Jamie, Author at North of Something

Celebrating the Local, Contemplating the Universal

14/10/2014 by Jamie 7 Comments

The reverberations between observer and observed, between self and world, allow the writer to celebrate the local while contemplating the universal… a conscious commitment to represent the strange and exotic in ways that both familiarize and distance the foreign; a writerly concern with language and literature; and finally, thematic concerns that go beyond descriptions of people and places visited” (Casey Blanton in Travel Writing: The Self and the World, page 5).

This summer I took a grad class on Travel Writing (it’s actually the reason I originally started this blog). We read many of the writers that focus on travel writing, both people that write about travel and those that simply critique it. One of my favorites was Casey Blanton. Her writing is clear and she actually SAYS something about what it means to write about travel.

After giving a history of travel writing and how the genre has evolved into what it is today, Blanton narrows down the specific criteria for what characteristics are usually seen: a narrator describing the foreign, elements borrowed from fiction, and ultimately connecting the self by means of the experience to the bigger picture. She argues “Indeed the journey pattern is one of the most persistent forms of all narratives – both fiction and non-fiction” (2). She also argues that the elements of fiction have grown the genre and made it what it is today, it “often borrows from the world of fiction to establish motivation, rising and falling action, conflict, resolution, and character” (4).

Blanton describes current travel writing as “a place where values are discovered along the way, not imported; a place where other cultures can have their say; a place where self and other can explore each other’s fictions; a place that, as Ishmael warns us, ‘is not down on any map’” (29). I love that travel writing can be so many different things, because everyone has their own personal preferences for what they like to read, and SO MANY people love to read about travel, culture, exotic places, adventures, etc. There’s something out there for everyone!

What kind of travel writing do you prefer: Descriptions/photos of a foreign place? Highlighting the people that live there? Personal stories of experience while traveling?

Why I Am a Vegetarian

06/10/2014 by Jamie 9 Comments

We watched our host snap the chicken’s neck and throw it in the pot. Then we got to eat it hours later… with our fingers… and it was NOT fully cooked.

So many people have asked me WHY I am a vegetarian, and the topic always seems to come up over dinner… which is like, the worst time to explain it all. So, fair warning: if you are eating right now, maybe save this little bit of reading for another time :)

First of all, I would like to say that I don’t care who ISN’T a vegetarian, and I’m in no way hoping that my explanation turns YOU into a vegetarian. Not even a little bit. Also, I grew up in a meat-eating household (and the “cook of the house,” a.k.a. Mom makes delicious food). I have tried all kinds of meat, to include guinea pig and alpaca, so my being a vegetarian isn’t from lack of finding a delicious option.

In May of 2003, I traveled around Morocco: wandered the streets of Marrakesh and Casablanca, got lost in the port city of Tangiers, and heard the wailing calls to prayer on crackling loud speakers throughout every city. The arches that graced the opening of fruit markets and meat markets looked like the ones from the movie Aladdin (being 20 years old at the time, Disney seemed to be a fair enough frame of reference for cultural comparisons).

As I entered the meat market in Fez, the smell of cooking beef mixed with rotting flesh met my nose. Goats and cows, skinned and quartered, hung in the open air with flies swarming around the suspended carcasses. My stomach turned my lunch over and over, so much that I had to slow my pace. The thick, evening heat gently moved the rancid smells around me. The smell of cooking beef made me think of a warm philly cheese melt, but the distinct smell of rotting meat reminded me of vomit and garbage and dead bodies in a morgue. (Smelling both at once has forever changed the way meat smells to me.)

My mind started blocking out the sights and smells and I looked down at my feet going over the cobblestone, something to fixate on until I walked up the hill of the meat market. That’s when I saw the small rivers of blood trickling through the stones of the street, inches from my sandaled feet. I looked up to see why the rotting animals were hanging close to the street—they conveniently dripped their juices in the gutter, creating two large rivers of blood flowing downhill to who knows where. A butcher with a no-nonsense expression sliced a pound of flesh from the pink-colored, hairless chest of a goat, its bones and veins visible.

For the rest of that trip I could barely get my meal down when it included meat. My friend Jordan would sit next to me and slowly steal most of the food from my plate to make it look like I was being a good guest and eating everything. (Thanks, Jordan. I still owe you one!) Later when we were in Marrakesh, some of my friends ate monkey brains and other weird stuff, I’m not even sure what. Some of these friends had some major digestive and health issues when they got home. We were all told to take medication to get rid of possible parasites (ewwwww).

