My evolution of home

Anthropology has a long history of studying the cultural traits of people who have forged their way in a particular setting. Especially in the older texts, it's not uncommon to find work on "hill tribes" or "desert nomads," groups - and perhaps people - who are largely defined, to scholars anyway, by the landscapes they inhabit. These things shape the ways people eat, dress, build, etc. 

I like to say I grew up in a barn. After all, the smells of horses and hay and leather and oil, rather than a particular place, have always been my comfort. Some might argue this is because they were my main constants as a child. 

 

Fairly mobile during my youth, even when we stayed in the same region, my family switched neighborhoods, houses, and cities often enough that I changed school districts and friend groups and rarely if ever grew attached to a house. After my parents' divorce and my mom's remarriage, we moved out of state and eventually across the country so that I shuffled between households based on the school schedule. My childhood, in this way at least, was a far cry from my husband's - his parents still live in the house in which he grew up. And as such, I've always had a slightly different concept of "home," one that's left me full of wanderlust as an adult. The two sides to this are of course a restless independence and an unsettled searching. 

As I've grown older, settled down in love and life and place a bit, I've come to appreciate the topography of a home in a way I never did before. The deserts of the American West have long held a special place in my heart: I adore the open spaces and the sparse, delicate, often thorny, vegetation. But only recently have I found something that softens me as only home can: the mountains. I'm not really a mountain girl in general. I will ski but I don't crave it, I can't stand winter and don't especially like snow, I prefer flat hikes through wide open valleys over hilly ones aimed at a vista. But being in the midst of mountains, in their proximity, in their foothills, does the trick, letting me exhale that noisy breath of true relief. Much like my friends who feel restless, even anxious, away from the ocean, I've come to feel this way when away from mountains.  

I began to appreciate this connection just months ago, after leaving my heart in the hills around Chiang Mai, Thailand for the more famous climbing in the beautiful beaches of the Andaman coast. And again, just days ago, as my plane left the bustle of Delhi and grazed the Himalayan foothills before touching down in Northern India's Dehradun, and along the winding roads that led deeper into the foothills, to Rishikesh. There is still chaos, though on a much smaller scale, but it's the air that is different here, and it goes beyond pollution. 

What I find is that I am different amidst it all, tucked into the hills. And while my home will always, first and foremost, be with my little family, wherever we are, it seems that now that may need to stick to the mountains. 

If I turn myself back into an anthropologist, I can't help but wonder: if a topography can shape an entire culture, what must it be able to do to a little person? What, I wonder, has Colorado, and all those high desert valleys and cliff bands, and its wide open skies and expressive clouds, done to me? 

Curaçao 2: Stop f-ing staring at me! Traveling (and living) under the male gaze

The island of Curaçao is really rather fascinating and, of course, full of contradictions. It is one of the three islands of the Dutch Caribbean so in many ways the Dutch-influenced foods don't make much sense in the steady 80 degree+ weather. But due to rocky soil and low rainfall, the local cuisine is lacking in the standard tropical fruits one often thinks of when imaging island dining. The little country has its own economic base, sort of, in the Venezuelan oil refineries, making tourism a secondary economy. This means that, while there is certainly a strong tourist infrastructure in the form of beachside bars/restaurants, dive schools & resorts and lovely hotels set in renovated colonial buildings, it is easy to walk the streets - even the markets - in peace. Even the process of buying fruit and veggies at the floating market was straightforward. As a woman traveling alone, I always appreciate a place where I can walk without being hollered at or followed (as much as I love Morocco, this was something that was endlessly annoying, even after months and especially in towns with more tourists). I've always envied the ease with which my male travel friends can move about a new place, never feeling dissected or undressed just for existing in their own bodies. Unfortunately, despite initial appearances, Curaçao proved no better (or worse, I suppose) for the self-conscious female traveler than any other destination.

I honed my international travel wardrobe sensibilities in Morocco in my early twenties, trying on cultural relativism as a way of life and appreciating the skin-covering, flowing clothes for their considerable comfort combined with sun-protection. So, when I travel outside of the United States now (outside of winter, of course!), I typically pack the following - jeans or pants; t-shirts; knee-length or longer skirts or dresses; light-weight long-sleeved shoulder coverings - and mix and match as needed. There persists an element of the issue of cultural relativism, of respecting local dress codes and culture, including more recently, beliefs about tattoos (which I often try to cover when outside of the US or Europe). In parts of western Europe - I'm mostly thinking of a particular summer in Paris - I find that the increased coverage is helpful, but not foolproof, in preventing obnoxious men from yelling from their vehicles. This has served me well in multiple countries and is not too far off from how I normally dress anyway so it's generally easy. 

