Monday, September 25, 2017

Gone South


Our tour to the south was blown off the calendar by Hurricane Irma, so I took the opportunity to still travel. South. To the Sierra Mountains. In Mexico. The area I'm visiting reminds me of parts of Colorado. We have traveled high up into pines, and cliff shears and I even spotted a few groves of aspens. We are somewhere along the Copper Canyon. The canyon is bigger than the Grand Canyon, but one probably couldn't locate the tiny towns on a map. The undeveloped natural beauty extends as far as the eye can see. There are no souvenir stores, visitor’s centers, or billboards to promote the scenery. There are no tour buses, or funiculars to help ascend the heights.
The landscape is vastly different from our corner of Oklahoma. But even more different is the sensation of stepping back in time. If it weren't for the occasional mobile phone and iPad, I would bet it was the 1950's. The small community where I'm staying with my missionary friend, Pam, has a Christian hospital and modest housing for the medical staff.  Volunteers come from all over to serve the indigenous people, the Tarahumara Indians. The small facility operates on donations from all dominations of churches and Christian groups to offer health care to these shy, quiet people. The closest markets seem like a general store from the 1920's. They walk hours, literally, from their remote, ancient villages of five or six huts with tin roofs and dirt floors to this modern oasis for care.
In reality, I'm only about eight hours south of the US border, but it feels years away. 
It's taken over a decade to build trust in the white man's medicines and methods. This is National Geographic stuff, the small tribes surviving on their corn and bean crops for nutrition. Malnutrition and dehydration take many lives. The rainy season brings muddy water and the dry season takes it away. My comfortable life makes me always wonder about trivial things like, why would the tribal men chose to wear white loincloths? How do those women sew those yards of colorful fabric into ruffled skirts? We have Maytags and Singers, and we wouldn't do that. 
I had the honor to ride along with a young Mennonite missionary. This 23-year-old nurse hikes up to 20 miles a day toting a backpack full of medical items. He and his hiking partner go from tiny village to tinier village offering healthcare. It's not sought after or always desired. It's been a long, thankless mission to save lives and souls. When my new friend, Shawn, has a major issue, they work to get the patients and a family member down from the mountains to the road for transportation to the hospital. Today we are returning a man and his family of three to his home. As the old Suburban descends into the canyon on crazy switchback roads, Shawn stops to pick up more riders. He had waited for over three hours the day before for a ride so he is quick to offer one. Before long we have 11 in the un-air-conditioned car.
We dodge burros and horses and the results of rock slides. Shawn humbly tells me about his work and I pepper him with questions. He has immersed himself with the Indians and has learned to speak their language. He compares what is happening with the tribes and the Mexican government to what took place in the US and the Native Americans. The government gives to make them dependent and then takes away when the Indians land is desired.
I tell Shawn that I am Cherokee and fully I understand this comparison. He translates this to the ones in the back seat and they acknowledge with a low sound. We see only one other car and a government truck on this two-hour drive. Shawn carefully jokes that he has relieved himself in places that people would buy tickets to look at the view and he is probably right. The scenery is stunning and I'm amazed at the beauty.
Shawn is telling me about the trails (which I can't see at all) when suddenly he pulls off the road and parks. I know I looked confused and he says "We're here." There is nothing that says "here" to me, more rocks and windy road and riverbed. The family tumbles out and wait for us to drive away before starting their 1 ½ hour trek down then up the canyon to their home. A mother with an infant on her back, a two year little girl and dad just released from the hospital, will walk every step to someplace I can't even see from this spot. Makes our wheelchair ride to the hospital door seem a little silly, huh?
We wind our way out of the canyon adding passengers. Shawn tells about tragedies of loss. He also shares some miracles. Honestly, I'm thinking the fact that a 23-year-old young man wants to dedicate his life to hiking through stinging nettles to doctor infected wounds and sick babies is a miracle. He eats the meager foods that are offered to him, but admits he is homesick for a home cooked meal. I want to mail him a turkey dinner. But there isn't any mail service up here.
 It may be years before that luxury is available.

