The Middle Way of Scouting

My son has recently joined the Cub Scouts, a part of the Boy Scouts of America (BSA), and his participation in this venerable organization is causing me some angst, forcing me to examine thoughts and feelings from my own Buddhist perspective. 

Firstly, BSA is an organization that does not have a stellar reputation for "inclusive" practices, having won a June 2000 Supreme Court decision allowing it, as a private organization, to exclude certain members based on non-Christian beliefs or homosexuality.  This is something that I'm not happy with and question whether I want my son being influenced by an organization that excludes members based on these criteria.

Am I attached to my beliefs, and therefore struggling with my views on the BSA?  I believe so.  Am I practicing "exclusion" by shunning an organization that does not follow MY beliefs?  Again, I think so.  Do I want my son to miss out on the myriad of "benefits" of scouting?  No.

So what I've settled on is the Middle Way, no organization is going to be perfect, or imperfect for that matter.  BSA is what it is, and my son should experience it for just that.  Critical decisions about membership and exclusion can be his to make when he's old enough to question them for himself.  Until then I will continue to examine and practice, but I'd like to hear from other Buddhists on this topic.

Lesson Learned

A lady peers out her window in a pro-Chavez Caracas neighborhood.  She was curious about the gringos outside of her house, but decidedly cold about it.

Back in Atlanta but not after a bit of drama leaving Caracas this morning.

I was notified last night by TripIt and Delta Airlines that this morning's early flight back to Atlanta was delayed by two hours.  Perfect, now it wasn't such an early flight and I could grab a good breakfast before the team and I left for the airport.

Arriving at the airport still three hours before the newly scheduled take-off I found the Delta ticket counter all but deserted.  This was odd because one would normally expect mayhem on a flight coming out of Latin America to the States.  No one was around except a lone agent.

My first thought was that the flight was canceled all together, but the agent said, "No, it takes off in three hours".  As I threw my bags on the scale he told me that I can't check in because the flight is already "closed".  Huh?!!

Apparently even though the flight is delayed and the airline goes to great effort to tell you this so that you will not be inconvenienced, in Caracas you still must check in at the scheduled time regardless of when the flight is going to depart.  I lost my mind as I stood there with bags in-hand not being able to check in on a flight that departs in three hours.  Luckily one of the members of the team that I was with is rather noteworthy and was able to convince the Delta Airlines Station Chief to contact the Venezuelan security to re-open the flight for us.

The learning point for me is not to get too cocky with information and familiarity when traveling.  Every airport is different, and they're changing all the time.  What you might think is reality in Atlanta doesn't count at all in Islamabad or Quito, regardless if it's a major carrier or not. Lesson learned.

Election Day

What do you do in Venezuela during Election Day?  Your options are pretty limited as everything is closed while the country votes its legislature.  Don't even think about drinking alcohol as the entire country has been "on the wagon" for the last three days,  I suppose someone doesn't want a bunch of intoxicated people participating in democracy, as if somehow the results would be different :)

A Word On Women

This is actually a little girl who was attending a street political rally, but I admired her attempt at being fashionable.

In the 90's I spent a lot of time in Venezuela and the one thing that was always a constant was The Question.  When you climbed into a taxi and the driver realized that you were not Venezuelan, the very next thing out of his mouth was the trivia question: How many Miss Universe have come from Venezuela? I forget the answer, but it was some outrageous number and clearly a point of national pride. 

Yes, the Venezuelan women, a mix of Latin and Caribbean cultures, were put together well.  Having said that, all of this "put together-ness" takes time and effort, an immense amount  I imagine.  The English phrase that gets bandied about for this effort is "high maintenance", and for years I've searched the Spanish lexicon for a similar phrase.  There isn't one.  The fact that there is no easy way to describe a woman (or man) who is fastidious about their appearance and spends inordinate amounts of time keeping it so speaks volumes about this culture. In other words, the attribute of being "high-maintenance" is so inculcated into the lives of so many Venezuelans that it's accepted as normal and does not need to be described, it just "is".

Shots From Today

Hanging out on the street looking cool

The Look

This little guy lives in what can only be described as a gated Socialist community.

A lone tree stands in the fog

Brothers I think

Uncle Simón

She wouldn't stop smiling.  Awesome.