And at first, Curaçao seemed like it would be an easy place to wear tank tops and t-shirts without the shoulder coverings. After all, local women were dressed in tighter clothing than I and the other tourists (mostly Dutch) I encountered were often sunburned in their post-beach minidresses or swimsuit coverups. So, my first evening on the island, I headed from my hotel across the bridge to wander around one of the historic parts of Willemstad and find a waterfront spot to grab some food and a cocktail. I still don't know who the stares came from - whether they were other tourists or locals - or what motivated them - was it my half-sleeve of vegetables or the fact that I was maybe the only tourist in long pants or was it my being female? I will never know, but the stares were predatory and unapologetic and they were many. The thing is, I hate being stared at regardless of the motivation and it makes me slouch, cover up, and avoid eye contact (all highly effective in every country I've been in). So, I found myself for the duration of my short trip, especially in certain parts of town (none of this was an issue near the beaches and, while uncomfortable, I should make it clear that I never felt unsafe) reverting to this way of walking around. I carried my little linen long-sleeved shirt to throw on while walking around and only wore my shorts when on a tour. 

This experience, while relatively harmless in the grand scheme of things that could harm a person, is one that I can never quite reconcile with the type of woman, the type of feminist, and the type of anthropologist I'd like to be. I want to visit other places and respect other people and what they consider normal. When I lived in Austria, I remember being repeatedly taken aback by the fact people would stare unashamedly at you, especially on the U-bahn, but there was never anything behind it but perhaps curiosity and sometimes an assessment of the coolness (or lack thereof) of my footwear. But, after talking to a couple of Austrians and long-term expats, I quickly learned not to be self-conscious, that this was normal behavior and I wasn't being singled out. I imagine that when I find myself stared at in many of the ways that make me uncomfortable, it is similarly innocuous, and I am reacting from my American sensibility of "It's rude to stare", "Don't stare at people, that's rude". 

But there is something about a predatory male gaze - one that no woman alive can say she's never felt - that I find completely unnerving, completely terrifying. It's why, despite the relative safety of my quaint little town, I detest walking by groups of men. It is not flattering (though I am aware some women would say it is), it feels degrading and while my ability to cope with it varies from place to place, its occurrence seems to be pretty darn consistent, especially in the West (I don't recall ever feeling this way in Japan or Cambodia) and it is something that undermines my ability to fully enjoy my travels, especially in places where the "cultural norm" is to be scantily clad. That's part of what I find so interesting; in Morocco, I found that if I dressed appropriately, while I may get called after or stared at for being an obvious foreigner, there was no predation in it when I was dressed appropriately (had I not been, it may have been a different matter, but I can't speak to this). When I was in Paris a few summers later, however, I felt the need to cover myself nose to toes to feel comfortable.

I remember, shortly after that summer, I moved to Montreal. One evening I was walking with my new roommate and I was explaining how I'd come to almost always dress as I would have in Morocco, finding that, while I didn't always want to be so modest, it made me feel less of a target for the type of male attention that makes my skin crawl. We were talking about the idea that in so many cultures, including in the US and Canada, it is the responsibility of women to be covered if they don't want to be degraded by the male gaze, a fact that persists and still nags me as highly problematic. I can cope on some level with applying the type of cultural relativism that allows me to cover up in another country, but in my own country I feel entitled to challenge the norms. I should be able to walk around naked if I want to and not be the subject of sexualizing, predatory stares, but I'm not. In fact, we live in a world where women are taught that it is their responsibility to avoid rape (it's evident in policies designed to "protect" women as well as when women are repeatedly blamed for their own victimization). I live in a country where my research participants (active drug users) have often done more time for possession than their rapists and abusers for their crimes. 

Mind you, the fact that this same stare coming from someone who identifies as female has never bothered me serves as a reminder that the discomfort that accompanies the male gaze goes well beyond the experience of being sexualized - it's about power and it's about the violence against women (physical, structural, emotional) that is embedded in our everyday lives. Perhaps if we could eliminate the power gap this gaze would take on new meaning and cease to be another tool of violence. Plenty of others have engaged this conversation and have done so more eloquently, more forcefully, and with more biting humor than I, yet we seem incapable of actually changing the culture in any tangible or sustainable way. Perhaps if we continue the conversation insistently, pushing back whenever these dress code policies arise, encouraging young women to view themselves not as asexual but as more than sexual, encouraging young men to do the same. Meanwhile, I'll keep traveling and when I do so, will abide by local dress codes and do my best to be respectful of cultural norms. But maybe when I'm home I'll be the unapologetic one, I won't look down or slouch or cover up because I'm passing a group of boys or men. Maybe that's one step I can take?

Curaçao 1: Growing Into My Grown-Up Travel Shoes

My recent, very very short trip to a little island in the southern Caribbean (Curaçao), inspired a number of personal and anthropological thoughts that I will try to cover over my next few blog posts. First, and the one that hit me hardest toward the end of my 5-day (2 of which were spent travelling) excursion, is the idea of growing into a new identity as an "adult" traveler and thinking about what this means for travel and cultural experience in general.