Wednesday, September 20, 2017

Irma was a Monkeywrench

This crazy, unpredictable travel business that we love has so many moving parts. And as my mother would say, “Someone threw a monkey wrench into our plans.” I’m not really sure why the poor, old monkey wrench gets blamed, but this time it was a big wrench and that someone was Irma.

We were booked and Good to Go to the Golden Isles. The motorcoach was to depart last Friday on September 15. Then Hurricane Irma cast her ugly eye on the coasts of Georgia and Florida, where we were headed. We all watched in horror as the storm changed paths, conditions sometimes improved and sometimes worsened. It didn’t make sense to cancel the tour until we knew exactly the situation. We too, rode out the storm albeit from the safety of Oklahoma.

Two days before departure, we had enough solid information to know we had to, sadly, cancel the trip. The local authorities weren’t even allowing the local residents back to their homes. There was no reason for us to add to the confusion, plus the tour we planned won’t happen for a while as they recover.

The good news is we work with other professionals who care about our business. As mentioned, it’s so much more than travelers; it is motorcoaches, hotels, restaurants, attractions, guides, plus a few dozen more parts that get “monkey wrenched” when weather and natural disasters occur. We encourage travelers to protect their fun funds with travel insurance which covers cancellations and interruptions. But in the bigger picture (and you can ask your insurance person if I’m right), the insurance would rather not pay. They would rather the trip go on as planned. In my conversations with Gulf Coast folks that are just crawling out to see if they still have a business to provide a service, it seems that to regroup our trip is one tiny way that we can help those folks.

We aren’t blaming anyone, we are saying, hey, we still want to come your way and support tourism. We aren’t exactly sure when that may happen now, but we plan to make it there. Maybe it’s a small thing, but we it’s worth thinking about. Living in an area that counts on tourism, we understand what a rainy weekend or blue-green algae will do to our economy.

We’ve watched the gasoline prices fluctuate as a result of the storms. There will be many things connected to the damage whether it’s the cost of orange juice or a small company that you’ve used for Christmas cards that you learn is no longer in Texas. The effects are far reaching.

Did you know a hurricane closed down an Oklahoma cheese factory? It was categorized as Tropical Storm Erin, but it brought 80-mile-an-hour winds and 9 to 11 inches of rain to Watonga. It tore off the Watonga Cheese Factory’s roof and twisted the building’s foundation and cinderblock walls. The insurance company condemned the building, along with its inventory of 7,000 pounds of cheese. Yes, you can still buy Watonga Cheese and they still have a cheese festival, but the owners were given the incentive to rebuild and move the plant. Watonga Cheese is made in Perryton, Texas.

Our discomfort was so minor compared to so many, but there was a storm to ride out, and we did.

Tuesday, September 12, 2017

Osiyo!


You know what that means if you’ve read the Cherokee Tourism billboards around the state, and in case you haven’t it means “Hello” in Cherokee. My family has always been proud of our Native American blood. We are card-carrying Indians, from my paternal grandfather’s Dawes Roll Number. When the American government did an Indian population census, my grandfather was alive and was entered onto the roll books as a Cherokee. Since our family can trace that lineage, we have the benefits that the tribe offers its members. My sister and I grew up in a family where some had dark skin, some didn’t.

Some were talkers, some were very quiet. We were a clan, and I really never thought about “being” an Indian. There were kids in our classes that were much darker and quieter, and they seemed to me to be more “Indian-like”, whatever that means. I do recall reading the brief explanation of the Trail of Tears in our history books and being confused and thinking that a big part of the story was left out. I certainly didn’t question the teacher.

