market at the time, they are now considered by moviegoers and critics alike as the early triumphs of film development in Argentina. Argentinean cinema entered its golden age when new technologies allowed for the incorporation of voice narration and music. Indeed, many attribute the first successes of the country’s film industry to the coinciding introduction of sound to cine and the birth of Argentina Sono Film, a company that integrated music into its tango-based films. Recognizing the zest and culture that Latin rhythms added to a film, Sono Film o by canal13 photAmerican went on to produce many Latin dance numbers that brought fame to some of Argentina’s most famous screen legends, including Libertad Limarque and Tita Merello.2 Between 1933 and the 1950s, Argentine filmmakers created an average of forty productions per year, making them one of the most active industries in the world and the largest film business in Latin America. As Argentinean film gradually gained a foothold in the continental and overseas mar-

Fall 2009

kets, it evolved from its original tango flavors to intellectual and social themes. Mario Soffci, seen by many as the most accomplished and influential of this new group of intellectual directors, created a number of highly acclaimed films including Prisoners of the Land and El Hombre Que Debía Una Muerte (The Man Who Owed a Death), a film that interweaves a wounded hitman, an enormous fortune, and a murder into a complex suspense plot.3 Even today, Soffici’s films are seen as the defining climax in Argentine cinema. Another well-known director, Carlos Hugo Christensen, produced a number of original erotic comedies such as The Naked Angel and His Best Pupil. These films were the first to feature soft female nudity, women in two piece bathing suits, and even homosexuality, which shocked and captivated its massive audience of local and international viewers.4 Since the 1950s, Argentinean cinema has seen a considerable decline in global viewership. This can be attributed to a number of factors, including the censorship of film by the Perón Government in 1955 as well as the end of World War II, when Hollywood began to flourish and dominate global cinemas.5 However, from a social standpoint, Argentinean theater today has become an ingrained part of Latin American culture. Cinema since the golden age continues to achieve an incredible degree of style and distinction. For example, an eclectic set of films have recently been produced based on the 1930s tradition of sex comedies and moody crime dramas, packed with satirist political and social undertones. A new wave of independent and neo-classical productions—not unlike that of the Sundance and Arthouse variety—has made a strong impression on world cinema. One such film is Fabien Balinsky’s Nine Queens, a movie about a young con artist’s encounter with a real con-agency and the battle of wits which ensues between the story’s protagonist and the group of thieves. In 2000, Nine Queens won over twenty awards at various international film festivals. Other widely-ac-

claimed Argentinean films include Fabien Balinsky’s El aura and David Lipszyc’s The Shipyard.6 Perhaps in response to the decline and censorship of cinema, Argentina’s entertainment tradition now shows itself most strongly through television. Channels such as Channel 13, one of Argentina’s oldest and most popular networks, are commonly known for their primetime fictional dramas. One such show is Sons Amores, the story of a lonely football referee whose life takes an unexpected turn when his two nephews come to live with him and join his club as trainees. Like many American sitcoms, Sons Amores deals with daily life, often involving themes of family, love, and brotherly rivalry.7 Another show of this genre is Sos mi Vida (You Are My Life) a romantic comedy about a middle-aged man who is mourning the death of his wife and parents, and an eccentric female ex-boxer he hires to work for the family business. The show scored a number of award nominations and was broadcasted not only in South America but also in many parts of Eastern and Southern Europe.8 Recently, large broadcast stations like Channel 13 and Telefe are also reaching out to the reality TV and game show genres. Showmatch, a local version of the American TV show Dancing With the Stars, has gained a considerable following since its debut in 2006. The series is currently in its third season. The prominence of Argentinean media in Latin America and its stylistic originality in the eyes of movie critics can largely be attributed to the cultural links between Argentinean mass media and its traditional heritage. One of the most Westernized Latin American countries, Argentina boasts a diverse population of native Hispanic, Argentinean, European, East Asian, and Middle Eastern descents. Architecture in Buenos Aires, the capital of Argentina, has been modeled almost entirely off of the Art Deco styles of nineteenth century Italy with, of course, an added tinge of Latin

9 photo by canal13

photo by allmoviephotos

flair. The clash of traditions and immigrant movements in the early nineteenth century quickly carved out a new, distinctly Argentinean culture, and the country’s urbanization and growth is consequently reflected in the rise of jazz, tango, and media outlets. While Argentinean films are no longer formidable competitors on a global scale, Argentina’s dedication to local and national media outlets and mass culture continues unwaveringly. Today, Argentinean corporations reach out to a wide range of media including newspapers, television, and film. The country supports well over 150 news publications, hundreds of radio broadcasts and numerous television channels. In addition, Argentina boasts one of the highest viewership ratings in cable television in the world and its capital, Buenos Aires, is a Latin American hotbed for publishers and press media.9 It is difficult for one to truly understand Argentina without experiencing its unique culture of modern media and exotically original film. Refreshingly different from the regular primetime shows that Hollywood produces, the stylistically Latin American Argentinean media industry continues to thrive and dominate within its home continent. It is well worth the time to rent the Nine Queens DVD or a season of Sons Amores and take a dive into Argentina’s rich, storied culture. 1 (n.d.). Argentina Film History. Retrieved from http://www. learnaboutmovieposters.com/NewSite/INDEX/COUNTRIES/ Argentina/Articles/ArgentinaFilmHistory.asp 2 Farber, M.E., & Raizboim, I.N. (1996). Argentine Cinema History. Retrieved from http://www.learnaboutmovieposters.com/ NewSite/INDEX/COUNTRIES/Argentina/Articles/ArgentinaFilmHistory.asp 3 Farber, & Raizboim, 1996 4 (n.d.). Biography for Carlos Hugo Christensen . Retrieved from http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0159741/bio 5 “Argentina Film History” 6 (2000). Nueve reinas. Retrieved from http://www.imdb.com/ title/tt0247586/ 7 (2002). Son amores. Retrieved from http://www.imdb.com/ title/tt0307832/ 8 (2006). Sos mi Vida. Retrieved from http://www.imdb.com/ title/tt0482439/ 9 (2009, August 22). Country profile: Argentina . Retrieved from http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/country_profiles/1192478.stm

treme athletics

Soccer and baseball are for the mundane. We have found a few of the more intense athletics from around the world and compiled them for you. Be warned, some of these sports are not for the faint of heart! We have given each competition a rating on the Extreme Scale (ES). For your own safety, do not ignore them!

Extreme Ironing As the name suggests, the objective of extreme ironing is to iron an item of clothing while in an extreme location. Phil Shaw, a British factory worker, invented this sport in 1997 as an attempt to make an evening chore more interesting. Competitions can take place on a mountainside, on top of a tree (an event that actually occurred during the 2002 World Championships), in a canoe, while skiing, or even underwater. In the words of one website celebrating the bizarre sport, extreme ironing combines “the thrills of an extreme outdoor activity with the satisfaction of a well-pressed shirt.”

ES Rating: x

Cheese-Rolling

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Commonly known as cheese-rolling, Cooper’s Hill Cheese Rolling and Wake is perhaps the best-known weird sport to food gourmets around the world. Hosted on Cooper’s Hill near Gloucester, England, this two-hundred-year-old tradition involves tossing a wheel of Double Gloucester down the hill (the cheese-rolling) and having participants chase after it (the wake). The first player to catch up with the cheese gets to keep the wheel. Do not be deceived by its apparent simplicity—the sport not only occurs on a steep muddy slope, but there is always the risk of concussion, broken bones, or sprains to contend with. However, such hazards have not stopped the crowds from pouring out to participate. Just be sure to have a spare change of clothes on hand! ES Rating:

Chess-Boxing Chess-boxing requires players to possess both brains and brawn by combining chess and boxing in eleven alternate rounds. Comic book writer Enki Bilal first introduced the sport as the major plot point in his 1992 graphic novel Froid Equateur. The game was brought to life in 2001 by Dutch artist Iepe Rubingh, who went on to win the

first chessboxing world ph championship in ot ob yS Amsterdam in 2003. as ch The game is now governed aP oh by the World Chess Boxing fle pp Organization (WCBO), whose motto is: “Fighting is done in the ring and wars are waged on the board.” ES Rating: x

Unicycle Hockey As if hockey alone was not dangerous enough, imagine adding wheels and imbalance to the mix. It is difficult to trace the origins of the strange craze that is unicycle hockey, but as early as the 1920s unicyclists were seen performing on stage with hockey sticks in a German film. By the 1960s, certain unicycle companies even included drawings of people playing hockey as an example of an activity to do with a unicycle. Unicycle hockey employs the same rules as regular hockey, with the additional requirement that players be riding unicycles throughout the match. Players who fall must re-mount their unicycle before rejoining the game. Today, unicycle hockey is even included in the World Unicycling Championships (UNICON) with numerous participating countries. A combination of two challenging sports, unicycle hockey promises to be fun to watch and even more fun to try. ES Rating:

Fall 2009 photo by Matthew C

FerretLegging

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Wife-Carrying

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In nineteenth century Finland, it was not uncommon for men to run into neighboring villages, steal a woman that caught their fancy, and carry them home to be their wife. Around the same time, the Finnish outlaw RosvoRonkainen only accepted men into his gang who were able to navigate a tough obstacle course while carrying heavy sacks. The fusion of these two Finnish traditions led to a new sport: wife-carrying. In this strange competition, male participants tote their wives or female teammates while racing through an obstacle course. Wives can be carried piggyback style, over the shoulder, or Estonian-style—in which the wife hangs upside down on the husband’s back with her legs around his shoulders. Whoever finishes the race first wins the equivalent of the wife’s weight in beer. While the world championship is held in the sport’s birth place, Finland, wife-carrying competitions have spread to the United States, Australia, Ireland, and China. ES Rating: XX

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What can you do with your toes? You can wiggle them, curl them, stretch them, stub them, and…wrestle with them? Ye Olde Royal Oak Inn in Wetton, England, is home to the world toe-wrestling competition. This “sport” arose in order to give the English an opportunity to be world champions in at least one sporting event. Unfortunately, the country’s dreams were crushed when a Canadian won the inaugural event. The game, however, grew in popularity and is now an annual tradition. Wrestlers must keep one foot off the ground and attempt to push their opponent’s foot over a line, playing for best of three rounds. The game cannot be won with brute strength alone (although ankle power does help); it is through skill and practice that one can achieve victory. Interestingly enough, the annual competition is sponsored by the popular ice cream company, Ben & Jerry’s. All proceeds from the event go to the local charity When You Wish Upon a Star, which grants the wishes of children suffering from life-threatening illnesses.

Toe Wrestling

Xtreme scale

x - not for everyone XX - rugby is a milder option

X X

x x

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ES Rating: x

treme!