This little guy was really shy, but we turned it into a game.

Caracas Emergency Department

A final word on moto-taxis.  No, this is not me on the back.  There are so many of these things whizzing around that an inspiring photographer could make a collection of shots like this.

Last night I toured a Caracas Emergency Department and I've come to the conclusion that most third-word hospitals are the same: short on supplies and long on sick people.  The entrance to the building had all the charm of an East German jail, complete with bars, a sleepy guard, stained tiled floors, and blinking florescent lights. Continuing through the waiting room there was the normal cast of the sick and sleeping laid out on cold metal benches oblivious to one another.

When I walked into the ER all I could see was rows of beds behind a single, long curtain.  Every patient had an IV drip, which I took to be a good sign, but my optimism ended there.  No gloves or masks for the staff, shockingly limited medications, blood-stained floors and sheets, and some of the worse X-rays I've ever seen. 

I spoke with some of my colleagues, pointing some things out and cautioning them not to judge too harshly.  The hospital staff was clearly doing the best that it could with what meager supplies the State had given them. I spoke with the attending physician, he quietly detailed of the nightly struggles to make due with what he was given.  The nurses sang the same tune, each day the staff had to make decisions about which patients got what was left of the dwindling supplies.  This was not a place to be sick, and I couldn't help but hearken back to my death-defying moto-taxi ride that morning.  If we had had an accident, this is where I would have ended up, possibly for good.

Not A Good Idea

All the rage in Caracas.  I like this shot, it reminds me of someone sneaking a glance at something that they shouldn't.

Today I did something that I swore years ago that I would never do.  I took a moto-taxi through the streets of Caracas trying to beat the traffic in order to get someplace quickly and meet a deadline.  For those that are unfamiliar with this mode of travel; one sits on the back of a small motorcycle, sometimes even wearing a cheap helmet, and the driver weaves his way at breakneck speed between the slower cars and trucks.  If you think this sounds stupidly dangerous, you're getting the idea. 

The moto-taxi "lane splits", or in other words rides between the lanes in order to by-pass traffic.  For those that are familiar with Latin America you know that there really are no lanes per se. I sat on the back as the teenage driver decided to show me his latest Moto-GP skills, ripping past cars, diving in front of trucks, and running red lights.  (If my mother is reading this…. it was someone else, not me).  I came out of the adventure unscathed, but a bit disappointed that I would allow myself to take such stupid chances.  One of the people on the trip remarked that it was a lot of fun to ride like that.  I couldn't help but think of the crass joke that compares motorcycles to prostitutes; both fun to ride, but neither necessarily a good idea.

Ensuing Crisis in Venezuela

A little girl helps her father campaign on the streets of Caracas. The upcoming elections will guide this country through the ensuing economic crisis. The pamphlet reads, "You Have The Power".

Venezuela; this is my third or fourth time here in the as many years.  There are things that I tend to forget and must re-learn upon each visit.  This morning's lesson came during breakfast: this country is devoid of all concept of personal service.  You can sit in a restaurant, and a very nice one at that, and wait an eternity for a refill on a cup of coffee.  Most places that I've stayed at the staff is standing by with an IV if you require a constant stream of coffee in the morning.  Venezuela, not so much. 

People have jobs here, and with tight, socialist labor laws they've been very secure in their employment. Secure to the point that there is no need to fill up your cup of coffee, no one is going to loose their job over incompetence.  Now enter 30% inflation.  Consumer prices are rising and businesses cannot keep pace, they are either going to have to cut costs (labor) or be forced out of the market.  This is the polemic that Venezuela is facing today, and the reason for my week-long visit.

The Buddhist Paramedic- Deepening Compassion

A mountain-top antenna extends skyward through the clouds and mist.

I was approached on Facebook by a Zen Buddhist priest who asked me about becoming involved in Emergency Medical Services (EMS) as a future vocation.  The conversation is still ongoing but its one that I'm very excited to have.  I can think of no other job that will deepen a Buddhist practice more so than EMS; I say that with a bit of a sarcastic undertone.

If you stay in EMS long enough you encounter terms like, "burnt-out" or "jaded", and I asked myself what exactly do those mean.  After some brief consideration the answer that I arrived at is a paramedic or EMT that has dealt with the world's sick and pseudo-sick for so long that they no longer can dredge up any empathy or compassion for their patients.  To be accurate, as a good friend pointed out, this is not only limited to EMS but also extends to nurses and physicians as well. 

