In New York

New York, New York. The city so nice they named it twice!! Manhattan is the other name, and while the city may be worthy of many more, the two words - New York - carry such such a history of ideas and rich connotation that no others are necessary. It simply is one of the great cities of the world, and one in which I think I could live for a time (and for any NY Uni's I'll be accepting job and fellowship offers from late 2008:-)).
The city was rainy and grey for the first 24 hours, which in the absence of a cold sunny day is just right for wandering and exploring. Walking through steam coming out of subway vents, drinking in the distinct NY smell of steam, hot underground air, metal loaded with electricity (subway?), rubber slightly burning (?), and litter, and gazing in awe at the waves of high-rise life that appear to be about to crash onto Central Park all made me wish for a longer stay. Next time...



The journey here was a cause for much thought. As I sat in LAX waiting for our connecting flight here, I was surprised to find myself reeling from culture shock, surprisingly similar to that which I felt upon arriving in India. Flying over the wide expanse of the continental United States I was again reminded that this is a vast and mighty nation. Town after town, city after city rolls by underneath, ceaselessly. Like India there are people everywhere, though of course not with the same density as found on the subcontinent. But making my way through the somewhat chaotic maze of LAX I found some sharp reminders, nonetheless. Here, again, I was seeing hundreds of people employed in roles that seem unnecessary or in numbers that seem unjustified: baggage handlers move bags often less than one foot, non-security 'security guards' man numerous 'check points' with such abrupt rudeness I laughed out loud at one point (all they were doing was looking at boarding passes a job the actual security guards also did), while lots of official looking people sit around chatting. Adding to the Indian likeness was the presence of taxi touts at JFK airport, each jovially vying for the newly arrived's custom. Abi said one even chuckled and mimicked my "No thanks, mate. Cheers." as I walked by, which I thought was a nice piece of cultural interaction on my behalf, albeit unconscious.
This, in combination with the saccharine advertisements, rampant commercialism, language differences, and often vastly different customs results in the feeling of being dropped in a wholly different culture. Admittedly there are similarities, such as the bulk of the language and the Christianity-based ethico-political systems, but the culture shock is well and truly there. Yet while some might bemoan such things - the most visible and aspects of U.S. culture - I take great personal and not un-selfish joy in them. The thing is, they make me happy. Happy that U.S. culture isn't so dominating (as some contend) that there is nothing different left in the world; happy that I am confused by its brash confidence, lack of a public health philosophy, or philanthropic drive; and happy that there is a U.S.A. out there that I don't know about. But mostly I'm happy that I want to know about it, that my confusion and lack of knowledge only makes me want to know more and explore this land and these people. Hopefully I can do this one day with more depth and breadth than two and a half days allow.

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7 Days - Reprise

So, six months later I am again seven days away from departing on another research adventure. In seven days we set off for London (with a three day stopover in New York), and on September the 9th I fly to Lyon. I should begin walking the Camino de Santiago de Compostela (chemin de Compostelle in French) from Le Puy on the 11th of September.

Much has changed since I wrote the first entry of this blog (the first '7 Days' post), and yet much remains the same. I hold many of the same feelings about my upcoming research. I am apprehensive about my body (it suffered so in India) and the endurance test it is about to undergo. The Camino from Le Puy to Santiago is over 1500km, which really is a hell of a long way to walk. Yet, as before I feel elated that I am about to, again, get to do something long in the dreaming and planning. I'm nervous that I won't find enough people to interview, though that is tempered somewhat by the experience I gained in India, particularly the willingness most people had towards participating in my project. And, I'm curious about my own emotional journey on the Camino. It, like India, has a reputation for challenging its patrons in many often unforeseen ways. I look forward to meeting them.

And now for another wanky symbolic photo:


My boots so I can walk, guidebooks so I can find the way, my notebook and pen to try and capture to torrential flow of ideas that comes with fieldwork, and my voice recorder to forever capture those magic moments of expression from other pilgrims. There is no lightbulb this time. India taught me that they are given me by those I speak with (or they at least let me write in their light for a time). And I know now that I don't need my glasses to see.
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Mes Chaussures de Marche sont Mortes!

Oh my melancholy companions! We have seen much together. In many ways my adventures have been yours, for you were with me always. Without complaint you carried your share of the load and walked with me every step. The riverbeds and jungles of Thailand bothered you not. The ancient, muddy pathways and bitter cold of Athos you swept over without fuss. The rakish Rocky Mountains and the mighty Himalayas you trod with confidence. In cities we were masters together also. The towering jungles of New York, the sprawling urban London, the sun-drenched streets of Sydney all passed beneath you. You have left footprints in the earth, and in my memory they will never fade.

Yes, it is true, my boots have died. I love them like a part of my body. (cue mournful music)

My poor old boots! I am of half a mind to take you with me to the Camino and leave you there, perched in some high place to forever watch the comings and goings over the track you never got to walk with me.

Of course, this leaves me just over a month to break in my new pair - the solidly built Italian Scarpa boot.

There they are, the old and the new. To my new companions, may our adventures together be as long and as varied as your predecessor's. You have much to live up to, but I have great confidence in you.

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