Linnea Ashley on August 3rd, 2005

The disregard for the futility of painting metal appears to be universal. all around the city people armed with thin paint brushes and bright green paint “touch up” the railings that line city streets. where they paint, the dark metal shines through. beside it, further down where hands tend not to trail, the paint is thick – layered from years of touch up- revealing the passage of time like rings on a tree.

***
Sunday proved to be busier than i’d anticipated. slow to simmer when we arrived around 8am – our usual time – by 10:30 shops we thought closed for the weekend flung their closed signs aside and seemingly spontaneous markets erupted cloth, clothes and people. of course spontaneous was most likely its antithesis – it simply appeared that way to me – a stranger in the city.

***
I cannot tell if i am paranoid of wearing the wrong colored glasses or some other thing i haven’t thought of – but it appears to me that i am usually ignored. ignored is the wrong word. overlooked is more accurate. i get stared at. people may ask where i am from – but mostly…when things happen they turn to ruby and direct all conversations and eye contact in her general direction.

***
the sounds of this place are varied. the birds gathering in the trees around dusk- it sounds as if swarms of them have descended on the city. this morning – a man on a recorder, light and airy sounding from the sidewalk – knee level, the pleas of a disabled, the old, maybe just the down trodden – begging for change. and i am sightless. i see them, hear them, and am at once overwhelmed. it is the clinking of coins – a distinct metallic shuffling…the sound haunts me.

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Linnea Ashley on August 2nd, 2005

bare with me for numerous reasons… that these will be posted after the fact is one…and that the typing will be bad due to time and computer restraints…that said…i go forth…

sitting on the uppermost floor of the topaz hotel betrays my dueling sides. at once i am struck by the extravagence of the surroundings. we are nestled at the top of awinding hill – the view out here on the patio – mountain breeze to cool for my long sleeve shirt – i can see kandy (the city). the pool lights directly below me are tinted blue through the water – but all around me – sprialing out from this point are the lights of homes and businesses – a world i’ve not been privy to from this high perch.

but down below, navigating the croded streets littered with brillinat saris and flea ridden dogs, i am no more a part of the scene than wen high above it. i am an object of speculation. “where is she from?” and people wonder and stare. some ask as if the asking were the point and not my answer.

***
on my way to dinner i heard what sounded like prayers. it was unfamilar, maybe buddhist or hindu chanting, maybe lead by one of the orange clad, shaven monks. later, maybe 15 minutes, it sounded like the muslim call to prayer. what strikes me here, having read of the civil war raging intermitenly since 1983 and the recent – precarious – peace, is the absence of turmoil. new to the country i may not have adjusted my sight to see the scars inner turmoil creates, because from here the air of tolerance permeates everything…buddha statues perched on most streets walked down by women covered from head to ankle in colorful cloth beside shops selling brass. mosques beside temples beside churches. it doesn’t feel temporary or forced. it doesn’t look damaged- not like mozambique six years after the fact with frelimo still staining walls and buildings still nursing their cement scars.

***
my nose is at once assaulted and carressed by kandy. the acrid stench of buring garbage- smoldering plastic lingering low- with diesel fumes and garbage rotting softly in the streets. the gentle wafting of guava – invisible but so aapparent, orange blossoms and the freshness of mountin rain. curry…the constant underlying of curry that is probably already escaping my own pores as i have eaten curry at least once (usually twice) a day since my arrival.

***
touts, as they are called, have adjusted (it is the only fitting term) my perceptipon of the country. the instant befriending of those foreign – a mile and some semblance of english in a world that is evertyhing but – they are unrequested consultants…some more helpful than others.

our first full day in kandywe met our first tout. a slight man insdie the tooth relic temple, just beyond sight of a a sign that clearly stated “no unlicensed guides within”, sideled up to us. we looked lost – unsure of what to do – what would be impolite or even where we could go. “would lyou like someone to explain?” and we despeartely did. already akward from purchasing -what we viewed as the requiste flowers- (water lillies despite an abundance of orange blossoms and lotus) i’d almost been hoodwinked as the vendor earnestly told me Rs 150. i hesitated only because i’d heard my friend quoted Rs. 20. in hindsight i should have taken my business to one of the other carts eager to do business. but in a flurry to get in and mybe an ucnonscoious knowldege that i was fair game to whoever got me first – i handed him my quivilant of 20 cents and headed to the entrance. since the 1998 bombing that destroyed part of the temple and its roof, secuity has become more intense. as such, we were greeted by a guard who wanded eachof us and our bags. as would become the theme of our trip – she asked ruby if she was sri lankan and marveled at how sri lankan she looked. for my part she was much more intersted in my hari. i watched her eyes trail it after she wanded me and her gaze lingered there even as i turned to say thank you and walk away.