I travel and have conversations with people whose only concept of Oklahoma is what Hollywood or Broadway has portrayed. I really do appreciate the OKC Thunder basketball team as I think that has helped get us out of tepees for some people. But I surprise people when they ask about the Indians and I’m able to say, “I’m one.” This will launch into PB’s mini speech of what “Indian blood” means, especially for the Cherokees who follow a matrilineal society. The savage Indians swinging tomahawks depicted in the movies certainly looked like they needed to hit the trail (of tears), but when I describe the removal being more like kicking the affluent people in the nicer neighborhoods out of their homes….well, people are surprised. 

The 65th Cherokee National Holiday was this past Labor Day Weekend in Tahlequah. Thousands of tribal members and tourists make the trip to enjoy traditional games, competitions, music, plus arts and crafts. There were plenty of food vendors and even the chance to eat some fry bread. The evening Powwow was alive with beating drums and songs in age-old tongues. Dozens and dozens of dancers in their tribe’s costumes entertained us with their unique dance styles. The moon was bright in the sky, the elderly and the babies sat and shared the evening together. I was with my people.

The Cherokee Cultural Center is worth a visit, especially if you haven’t been in the last few years. The tribe certainly has benefited from casino income, but they reinvest their monies into education, health, and homes for their own. Cherokee buildings like the prison and the women’s seminary are able to be toured. There are plans for restoring many other historical buildings, but in Chief Baker’s state of the Nation address, he said they won’t go into debt; they will build when they have the money. Now there’s an idea for a way to run a government.

I encourage you to learn more about the Native American’s in your state. Wado. (thank you)

Tuesday, September 5, 2017

Meeting on the Seas


I am proud to be a Rotarian. Actually, I’m an honorary Rotarian thanks to Bob Daggett and the late Jack Moseley. I loosely hold the office of song leader, which means when I am in town and attending the Wednesday Grove Rotary Meeting, the groans can be heard throughout the building since it means the club will have to sing. I have been happy to speak at the Miami Rotary Club meeting, and as I recall I offered to lead them in a tune. I love the things that the Rotary organization stands for and all that our local clubs do for our communities. 

What does this have to do with traveling? When we are on the road with our group, it seems we enjoy taking pictures of Rotary sponsored projects we see whether it’s a park bench or a medical facility, we try to pose by it. Zig and I crashed a meeting in Tortola when we saw a sign “Rotary Meets Here”.  We recently had another chance to make up a meeting, this time it was somewhere in the Baltic Sea, onboard the Viking Star during the Viking Homelands cruise to the Baltic Countries. After a few conversations on board with fellow Rotarians that were wearing the Rotary wheel logo, conversations were started and a meeting was planned.  Just sharing by word of mouth, we had over 30 in attendance including the spouses. 

This is where it gets kind of fun. 

In attendance were five from Oklahoma, three from New Zealand, four from Australia, one from Georgia, two from Arizona plus some I missed.

Our meeting space in the Explorer’s Lounge offered a beautiful view of the ocean.  We went around the room with informal introductions and told how many years we had been involved with Rotary. Members also talked about their local clubs and number of members, successful fundraisers, and a few of the projects that their club supported. 

Just in our small gathering, it was discovered we had - a married couple in a club, a first. A first member of a club. Members of the club in New Zealand that campaigned to allow women membership back in the ‘80’s. (it took two attempts), and a World’s President Award winner.

Fundraisers ranged from selling lobsters in Oklahoma to selling ads in Yellow Pages. Projects included working in dental facilities in Mexico, buying and delivering wheelchairs, repairing and repurposing Cath Labs, Annual Chili Cook-offs to benefit Dolly Pardon’s Imagination Library, dragon boat races, funding a cure for diabetes and developing solar powered oxygen equipment.
We discussed the differences and uniqueness of our countries organizations. We laughed, exchanged cards and ideas and left knowing that we were no longer strangers, but instead a group of folks that believed in a common goal for good for the world. 

We hope to cross paths somewhere in the world again as we continue to live the Rotary  Four-Way Test.

Is it Today or Tomorrow?

I read a funny that said “Tomorrow is another day used to sound hopeful. Now it sounds like a threat.” Ain’t it the truth? I’m not going to ...