Endurance is a skill common to all athletes, whether they are distance runners, basketball players, or gymnasts. Participants in the sport of ferret-legging, however, lend a whole new meaning to the term “endurance.” Thought to have originated among British coal miners in the 1970s, ferret-legging is a male-only affair in which contestants tie their pants at the ankles, place two ferrets inside, and securely fasten their belts so that the ferrets cannot escape. The object is to stand in front of a panel of judges and bear the wriggling ferrets for as long as possible. The current world record stands at five hours and twenty-six minutes. Competitors cannot use drugs or alcohol, must wear white pants, and cannot wear underwear. Furthermore, the ferrets must have a full set of teeth that have not been filed. While ferret-legging has been described as everything from a cult following to a dying sport, brave souls still gather annually for the national ferret-legging competition in Richmond, Virginia. ES Rating: x

Beard and Mustache Competition

Every two years, hirsute men from around the world gather to compete in the World Beard and Mustache Championships. The first event took place in 1990 in Höfen-Enz, Germany, and was organized by the First Höfener Beard Club, one of many beard and mustache clubs in Germany. Today, participants compete in eighteen different stylistic categories, including the “Dali,” the “Wild West,” the “Musketeer,” and the “Alaskan Whaler” (though what each category entails is certainly a mystery to all but the participants). While some choose to go au naturel, others use grooming products including sprays, mousses, blow-dryers, combs, curlers, and waxes. Contestants are judged for their style and personality in addition to their impressive facial hair. Ultimately, the event’s draw is not the competition, but rather a chance for aspiring beard and mustache champions to forge camaraderie and share a few chuckles. ES Rating: x

photo by RO Cemm-Evans

photo by John Collings

I have never been the kind of person who makes plans too far in advance; there is just something about last-minute decisions and spontaneity that really excites me. While this attitude might provide for more interesting experiences, it can also backfire. Last year as the semester was coming to a close, there was a constant and excited murmur in the air as people discussed their upcoming summer plans: internships in the Big Apple, service projects in South America, mission trips to Asia, and more. As for myself? Nothing. It was already mid-April and my mom started suggesting I return home and work at the local bank to earn money. This might not have been such a bad idea had I been from New York City or D.C., but home for me is a tiny mountain town in Kentucky with a population of 14,000. It seemed to promise three months of guaranteed boredom. Yet, what else could I do? I had no other plan. By the eve of finals week, I was ready to surrender and head home. In a last-ditch attempt, I found myself using DukeConnect, hoping I would get a response or offer from a participating alumnus. I had almost forgotten about it amidst exams, when I received an e-mail from a recent Duke graduate in Sydney, Australia whose friend was able to set up an interview for me at a digital marketing firm in the city center. I was ecstatic. This was far more than I had ever hoped for. I began to see myself living in Sydney, commuting to work, experiencing the nightlife, and just enjoying the thrills of another country. My daydreams, however, were quickly halted by an obstacle far greater than the abysmal job market or the tangled visa application process: my parents. How was I supposed to convince my parents, who were already expecting me home for the summer, to instead let me fly halfway across the world on a whim? On top of that, I was

by Rhea Kaw

completely broke. The money I had earned from previous jobs would not be enough to fund my trip, and my internship would be unpaid. As finals came and went, I scrambled to salvage the situation. I ended up juggling two jobs for the first month of summer, working roughly twelve long hours a day. The few free moments that I did have I spent organizing the details of my trip, such as who I would be staying with. Once my parents saw how hard I was working to make this dream a reality, they began to warm up to the idea and even support me. They were proud of me for taking initiative and doing things on my own. I don’t think the reality of it all hit me until my plane touched down in Sydney. I had been so busy working to pay for my trip that I hadn’t even thought about what I would do once I arrived. Did I really just fly halfway across the world with no concrete plans? While I was excited at the prospect of living and working in Sydney, anxiety and fear started to sink in. But, I had arrived and I was determined to have an awesome time. Sydney was quite different from what I had imagined. First of all, it was cold. For some reason I had always imagined Australia to be perpetually sunny. Aside from the winter weather, however, I found Sydney to be an absolutely lovely city. Since I lived across the harbor, I had to commute by ferry every morning to the city center, which sure beat taking a dingy subway. Australians, in general, were extremely friendly, and always seemed as if they genuinely wanted to help me out. Even conversations with strangers seemed to flow much easier in this new country. My first day of work was probably one of the most intimidating days of my life. Not only had I never had a real job before, but now I happened to be in a foreign country with business norms and practices I knew nothing about. I almost had a panic attack in the elevator as it rose towards my office on the nineteenth floor. My nervousness went away, however, when a friendly girl named Bianca greeted me, showed me around, and introduced me to everyone. Bianca became

my mentor at the company. Despite my inexperience, she was patient with me and I quickly learned from her how to create marketing audits, conduct marketing research, copywrite, and construct presentations for companies. I grew to love the lax, creative environment, and made friends with my coworkers within a few days. Apart from forming lasting friendships at work, the most meaningful part about being in Sydney was the fact that, for the most part, I was on my own agenda. When I traveled with family and friends, my plans were highly contingent on other members of the group and were often made without my input. Now, if I stumbled upon a curious hole-in-the-wall pub or came across an interesting part of town, I could just drop what I was doing and explore. During my time off from work, I organized my own excursions and made my own travel plans. I enjoyed relaxing at Darling Harbour, visiting the Opera House, venturing around the Botanical Gardens, and admiring the serenity of nearby Byron Bay with my new friends. Furthermore, the amazing family I ended up staying with was very enthusiastic about showing me around Sydney and gave me excellent suggestions on what to see and do in the city and surrounding area. It was refreshing to be able to make spontaneous decisions whenever I felt like it. My trip to Sydney was probably one of the best experiences of my life, mostly because it was so unexpected and because I had to work so hard to make it a reality. It blows my mind to think that if I had not taken ten minutes out of my day to send out a few e-mails, the whole experience might never have happened. While some of it was luck, a lot of it came from being proactive and taking advantage of the amazing resources that were at my fingertips. This experience proved to me that it is never too late to do something if you set your mind to it. Before, I was intimidated by the fact that I would be, for the most part, alone in a foreign country. But through this experience I was able to embrace and enjoy the independence, the spontaneity, and the unknown.

Fall 2009

background photo by Heaven’s Gate (John)

photo by Rhea Kaw

Summer Down Under

Bath on a Budget: by Tyler Atwood

photo by Ewartearl

An enchanting fusion of England’s rustic past and upscale present, Bath is one of the few places in the world that offers the unique combination of tranquil seclusion, rich culture, and ornate luxury. Attempting to see every part of the city in one trip is nearly impossible, but you can narrow down the plethora of options by choosing the best of classic Bath, from food to lodging, and from vibrant nightlife to fascinating history. Even so, it is all too easy to lose yourself while wandering its historical streets, and time will pass you by if you are not careful. Unless you wish to be unceremoniously huddled with other travelers in less than luxurious seats for several bumpy hours, buses will not be your preferred method of

travel. Trains, on the other hand, are a safe and often more affordable option. Tickets come at a wide range of prices and guarantee a comfortable, climate-controlled ride. Kings Cross St. Pancras Station caters to your every need with its plush waiting areas filled with caf és, bookstores, and boutiques. Upon embarking on your journey, take some time to sip a steaming latte and get lost in a novel by Charles Dickens or Anne Brontë, as the very countryside they describe gently rolls by outside your window. Bath offers an unlimited selection of temporary residences—choices include everything from comfortable queen-sized beds at the lavish Best Western Abbey Hotel to bunk beds at a backpacker’s lodge. For the traveling student, however, a hostel is more than adequate for a quick weekend getaway. “Funky Hostels,” for instance, provides a decidedly colorful stay true to its name. Its ambience may catch you off guard, particularly the lurid walls whose colors bring to mind a circus funhouse or a scene out of “Alice in Wonderland.” The concierge, a nonchalant fellow reminiscent of a camp counselor or older sibling, will casually check you in and pleasantly inquire about your journey. The hostel names its rooms after songs or famous people, so you may hear guests saying, “I’m staying in Aretha Franklin. What about you?” Although the kitschy atmosphere and comfortable bed are sufficient for a casual traveler’s purposes, the fright of waking up during the night to a stranger climbing up the rickety ladder of your shared bunk bed may prove slightly unnerving to some guests. While the hostel may pale in comparison to more lavish establishments, remember that most of the attractions in Bath lay beyond the hotel room. Let the city woo you with its diverse array

of eateries, from hidden restaurants offering the freshest vegetables and the most savory dishes to mainstream chains such as Café Nero. Around the town square, you can find anything from questionable plates of ribs and chips to splurge-worthy designer chocolates, but the true delicacies are the warm, flaky pasties. photo by Tyler Though similar to a Hot Pocket, these portable pies far surpass their microwaveable counterpart and also cost considerably less. Each day at exactly four p.m., a determined and spirited pasties salesman can be heard crying out in a loud and theatrical voice: “one pound pasties! One pound pasties!” His announcement is often greeted by a flood of eager customers hoping to get their hands on a wheat-crusted vegetable medley or a pasty with some rhubarb

photo by Richard and Gill

filling. Be careful not to overindulge, however; a gluttonous feeling is sure to follow. Another English tradition that must be experienced is tea time. Enjoy Bath’s famous Pump Room, a delightful neo-classical restaurant with an appetizing menu to match

A guide to traveling through the city on a limited time schedule and allowance its charming décor. Spend a relaxing evening sampling the tea selection and watching people stroll by. With its chocolate éclairs, steaming pots of Earl Grey, and lively conversation, Pump Room’s cheerful yet elegant atmosphere is sure to impress. On the other hand, the King’s Spring, a hidden fountain overlooking the city’s baths, offers lauded “healing waters” that are Atwood drawn directly from the hot springs. Try a sip, if you dare. You may not notice any remedial effects besides the vague aftertaste of stone, but the liquid will certainly warm you up on a cold night. Of course, a visit to Bath would not be complete without visiting the city’s namesake, the Roman Baths. If possible, make your way to the Baths at night; they are less crowded and more resplendent in the soft lighting. Admire the majestic stone façade and wind your way slowly down towards the spring itself. Survey the architectural models of the Baths as they appeared in Roman times and let the display recount a story of the spring’s former splendor before your eyes. The pool radiates warmth and the soft sound of the bubbling spa creates an atmosphere of tranquility and contentment. Take a moment to enjoy the peaceful silence and, should you suddenly desire a swim or spa treatment, the surrounding area offers a plethora of options. An audio guide, in which world famous architects voice their impressions and actors play Romans

who partook in the bathing experience, is a great resource for first-time visitors. As you exit, a winding cobblestone road will take you towards a more residential area of Bath that is home to some of the town’s lesser-known treasures. The road halts at the Circus, a stately circle of elegant apartments built during the eighteenth century. Imagine yourself as a member of the London elite who has come to Bath for a peaceful holiday in the country, wander down the road towards the fragrant gardens, and visit Jane Austen’s former summer residence. If you are lucky, music from a band playing everything from classical pieces to Disney songs, will accompany you on your promenade. If you are in the mood for more intellectual stimulation, take a tour around the Georgian House, a lovely museum displaying the décor of a typical aristocratic residence from the Georgian era. Interior photo by Dmmaus designers and history buffs alike will be enthralled. As a finale to the historical experience of Bath, take a quick stroll through the Fashion Museum, where clothing from the eighteenth, nineteenth, and twentieth centuries share space with Jennifer Lopez’s legendary ensembles. Try on a makeshift corset if you are feeling coquettish; the museum offers interactive exhibits including cos-

tumes for more adventurous tourists. As for activities after hours, there is no absence of options in this city. Local pubs offer cider and soda for a few pounds apiece, and sometimes paying for a quick drink can buy quite an entertaining performance as well. While walking down the street on a pub-crawl, it is not uncommon to encounter a number of twenty-somethings dressed up as superheroes or college students shouting dramatically at one another across the street. Spend the night in a lofty second floor bar where worn playing cards and lively conversation flow as freely as the drinks. Raucous laughter echoes off the cobblestone streets as midnight revelers make their way to their next destination. Whatever your quest may be in Bath, from knowledge to repose to nightlife, the city will not disappoint. Its undeniable beauty masks a rich history, and even just a day spent in its secluded yet lively charm will prove immensely enjoyable. Indeed, you may find yourself planning a return to this resplendent and dynamic city sooner than you think.

