Forgive me for being sappy, but...

BY: KAITLIN IN AUSTRALIA

Let’s recap my Australian experience thus far:

I’m seeing things I didn’t think were possible. I’m pushing my body and my mind past every former exertion and inhibition. And as my program in Australia winds down, I’m finding it harder and harder to say goodbye to this place.

A mere two weeks remain until I’ve got to say my final adieu, and I’m determined to make the most of it. More and more, I’m learning I’ve got to make the smallest things holy. I’ve got to consecrate the small things that make up a whole life, the unsung moments that make life worth living and remembering:

Markets with rows upon rows of fresh, fresh fruit.

A tip of a hat from a genial and soft-spoken farmer.


A truly ridiculous amount of cookie dough, made and eaten.

A particularly transcendent sunrise.

A peaceful boat ride into the misty mangroves of Australia.

These last two photographs are from when we went camping in the Daintree, a sleepy place where the rain is constant and the air is thick with its warm humidity. It’s advertised as the place where the rainforest meets the Great Barrier Reef, and it is a place of misty, unreal beauty.

To see the thick greenery come right up against the sandy shores? There are some times when all I really want to do is give Mother Nature a hug and explain to her how totally awesome she is. (Happy Earth Day on this past Wednesday, girl!)

Upon our return to the field station, we’ve been inundated with exams and fieldwork. I’m doing directed research on vines, more specifically on how invasive species of vines might prove to be more drought-tolerant than endemic species. I’m an ecology nerd admittedly, so I’ll understand if none of you come clamoring to read my final paper.

Regardless, it’s been a lot of work in the last couple of days, and it will be a long stretch of work ahead of me. It’ll be easy to get caught in trivialities and stress, but if I’ve learned anything from this whole experience, I’ll remember the good things—the golden memories that reach out and hold me in a friend's embrace.

All my love,
Kaitlin

Next time: I'm finally going snorkeling in Australia's finest treasure, the Great Barrier Reef.

My Village Stays

BY: AURORA FROM SENEGAL

Hello all! I would just like to offer my apologies for leaving Kaitlin alone on this blog. But she's doing a great job, and I believe she keeps all of our readers very entertained. But seeing as I have found a nice little café with WiFi (!!)- pronounced wee-fee here- I will use this time to give you all a flash update on my village stays.


Kedougou:

My group traveled 20 hellish hours on a bumpy road to reach Kedougou, a region in southeast Senegal. We got 3 flat tires on the way there, and 3 flat tires on the way back. Apparently, luck was not on our side. Anyways, this is the poorest regions of Senegal, as well as the hottest. There I stayed in a village called Boundi Kodi with people of the Peul Bande ethnic group. I speak no Peul, they spoke no French or Wolof- needless to say I couldn't communicate. I stayed with the village chief, Mamadou Diallo, and his 4 wives, I didn't get all of their names. There, my days consisted of eating breakfast, helping shell peanuts, eating lunch (Maffé- rice with peanut sauce), pounding millet,taking a nap, getting my hair braided, eating dinner by the moonlight (no electricity), having a dance party with the children, and sleeping at 4am (when the breeze kicks in) because I couldn't stand the heat. Although it was about 104 degrees everyday, I was more overwhelmed with the level of interest in my person. After the village stay, we enjoyed the sites of Kedougou, including an amazing waterfall and a village upon a mountain.

Keur Sedaro:

For 3 days my name was Oumi Mbaye. I stayed in the Wolof village of Keur Sedaro with my mother Djoro Diouf, and father Magurom Mbaye. They were lovely, hysterical people. There I helped with the cooking, carried babies on my back, and helped fetch the water from the water pump. My family had a dog named Vivian, like the president's wife- they hate the president. This was a constant joke they made: "Oh look it's Wade's wife!" as they pointed at the poor flea-ridden mutt. These jokes were all in Wolof, a language that I have gotten used to, but by no means am I fluent; I also had trouble with communication. There, I functioned as America's cultural encyclopedia. I was asked if there was coffee, tomatoes, carrots, dogs, cows, donkeys, and finally black people in America. I also had to explain what being Latin American was. People just thought that one of my parents was black. They were very (I'm fighting the urge to use très) confused when I explained that both of my parents looked like me. "Oh, they are another type of people," they concluded. Multicultural experiences.

I will also give a brief Wolof lesson (just for you Apolline)

Jaay fondé- (literally means "to see millet") also, a big derrière.
ex. Wow, you have a jaay fondé.