Enter the Buddhist.  If you want to become physically stronger you have to stress your muscles so that they grow and develop.  Likewise, if you desire (ouch!) to become more compassionate you have to place yourself in situations where this emotion is stressed and tested: EMS.  The practicing Buddhist paramedic is tested everyday with the hoards of drug-seekers, EMS abusers, the pseudo-sick, people craving attention, uncaring medical staff, and of course uncaring family members.  Its a world that over time whittles away at one's compassion, and ability or desire to emotionally connect with patients. What better place for a Buddhist to find greater empathy and compassion?

Begging To Be Said

 A woman begs on the street of Istanbul.

Driving down the street this morning through a busy intersection in south Atlanta I noticed several high school-aged football players walking in between the cars collecting money.  Ostensibly they're trying to raise money for equipment, which I know is very expensive, or maybe a trip someplace.  Whatever the reason the players were walking past the waiting cars collecting money in their helmets.

What happened to car washes, bake sales or some other "productive" activity designed to raise money?  Since when did coaches start teaching their players to beg?  Let's face it, that's what these guys were doing. What sort of life-lesson is this imparting on the players? 

I grew up as an athlete so I'm intimately familiar with the valuable lessons learned from being a member of a sports team.  Never in my experience did any of those lessons include begging for money, regardless of how effective the technique may be.  Do the ends justify the means in this case?  Does the ability to purchase needed equipment outweigh the lesson that it's alright to stand on the street corner, next to the homeless, "will work for food" guy and beg for money? I would strongly argue that it does not.

3G and Ferrari

 The littlest ice-cream vendor, helping out her father in the market. Ding Ding

I'm heading out of El Salvador soon.  It's been a good trip, traveling to Latin America is a bit like coming home for me.  I found the country to be amazingly well-developed, a lot of work has been done since my last visit some years ago.  The highlights were finding an Apple Store in one of the large, modern malls, a Ferrari dealership is down the street, and 3G and Wi-Fi everywhere.

It's funny what we use as metrics for development.  In the past I've taken notice of a country's children.  In other words, if the children are clean, well-dressed (wearing shoes), and heading to/from school you can bet that that particular country is well on the road to future development.  On the other hand if the children are playing barefoot in a muddy street, wearing the same clothes day in and day out, well…

Now pretty much all of Latin America is fairly development so my metrics are changing; is there 3G, a Starbucks, a mega-bookstore, and restricted smoking areas. That pretty much sums up economic development in this part of the world. Hasta luego.

Appearences

I watched a protection detail ride past yesterday.  Four police motorcycles, a large client SUV and a police trail SUV.  I wondered which vehicle the client was in; it was pretty obvious.  My thought was that this was simply the appearance of security and had nothing to do with actually providing or achieving security.  The detail would have been better off dropping the police escort and letting the VIP drive around the city in his unmarked SUV.

Similarly, everywhere you look in San Salvador are uniformed static security guards armed with ill-cared for shotguns.  Even a casual observer could discern again, that the guards are only for appearance sake and have no effective use.  Unfortunately this is all-to common in Latin America, it is better to have the appearance of something, such as security, than actually achieving it.  My previous post on ambulances is another example of the same concept.

The concept of appearance can be extrapolated and used to explain many of the social and cultural aspects of Latin America.  Another example is the appearance of wealth.  A long time ago I lived in Santiago, Chile, and not far from my house was a massive grocery store with unspeakably expensive items imported from all over the world.  Each Saturday countless woman would shop the aisles filling their carts with the most extravagant items. They would then stop off at the coffee bar in the middle of the store to chat with their neighbors about the parties they planned to throw and peer into each others baskets.  At the end of the day they would leave the basket in the aisle and slink out of the store unnoticed by their friends, being totally incapable of purchasing any of the items they had selected. 

The Good People of Gringolandia

A Salvadorian lady sits behind her door and watches the world walk by

I try to have a chat with every taxi driver that I meet.  Not that they're any great fount of wisdom but they normally have some good insight into politics and the social condition.  Tonight's conversation went like this:

Me: "How's it going tonight?  How's business"?
Driver: "Slow"
Me: "Why's that? The weather"?
Driver:  "No, there's not enough money".
Me: "Oh, why not"?
Driver: "Mr. Obama isn't giving us any money".