Fall 2009 photo by Jermiah Christopher

OINK- COUGH! by Nicholas Chan

In my pre-college days, the best thing that could possibly happen to me during the school year was for a typhoon to hit and for classes to be cancelled. The latter part of that wish was granted for four whole weeks in March 2003—but it was not the fun that I had imagined. That spring SARS, or Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome, broke out in Hong Kong,1 where I was living at the time. SARS, was a new, highly contagious virus with a death rate of almost sixteen percent in Hong Kong. The city was hit especially hard because it bordered the epicenter of the disaster— China’s Guangdong province. Since leaving home could prove fatal, school was cancelled to protect the students. I was stuck indoors for almost a month, listlessly playing video games and apprehensively following the news as fatalities steadily rose. The only connections I had with

photo by Lance McCord

the outside world were my phone, MSN messenger, and the face-masked doctors on television giving updates on the epidemic every night. Unfortunately, the outbreak also quickly became personal: some of my classmates lost their fathers or mothers that spring. Most of these parents caught the virus at work—they were the face-masked doctors. Fast-forward six years; another unknown virus seems to be spreading unstoppably. People are concerned, the World Health Organization (WHO) is getting involved, and the number of infected patients seems to be rising every day. The Hong Kong government took no chances; they immediately closed schools, set up quarantines, and told the public to stay home. Was it an over-reaction? Perhaps, but it was also justified. The new disease I am referring to is

H1N1, commonly known as swine flu. Despite the media’s interpretation of the facts, this new strain is virtually identical to the common flu: the symptoms—chills, fever, coughing, sore throat, headache, weakness, muscle pains—are the same; the fatality rate is more or less the same at 0.6 percent; and treatment is as simple as taking existing flu medication.2 Swine flu’s name stems from its shared genes with a flu virus that infects pigs. However, it also carries genes from an avian strain as well as from the common human flu. As such, the medical world has since discarded the mislabeled name and refers to it only as H1N1 influenza. 3 The only true difference between swine flu and the regular influenza virus is that swine flu initially had no existing vaccine—but now, however, even this last difference has been resolved. Though health officials claim that the virus was circulating in Mexico as early as January 2009, the first officially-reported cases of H1N1 were those of two U.S. children in March. By May, the sickness had spread to all fifty states, forced multiple temporary school closures, and killed two U.S. citizens. In June, the U.S. surpassed Mexico and the rest of the world in the number of reported cases and deaths due to swine flu. The WHO promptly declared the viral infection a full pandemic, meaning that the virus was circulating worldwide and containment was no longer possible. Thus, in just three short months, swine flu quickly made its way to the forefront of global health discussions. However, if “swine flu” is no different from the seasonal flu, why is it still in our headlines and why are so many people still panicking? Perhaps my experience in Hong Kong can offer a few bits of wisdom and help in understanding the reasons why I believe the U.S. is currently overreacting.

photo by griegatlanta

Recognizing the Pandemic By naming the disease “swine flu,” the world effectively set it apart from all other forms of influenza viruses, leading people to think that there must be something special (read: deadly) about it. In reality, the virus is nothing out of the ordinary. Of course, there may exist some psychological association between the H1N1 virus and the 1997 outbreak of avian flu, H5N1, which had a much higher fatality rate of sixty percent and may make this year’s influenza strain seem more frightening than it is. More importantly, the WHO’s recognition of H1N1 as a full pandemic gave the issue a global, life-threatening connotation. The WHO considers a disease outbreak a pandemic if it infects significantly more people than your average illness, circulates on a global scale, and is a new disease to which no one has immunity.4 This means that the seasonal flu is firmly excluded from being a pandemic despite the fact that it infects millions around the world every year. Swine flu’s pandemic status therefore seems to cause undue worry among people who normally would not even bother with their annual flu shots. Now that a vaccine has been developed and is readily available, however, H1N1’s pandemic status may soon be revoked. Nonetheless, the paranoia caused by this label is still very real and is an important factor to consider when reflecting on the early days of the outbreak.

The Media’s Exaggeration The media plays a significant role in forming public opinion. This is especially true in the U.S., where twenty-four hour news networks bombard the nation with an overwhelming torrent of information. What the broadcasting agencies think

therefore has a major influence over what the public believes to be true. The problem is that the American media has gone to the extreme when reporting on H1N1, and the public appears to believe its e xag g e rations. Sample article headlines include, “Washington U. outbreak now at 2,600,” “New cases double to 100,000 in U.K.,” and “Brazil tops world H1N1 deaths at 657.” 5 Frightening as the headlines sound, it is important to maintain an objective view of the situation. How many of the 2,600 people infected at Washington University were actually hospitalized? How long did it take for those cases to double in the United Kingdom? Given Brazil’s population of 199 million, how many cases did the country actually have compared to its 657 deaths?6 While the reports are undoubtedly true, it is the reader’s responsibility to keep things in perspective. In May and June, the American public was given hourly updates on the spread of swine flu, painting a picture of doom creeping in from the southern border with Mexico and slowly infecting the country. News networks were constantly updating the public on statistics of possible new cases, closing of schools, or the death toll. For instance, MSNBC had a colorcoded map of the U.S. depicting which states have “sporadic,” “local,” “regional,” or “widespread” flu activity. Inevitably, the viewer began to feel pangs of anxiety and fear as the map slowly turned a dull reddish purple for “widespread.” But now that an H1N1 vaccine has been developed, all paranoia surrounding the subject should start to dissipate. Unfortunately, the media cast doubt upon the vaccine by bringing up questions

regarding its safety. Was the vaccine’s creation too rushed? Was it discovered too late?7 A healthy sense of skepticism is important, especially since the media

photo by Paul Swansen

is tasked with conveying the whole story to its viewers, but we should note that its questions may hide one important fact— that the availability of a vaccine is a great stride towards fighting the spread of the disease.

Lack of Recent Experience It is only normal for people to be fearful about a new virus, particularly if they have witnessed first-hand the consequences of similar epidemics. Having weathered SARS and the 1997 avian flu, Hong Kong faced a barrage of anxiety as news of the rapidly spreading swine flu permeated the city. With so many questions that could not be answered (Is it deadly? Can it be transmitted between people? Is it curable?), the Hong Kong government did what was logical given the circumstances. Schools were suspended for three weeks, interrupting final exams; a huge government awareness campaign was launched forcing people who had the slightest symptoms to see a doctor; feverish patients were sent to the hospital where

Fall 2009

they were quarantined for a minimum of seven days before being released (even if all symptoms had disappeared); hand sanitizers could be found in almost every public space; the whole city was constantly reminded to wash their hands frequently, wear a face-mask if they were coughing or in a crowded place, and refrain from going to such places unless absolutely necessary. Were people worried? Did they panic? Yes, but only until it became apparent that the virus was little more than the common flu. At that point, the Hong Kong government and media backed off the subject. Personal hygiene awareness was still a major issue (how could it not after the epidemics of the last twelve years?) and the government still put in considerable effort to keep the public informed, but despite the early panic, but people came to realize that swine flu was just a mild illness. While going through numerous waves of pandemics may cause a region or country to at first overreact to a similar, imminent threat, it also learns how to judge the severity of a situation and becomes better prepared to handle future dangers. At the very least, a rough prevention system is already in place and the authorities can readily face the next epidemic. In the U.S., however, it is turning out to be a different story. It is precisely because we have not been through a major disease outbreak in the recent past that the American population is even more susceptible to prolonged overreaction. Unlike people in Hong Kong, it is much easier for Americans to mistake swine flu as a deadly disease—and therefore inaccurately judge the situation—because of our lack of exposure to recent, comparable pandemics. Combine this with constant fear mongering from the media, and it becomes very easy to draw the conclusion that swine flu is destroying the world.

People’s Expectations The last truly deadly viral pandemic to ravage the globe was the Spanish flu of 1918 (as opposed to SARS and the avian flu, which were epidemics). The exact epicenter of the virus is unknown, but the disease spread to almost every country and infected an estimated 500 million people— roughly a third of the world population at the time. As many as 17 million died

in India, 390,000 in Japan, 600,000 in America, 250,000 in Britain, and 400,000 in France. Speculations put the mortality rate at ten to twenty percent. Given the large number of people infected—as well as its untimely outbreak right after World War I—it would be fair to call the Spanish flu one of the worst disasters suffered by humankind in the twentieth century. Some claim today, nearly a century after the devastation of the Spanish flu, that the world is due for its next deadly pandemic. Since the study of pandemics was not introduced until late in the fifteenth century, any postulated theories are based on a fairly small sample of data. There seems to be a trend that viral pandemics emerge roughly three times a century (1729, 1732, 1781; 1830, 1847, 1878; and 1918, 1957, 1968). 8 Given the constant threat that a seemingly docile virus could turn incredibly virulent in a very short time, it is unsurprising that some are worried about the swine flu outbreak infecting and killing millions. Regardless, the fact remains that the WHO has kept a very close eye on recent diseases such as the 1997 avian flu and SARS and has studiously documented and worked to prevent the spread of H1N1. At the end of the day, nobody wants to get sick. But objectively understanding what a society is dealing with is an important responsibility that its citizens must fulfill. Just because catastrophic illnesses could emerge at any time does not mean the common populace should live in constant fear. Organizations such as the WHO exist specifically to handle such threats and communicate accurate information to the public when needed. In the coming months, swine flu will be circulating around campus, around the U.S., and around the world. More cases will emerge during flu season and the death toll, as with any other disease, will rise. The media may inflate the story and some governments may overreact—Egypt, for example, culled a large number of pigs in May in an attempt to stop the spread of