anyway, we met our “tout” after that. by then eager to experince sri lanka we followed him about as he explined the religious rites performed in the temple – on to the alter of sorts – past the artifacts used anually for the festivbal we will miss by 1 day and up to the are where the tooth is housed. back down again and outside to the cocunt oil lamps buring and monkeys racing between devotees. there ruby tried to slip him a tip – which he pointedly explained was inadequate. a snd attempt proved satisfactory and he smiled and moved on.

later, after lingering for an hour so that we could see the thrice dailyceremnoy -complete with drumming and the opening of big metal doors and the offereing of heaps of flowers- ruby spotted him waving at us from what appeard to be a very important perch. white suit on- red sash – holding two big medal doors.even then he beckoned us closer and urged us to go upstairs so that we could view the tooth -rather the outermost of the 7 gold boxes that house the tooth. and pushed in with a multitude of believers, fieldtripping students and tourists we followed the line past an open window and and did indeed see the box. i can’t help but wonder if the tooth -stolen from siddartha’s funer pyre – is still there. needless to say, he was a pleasant tout- i dare not use the term and instead think of him as guide. he would not be the norm.

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Linnea Ashley on July 18th, 2005

less than a day i’ll be cramped in a small space with nothing below me but waves and uncertainty…you’d think i’d be more excited. i think i should be. but for some reason this trip doesn’t have me restless or giddy. actually it has me pretty pragmatic. i’ve packed…the lightest i’ve ever pulled off actually. and i’m all ready to go…i think…and yet the butterflies aren’t flapping their wings.

it seems odd because four years ago before i embarked on a long journey i couldn’t sleep – had overpacked – and didn’t know how to sit still…i guess things change.

for those who don’t know, i’m on my way to sri lanka for 3 weeks. mostly it is for school. i’m taking a class about the tsunami relief efforts…but i hope to have a chance to see the country some…the people…the way of life.

wadded up in there in a really selfish way, i hope this gives me the travel fix i’ve been missing out living stateside for the last four years.  it has been way to long and i am overdue on seeing something i’ve never seen before…a place i’ve never experienced. and that part excites me…if only a glimmer in my pen waiting to write it all down.

and i do  hope to be more faithful in this journey. i hope to chronicle a little better the things i see and hear and taste…and i hope to share them here. so in a few days…or a few weeks (once i return) keep an eye out for some new photos in my albums and some new visions from my pen.

of course this is also a glimpse into my life…my future…the work i hope to be doing soon. this is the first time i’ll get to actually see what might greet me on a daily basis once i run across the stage clutching my degree…it’s a little like picking door number 2 on the price is right…so here i go, holding my breath and waiting to see what is revealed to me.

 

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Linnea Ashley on July 16th, 2005

Things I don’t understand…

 

 

 

Linnea Ashley on July 15th, 2005

Dreams are a funny thing. Not just the lofty goals I set for myself, but the groggy nighttime visions that sometimes visit me while I sleep. I’ve been having all kinds of strange dreams these days. I remember them briefly when I wake up…like a passing introduction at a crowded party – and then, poof, they are gone. In turn I am left with a vague feeling that I am supposed to be doing something or saying something. But I don’t. until the next night when sleep assaults me with visions and I repeat the same cycle.

 

Last morning I changed up a little bit. All of a sudden I was adamant about remembering my nighttime movie. And I did…kind of…

 

It had something to do with change. I was a white man in a car, or maybe it was a truck, and then I dug out a car from the brush, like I was making a get-away, and then I was a black woman. And I think I had kids.

 

Ahh sweet clarity. Only it wasn’t clear. Or rather, it isn’t clear.

 

I’m no clearer about what my subconscious is telling me than I was when I couldn’t remember my dreams at all.

 

And I could make all sorts of educated guesses. Maybe it was about change… I am in the midst of change – as I usually am. I’m about to take a trip to Sri Lanka (I haven’t even packed yet!) and I’m starting a new semester soon. Next year I’ll be in another country where I don’t know anyone and after that who knows?!

 

All the guesses in the world don’t mean I understand any better. But somewhere in my brain crowded with movie quotes, commercial jingles and public health facts, I also hear the voice of wise friend of mine. She reads tarot cards and was quite good because her approach was never to tell me my future. She used to ask me questions to figure out what was going on in my mind at that time and then get me to answer them myself. It was like a quick therapy session with props. I might lead off with something like a bad workday or a crappy diet, but she’d get to the heart of it.

 

But I digress – the reason I brought up the tarot cards is because I feel like my dreams are the same way. Maybe my brain isn’t trying to work things out in my sleep –maybe dreams are just a tool for me to work out things in my head while I’m awake.

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Linnea Ashley on July 13th, 2005

I am still amazed at how quickly the weather changes in New Orleans. I’m no stranger to the South. In Texas we used to joke (as many places do) that if you don’t like the weather, wait a minute, it’ll change. Sure enough… I walked from my car this morning in obscene heat – chased by the sun into an air-conditioned building. And now, from the 24th floor – without warning, rain clouds have moved in from the lake and hang ominously. I can see them drench the city a piece at a time and I wait for it to find me in downtown. The timing is generally impeccable – so right about the time I leave work will be the magic downpour on Canal St. And since this blog has taken me all day to write…here comes the rain at 1 pm – sure to drench my walk home!