Monkey brains and other unidentified animal products

The weight of that five minute experience didn’t hit me immediately, I spent two years after that slowly chewing my meat and feeling it cling to the sides of my throat when I swallowed. At barbeques the smell of hamburgers cooking jolted something in my mind and I could smell rotting flesh and feel blood between my toes. But I ate my hamburger, chewing it like it was a pink, raw pound of flesh cut from a butcher who scraped the mold off the top. Then one day at a restaurant I realized I could ask for my dish with no meat, extra vegetables, please. The waitress didn’t flinch, wrote down my order and moved on. No one at the table noticed or cared, but I felt free. I could enjoy my meal of things grown in the ground and in the air on trees. No bones in my mouth to stop my heart or odd bites of hamburger that can’t be identified. No throat involuntarily closing or gag reflex or stomach aches or being grossed out.

I even saw a therapist about it all to make sure I wasn’t just traumatized by the experience. I thought maybe there were some exercises I could do, or a different way to look at it all that would make me see meat like everyone else again. Turns out that not wanting to eat meat IS NOT a special kind of crazy – HA! Who knew.

In 2006 I wrote a paper about vegans/vegetarians and organic/sustainable farming in a college English class. For me, the “being mean/not fair” to animals and the damage to the environment from the mass farming of cattle was just icing on the cake. Those things could never have turned me vegetarian on their own, but when looking at the whole picture I knew it was the right choice for me. Here’s an excerpt:

An article in a popular British newspaper, The Independent, recounts the moment when Watson (who grew up on a farm in South Yorkshire) first knew he could never eat meat again. He had just watched his uncle kill a pig when he had his epiphany. Watson said of the experience, “I decided that farms- and uncles- had to be reassessed: the idyllic scene was nothing more than death row, where every creature’s days were numbered by the point at which it was no longer of service to human beings.”

By mid-2007 I was done with meat, but I never thought of it as a permanent choice, just something to try for awhile. So many times I repeated the same lines, over and over: Oh I definitely won’t be a vegetarian for long I just have this thing to get over… No, I’m not offended if you eat meat. Oh geez, no, it’s not spiritual or anything… Animal rights? I mean, sure I support that, but it’s not the main reason. Well, you probably wouldn’t want to hear about the details, we’re about to eat dinner; I don’t want to gross you out… For a few years I never really considered myself a vegetarian – I just preferred to eat non-meat dishes. (Potato, PoTAHto). But here I am all these years later, feeling the same way. Feeling quite vegetarian.

So that’s my story of how I became a vegetarian – the long version. I’m definitely not hoping to change anyone’s mind about meat, just explain my story. But if you ever feel like meat isn’t for you for a time in your life – I say go for it. As adults we can eat whatever we want! :)

Currently | Volume 3

28/09/2014 by Jamie 15 Comments

Well we had an AMAZING flight out of Hawaii and I can’t wait to write a post about it! Thanks to my BFF Nicole for the sweet glasses. I handed garbage to the flight attendant with a straight face with the glasses on. Nailed it.

Thinking about | The lady standing at a stoplight with a sign that said “Working, Struggling Mom. Just trying to make it to payday. Anything helps.” She didn’t look homeless, but she was definitely without hope. I was on my way to the grocery store so I picked up an extra loaf of bread, PB&J, and some bananas. I figured worst case scenario she would throw them back in my face and scream “WHERE’S THE CASH?! I NEED DRUGS!” But what if her and her kid were just out of cash till the end of the week? So I took a chance. She was very surprised and excited about the food. As she rummaged through the bag of groceries she just got more excited. I felt like a million bucks and hopefully some little kid is going to have a lunch to bring to school for the next few days. Or maybe she is out selling PB&J sandwiches for drugs… who knows. Anyway, I’ve had this saying/sign on my mind lately:

(Image Source)

Watching | The Season Premiere of Parenthood… OMG!

Thankful for | Spending a few weeks with my family (awwww).

Enjoying | Trader Joe’s food for almost every meal and snack. Yum.

Loving | The crisp fall air.

Listening to | The songs of birds that don’t sound anything like the birds in Hawaii. Chickadees, crows, the occasional seagull.

