Ok. I'm still here in Haifa. And so to keep this traveling blog a little bit more interesting than endless stories of me not going anywhere, tonight is going to be storytime. Tonight's story is about one of my heros. One of my Super-heros. Who I have met only once and chatted to for all of ten minutes. She's Super Velma.

I met Super Velma here in Haifa about a month ago. She was sitting on a little folding chair outside the small pilgrim house in the Baha'i gardens around the Shrine of the Bab and Abdu'l-Baha. It was around noon and she was sitting in the shade, enjoying the lovely afternoon, chatting and smiling and having a wonderful time. I found out later that she had been sitting there all morning, waiting for a friend of hers that had been unexpectedly tied up. When asked why she didn't find somewhere more comfortable to wait, she said simply "Could you think of a more wonderful place to spend the day? I'll stay right here thanks." Hard to argue with that.
Anyway, so I wandered over to chat and we got onto the topic of traveling. She said that she had been all over and I asked her for some highlights. There were many. Here are two of my favorites:
In 1971 she was living in Uganda and loving it. And then Idi Amin took over. Now, she was a US citizen and therefore needed a visa to stay in the country. She also needed a valid visa to leave the country without being arrested. Somewhere in the confusion of the military take-over and all of that, her visa expired. And being American and without a valid visa in Amin-run Uganda was not a pleasant thing to be. So she hid.
Now, at this point in the story I had to lean forward and ask, "sorry, you what?" thinking I couldn't possibly have heard her correctly.
"I hid," she repeated.
"Hid where exactly?"
"In Uganda."
She had been off in the villages when the coup had taken place and was too worried to go back to Kampala, and then once people began to understand what was happening she decided to stay where she was and hope that things got better. But they didn't. And so for 8 years Super Velma hid out in Uganda. Hiding in villages in the south west of the country. The family of a woman that works upstairs from me here in Haifa helped to hide Super-Velma during this whole adventure and when I asked her about Super-V she just laughed. Because in spite of the danger and the uncertainty, Velma was really enjoying herself. Making friends and hanging out.
After Amin was overthrown in 1979, Super-V left Uganda and continued on her merry way.

The second story was about the last place she had been before heading back to settle semi-permanently in the US a few years ago.(she's in Colorado Springs, about which she says, "It's so boring!"). She had been traveling around China when she came down with something that no one seemed to be able to identify. She checked into a hospital in some medium sized city (...sorry, I'm not so good with the city names) where there was only one doctor that spoke any english. He immediately told all of the nurses that she wasn't to be left alone as she was their guest and she should be well taken care of.
"You know," she said to me, smiling "at first it was flattering, they would come in to see me all the time, smiling and laughing. There were at least 2 nurses there all the time. Which I suppose was so they could at least talk to each other, since they couldn't talk to me." But I guess having hordes of Chinese nurses in your room chatting away to each other 24/7 in a language you can't understand can get a little tiresome. Especially since no one could figure out what was wrong and poor Super-V was slowly wasting away. But when she told the story of her endless days in the hospital and the endless tests of the baffled doctor, she smiled and she laughed and she expressed genuine regret that she couldn't have been more helpful to that doctor. "He was so nice to me, I just wish I could have let him figure out what was wrong." Eventually she was strong enough to jump on a plane and get whisked back to the US so she could be diagnosed with a thyroid condition and "sent off to boring old Colorado Springs." She was, at this point, about 70 years old. Or perhaps 75 (I'm guessing, I am far too much of a gentleman to have asked her age.)

And she told these stories in a gentle voice while her eyes shone and her hands danced in her lap. "You should travel while you're young and strong," she told me, and then after a pause, "and you should travel when you're old too, because being old is no excuse for slowing down." Looking at the deep creases in her face, her brilliant white hair and the cane leaning against her chair, I can see that she sure didn't slow down. But her traveling days are over now. This trip to Haifa was probably the last time she will be able to leave the US.
And I have no idea how to end this now. Other than to say that she was one of the coolest people that I've ever met. Super-Velma: Traveling super hero.

Oh look, now I have comments.
So you all leave comments about all of the tedious and boring things that I post on this blog. For instance, you could leave a comment that says: "Stop posting all of this tedious and boring crap!" or something like that.