H1N1, despite having no recorded cases. However, there is no cause for panic. As far as the medical world can tell, what we know as swine flu is just a different strain of the common seasonal flu and the new vaccine should also provide a measure of assurance. Worrying and losing sleep over a curable flu seems rather pointless, don’t you think? 1 Summary of Probable SARS Cases with Onset of Illness from 1 November 2002 to 31 July 2003. World Health Organization. September 24. 2009. <http://www.who.int/csr/sars/country/ table2004_04_21/en/index.html> 2 2009 H1N1 Flu (“Swine Flu”) and You. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. October 8. 2009. <http://www.cdc.gov/ h1n1flu/qa.htm> 3 Ibid. 4 Pandemic Preparedness. World Health Organization. September 28. 2009. <http://www.who.int/csr/disease/ influenza/pandemic/en/> 5 Complete Coverage on H1N1: Fighting the Flu. CNN. September 30. 2009. <http://www.cnn.com/SPECIALS/2009/h1n1/> 6 Brazil. C.I.A. World Factbook. October 15. 2009. <https://www. cia.gov/library/publications/the-world-factbook/geos/br.html> 7 Study: H1N1 Vaccine Too Late, Won’t Help Most. Fox News. October 15. 2009. <http://www.foxnews.com/ story/0,2933,568607,00.html> 8 Bird Flu Timeline: A History of Influenza from 412 B.C. – A.D. 2006. NaturalNews.com. September 28. 2009. <http://www. naturalnews.com/017503.html>

A “Taste” of History by Yuhan Zhao

There is an old saying in China: “Food is the first necessity of the people.” Over the past millennia, a multitude of different dishes have been created as the popularity of Chinese food has spread. Still, a few dishes remain classics. The five outlined below are found in restaurants around the world—a true indication of their enduring legacy.

had become fragrant and delicious. He began selling this roast chicken, and the people in Hangzhou were so amazed by his cooking methods that they flocked to his shop. Though he was no longer a beggar after such success, the dish kept its original name.

1. Kung Pao Chicken Have you ever had Kung Pao Chicken at Panda Express? This spicy chicken dish with peanuts and chili peppers is a typical representation of Sichuan cuisine. There are three different tales describing how Kung Pao Chicken was invented, but all involve the Qing dynasty official Ding Baozhen, who was also known as the Gong Bao (meaning palatial guardian). During his time in Sichuan, the Gong Bao would often disguise himself as a peasant and secretly observe the lives of local people. Once, he dined at a small restaurant and fell in love with its spicy chicken. Upon returning home, the Gong Bao asked his servants to replicate this dish so many times that they eventually named it after him. It is uncertain whether this story is entirely accurate, but one thing is for sure: Kung Pao Chicken was developed in remembrance of the Gong Bao. Today, it is a very popular dish and a staple on nearly all Chinese menus.

2. Beggar’s Roast Chicken Beggar’s Roast Chicken is a famous Hangzhou dish that derives its name from a folktale. According to legend, there was a beggar in Hangzhou who was indignant that the rich were preparing a lavish feast for the Spring Festival, while he was dressed in rags. In retaliation, he stole a chicken from a wealthy family. But since he had no oven in which to cook the bird, the beggar wrapped the chicken in mud and baked it on a fire until the mud was as hard as stone. When he broke open the covering, the beggar was surprised to find that the chicken

photo by Andre Bogaert

photo by FotoosVanRobin (@flickr)

3. Beijing Duck Beijing Duck is famous for its crisp skin, tender meat, and golden brown texture. Its history can be traced back to the Southern and Northern Dynasties (420-589 A.D.). Legends say that this special variety of duck was discovered by the emperor during a hunting game. The bird is pure white, and its meat is prized for being succulent and tender. The method for cooking Beijing Duck is quite distinctive: the duck is hung from the ceiling of a large oven with heated walls and roasted over burning wood. It cooks from the heat given off by the walls as well as the heat from the fire, ensuring an even roasting process. It is then brought out whole and carved by a chef in front of hungry customers. Traditionally eaten rolled in

a pancake with scallions and bean sauce, Beijing Duck is truly a specialty in Chinese cuisine.

4. Dongpo Pork Dongpo Pork is named after the Song Dynasty poet, artist, and calligrapher Su Dongpo, who inspired the famous dish. Su was a local officer in Hangzhou responsible for regulating the water quality in the city’s most famous landmark, West Lake. To show their gratitude for his efforts, the locals sent Su pork during the Spring Festival. Su received so much pork that he asked his servants to cook the meat and send the dishes with wine back to every family in the city. However, his servants misunderstood his commands and ended up cooking the meat in wine instead. When the local people received Su’s dishes, they could not help but extol the delicious meat. Eating Dongpo Pork during the Spring Festival in memory of Su has since become a tradition in Hangzhou.

5. Crossing-Bridge Rice Vermicelli

“Guo Qiao Mi Xian” is the most well-known dish in Yunnan, a province in southwest China. The story of its origin is also perhaps the most romantic. During the Qing Dynasty, there was a scholar in Yunnan who was so focused on his studies that he often forgot to eat. His wife, who loved him dearly, would bring him lunch every day, crossing a wooden footbridge along the way. Her rice vermicelli was always prepared with a special chicken soup to prevent the food from cooling down too much during the trip. Moved by his wife’s actions, the scholar studied even more diligently. When he won first place in the imperial examinations, he attributed his success to his wife’s rice vermicelli. The dish became famous and was henceforth known as a Crossing-Bridge Rice Vermicelli to commemorate the wife’s daily commute to visit her husband.

Fall 2009

Within Walking Distance by Philip Gnaedig

“What’s that guy’s name again?” “Hiker John…or something. He looks like the Unabomber.” Once during middle school, I went on a weekend backpacking trip with my Boy Scout troop on a section of the Appalachian Trail in upstate Connecticut. Typical of these scouting trips, rain was pouring down and we were trying to make the most of the mud pit that was our campsite. That evening, we met a grizzled, long-bearded lone wanderer who called himself “Hiker John”. The memory of this stranger would stick with me—his face cinched under the hood of his rain jacket and his beard bushing out, soaked with water. His face was almost en-

tirely hidden, save for a pair of steely, tired eyes that made the onlooker believe he was thinking about something much more distant. Talking to him was the first time I realized that the Appalachian Trail not only stretches up the East Coast from Georgia to Maine, but that people actually hike the entire footpath. From that day on, I dreamt of hiking it myself. A few years later, I finally made that dream a reality. On February 17, 2008, I took a leave of absence from Duke and set off to thru-hike the trail with my friend

Adam. The Appalachian Trail, also known as the “AT,” was completed in 1937 as the first national scenic trail and stretches approximately 2,178 miles from Springer Mountain, Georgia to Mt. Katahdin in Baxter State Park, Maine. It winds along the spine of the Appalachian Mountains, taking hikers through rugged highlands, fertile pastures, rolling hills, and mountain peaks. On that bitterly cold, rainy day in February, our minds raced with a mixture of apprehension and anxiety. Despite the miserable weather, my primary emotion was excitement for the adventure ahead. Getting to that point however, had taken a winter of preparation. Starting at the end of finals in December, Adam and I spent our time carefully planning for the thru-hike. Our greatest concern was food. It took three trips to Costco to assemble thirty boxes of food. On each occasion, we rolled through the checkout counter with carts piled high with Slim Jims, PopTarts, macaroni and cheese, dried fruits, and more. We emphasized high caloric and fat content in choosing these supplies. By February, we had all our boxes itemized and labeled, filling an entire spare bedroom in Adam’s house. These “mail drops” would be our lifeline and would be sent to post offices in towns along our route. After a flight to Atlanta, we received a ride to the trailhead near Springer Mountain and began our journey on the Appalachian Trail. I kept a journal throughout the trek, recording my thoughts, observations, experiences and reflections. The following are some snapshots of my time on the trail, through which I hope to give some insight on what it means to thru-hike the AT: February 17: Today was the first day. The weather in Georgia has been exhilarating. We were immersed in dense mist, which prevented

us from realizing that we were on a mountain. Adam and I were blown away by the landscape. The moisture seemed to breathe life into the forest, and water droplets pattered on rocks and leaves. The foliage does not adhere to the notion of a barren, leafless winter, as the trail leads mostly through patches of rhododendrons and evergreens, creating a verdant tunnel. Later tonight, we found shelter in a roofed three-walled platform. It was one of many built along the trail by volunteer maintenance groups and members of the Civilian Conservation Corps for wary hikers. These shelters, or “lean-tos” as they are known above the Mason-Dixon Line, can be found about every ten miles and offer an appealing alternative to a wet tent in the morning. March 4: Yesterday’s long day of hiking had me at my limits. We only traveled eight miles, but the combination of difficult terrain and poor weather conditions had us shaking from cold and frustration. We summited Clingman’s Dome, which is the highest peak of the trail at 6,643 feet. Up to this point, the Smoky Mountains had been a treat. The national park included epic ridge-walking—fit for exchanging “Lord of the Rings” quotes with any willing hiking partner—as well as some of the most diverse plant life on the trail. We trudged on a mix of slush and solid ice. Forty to fifty-knot winds blew heavy rain in our faces which, combined with snow-melt, transformed the trail into a fast-moving stream. As the day wore on, the steadily dropping temperature turned the rain into ice, and we struggled to keep our eyelids from freezing shut.