The conversation abruptly ended there. What do you say to that?  I suppose I could go into a triad about American tax dollars belong to the American people, i.e. those who actually pay the taxes, but that will have fallen on deaf ears.  (I use "American" to mean the United States… so lets not nit-pick.  I'm fully aware of the technicalities.)

This is a common perception, at least in Latin America, that the United States is "rich", and has an obligation to give money to lesser-developed countries, like whatever one I happen to be in at the time.  I'm all for giving money for development, access, influence… something that benefits the good people of Gringolandia, but to just outright gift U.S. tax dollars goes against my grain.

Squad Cincuenta y Uno

I visited a Salvadorian health fair the other day.  At the entrance were two brightly colored ambulances set out as a static display with all of their associated equipment laid out for the public to view.  The two trucks looked brand spanking new and were marked "Emergency Advanced Cardiac".  Of course I was attracted to this scene like a hungry trout to a fly and rushed right over and started digging around, much to the consternation of the women running the display.

A couple of bags of IV fluid, a ratty cot that was jerry-rigged to lock into floor of the truck, and an automatic defibrillator much like you see in the malls in the United States but wrapped in plastic. One of the physicians/nurses(?) asked if I wanted to stick my arm in the automatic blood pressure cuff to see "what my number was" to determine how healthy I am. Really!!?

I'll admit that the ambulances from the outside were immaculate and very impressive, clearly nicer than what I'm used to in Atlanta, but given what they lacked in equipment would not even be allowed on the streets in the United States or Europe.  This is typical of much of the third world, parts of Latin America specifically; bright, shinny things that give the appearance of competency but with little or no substance underneath.  Someone invested a lot of money in a couple of spiffy ambulances but decided the capability or reason for them was secondary.  Why not take the same money and purchase the needed lifesaving equipment and stick it all on an old, beat-up ambulance? If I'm a seriously sick patient I don't care how nice the truck looks, only that I'm getting an advanced level of care in the back.

Maybe I'm being too critical.  Maybe they have all of drugs, monitors, airway kits, ultrasound, and other gadgets but just chose not to put them out on public display.  Having spent most of my life in and out of this part of the world and having worked in it's ERs…. I doubt it.  My regret was that I didn't take any pictures of the trucks to show my fellow medics in Atlanta.  They were seriously impressive.

Walking Through Oz

Salvadorian family walks through the neighborhood

Walking through San Salvador yesterday I was warned about roving gangs of youths that would rob tourists or other unsuspecting, lucrative targets.  This is a common practice throughout the world but is easily countered with a few simple actions.

• Find out where the high risk areas are, and avoid them.
• If you have a guide or driver, trust their judgment.
• Don't take valuables with you. Hiding them in what you think are clever areas, i.e., belly or waist pouches is a useless tactic.
• Stay in well-populated areas.  Don't get lured off.
• Stay together.
• Be aware of your surroundings.  If something doesn't feel right, it's not. Move back to safety.
• If you have a driver, keep the car handy, know where it is.
• Be purposeful in your posture, demeanor, and actions.
• Keep things tucked away; cameras, cell phones, wallets, watches.  If it's out there, it'll get taken.

Mi Cuerva

El Salvadorian beach near Puerta Libertad

It rained last night.  I sat in the tiny patio space that is part of the hotel, surrounded by hundreds of tropical plants, an umbrella overhead.  Under my feet were flagstones, wet with the warm rain.  It was a space that people strive for in their own homes and gardens, but few in North America ever fully achieve.  There is nothing contrived in the patio garden just hundreds of plants potted in whatever containers were available at the time. It was like sitting in a room made of vegetation, tight, intimate, and deeply personal.

The first time I saw something like this was at the home of my Spanish language professor in Monterey, California.  He had a small deck that was part of his 2nd floor apartment and he had turned it into a tiny tropical rain forest.  It was really only large enough for two people to sit in, a Mexican terracotta chiminea glowed off to one side, the air smelled of wood smoke.  Plants surrounded you on all sides and covered you above as well.  Hundreds of plants thoughtfully arranged, but with no detectable pattern like the random growth of the forest.  I've always marveled at that tiny space that my professor called mi cueva, and have seen it replicated countless times but always in Latin America. Somehow the gringo mentality, or at least mine, is too contrived to achieve the randomness of nature.