Looking for something to blog, anything will do...
hmm...something?
anything?
...
still waiting for super inspiration....
...
nope.
Well, how about a boring old update? Still in Haifa, loving Israel. It's the Baha'i festive time of year, so there's lots of parties to attend and dressing up to do. I don't really have any real dressy-up clothes (as anyone who knows me can attest to), but I do my best. And besides, I found if I just carry around one of my ginormous cameras no one gives me a hard time. Like you can't shoot in a suit or something. Anyway.
Video project is nearing completion (ok, that's a bit optimistic, but at least we're closer to the end then we were last week) and that means that I'll be able to jump on a plane soon and get myself home-ish for a little while before I turn around and come right back for another fun video project. I'll be based here in Haifa, but the shooting will be done in Uganda. I can't wait to get back, I've loved it ever since the first time I was there. (check out the captions on those horrible photos. Oh, how embarrassing...)
Anyway, that's the loose plan for now. But my plans rarely last longer than it takes me to come up with them, so who knows what could happen in the coming weeks. I'll keep you all posted.

Ok, fine. I apologize again for the cut-and-pastery but this is actually something that relates to something that actually happened to me. ok?
So I found this on Boing Boing: A Directory of Wonderful Things. So it seems that I'm not the only one that has discovered the beauty that is the Tim Tam. From Boing Boing:

"Believe it or not, I have found something better than a Choco-Dile (perhaps they are on equal footing, it's been awhile). While living in Melbourne Australia, I was introduced to the World's Most Perfect Cookie, the Tim Tam. The Tim Tam is so amazing, I bought a large suitcase and stuffed it full of them before I left Oz. Somewhere around 50 packages. I had an interesting time declaring that at customs.

Customs Agent: And what's in this bag?

Me: Cookies

Customs Agent: The entire bag is filled with cookies?

Me: Uh...yeah.

Customs Agent: Can you open the bag sir?

You can order Tim Tams here in the states through Simply Australian. I suggest you order them by the case. Seriously!

Tim Tam Slam
There is a ritual to eating Tim Tams. It should be faithfully followed. The Tim Tam is a rectangular sandwich cookie, covered in chocolate. The trick is to bite off opposite corners of the cookie and dunk one of the bitten ends into a cup of coffee. Then on the other end, suck the coffee through the cookie as if it were a straw. Once you feel the cookie begin to give, pop the entire thing into your mouth. It will collapse into a wondrous slush of chocolate and coffee. Orgasm is possible."

So, you can bet I'll have a similar story of trying to sneak a suitcase full of these things back in to Canada (if, in fact I ever make it back to Canada) so I can instruct you all in the "Tim Tam Slam". Though, just so you're not all over excited, I for one have never experienced a Tim Tam Slam orgasm. Maybe I'm not doing it right.

At the risk of falling back into the cut-and-paste style of blogging that I have so recently promised to avoid, I'm posting this little nugget that I just read on some nice ladies blog. This is really just for my dear sister and I hope she appreciates it. For everyone else, please read with caution... or not. Actually, everyone should read this. Cause if you can't relate to it, I'm sure someone in your life can and you should be a pal and laugh about it with them. So here it is:

"Sea Sponge Quarterly Report

Ahem. It's been three months since I started using sea sponges instead of getting burned by the makers of Tampax tampons for their bleached out wads of cotton at 12.00 a pop. The first month, I felt like the sea sponge was too big. The second month, it felt better, but sometimes I think it gave me cramps when I'd sit down. This month, I discovered that when you sneeze, the pelvic floor (Kegel) muscles in your vagina contract, or squeeze. Guess what happens when you squeeze a partially full sponge?

Delightful.

Our next door neighbors, who think we're kind of weird anyway, tentatively allowed their 5 year old daughter to come over to play with Alex yesterday, on the condition that I was going to stay outside the whole time to watch them. Which is some strange sort of bullshit, since they certainly don't stay outside the whole time when Alex is over there, and they don't even have a fenced-in back yard like we do. But whatever, I'd planned on staying out there anyway, until I sneezed and sprayed blood all over the patio. When I came back outside, my neighbors had pulled their daughter back over the fence and had disappeared into their house. They don't speak English very well, so how could I possibly explain the sponge incident to them? Really, I think running into the house and changing clothes was much less traumatizing to small children, or anyone for that matter, than looking like Stephen King's Carrie from the waist down, don't you?"

If you really need to know where to find the rest of this woman's blog, drop me an email and I'll be happy tell you (I hope you all don't immediately confuse this for the desperate pleadings of someone who wants to know how many people actually read this blog and is too proud to call all of his friends and ask them, even though that's exactly what it is.)