20 Upon reaching a shelter, we had to dump about a cup of water out of each boot before managing to salvage our dry clothes. After visiting the privy, or trail latrine, Adam claimed it was the most glorious one yet. (These crude bathrooms usually consisted of a wooden seat with a hole in it, protected by four walls and a roof. The condition of the privies was a telltale sign of a trail maintenance group’s activeness.) Though it was only 1:30 p.m., Adam and I cooked dinner and decided to relax for the next twenty hours or so in hopes that the rain would let up. I realized that the farthest I had been from Adam this entire trip was when I had gone back on the trail to retrieve my walking stick—a mere 200 yards away. Bizarre. I spent the rest of the night watching the ice-rain turn to snow while folding my body further and further into a fetal position because my sleeping bag never felt quite warm enough. It would be a lie to say I did not feel miserable last night, but I see it all as part of a rite of passage. I feel as though today’s American youth float along into adulthood, eventually waking up when they are thirty, completely dissatisfied with what they are doing. We met a hiker the other day who explained to us how his life-story fit this mold, making me glad that I had this chance to test myself and break off from the college track I have been on. March 14: We experienced our first episode of “trail magic” today. Trail magic, an important part of the thru-hiking culture, is a gift usually left behind by former hikers. It comes in many forms, from extra food in a daypack to beers at a roadside crossing during the hot summer months. Since thru-hikers are constantly at a calorie deficiency—burning 6,000-8,000 calories a day when only consuming around 5,000—any dietary additions are met with eager stomachs. After about four miles in the morning, we got to Allen Gap, Tennessee. We found a little note posted on a trail sign, advertis-

all photos by Philip Gnaedig

ing all-you-can-eat trail magic just down the road. Former thru-hikers, a couple in their early sixties, were providing stuffed bell peppers, Belgian waffles, and ice-cream sundaes. We called them Fal and Hercules, but never discovered their real names. We learned that trail names were common not only on the AT, but also on most longdistance hiking trails. Names were either self-assigned by personal whim or attributed to some publicly witnessed blunder (a woman who was cooking in her tent and ended up disintegrating her nylon encasing is known as “Meltdown”). Adam and I came to be known as “Adman” and “Samsa”—the former an old nickname and the latter inspired by the protagonist of Franz Kafka’s Metamorphosis. These new names are symbolic of the lives we are leading while backpacking, while everything else is put on hold. For the most part, our personal pasts and perceptions are shed and only “real” experiences—those derived from the hard physical and mental labor of hiking—are left to share. April 1: We hiked twenty miles yesterday with Dan and Frida (“Hammer” and “Nails”). Hammer is a Bostonian in his mid-twenties who has been living in Sydney, Australia. Nails, his Jack-Russell terrier, never runs out of energy. She covers at least an extra five miles daily through independent excursions in the woods, sometimes absent for twenty minutes at a time. We had not spent a continuous amount of time with other thru-hikers up to this point because we left Georgia half a month earlier than the typical starting period and our paces had not matched with others’. Hammer and Nails, however, seemed to share our stride. They slept in a tent and I admit I envied them. I did not particularly enjoy sleeping in a full shelter, especially because of the presence of overweight Boy Scout leaders—a threat that I was especially aware of from my own scouting experiences. My attempts to rest were thwarted by multiple types of snoring;

long, drawn-out growls and short, abrasive snorts chased my consciousness all night, making me contemplate homicidal fantasies. On top of that, we got a late start this morning because our bear-bag rope was frozen onto the tree. April 8: Finally, we had a full day of sun after almost a week and a half of rain. Today’s hike was the usual up-and-down ridge-walking typical of southern Virginia. Lately, we have noticed a growing strain on our mental stamina; we think we have caught what people call the “Virginia blues,” characterized by perpetual exhaustion and boredom from the unchanging terrain. Our daily routine is also starting to become a bit monotonous. Every morning, I wake up with my hip sore depending on the side I slept on that night. Next, I spend about five minutes tenderly limping around the campsite in untied hiking shoes, waiting for the pain and swelling in my feet to go

Fall 2009

nessee. He played his backpacker mandolin for us and I joined in with my flute for an Irish jig duet. Out on the AT, you might not see someone for weeks at a time but when you run into them again, it is as if you never parted. Time passes differently out here. May 27: Massachusetts has continued to surprise us. We made it to Dalton yesterday and headed to a house where we could tent in the backyard. Upon getting there, we found the porch filled with hikers. Tom, the owner of the house, invites hikers inside to eat dinner, party, and stay as long as they want—all for free. One man had already lived there for a month. This type of hospitality was awe-inspiring. We had a relaxing evening sharing stories with the other hikers and were once again reminded of the great community we are a part of on the trail. June 12: Just before entering the White Mountains, we stopped for a night at Dartmouth College since the trail goes right through Hanover, New Hampshire. It was surreal to be around so many people our age again. Our friend Ian was at the school and let us crash for the night. I have to admit I was drunk with depression as I headed back to the woods. I could not quite pinpoint the source, but I thought it was from frustration with the lifestyle of always being on the move. While just a few weeks ago being around too many people made me crave the trail, now I felt a discomfort from not having the opportunity to stop and truly rest, always feeling unsettled by the need to keep walking. down. I then change into my hiking clothes, still wet with sweat from the day before, making me shiver in the morning cold. Despite these negatives, however, it is still refreshing to be on such a natural time cycle of falling asleep when the sun goes down and waking up at its rise. When hiking during the day, Adam and I alternate between zoning out in silence for hours at a time and exchanging conversation, which sometimes includes taking on made-up personas for our personal entertainment.

April 13: After a quick hitch into Catawba, Virginia for an incredible home-cooked barbeque meal, we made it back onto the trail. I found myself overwhelmed with relief upon our return and realized the way in which this lifestyle had become a part of me. Just spending an hour in a populated town had me yearning for the woods and brisk night air. We also ran into an older thru-hiker, Allgood, whom we had met earlier in Ten-

June 18: After entering the White Mountains, we were hit with the worst heat of the trail: ninety degree days with high humidity. For the first time, I learned the true meaning of sweat. It dripped off my eyebrows, leaked off my nose and chin, ran down every limb, and even dripped off my fingertips. Stopping on mountaintops to disrobe and wring out our clothes while taking in the view has become part of our routine. We were warned that the weather in the White Mountains would be inconsistent and that has held true. The other day a violent lightning storm had us scrambling off a knife-edge ridgeline towards tree cover and waiting all night for it to pass. June 30: Maine does not offer much relief after the rugged terrain of New Hampshire. The maintenance clubs in Maine pride themselves on being rather hands-off, which means every river was crossed without the

luxury of a bridge, the water sometimes chest high. Little effort seemed to be put into diverting the trail from near vertical inclines over wet rock slabs and roots. On top of that, the timing of our hike has put us here during mud-season, when there are constant swarms of black flies and mosquitoes. Sometimes avoiding bites seems so hopeless I feel like crying. The insects surround you as you hike, eat, and sleep. The beauty of the Maine wilderness, however, makes up for these challenges. Even as the mental strain of four and half months on the trail set in, I was reminded of the pleasure to be had in standing on the edge of a cliff or staring into a web of impenetrable green on the margins of inhabited landscape. After 139 days on the Appalachian Trail, Adam and I reached our final destination: Mt. Katahdin. During a thru-hike, it is impossible to avoid the endless Katahdin pictures sent by hikers to hostels they stayed in or outfitters they stopped by to purchase supplies. These photos were almost always coupled with various versions of trail maps, outlining the 2,178 mile footpath from Georgia to Maine. We tried not to point out where our little dots would fall on that line or imagine what our Katahdin picture would look like, because inevitably the distance left would seem too far to handle. More than that, however, we knew that emphasis should not be placed solely on finishing the trip. Throughout the hike, I always tried to share with others the notion that we were not just walking from point A to point B. The trip was instead a four-anda-half-month lifestyle change, consisting of living in the woods, meeting refreshingly “real” people, and going for daily hikes. My eyes were opened to the necessity of taking time to connect with a world that otherwise might go unnoticed. Hiking specifically tests your physical and mental capabilities, while providing opportunities to become in tune with the natural rhythm of life. Just as “Hiker John” had the look in his eyes of concerns much more distant than ours, reducing one’s existence to something founded in basic physicality allows much more time for personal reflection. Sitting on top of Katadhin, I was not entirely happy. I would be glad to get away from black flies, sore feet, and the routine of being in constant motion. Yet, the Appalachian Trail had found a way into my heart. Just recently, I returned to the trail for the first time since my thru-hike. After a gritty Saturday morning of getting lost and maneuvering horse trails in the Virginia highlands, I finally made it back to the trail. In addition to the initial excitement of being back in that beautiful countryside, what overpowered me the most was the feeling that I had finally come home.

SHINING, SHIMMERING, STAGNANT

photo by Aidas Zubkonis

A monument to Czech reformer Jan Hus has dominated the neat cobblestone square since its installation in 1915. <<

>> Every hour of the day tourists hustle and shove to the front of the clock tower at Old Town Hall in the center of Old Town Square to get a glimpse of the fabled procession of 12 Apostles that emerge hourly just above the Astronomical Clock.

>> UNESCO World Heritage Conservation and Constraint by Minette Yao

Prague’s fairy tale spires and winding cobblestone streets can seem to visitors like a romanticized Disney World. But it is not only the warm pastel buildings crowding the streets that call to mind images of the theme park. The sheer magnitude of tourism clogging Old Town, Malá Strana, Prague Castle, and Wenceslas Square live up to the comparison as well. Part of what draws such a dense and constant crowd of tourists to the picturesque Czech capital is how well Prague has maintained the remnants of its past—efforts buffered mostly by support from the World Heritage Center under the United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organization (UNESCO). UNESCO’s World Heritage List currently recognizes 890 cultural and natural sites with “outstanding universal value,” such as the Pyramids of Egypt, the Serengeti, Versailles, the Great Barrier Reef, and the Grand Canyon. Heritage sites are valued for their ability to embody the past and encourage an understanding of our social, historical, and natural legacy. The World Heritage List includes natural phenomena and monuments, as well as entire city centers, as is the case for Prague. The Historic Centre of Prague was added to the list in 1992, only three years after the Czech Republic was released from the grips of communism. This recognition was an immediate blessing; it acted as a magnet for tourists willing to spend their money and revive the economy.

Being included on the list is not only a source of prestige, but also a way to raise awareness for heritage preservation, and thus inspire international cooperation for assistance on conservation projects. Sites are further bolstered by a strong economic foundation—not only through access to the World Heritage Fund but also, UNESCO argues, with the increase in tourist activity.1 While Prague has enjoyed the benefit of increased tourism, it has also seen how catering to tourism can be a double edgedsword when it becomes a main priority. Although the city is beautifully preserved, its growth towards becoming a thriving hub of Central Europe is hindered. Tourist activity at any site, the UNESCO committee acknowledges, must be “well planned for and organized respecting sustainable tourism principles.” Such principles include community involvement and efforts to combine the needs of traditional urban management with the need to plan for tourism. As seems to be the case in Prague, the lack of control in tourist development can overrun the city and dominate the urban environment. And because UNESCO places so many restrictions on the development of the city, few changes can be actualized. Prospective developers are discouraged by the numerous hurdles they must overcome to even begin projects. For those actually living in Prague, such limits create quite a problem. How can the city exist as a functioning metropolis and a

center for culture if it barely caters to those who actually inhabit it? Is it fair, or even realistic, to purposefully disregard the inhabitants’ needs for the sake of the tourists who merely want to visit Prague for a short time? The criteria that make Prague so worthy of World Heritage status is the way its architecture has reflected the “process of continuous urban growth from the Middle Ages to the present day.”2 Ironically, urban growth in Prague was interrupted from the moment the status was bestowed in 1992 and, as a result, is no longer “continuous.” Since then, few truly valuable additions to the city have been realized. In trying to maintain the mystique of the past for the sake of tourists, the city has had to quell its development. When a site is added to the UNESCO list, the city or landmark is presented with a “Statement of Outstanding Universal Value” which explains its value, the reason for its importance, and the guidelines and regulations for protection and conservation. The World Heritage committee is quite particular about the establishment of buffer zones around a site—the area under jurisdiction is never just the immediate area of interest, but also includes its surroundings. In addition, UNESCO’s Operational Guidelines places legal restrictions on anything that may possibly impinge on the city landscape, arbitrarily designated “important views.”3 Nearly every prospective development in the city requires a cumbersome assessment