When I was a kid, I had the fortune of riding my parents' coattails when it came to travel. I took my first steps on a boat off the island of Capri, was kicked unceremoniously out of London's pubs while still in a stroller, and lived in Strasbourg, France for a year as a toddler. In the years that followed, thanks to my father's francophilia and my mother's love for movement, I travelled repeatedly to Europe as well as travelling and eventually living all over the United States. When I hit my early twenties, I began to cultivate my own preferred style of travel. It involved working, sort of saving money, quitting my job and impulsively "moving" somewhere (to another state, another country, whatever made most sense at the time) for anywhere from 3-15 months but never more. In this vein, between the ages of 21 and 27 years (when I moved to Colorado), I lived in six states within the US, three countries outside it, and on three continents in total:

* New York City
* Charlottesville, VA
* Fes & Essaouira, Morocco
* Tempe, AZ
* Streitdorf, Austria
* Montreal, QC, Canada
* Rawlins, WY
* Cleveland, OH
* and finally, Fort Collins, CO.

While this movement was eventually exhausting, it was also exciting and enabled me to really get to know places and their people. It was my recreational release for my inner-anthropologist. I used travel as an occasion to get to know a culture on some level.

Since coming to Colorado, I have lived in one city. I have now been here for longer than I remember living anywhere in my entire life, and for personal reasons, I suspect I will live here for at least the next twenty or thirty years. But my feet still get itchy, as in, I still get intense urges to "get out of here". Which is where this trip to Curaçao came in - I needed to celebrate my successful dissertation defense and I needed to do it away. 

Unfortunately, in the past five years of rootedness, I've learned that I don't particularly enjoy this type of travel that many of us participate in for vacation and relaxation. After three days on this beautiful little island, I felt like I was just starting to hit my stride and get a sense of the island's own personality and pace. I felt that I knew more about what the tourist agencies wanted me to know and nearly nothing about what real life looked like. A couple of years ago, I visited Costa Rica with a good friend and had a similar experience. It was a great trip and the scenery was mindblowingly beautiful, but it was impossible to get into the rhythm of the country - which is the main reason I love public transit! - and still see what we wanted to see. We just didn't have enough time for both, a problem that was in part due to the fact that we only visited for a week but that was exacerbated by the fact that I am a poor planner and a horrible rusher. Apparently, I prefer to just move somewhere, hang out for three months, and call that my vacation. But as an adult, in my current life, that kind of travel doesn't seem realistic. So, I am searching the landscape of less lengthy travel patterns to find something I like, that perhaps I can learn from if not emulate. But I'm struggling as most of what I've seen simply does not fit with what I want to get out of a "vacation".

I remember being shocked while visiting a dear friend in Egypt. When we went to one of many of the amazing historical/tourist sites, a bus full of Italian tourists had stopped as well. Many of the women wore only short-shorts, flip flops and bikini/bra tops. None of this was culturally appropriate, but more importantly, it was explicitly disrespectful. There is certainly room for critiquing cultural relativism when over-simplified and over-applied, but it seems to me that if you have the choice to visit a country on vacation, you should select a country whose culture you are capable of respecting, at least outwardly. After all, you are funneling your money into their economy so it may as well be something you support on some level or at a minimum can live with. Many people I know travel exclusively for the very reason I went to Curaçao - relaxation & escape - and so they plant themselves at (all-inclusive) resorts or get with a professional tour company that arranges everything and whisks them from site to site providing carefully selected historical and cultural "context" (I'll talk more about this in a later blog). And, while it's not particularly my preferred way to travel and I am sure there are myriad culture and economic issues associated with traveling this way, it may not be all bad either. At least the people on tours are attempting to learn about their context even if it's typically done in a highly sanitized, voyeuristic way. And those who are going to all-inclusive resorts or refusing to leave the tourist zone are being honest with themselves and what their travel intentions are and may have set themselves in an environment where they won't offend local sensibilities. 

But the lurking question persists: Are we doing ourselves, our home cultures, and those we visit a diservice when we insist on traveling at the constant rushed pace of an American or with the cultural ideals regarding modesty of a "Westerner" (whatever that means)?   

I know that what I love about travel is slowly learning the rhythms of a new place, whether it's in the US or further afield. I find that it fosters the kind of experience that is life-changing even if it's not always as photogenic or as impressive on facebook. Unfortunately, my current life doesn't facilitate this kind of travel. In order to sit peacefully in one place for the next thirty years of my life, I had to settle down. I have a partner, a dog, a horse, all of whom make it difficult (emotionally, as in I would miss them all terribly,  more than logistically) to just pick up and leave for months on end. I have a job that is flexible, but, at least at this point, perhaps not that flexible. So I resign myself to movement-packed travel that often feels like it is more about the principle than about the experience, and I have not yet figured out how to mix my need for cultural immersion with my reality. What I fear is that this new way of travel is simply my new normal, and that a tender part of my soul will just have to wait until I'm retired.