I bought a shower curtain the other day. It was fishes and octopuses on it. Very classy.
This is a big thing for me. I've been living mostly out of a suitcase since June 1999 and aside from a 14 month on-and-off stint in New York, this is the longest I've been in one place in almost five years. And so I've been in Israel for six months now, which may not seem like a long time, but I'm starting to feel like I've been here forever. So I've been doing things like scrubbing the kitchen cabinets in my flat (the flat, by the way, has been provided by the Baha'i World Centre. And it seems that a steady stream of messy boys, myself included, has been passing through the flat since the beginning of time. At least, some of the dirt and grime seems to house fossils from the dinosaurs...)
So anyway, I'm having all of these strange domestic urges lately. Like sorting my spice shelf. And re-arranging my crusty, ancient, upholstered-in-such-ugly-ass-fabric-that-I-can't-think-of-a-suitably-harsh-adjective living room furniture. And pretending that my apartment is starting to feel "homey". Which it is not.
I think it's time for me to get on a plane very very very soon.

Talking to one of my colleagues the other day about her decision to come to Israel. She's from Singapore and was applying for jobs and not getting very far, so she applied to come to Baha'i World Centre as well. Before she heard back from Israel, she was offered a job in Singapore as an assistant in a local hospital. A job that she was dreaming about, but didn't feel qualified for. It also paid more than she expected. Before she had a chance to go in to sign the contract, she also heard back from here. They wanted her to come right away. So, for whatever reason, she decided to turn down the job in Singapore and fly off to Israel instead. The hospital was sad to see her go, and I'm sure that all her friends thought she was insane, flying off to a "warzone" no doubt thinking that she was risking her life...
A couple of weeks after she arrived in Haifa, SARS appeared in South East Asia. It quickly spread to Singapore and her hospital (Tan Tock Seng Hospital) was closed to everyone EXCEPT SARS cases. So from the beginning of March 2003 to the end of June 2003 they dealt with the vast majority of Singapore's 238 SARS cases (including 30 deaths). And she would have been there, at the centre of it all. Instead of risking her life in Israel...

Along the same lines as the post a couple of days ago about the woman working in Ethiopia, I offerthis (from the NYTimes website, you may have to register). Check the link on the right side that says: "Is There Any Hope For Africa?". Needless to say, I found the title pretty, well, stupid. This guy takes a trip to Chad to report on the refugees that have been pouring across the border from Sudan (which is a very serious and heartbreaking situation) and then decides that if "Africa" is this bad, hell, why should we think that it will EVER sort itself out.
Of course, not all of Africa is that bad. It would be like saying "Is there any hope for America's Youth?" because kids in schools keep shooting each other. Yes the Sudan is bad, yes there are problems of poverty and instability all over the continent and yes truck loads and truck loads of Aid money aren't going to solve those problems.
But "Is There Any Hope For Africa?" geez. a little harsh no?
I'm sure people logging on to NYTimes.com in Lagos love that. Or Dakar. Or Nairobi. Or Cape Town. Or Cairo. But at least they can all take heart in the fact that Mr. Kristof, at the very end of his exhautive report manages some "guarded optimism" that the problems of Africa can be sorted out. Thanks Mr Kristof, the continent of Africa sleeps better knowing that.

Everybody check this out. Notice the second film from the top (right after "Camera Gun") is my dear friends' film "Cape of Good Hope". As the little film festival blurb says: In this mosaic of contemporary South African life, six people of different racial and cultural backgrounds connect with one another at a Cape Town animal rescue shelter. The impressive cast is led by Nthati Moshesh (The Long Run), Eriq Ebouaney (Lumumba, Femme Fatale) and Nick Boraine (Promised Land, I Dreamed of Africa)
And if you click on the little link it will tell you when it's playing in New York. So, now you have no excuses. So go.

Not sure really how I feel about this but it documents one young american woman's experiences in Ethiopia that shows and explains some of the things that I've seen in other parts of Africa. She's there with the Adventist Church, working at an Adventist hospital in Gimbi. And her photos are brilliant.
Strangely though, she seems quite preoccupied with the poverty and hardship and doesn't seem to acknowledge the happiness reflected in the faces of the people that she is photographing.
I guess what it really shows is the impotence one feels when one goes to a place thinking that you're going to have this great impact and, in the end, save the world. And it shows clearly the shortcomings of existing "development" strategies. Sending young american women to Ethiopia to "find themselves" and reaffirm their faith in God is all well and good, but it doesn't do much to help the people in Gimbi (aside from when, in what appears to be the crux of the story, she pays for what ends up being one woman's cosmetic surgery). And perhaps the surgery is the perfect metaphor for what most development agencies are doing, especially in Africa. A little paint, a little polish and everyone feels better for a while. Sure they're still poor, and sure they're still suffering, and sure, the only hope you've given them is that one day, if they're lucky, some white lady might show up on their doorstep and give them something that really, in the end, hardly matters, but at least that's something right?
Now, please don't think that I'm belittling her experience, because my own experience in West Africa working as a photographer felt very much the same. But it looks like my next project (when the current never-ending project is finished in another couple of months) is going to be in Uganda, documenting the efforts of a group of development workers who are trying to reshape the whole development process. The catch with this group is that all of the development people involved are Ugandans. No one coming from outside to determine what Ugandans need. No one coming to impose their own ideas of what will work and what won't. The whole plan is to provide education and training to empower people in the rural areas of Uganda (ie. the people who would benefit from these development efforts) to make their own decisions about what they need. It's all kind of exciting. A really hope it works.