Fall 2009

process by the World Heritage Committee. A recent example of this occurred during a debate over the construction of modern high-rise buildings in an area outside of Prague’s historic center. UNESCO threatened to retract Prague’s heritage status because of the possibility of new skyscrapers being built in the Pankrác area. Despite the fact that these buildings would not have been within the bounds of the protected “historic center,” UNESCO insisted on preserving the look and feel of the entire city. Representatives came to the city and spent five days assessing “whether the Czech Republic properly cares for the values for which it features on the World Heritage list.”4 Francesco Bandarin, the director of the World Heritage Center then deemed that to let the planned project continue would be reckless, as “both the town leadership and the Czech state are yielding to commercial and political interests and do not resolutely protect cultural heritage.”5 UNESCO subsequently used its clout as a means of coercion and threatened to take away Prague’s venerable status. Martin Skalsky, a local NGO representative, concisely summarized the argument, “we aren’t against the construction of modern high-rise buildings in Prague, as long as they don’t visually impact the historic city center. If you can stand at Prague Castle [located in Hradčany] and see skyscrapers on the horizon… it would damage the city’s skyline.”6 The sweeping views of the urban landscape from Hradčany are certainly breathtaking, but it seems unfair to command the city to preserve the views of Prague from the castle, considering the castle overlooks nearly every part of the city. As significant as the historic center may be culturally, it seems like UNESCO is im>> The Cubist House of the Black Madonna sits comfortably in the center of Old Town, as integral to Prague’s heritage and history as any of the Medieval, Baroque, and Renaissance architectural remnants.

pinging on the city’s ability to flourish. As a result, the city has been forced to remain comparable to a fairground or theme park— a tourist’s destination and little else. The battle between heritage and development has threatened the vitality of many other World Heritage sites. A similar debate has recently arisen in Edinburgh, Scotland. The city, once lively and dynamic, has fallen into a state of decay because of the numerous barriers to development that accompanies heritage status. Some argue that the city should be removed from the list so that the capital can be rehabilitated and revitalized. Tom Buchanan, Counselor of the Edinburgh Economic Development Community,

gave a speech on the issue in November 2008, putting forth the sentiments of both sides: “It is not that I feel we should abandon or ignore this status, indeed quite to the contrary, it is something to celebrate, but we must not allow it to be used as a tool to fight against change… Regularly we see the World Heritage Status being used as a tool to champion stagnation and fight against almost any development in the city… In this circumstance it is in danger of becoming not a badge of honor for the city, but a symbol of our lacking confidence and fears for the future. It is the value of this use of our heritage status that I question.”7 As Buchanan implies, the heritage status itself is not the curse; in fact it is rather

Czech Cubism: Balancing Modern and Historical Heritage Prague is known as the “golden city of spires” for its charming mix of Medieval, Baroque, and Renaissance architecture. Looming gothic cathedrals rise over decorative gilded towers and softly aging shop fronts. Sprinkled in with these charming historic structures are the strangely complementary Cubist ones. These oddly charming buildings became an integral part of Prague only because the Cubist movement did not have to face the slew of restrictions that arrived alongside the city’s World Heritage Status. Cubist architecture emerged in Bohemia in 1910. Inspired by the French painting trend on perspective, this interpretation of cubism put a planar, angular, and modern twist on the existing Baroque style dominating the town. The principles of sculptural thinking were applied to buildings like the House of the Black Madonna (now the Museum of Cubism), one of the most famous examples of this style. In designing this building, the architect was faced with the obstacle of creating a structure that would complement its ancient surroundings. This early twentieth century architectural style tells a story of the development of a distinctly Czech artistic interpretation and blends well with the Baroque facades found all over the city. In fact, the unique appropriation of the Cubist movement was an important way for architects, such as Pavel Janák who was at the forefront of the movement, to manifest their dynamic imaginative creativity and to inspire improvement in their society. Janák shunned the modernist Art Nouveau styles that had become popular at the turn of the twentieth century; he claimed they were an uninspired and inadequate way of adapting to traditional Czech folk motifs and elements of Prague’s historical style. His rejection responds directly to the discussion of UNESCO’s intervention. When limitations were made on architectural styles, many young students in the Czech Republic considered it an attempt at assimilating to historical heritage “empty of spiritual purpose and filled with a sense of utilitarian sterility.” Their response was to create the Cubist architectural style, a style calling to mind Cubist philosophy:

“

It was the ‘off-center’ position of the young generation of Prague artists, with their strongly developed sense of an indigenous cultural tradition, on the one hand, and their interest in the larger context of art, on the other, that, imbued with a high degree of poetic imagination, aided the syncretic and yet autonomous movement that was Czech Cubism. Steeped in the Czech tradition, in many cases in the Austro-German milieu, and looking toward France as a beacon of the new, the generation of artists born around 1880 seized on an opportunity to explore cubism less as a style or movement than as an important transition stage leading to ‘an ideal spiritual art’ as the ultimate expression of the new era. Their position on cubism, and on modern art in general, was far from homogeneous.10

”

The boundaries of this modernist style are analogous to the boundaries to which architecture has been restricted by UNESCO guidelines. What makes this argument even more interesting is how successful Cubist architecture in Prague was aimed at complementing, rather than destroying, the heritage that Prague enjoyed. In other words, Cubist architecture serves as a direct illustration of how development and historical preservation can be combined. UNESCO validates this argument by saying, “historic and contemporary architecture constitute an asset to local communities, which should serve educational purposes, leisure, tourism, and secure market value of properties.” Cubism certainly comprises an asset to the urban community today by not only enhancing the architectural heritage but also by signaling progress in the development of Czech character. Furthermore, it marks Prague as a center for what is not only an architectural movement, but also a historical legacy particular to Czech culture. This creates yet another reason for locals and tourists to revel in the heritage of contemporary development. The introduction of Cubist architecture to Prague’s streetscape is undoubtedly a movement that the World Heritage Committee would combat today. The reality of its success shows exactly how important it is to prevent heritage status from interfering with urban development. Suppose World Heritage status had been bestowed before the time of this influential movement: the striking architecture would have been lost on a city to which it contributes invaluably. The accompanying nationalistic movement would also have been lost, arguably changing the artistic and social development of Prague and Bohemian society. The movement has created some of the most original buildings in Prague, drawing visitors from all over the world. What similar opportunities could UNESCO be unknowingly suppressing in cities like Prague that have now been stifled by operational guidelines?

the opposite. However, the issue at hand is how the status has been interpreted. Development and heritage have come to sit on opposite ends of a spectrum. The strict limitations on heritage status are a result of the misunderstanding that little compromise can exist between the new and the old. Instead, a balance must be found, and historic towns should both sensitively remember the past while continuing to serve the needs of a functioning city. Such a balance contributes to a city’s vitality; contemporary architecture itself is a strong competitive tool for cities in attracting residents, tourists, and capital.8 Prague is also a salient example for this discussion, successfully showing how the incorporation of contemporary architecture (Cubist, in Prague’s case) has contributed invaluably to the character of the city. The ongoing conversation on the overarching value of World Heritage Status has become relevant for Prague, Edinburgh, and other cities facing the same dilemma. In May 2005, the World Heritage Centre recognized the problem that preservation prevents development and began making changes by drafting the Vienna Memorandum, a document urging reconciliation of conservation of the historic urban landscape with the integration of contemporary architecture. It states, “taking into account the emotional connection between human beings and their environment, their sense of place, it is fundamental to guarantee an urban environmental quality of living to contribute to the economic success of a city and to its social and cultural vitality.”11 In the document, members of the World Heritage Centre highlight that changes made to the historic center may still be understood as part of the city’s tradition as long as they

respect the authenticity and integrity of the historic fabric. Acknowledgement of the importance of looking forward is a step in the right direction. Guidelines are outlined in the document in order to achieve the overarching goal. First and foremost, an understanding must be established among stakeholders in the city (policy makers, urban planners, city developers, architects, conservationists, property owners, investors, and concerned citizens) that the preservation of urban heritage should be reconciled with modernization. If this is done in a culturally and historically sensitive manner, it could strengthen identity and social cohesion. The Vienna Memorandum emphasizes the integration of contemporary architecture into historic centers. It articulates that a deep understanding of the history, culture, and architecture of the site (rather than simply the aesthetic of the buildings) is important to maintain sensitivity to the cultural-historical context. Fortunately, the dialogue has raised awareness of the contradictory nature of a UNESCO status and has sparked the necessary discussion on what can be done to reach a plausible compromise. Many of the guidelines laid out in the Vienna Memorandum, however, focus mostly on the physical aspect of architectural design. It is important to remember that development does not focus solely on aesthetic. Physical development of a city often reflects the changing social times, emerging from cultural shifts and movements. New developments can express the historical, social, and economic contexts of the times. “Heritage” is not a stagnant concept. Evolving legacies are pertinent for generations to come. The current state of Prague’s

>> The Dancing House (Tancící dum), commonly nicknamed “Fred and Ginger” was designed in 1992 and began construction shortly after, before the arrival of constraints from receiving World Heritage Status. President of the time Václav Havel supported it, despite much controversy hoping that it would become a center of cultural activity. Today it stands as a valuable addition to panoramic views from the Charles River and draws visitors from around the world.

photo by Lavinia Marin

Old Town only seems to encompass a limited time period; by allowing contemporary development, the cultural landscape of today can become heritage for posterity to look back and enjoy. The most obvious problem, however, is coming to a consensus on what is culturally significant and accurately encompasses the current times.

During the period of Czech National Revival in the nineteenth century, Old Town was revitalized by appropriating old structures for the present. Buildings directly on the square are examples of this deeply nuanced sense of heritage: an illustration of how the blend of styles and times can become the object of value. Their basements are the remnants of buildings from the Romanesque period. Gothic structures sit above at street level, their facades first replaced by a Renaissance style, and later Baroque. The buildings’ mélange of features act as a testament to the fact that valuing heritage is important. Primarily, there must be an understanding of the complex inherent history beyond what is immediately apparent. Growth should happen organically, evolving and adapting around its history, while maintaining a sense of vivacity. A city can and often does act like an “urban organism,” echoes Leonardo Benevolo,12 a professor and scholar of urban architecture in European cities. By interfering with the natural vitality and cultivation of Prague, Edinburgh, and other World Heritage sites, UNESCO may be hindering important changes. In being overly cautious about the preservation of the city’s heritage, UNESCO is limiting its opportunities to maintain Prague’s heritage for the future. Instead, it has put the capital in danger of being reduced to a spectacle or a Disney production.