 

This should begin to prepare me for my trip to Sri Lanka. It is the rainy season…which it apparently is most of the year. I’m not quite sure how to prepare for this. I’m not even sure where I’ll be staying. All I know is that next week this time I will be in transit for what will seem like an eternity (three days!). maybe I’ll manage to stay awake for 24 hours before hand, like I did when I was younger, so I can sleep really hard and long. I’ll have to try it.

 

Any ideas on books that might keep me entertained would greatly appreciated as well.

 

This is not the most exciting blog…I’ll work on something a little snazzier for my next post…

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Linnea Ashley on July 8th, 2005

Dennis is moving west – at least that is the latest news. I’m trying to get out of here but the travel gods seem to be thwarting my attempts…(p.s. for those of you that are landlocked or are less than 9 feet below sea level, Dennis is a category 4 hurricane that is currently beating Cuba and is headed somewhere between N.O. and Pensacola!

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Linnea Ashley on July 7th, 2005

Funny how the flip of a switch can change your perspective…my perspective. I’m not just talking about turning on a light so that the boogieman in the closet becomes a towel hanging on the door, I’m talking about my morning lounging in bed thinking about what I was going to write (I don’t quite recall now, but it was exciting to me at the time) only to turn on the tv before I left for work and to see it all fade away in the shadow of four blasts in London.

 

And all of a sudden my mind could only think of bigger things. Things that deal with world politics. Things that deal with suffering I have not known yet.

 

All of a sudden it all came back to explosions and the dazed faces of those involved. It became the G8 conference – unaffected save the departure of Blair. All of a sudden it is terror warnings here at home and, I imagine, flashbacks to 2001.

 

And once again the world is abuzz with fear and concern. Once again we pull ourselves a little tighter together to protect against the cold reality that we are not immune to the worlds problems. Tragedy seems to focus our attention on how linked we all are in a way that Live 8 just couldn’t.

 

Fear, the great adhesive…

 

What it all means I won’t even pretend to know. Only that I am sad for London…for London’s adults and children that will carve out a new space to house a new dose of apprehension every time they board a train or bus, walk down the street, hear a loud sound. They are in the ranks of an ever growing and recycled list: Israel/Palestine, Congo, Iraq, DC/New York…

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Linnea Ashley on July 6th, 2005

Listening to a radio talk show on Monday, I was agitated and inspired to share a piece of my mind with the listening audience. Having missed the phone number being repeated and short on time and patience I dragged my friend into the house and ranted back and forth with her for a little while.

The premise of the show was supposed to be about down low brothers. In case you are unfamiliar, the term refers to men who sleep with men on the side but pursue life and love with women out in the open. More pointedly, nowadays it has been attached most securely to black men that fall in that category.

However, the show spiraled into another direction, one I’ve seen this same subject spiral into before…somehow down low equals AIDS. And with that slippery step down a sliding slope fingers being to wag and point. It is as if folks say, “AHA! That is why black women have the highest new infection rate…it must be because of down low men.”

That spiral infuriates and saddens me. Infuriates because it is no different from the warped thinking when AIDS first came on the scene and there was the same kind of finger pointing at the gay population, and the same kind of finger pointing that survived the 1800s and moved into the mid 1900s that linked blacks to syphilis because we were somehow dirty and immoral. Saddens because a chance to address the problem honestly and constructively dissolves into blame, fear and anger.

AIDS, like syphilis, is not contained to a specific demographic. According to the CDC it is estimated that there were 21,304 black AIDS cases in 2003 – that’s more than the 12,222 white cases for the same time. And cumulatively speaking blacks make up 368,169 while whites make up 376,834…but remember that blacks make up less than 15% of the population. Those are scary numbers.

Black women make up more than 70% of HIV/AIDS cases reported. All of those infections are not from one source. It is irrational and irrational to think that if all down low men declared themselves gay the problem would go away. the common thread between most sexual transmission is the same – protection, or lack of it.

If we are going to make a difference – if we are going to save lives – it is imperative that we start looking at individual behavior changes…the only choices we truly have control over are our own. That means being responsible for our choices about partners and protection, being vocal in our feelings, being honest with our partners, being vigilant in our testing, and being supportive of each other…blame doesn’t create solutions it creates divisions.

http://slate.msn.com/id/2108724/

 

 

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Linnea Ashley on July 5th, 2005

http://www.nytimes.com/2005/07/05/health/05sex.html?8hpib

Bisexuality has been coming up in conversations, articles and shows in the last few weeks…now here it is in the NYTimes…I would love to hear any dialogue on this…

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