So, I'm back to working odd hours. Which is fine. I work in an office that has zero air circulation with an echo-y, highly trafficked hallway right outside my door. Having no air in my office, I like to work with the door open. Having the attention span of a two year-old I like to listen to music while I work or I get bored. Open doors and loud music next to the hallway frequented by elderly women that spend their days studying hundred year-old documents written in persian is never a good mix. Unless it's 2am and the elderly women are home, snug in their beds, dreaming of hundred year-old documents residing in silent, silent rooms. Shhhhhhhh.
Meanwhile, their hundred year-old documents are rocking out to Sonic Youth and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. Cause now I can play my music as loud as I like.
The downside of this is that when I leave for home in the silent, spooky hours of the morning, I frequently see cute and furry animals running around the gardens outside of my office. Cute and furry animals that look a lot like Jackals. You see, my office is part of "The Arc" (all the Baha'is know what I'm talking about) which means that it has lots of gardens all around it. And beyond the gardens are large areas where the mountainside on which the arc is built, which is in the middle of the city of Haifa, has been left natural. And the Baha'is have done their best to encourage the growth and propagation of the natural flora and fauna. Like Jackals. The neighbours, I am sure, love this.
And speaking to one of the brave and dedicated security guards one night as I was leaving, I commented on the jackals. And he turned to me and said: "Oh, you don't need to worry about them, they're pretty timid and run off as soon as they see you," at this point he paused and gazed around the gardens and out over the city of Haifa before turning back to me and saying, "unless of course they're in a pack. I hear a pack of jackals can get pretty nasty."
"So what do you do if you come face to face with a pack of jackals?" I asked as he let me out of the main gate.
"Oh, it doesn't really matter...as long as you don't run." And then he walked off into the darkness.
Ha ha, silly security guards, always with the joking. Though it would explain the huge-ass flashlights they carry around at night...

Quick little celebratory blog to let you all know that my friends' little movie has been accepted to the Cannes Film Festival. For those of you that don't know Cannes is THE film festival. So we are all terribly happy. There is much dancing and shouting and joyous, celebratory cartwheels.
All the more so because of the story that accompanies the news. It goes like this:
My friends, who come from America (motto: We may not be the only country in the world, but at least we're the biggest. dammit.) have been living in South Africa for the past few years and have been enjoying it immensely. So they, being filmmakers, decided to make a film while they were there. A good one. And so they did.
But, try as they might, they didn't make the deadline for some of the festivals they wanted to submit to. Sad. But they did submit to Cannes (motto: Nous sommes LE film festival) but of course, as all of you who have submitted films to Cannes must know, acceptance to Cannes depends mostly on the vague rules of Astrology and Voodoo and not at all on whether or not your film is any good.
Now, around this time someone at the Tribeca Film Festival (motto: Everyone come to New York, spend $10 and eat some popcorn, cause Martin Scorsese said so.) heard about my friends' movie. How this happened, I really have no idea, but my friends are the sorts of mysterious film people who I expect would have the kinds of friends that would mention in passing to Martin Scorsese that they had heard about this fabulous movie in South Africa and that it should be in his festival. And so the Tribeca people called my friends and asked if they could send a copy of the film to New York for possible inclusion in the festival. So now their premiereing at Tribeca. Crazy right?
And now, you may all be aware that this year is the tenth anniversary of democracy in South Africa. Even if you aren't, the people in Cannes are, and they have invited Nelson Mandela to come and speak at the festival. And, of course, they are looking to screen any and all South African films that they can get their hands on. And while my friends may be dirty americans, the entire cast of the movie, with the exception of one Cameroonian actor, are South African (the Cameroonian, if you're wondering, actually plays a Congolese guy in the movie) as is the vast majority of the crew. So, their movie, along with Nelson Mandela, will be the star of Cannes. We're hoping.
So if any of you are going to be in New York or Cannes, please do yourselves a favor and watch "Cape of Good Hope" and after that do my friend a favor and tell everyone you've ever met in your entire lives to go out and watch "Cape of Good Hope." Because that would be nice.