1 UNESCO. World Heritage Centre – The Criteria for Selection, 13 December 2008, available from http://whc.unesco.org/ en/164/; Internet; accessed 13 December 2008. 2 UNESCO. World Heritage Centre – Benefits of Ratification, 13 December 2008, available from http://whc.unesco.org/ en/164/; Internet; accessed 13 December 2008. (http://whc. unesco.org/en/criteria/) 3 Christina Cameron, “Heritage Conservation, Rehabilitation and Urban Revitalization: An International Perspective,” World Planners Forum (Vancouver 17 June 2006). 4 Irena Fuková, “Skyscrapers may be built despite UNESCO status,” Czech Business Weekly, 10 March 2008. 5 Ibid. 6 Ibid. 7 Tom Buchanan, “Heritage and Development: Conflict or Opportunity,” Conference on Planning- Strategic Development, Growth and the Economic Challenge (Carlton Hotel Edinburgh 7 November 2008). 8 “Vienna Memorandum on World Heritage and Contemporary Architecture - Managing the Historic Urban Landscape,” Conference on World Heritage and Contemporary Architecture, (12-14 May 2005). 9 Ian Johnston, “Preliminary Notes on Cubist Architecture in Prague,” Liberal Studies Abroad Program, Malaspina University-College (Prague, April 2004). 10 Irena Žantovská Murray, “The Burden of Cubism: The French Imprint on Czech Architecture, 1910-1914.” Architecture and Cubism. Ed. Eve Blau and Nancy J. Troy (Cambridge, Mass: MIT Press, 1997): 41-58. 11 “Vienna Memorandum on World Heritage and Contemporary Architecture - Managing the Historic Urban Landscape,” Conference on World Heritage and Contemporary Architecture, (12-14 May 2005). 12 Leonardo Benevolo, “The Perfecting of the Urban Environment,” The European City (Oxford – Cambridge: Blackwell), p. 181-182.

Fall 2009

EGYPT and ETHIOPIA

Mother of the World and the Cradle of Life by Jonathan Cross

Cairo’s mystique lies in a combination of natural and manmade forces—the blend of the oppressive heat with the patient Nile reflects the resilience of the city and its inhabitants. Cairo’s cacophony is manifested in swarms of yellow taxis that nearly match the ubiquitous buzz of human activity in Ethiopia’s capital city, Addis Ababa. Blue and white minibuses crowd the dense Ethiopian streets—perhaps in a slightly more organized fashion than the infamous Cairene taxis. Cafés and shops paint Addis with a metropolitan aura, defying the abject poverty that dots, but never dominates, the visual experience of the city. After two summers in Northern Africa—the first in Egypt, the second in Ethiopia—I have become privy to a narrative quite different from the one our Western media projects. Although ignoring the oft-discussed challenges of HIV/AIDS, famine, drought, poverty, and terrorism is impossible, my hope is that this brief sketch will enrich the treatment of these two locales; in particular, how their vibrant religious cultures shape both contemporary polities. To mention Egypt is to evoke the arid images of braying camels, blowing sands under a blazing sun, and of course, the iconic Gizan pyramids. These ancient architectural marvels still captivate tourists and scholars alike. The surfeit of tombs, monuments, and artifacts serve as further support for Egypt’s ambitious nickname, “the Mother of the World.” The ancient Egyptians continue to astound, as well as confound, our technologically-obsessed minds; their scientific achievements were precursors to modern innovations in mathematics, chemistry, architecture, and mechanics. But to blindly link ancient Egypt to her modern form without considering the vast contributions of her Christian and Muslim communities1 would be an egregious error. Although Copts—Egyptian Christians2—have played an enormously influential role in Egyptian affairs, the long sovereignty of Muslim rulers has upheld Egypt’s status as the pulse of the Muslim world—setting

Islamic history as the defining cultural narrative. Similarly, Ethiopia is more than Bob Marley and Rastafarians; more than malnutrition and famine. The 1974 discovery of Lucy,3 one of the oldest hominid skeletons, suggests that Ethiopia is the probable, yet still curiously enigmatic, “Cradle of Life.” Despite her long history, Ethiopia only appeared on the Western radar in the twelfth century. European adventurers sought the elusive kingdom of Prester John, a pious and wealthy European king who had allegedly established a bastion of Christianity in the heartlands of Ethiopia amidst a sea of Muslims and pagans. In actuality, Christianity had been thriving in Ethiopia since the fourth century, when two Syrian monks introduced the fledgling faith to the region. Islam, on the other hand, made its way to Ethiopia in 615 A.D. when the Prophet Muhammad extolled the merits of the Ethiopians and a preeminent Muslim party sought refuge in northern Ethiopia. Alongside Christianity, Islam developed and expanded there in almost complete isolation, save the influence of Yemeni and Omani trade. Of particular importance is the eastern city of Harar—often designated as the fourth holiest city in Islam— which developed into a vastly multicultural city-state and remains a major pilgrimmage destination for devout Sufi Muslims. But discussing both countries as disparate regions would do disservice to their geographic and historic ties. Both countries share perhaps the world’s most famous river—the Nile. The Blue Nile begins in Ethiopia at Lake Tana, joins the White Nile (which originates in Tanzania) in Sudan, and courses through Egypt to reach the Mediterranean Sea. This

spirit of intimacy is also reflected in the history between the Egpytian and Ethiopian Churches, as the Ethiopian Orthodox Patriarch had previously been directly appointed by the Coptic Pope—however, the tie was severed in 1950 by Ethiopian Emperor Haile Selassie. As for Islam, Muslim trade networks that once dominated the Red Sea and Indian Ocean reinforced links between Egyptian and Ethiopian Muslims—constructing an African umma (Arabic for “community of Muslim believers”)4 that remains intact even today. Both Cairo and Harar are considered thriving hubs of Islamic tradition, actively operating as centers of teaching and exchange for North and East Africa, as well as for the wider Muslim networks stretching from the Middle to the Far East. The religious communities in the two countries therefore have a long history of interaction despite their spatial seperation. Examining Egypt’s and Ethiopia’s most influential cities reveals a transparent disparity. Historically, Cairo and Addis Ababa could not be more different. Cairo, meaning “The Victorious” in Arabic, has been the heart of Egypt for centuries. A city of over eighteen million people, Cairo is the intellectual center of the Muslim world (Al-Azhar is the second-oldest standing university in the world) and is considered a crucial city for international relations between the East and the West. United States President Barack Obama’s recent visit to Cairo, with its sheer symbolic importance, exhibits this reality most effectively. Conversely, the aptly named Ad-

dis Ababa, which means “New Flower” in Amharic, has only been a city of interest for the last century, after Ethiopia’s capital was relocated to its current, mountainous locale. The capital’s sprawling cityscape and massive construction projects belie a relatively small population of four million. The African Union Commission and the United Nations Economic Commission for Africa are housed in Addis, making this youthful and dazzling metropolis a crucial international actor. Beyond these dramatic historical discrepancies, however, are two cities that feature a similar auditory and aesthetic culture. Cairene Copts and Muslims are differentiated, visually at least, by dress. The vast majority of Cairene Muslim women don hijab—either a simple head scarf or the more conservative niqab (which leaves only the eyes unveiled). Copts, on the other hand, are easily distinguishable from their Muslim co-citizens due to the absence of hijab and the increasing presence of religious jewelry. But to focus solely on veiling denies the reality of an emerging paradigm in the Middle East. Unbounded contact with highly-modernized Western societies promotes the forging of a new Muslim identity. Young Egyptian women exhibit a changing religious and social outlook, one that is both intellectually liberal and culturally conservative, by blending traditional and contemporary fashion: skinny jeans, high heels, flashy shirts, and colorful hijab. More traditional males prefer the galibaya, long flowing robes of muted colors such as green or brown, whereas many younger Egyptian men have also developed a love of bright ties with large knots and European jeans. In stark contrast to Cairene adherents to the Abrahamic traditions are Ethiopian Christians and Muslims. Ethiopian religious expression is full of color. Christian women, with their white shawls lined with lavish embroidery, are easily differentiated from their Muslim counterparts, who wear headscarves of bright, vibrant colors. The more pious Ethiopian Muslim men typically wear kuffiya (a traditional Arab headdress) and a checkered shawl—especially for prayer and special occasions such as weddings and funerals. The checkered shawl is a clear influence of Arab culture and signifies a growing awareness of the umma among Ethiopian Muslims. Discrepancies in rural dress are less telling; both Muslim and Christian males wear short shirts and heavy wool or cotton cloaks to shield themselves from the elements. Perhaps more a reflection of resources and economic disparities, Ethiopian dress nevertheless highlights a religious culture that strongly envelops national and ethnic identities. Daily religious life forms a quintessential piece of each polity’s communal fabric. The intense religious climates of both countries

all photos by Jonathan Cross

dictate everyday life in ways that might seem quite peculiar to many Western societies. Egyptian and Ethiopian Muslims alike often begin their day with sunrise invocations following their respective calls to prayer. Worship times may not govern the entire population, but the benefits of daily mosque and church gatherings for the propagation and evaluation of ideas are exceedingly significant. In particular, Ethiopia’s culture of religious accommodation affords both major traditions ample worship space. This mutual understanding has been tested recently by the activities of more radical Ethiopian Christian and Muslim groups. In Egypt, Coptic Christians often maintain more tightly knit social circles, even though young people, much like those in Ethiopia, are open to friendships across religious and economic lines. Consequently, religious activity and discourse permeate the public in a myriad of ways—visual culture (namely, the stickers of religious symbols that garnish nearly every Cairene taxi and Addis minibus), self-identification, and colloquialisms. In cultures where one function of religion is to divide and segment social groups, the effect of global capitalism is acute. The “marketplace of ideas” that parallels globalization, with its inextricable merits and vices, has exposed both Egyptians and Ethiopians to new possibilities that invite religious analysis and regulation—an ongoing process bound to have dramatic yet undetermined effects. Ethiopian Islam and Christianity share a variety of characteristics, from acts of supplication and worship to mosque and church architecture. The monasteries of Bahar Dar in Northern Ethiopia, as well as the colorful Saint George church on Entoto Mountain above Addis Ababa, feature a circular design that strongly resembles many mosques in Northern Africa, the Horn of Africa, and the Middle East. To the untrained ear the respective calls to prayer and broadcasted sermons often sound as if they were of the same tradition. Sensory parallels along Egypt’s dominant religious communities are less immediate or comprehensive. Copts and Egyptian Muslims make a point to dif-

ferentiate their places, times, and methods of worship. Distinct Christian and Muslim periods in Egyptian history have afforded both traditions textured experiences of religious sovereignty, with political, social, economic, and psychological dominance playing a corresponding role. On the other hand, Ethiopian Christianity and Islam developed through cohabitation, with ethnic groups often delineating religious borders. Prior to the current government (which began in 1991), when “Ethiopianness” was synonymous with “Christianness,” the state of propinquity fostered a lopsided, but largely peaceful, relationship between Muslims and Christians. Recently, however, emerging fissures are testing Ethiopia’s and Egypt’s constitutions and their affirmations of universal citizenship. The expansion of fundamentalisms,5 one of the many byproducts of globalization and modernization, are cleaving rifts in these religious communities. Absolutist forces increasingly suppress moderate and pluralistically minded voices. The Egyptian Muslim Brotherhood, well funded by their Muslim neighbors to the east, is pursuing active campaigns to restrict Coptic political and social influence. Pope Shenouda III, head of the Coptic Church, is directing a counter-initiative. Ethiopia is experiencing a similar “sibling rivalry”—a potentially crippling competition of polemics between the Mahbere Qedusan6 and Wahhabis.7 Ethiopian Protestants are providing an added dimension to the situation as well. Supported with Western financial and human resources, Evangelical churches are growing and, according to many Orthodox and Muslims, at an alarming rate. This religious competition for public and