Drinking | Zevia (ginger ale sweetened with stevia). Thanks Christine for getting me hooked on it! ;)

Anticipating | All the fun get togethers and playdates I’m going to have with old friends over the next couple weeks.

That’s it for now! What are YOU up to currently?!

Book Review: Almost Somewhere

24/09/2014 by Jamie 4 Comments

“We’re with each other. Us three women together” (100).

Almost Somewhere: Twenty-Eight Days on the John Muir Trail by Suzanne Roberts won the 2012 National Outdoor Book Award in Outdoor Literature. Roberts tells the story of the hike through part of Yosemite National Park that changed the life of her and her friends. They encounter bears, strangers, and extraordinary scenery. Each traveler makes her own discoveries along the way through injuries, personal battles, and victories great and small.

I really enjoyed the book, and as someone who only hikes every couple years and only for a few hours at a time, I admired her gusto for hiking for a whole month, especially her honesty about her own weaknesses, both physical and mental. Roberts quotes Thoreau: “In wildness is the preservation of the world,” and she laments that many people confuse ‘wildness’ and ‘wilderness.’ “Wildness can exist both outside and inside of us, whereas the very definition of wilderness seems to be the absence of humans, further separating us from our wild places and our very own wild natures” (64). Throughout her journey Roberts shows the struggles of all three girls and how they adapt in the ways they weren’t accepting the wildness inside themselves.

Throughout the hike they were surrounded by beautiful mountains, lakes, and wildflowers, which they all seemed to appreciate. “I wanted to study the landscape, to look at it long enough, until it entered me and I could carry it with me, inside my body, always… I wasn’t ready to leave the view. I wasn’t sure what the questions were, but I was certain these mountains contained the answers” (106-107). I’ve had many moments like this in nature and I thought Roberts described it beautifully.

I really enjoyed the “where are we now” paragraph at the end of the book. I spent the whole book wondering about what they are all up to and I was glad I didn’t have to go googling to find out. I also wondered about all her detailed memory of conversations and tiny details all these years later. I know that she kept a journal, but it seemed that most of the time she had writers block and drew pictures of her surroundings rather than write. I’m not one to make a big deal of re-created dialogue in creative non-fiction, but I’m curious to know how much of the dialogue was in her journal, written shortly after, or written decades later.

“Memory sometimes acts as a corrective lens, allows us to say the things we never said, take back the things we regret, but the truth is I don’t remember what I said to my father at the end of that phone conversation. Did I tell him I loved him? It’s possible, but in truth I can’t remember” (258). This is an honest admittance, which I appreciate. I know the feeling of foggy memories, especially when it was something that I only wished had happened. It make me wonder if she couldn’t remember that conversation exactly, how realistic was the rest of the dialogue throughout the book. Again, not a huge concern to me. I would have enjoyed the book almost as much if it had been a complete work of fiction. Her comment in the acknowledgments is this: “Although the memoir adheres to the truth of my fallible memory, some of the names of minor characters have been changed” (xii). It seems to be acceptable in modern memoirs to be open about what is absolute fact and what might be only based on what happened, and I think her acknowledgment could have been more detailed regarding the narrative throughout the story.

There were many references to the group of women being affected by the presence, or absence, of men. Here are just a few: “Every woman who has ever been out camping alone knows that bears are nothing to fear compared to predatory men” (52). “It started to seem that whenever one of us started crying, men would appear, thereby solidifying the wimpy woman stereotype” (90). “Would I find a version of myself not dependent on the male gaze?” (150). Some fellow hikers expressed their concern that the “girls” were hiking without men, and others called them an inspiration. Roberts is clearly pleased that the group ended as just the three women. She seems to reconcile some of the gender frustrations by the end of the 28 day hike, feeling safe amongst her girlfriends.

“And I realized I was no longer obsessed with how I looked to a man, whether he liked me or not. The irony is that it made me more likable, both to others and, more important, to myself” (258). After spending years following men around, trying to attract their interest, or being afraid of them, Roberts finds the “wildness” in herself among her other inner strengths. And years later in yoga she learns that “the journey from pose to pose is the feminine, the pose itself, or the destination, represents the masculine, and we must honor both as equally important” (259). Its nice that she ends on a note of equality, rather than smug girl power; honoring the greatness in both genders.

Overall, it was a fun summer read that inspired me to get back into hiking!