Waaw - yes; it will be hard to not use this in the states.

deedet -no; very cute way to avoid people

Mangi lekk -I eat

sopp na - I like

sur na - I am full

Amuma xaalis - I don't have money

Am naa jeker/far - I have a husband/boyfried; used often

Duma chinois - I am not Chinese; we have a Korean friend here

Jerejef - thank you


Ci (chi) digga-digga - really; can be sarcastic if used correctly

Ba beneen yoon - until next time

With that said, ba beneen yoon

The World My Wilderness...

BY: KAITLIN IN AUSTRALIA

We’re a wholesome bunch here: We have hearty breakfasts of eggs and toast. We hydrate copiously with ice-cool water. We go through crates of apples and buckets of peanut butter like nobody's business. We get at least eight hours of sleep a night. And as you might be able to tell from past posts of mine, we love a good hike.

Someone once told me that hiking was basically consisted of three things: climbing uphill for hours, taking pictures at the top, and then walking back down. Truth be told, that’s a fairly accurate depiction of what can happen, but it hardly describes the incredible swooshing rush you get at the top of a mountain and the intense satisfaction you find at the bottom.

As I write this, we’re all groaning a bit; we’ve just hiked the highest part of Lambs Head (also known as Kahlpahlim Rock), and we all ache. It was a full day walk, and we hiked for seven straight hours. Our sore calf and butt muscles curse us with every step, but reader, it was so worth it!

The day started in darkness, as we had to leave the field station at six o’clock. When you leave the field station at six o’clock, that means you have to wake up even earlier to make your eggs and toast, in addition to packing a lunch for later.

Along with fruit and a turkey sandwich, I brought a ridiculous amount of gorp (good ole raisins and peanuts) to tide me over. Over the course of the hike, I probably ate my weight in gorp.

Bleary-eyed and stumbling, we climbed into the vans that would take us to Lambs Head. Naturally, we immediately fell asleep, lulled by the gentle rocking of those valiant and decrepit vans.

We all collectively woke up when the vans hit dirt road, jiggling us across a mountainous landscape. Soon enough, we were standing around at the start of the trail, adjusting pack straps and double-checking supplies of water (3 liters necessary, at the very least).

And then the hike began!

There’s something so meditative about hiking: it’s like the very act purifies your thoughts. Away with the small and large sins of yesterday, away with the plaguing guilt over tasks done and undone. It’s just you and the mountain.

Even though I was hiking with a small group of six, it was still easy to isolate myself mentally. The person in front of me? Just a pair of legs and a torso moving ahead.

I have a bad tendency of looking down when I’m hiking—mainly because I need to be careful with my footing. (My clumsiness should be nothing new.) Usually, I stare at the ground looking for any obstacles, like random logs or thorny shrubs. This time, though, I tried hard to look at my surroundings.

At the start of the hike, there was a multitude of grasses and lantana weeds, along with sparsely spaced eucalyptus trees. This progressed into more thickly situated deciduous trees with a multitude of feather palms, until you reached mossy boulders and huge trees. The hike up was steep and reminiscent of a Stairmaster exercise.


Like I said, we all ache now.

But we prevailed, and it was worth it. At the top, there were five lookouts, and they were all overwhelming in their span and beauty:


We had lunch at the fourth lookout, and there’s probably nothing better than a mustard, cheese, and turkey sandwich when you’re smack on the side of the mountain. We took a rest, which looks a little like this:

(That's my lovely friend, Laura, taking a well-deserved nap.)

We traveled on to the fifth lookout, where I took the requisite top-of-the-mountain picture:

And then we started on our way back down. The way down (much like the way up) was steep, and much of the time we were basically running down hills, meaning that we made it down in record time.

When we reached the foot of the mountain, we ransacked leftover supplies of gorp and water before lying back and looking up into the blue, blue sky.

Back safe and sound at the field station, we carry the remnants of the day—sunburn, soreness, and general tiredness. Another hike well-hiked, another wholly perfect day in Australia.

I’ve got a book of Walt Whitman here, and I’ll leave you with a stanza I’ve underlined in soft pencil:

This then is life,
Here is what has come to the surface after so many throes and convulsions

How curious! How real!
Underfoot the divine soil, overhead the sun.

All my love,
Kaitlin

Next time: We’re going camping in the Daintree, where the rainforest meets the Great Barrier Reef.