Fall 2009

private space is both potentially corrosive and refreshing. The indigenous and foreign challenges posed by radical, politically driven religious groups are a threat to stability. The public abuse of religion to achieve political ends is exacting a harmful influence on social relations. However, these emerging dynamics also urgently demand a new religious perspective—one that must determine how to contend with religious pluralism amidst attempts by charged, marginal communities to splinter and fragment social interactions and political control. The umbrella of citizenship, as articulated in legal structure, cannot be the sole safeguard against radicalism in varied form. Thus, the pressing question for contemporary Egyptian and Ethiopian Muslims and Christians is: how should they navigate the burgeoning sea of polemics and absolutisms that threaten genuine secularism and religious freedoms? Clearly, Egypt is more than pyramids and pharoahs just as Ethiopia is more than Bob Marley and great coffee. Despite short stays in both locales, I developed a love of their unique, but certainly not isolated, nor insular, cultures. Moreover, both nations face challenges not dissimilar to our own in the U.S. Health care, religious and political pluralism, rising food prices, extremist and marginalized communities, and a thinning job market barely scratch the surface of relevant difficulties. Nevertheless, the myriad of personalities and voices I encountered has given me the hope necessary to face these imposing challenges in the future. Namely the Byzantine Christians, Muslim Fatimids, Mamluks, and Ottoman Turks. 2 While etymologically “Copt” refers to all Egyptians, it is used today to mean “Egyptian Christian.” 3 “Dinknesh” in Amharic, Ethiopia’s most common language Arabic for “community of believers.” 4 Central to Islam, this concept underscores religion as the unifying social factor, transcending nationality, race, ethnicity, and culture. 5 I use “fundamentalisms” to connote the multiple and often disparate forms of fundamentalist thought. 6 Association of Saints’; radical members of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church. 7 Wahhabism is a disputed fundamentalist sect within Sunni Islam, predominant in Saudi Arabia and the Arabian Peninsula. 1

TOKYO by Wendy Liu

I was brimming with nervous excitement on my thirteen-hour flight to Tokyo this past summer—this would be my first time in Japan. Knowing little about the culture and even less about the language, I had no idea what to expect. During the next eight days that I spent in Japan, I was surprised by how much I learned through doing simple things like taking the metro or going to local restaurants. Without a real agenda, I was able to have more fun because every day was a new adventure that gave me a better idea of what the country was really like. At seven o’clock on a Saturday evening, I arrived at Narita International Airport, claimed my bags, and proceeded to find my way to the exit. I was immediately struck by how convenient Tokyo’s transportation system is (that is, if you’re savvy enough to figure out how to navigate it). There was no need to catch a taxi from Narita airport because subway lines took travelers directly from the airport into the city. Despite being jetlagged, I could not help but notice how clean it was. The floors were impeccable and there was not a single tear in the seats. Since it was a Saturday night, the metro was eerily vacant. While my first experience on the metro was rather lonesome, this was far from the case during the week. Nearly everyone took the metro to work since it was much cheaper than driving a car. This resulted in a wide range of people crowding the Tokyo metro, particularly

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“Th

during rush hour. Professionals, dressed in full suits despite the heat and humidity of July, often found themselves squeezed next to chattering school children in their navy uniforms, all eagerly anticipating the train’s arrival. Although people were usually polite and orderly, when the doors opened during rush hour, everyone pushed and shoved. Even with the ample air-conditioning, I felt suffocated by the throng of commuters. After just a few days of using this brutal form of transportation, I knew I would never complain about crowding on Duke’s campus buses again. Despite the crowds, riding the metro was a convenient way for me to explore Tokyo. All-day passes could be purchased for about $10 (USD) and it would get you to anywhere in Tokyo. While it was inevitable for a tourist like me to engage in all of the usual touristy activities, like visiting commercial districts (Shinjuku, Shibuya, and Ginza), Asakusa temple, and the Imperial Palace, I also found time to explore local streets. The roads were very narrow and the majority of the buildings were no more than five stories high. There was a noticeable contrast between the busy station just a few blocks away and the deserted streets that I ventured through. Windows and curtains were drawn tightly even during the day. Though the emptiness was a strange sight to me at first, I soon learned that the Japanese were fiercely private in-

“unwritten rules”

kee

plac I

28 dividuals and they tried not to disturb their neighbors at all costs. I also noticed that everything from the doors to the parking spaces appeared to be miniature versions of what we have in America. Frankly, I felt a little like Alice in Wonderland. From the perspective of an American, this may seem like a highly claustrophobic atmosphere; but to me there was a practicality in how the Japanese efficiently used every inch of their limited space. Once I had gotten the hang of navigating the city and decoding the complicated underground transportation system, I began feeling quite proud of myself. Sadly, this feeling was fleeting. I quickly discovered that there were a few unwritten rules that most tourists are probably unaware of. This lack of knowledge regarding acceptable public behavior created quite an embarrassing scene on the metro for me. Once, I entered a cabin with an unfinished beverage in my hand. As I took a few sips, an old man sitting opposite me started jabbering away in Japanese, none of which I could understand. I felt the eyes of other passengers focus in my direction as they looked up from their books and cell phones, momentarily distracted by the noise. Confused, I did not know how to respond. It was not until later that night that I realized that no one in Japan ever carries around unfinished foods or drinks. I never saw anyone eating while walking in public, let alone ride the metro with halfconsumed items. There were vending machines (dispensing not only soft drinks, but also coffee, cigarettes, and alcohol) on at least every other block in Tokyo. And right next to all of those machines was a trash can, sometimes even two. The custom was to drink your beverage upon purchasing it and to throw it away in the adjacent trash can immediately afterwards. It was little wonder that Japanese public places were so clean. In addition to the clean and convenient public transportation, Japan boasts rich local cuisines and a variety of produce. I found that sampling the local food is an ex-

his is how Japan eps its public ces clean, suppose”

cellent way to get a sense of the country’s with blankets to help them brave the cold culture. Just like the streets, the cuisine is as they waited. After an hour in line, I endownsized—and relatively expensive. A $5 tered the cramped restaurant, looked at the “regular-sized” yogurt is in reality the size menu, and immediately pointed to the raof baby food in America, so portion con- men that I wanted. I got to watch the chef trol should not be a problem make my food and three for travelers in Japan. I even other dishes simultanesaw mangos that were being ously. He elegantly jugsold at $100 for two! While I gled boiling the noodles, definitely was not going to shell cutting the meat, and out that much for mangoes, I preparing the vegetables had to admit that the quality of and the sauce. Years of Japanese produce was impresexperience have trained sive, regardless of where you him to make and deliver shopped. The Japanese took the food quickly and with great care to intricately packgreat professionalism. age and display their foods in That ramen was the best neat rows and columns. The bowl of noodles I had in grocery stores were filled with Japan and I only regret sushi and Bento boxes, all of that I could not eat more which were visually appealing that night. to browse over. Unfortunately While lots of things in (or fortunately for the fish), Japan struck me as being photo by Fei Lian much of Japanese cuisine did unique, traveling in Tokyo constantly renot suit my palette due to my distaste for minded me of other places around the world uncooked foods. Thus I refrained from per- I had seen before. At night, I saw fireworks haps the best food that Japan had to offer: from Tokyo Disneyland and thought of the raw seafood. I did not think I missed out too same displays at Orlando’s Magic Kingdom. much though, because while others were The Odaiba Ferris wheel stands much like filling up on sushi, I was discovering other the London Eye. Driving across Tokyo’s equally unique meals. Rainbow Bridge, I naturally thought of San I had two memorable dining experiences Francisco’s Golden Gate Bridge. And finally, during my trip. Both were at restaurants Tokyo Tower, though not as tall as the Eiffel managed by a single owner who cooked, Tower, certainly gave off the same symbolic served, and cleaned all by himself. One air. Though people in Tokyo may have carmeal was in Okinawa, an island two hours ried themselves as hurriedly and briskly as away from Tokyo by flight. It was a rather New Yorkers, they impressed me with their inconspicuous restaurant in the town of economical mindset and careful attention Naha. From an outsider’s view, there was to detail, despite living in a cosmopolitan nothing special about it. It featured a simple city. Since I only caught a glimpse of everymenu and had no special exterior decora- thing, I would love to revisit Tokyo, perhaps tions. The owner provided personable and to see the famous cherry blossoms bloom in friendly service and skillfully made the food the spring. My brief visit introduced me to behind a counter lined with over twenty dif- an advanced and modern society that is culferent spice jars. For less than $10, I had the turally distinct in every way. most delicious chicken curry for dinner. My second favorite meal was at a tiny restaurant on a residential street outside Tokyo. The place was so small that only six people could be served at a time. All six diners sat at the same counter surrounding the owner’s mini kitchen. Because the food served was so delicious and popular among the locals, everyone willingly waited for hours outside for one of the six seats. I learned that, during winter, the owner would kindly provide his customers photo by Oimax

Fall 2009

Not Your Typical Barbecue by Jessica So

In the rural eastern Cape of South Africa, Xhosa spirituality is a blend of traditional ancestral worship and Christianity. While the vast majority of villagers go to church on Sunday mornings, residents of the small village of Dongwe gathered on this particular day for an umbuyiso, an ancestor-honoring ceremony that has been practiced for centuries. The morning began with the slaughter of an ox to bring back the spirit of a deceased iminyanya, or ancestor, who was probably a clan leader or important chief. Cattle have traditionally been essential to the Xhosa way of life, and the sacrifice enables communication with the ancestors; the louder the animalâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s bellow, the more pleased the ancestors are. The umbuyiso began with the blood-relatives of the deceased performing a somber ceremonial walk from the rondavel, a traditional round thatched hut, to the kraal, a fenced-off barbeque pit where only those participating in the ceremony were allowed to enter. Generous portions of fresh meat were grilled over an open fire pit and distributed to all present. An important component of the ritual was the consumption of mqomboti, a homemade African beer. While the female elders sat on a hill passing around smoking pipes and tin pails of frothy mqomboti, the younger women were busy preparing and distributing the food. The men, both young and old, lingered by the kraal with their pipes and beer, watching in amusement as dozens of kids ran around in excitement and fought to have their pictures taken. The rest of the afternoon was spent feasting, drinking, and smoking. In these photos, I hope to capture the energy and spirit of this important ritualistic feast.

all photos by Jessica So

Fall 2009

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