I sat last night, a glass of Cabernet in my hand and feeling the rain come down around me.  It was a very magical yet familiar moment that brought me back many, many years to my professor's cave.  What a great moment.

El Salvador

 Two brothers pose for a photo

I arrived in El Salvador yesterday and have only taken a few shots with my camera.  I consider it a success that I actually have my Nikon D200 with me on this trip considering my recent track record of leaving it behind

Landing at Comalapa International Airport outside of San Salvador I was immediately struck by two things.  Firstly the country seems to have done well embracing the eco-tourist industry.  I saw few business travelers but loads of backpack totting tourists intent on finding spirituality amidst the breathtaking landscape of El Salvador.  I wish them luck in their wanderlust.

The second thing that caught my attention is the plethora of church missionary groups running around in their uniform-like, matching t-shirts.  They were everywhere, bright-eyed with a tinge of apprehension, ready to spread spirituality and to help the helpless.  I questioned from an economist point of view which the two groups contributes greater to the Salvadorian economy?  I suspect its a fairly close.

More later.

Notes From The End Of The Earth

Not dead fish from the oil spill.  Caught legally in Turkey

OK flog me now.  I've been in southern Louisiana for the past six weeks working on the BP oil spill.  I was originally brought down to do some executive protection, which soon transitioned into some fairly high-level project management.  I didn't bring my camera with me, so for six weeks I slogged around the largest man-made disaster in the history of the planet and didn't take a single shot. What an idiot!!  I vow that I'll never make that mistake again.  This, from a guy who takes his Nikon D200 with him to the grocery store in Atlanta.

So, what did six weeks in Louisiana get me?

• Louisiana's greatest gift to American pop-culture… the drive-thru daiquiri bar.
• The media is completely biased in this event.  It's the perfect storm for them: foreign business entity, environmental disaster, great visuals, a besieged area of the country, perceived mismanagement, biblical proportions. Can't lose.
• This is the laboratory for the Incident Command System. It works, and works well.
• The Louisiana Parish Sheriff sits at the right-hand of God.
• BP is hemorrhaging money and wants this spill stopped worse than anyone.
• The Cajun accent sounds suspiciously like a down-east Maine accent.
• The Louisiana weather, like south Florida's, is some of the most awe-inspiring in the world. 
• An alligator will come out of the water to eat a marshmallow off the toe off your boot.  The issue is, what will it eat next?
• A grilled shrimp po-boy is the food of choice here.  It's all about the french bread, and don't forget the Abita.
• Magellan makes the best fishing shirts in the world. Every boat captain is wearing one.

Pajamas In Business Class

 A mannequin in an Istanbul storefront.  Children are dressed up in these princely costumes and paraded through the streets by their parents.

Alright, I'm a travel snob.  I admit it.  I believe that if you're going to get on an airplane, train, or even bus and travel for several hours that you should take a shower and maybe get out of your pajamas beforehand.  I was flying business class yesterday coming back from Milwaukee and was (un)fortunate enough to sit next to a 20-something girl who looked like she had just crawled out of bed after having the flu for a week; disheveled hair, under-shirt, cellulite over-flowing her pajama bottoms, and cheap rubber flip-flops. She sat in the window seat making all manner of bodily noises, feet propped up high on the bulkhead, and attempted to drink the plane out of vodka and cranberry.

I'm all for being comfortable while traveling but I'm going to at least be presentable. My yardstick is, what if I meet my parents in the airport?  That's a good enough standard…high for most if you knew my mother but that's a different story (kidding Mom). Nevertheless, walking out in public shouldn't be a grunge competition.  Take the time to look presentable, if for nothing more than a courtesy to your fellow travelers who have to endure your charms for several hours.

Off to New Orleans this afternoon.

For God's Sake, Stop!

My EMT partner told me a story last night of a call that he ran a few days ago.  His patient was a 12-year old girl with abdominal pain… she was two months pregnant.  Looking on, her mother…25-years old, and also her grandmother…37 years old.  I'm at a loss, you do the math.