Eats, Shoots & Leaves

Cascade Falls

Last Monday was my oft-delayed progress evaluation in Amharic, and the results, as expected, could not be described as pretty. To no one's surprise, including my own, I'm far behind where I ought to be at this point in my language training. Fortunately, the credible excuses are many. There was the month-long government shutdown that began just before Christmas, which served to bring all classes to a sudden halt. Then there's the issue of my mental and physical health - regarding the former, seven hours of neuropsychological testing and counseling done two months ago has resulted in a diagnosis of Adjustment Disorder with Anxiety and Depression. Finally, there was the fact that I wasn't doing very well with the first teacher we were assigned. Due to "a lack of resources" (i.e. no textbooks or lab materials), we spent six months mostly discussing the finer points of Amharic grammar, while being urged to go online to locate our own listening and reading materials, and to "find Amharic-speaking friends" to help us with speaking.

A couple of Fridays ago, I woke up at 5:30 after having gotten little sleep due to worrying over my progress (or lack thereof) in Amharic class. I resolved to make the best of the situation by getting to FSI early, driving to work instead of taking the shuttle, in order to work on a presentation about the merits and demerits of coffee and sugar. Unfortunately, while en route, another car pulled up alongside mine, and the driver pointed out that I had a flat tire. I managed to limp back home without further damage, and eventually had the tire repaired, but the day was shot. A metaphor? 

Well, we now have a new teacher who seems to be focusing more on speaking the language. In addition, we also found out that there are (and have always been) conversation and grammar texts available. So with less than four months remaining until the end of training exam, it's almost like starting over. Of course, in the end, success or failure will depend on my efforts, and to be honest, I haven't always been the most ትጉህ ተማሪ. But, hey, I'm Anxious and Depressed, so...

A tombstone engraved in Amharic, waiting to be set up in a local cemetery. Another metaphor?

Oh well, whatever happens, will happen. There are times I wish I were back in Japan or Taiwan teaching English. That is, until I read articles like this one that appeared recently in The Japan Times ジャパンタイムズ. Actually, I don't recall encountering that many "J-hunters" during the times I was living in the country, though there were certainly many instances of the "gaijin stare", the look given to fellow foreigners to let them know their presence is seriously interfering in the starer's "I'm living in Japan!" fantasy. I had an American coworker in Yokkaichi 四日市 who would deliberately give me false directions to bars or hiking trails in order to keep those places to himself. My Japanese skills (especially kanji 漢字 recognition) were better than his, so I was always able to find them, much to his consternation.

A mid-March snowfall. There's been a lot more snow this time around than during our previous stints in the D.C. area

In Taiwan, the tendency on having a "more Taiwanese experience" is just as pronounced, usually expressed in misguided proclamations of how much the waiguoren enjoys washing down their stinky tofu 臭豆腐 with cans of Taiwan Beer while pontificating on the significance of local election results in rural Yunlin County 雲林縣. However, having already ranted on numerous occasions on the pages of this blog regarding certain types of Westerners who reside in Taiwan, I will write no further on the subject, at least for this post.

My daughter has recently taken up baking. These cinnamon buns were made from a recipe book that Amber received for her birthday. The results were delicious!

That doesn't mean I won't comment on Taiwan's capital, thanks to another recent article, this one from  the Taiwan News 英文台灣日報. Over the years I've endured numerous comparisons (by Taiwanese and non-Taiwanese alike) between Taipei 台北 and Tōkyō 東京. Yes, they're both Asian capital cities and home to millions of people, but Japan's mega-city dwarfs Taipei in terms of population, restaurants, entertainment, shopping and so on (it isn't Taipei's fault - the sheer size of Japan's Kantō region 関東地方 is immense, with a population double that of all of Taiwan). I've always maintained a more accurate comparison is better made with Japan's "third city" (after Tokyo and Ōsaka 大阪), Nagoya 名古屋. Well, whaddya know? According to the 2019 Quality of Living City Ranking by Mercer Management Consulting, Taipei ranks 9th in the Asia Pacific region (84th in the world), behind Tokyo (49th in the world), Kōbe 神戸 (49), Yokohama 横浜 (55), Osaka (58) and...Nagoya, coming in at No. 62. Don't get me wrong, I like both Taipei and Nagoya, but confirmation does leave a sweet taste in one's mouth.

A traffic accident between a passenger car and a DC Metro bus in Bethesda, Maryland

Thanks to the kindness of some friends who recently purchased a second car and need a temporary parking spot for their older vehicle until they sell the latter later this spring, we have temporary access to a Mercury Mariner SUV, and are no longer restricted to public transportation or the occasional rental car. Taking advantage of this, and the imminent onset of spring, this Saturday I drove into Maryland to do some hiking in Patapsco Valley State Park. The day was sunny, though a lot chillier compared to the previous day - 8°C/46°F on Saturday morning vs. 22°C/72°F on Friday evening. In what must be yet another Amharic training-related metaphor, I spent more than a half-hour trying to find the correct trail before finally getting on track:

I walked on several trails while at the park, one of which traveled along the edges of a couple of large, open fields:

At one point I came across the remains of an old two-story house. Perched within the ruins was a pair of large vultures, in what would be the only significant wildlife sighting of the day:

An admission of ignorance: I've always thought of bamboo as being something representative of Asia, due to the proliferation of the trees in places where I lived in Japan and Taiwan, and through the usages of bamboo shoots in both Chinese and Japanese cuisine (even though I personally don't care for the taste). As a result, I was surprised to learn that bamboo is also native to the southeastern United States. At one point during Saturday's hike I came across a small but dense bamboo grove:

One of the highlights of the state park, and the one that attracts the most visitors is, the Cascade Falls. The stream course drops 15 feet (4.6 meters) into a pool, though the falls themselves weren't as impressive as my hiking guidebook led me to believe:

From the falls I made my way down to the Patapsco River and Swinging Bridge. The current metal-and-wire structure is a replacement for one that was destroyed by a hurricane in the early 1970's:

From the bridge it was back to the falls...:

...before the final 1.3 mile (2.1 kilometers) slog along a ridge that seemed endless as it undulated down and up steep draws and made sharp turns at tight switchbacks:

More remains, mysterious in that there were no signs explaining why they were there or what had happened to them. Even my guidebook made no mention of the structures:

Thanks to my initial wanderings, what was supposed to taken only three hours actually lasted nearly 4½. I also have a feeling that I ended up walking a lot more than the 6.9 miles (11.1 kilometers) listed in my guidebook's trip description. But despite the initial setbacks, I ended successfully completing the course. Hopefully this will be a more positive metaphor...

Spending a few hours contemplating what never should have happened

The writing on the wall...

It's one of the hottest tickets in town, and it took several months of trying before I was finally able to score three ducats online, but on Saturday my daughter and I (the wife opting out as usual at the last moment) visited the National Museum of African-American History and Culture:

The museum has been extremely popular since its opening in September 2016, and timed entry passes (free) for weekend visits are required. The passes become available three months in advance on the first Wednesday of each month. After a couple of unsuccessful prior attempts, I was finally able to reserve three spaces for an early afternoon slot on the first Saturday in March. Even with the timed entry system, the museum was still packed with visitors:

Which was a shame, as the crowds made it difficult to fully appreciate the extensive historical exhibits, packed into three subterranean levels. The displays cover arguably the most disturbing chapter in American history (along with the genocide committed against the indigenous populations). It's all there - the enslavement of West Africans and their transport to the New World; two centuries of often brutal forced labor; Jim Crow, lynchings and segregation; the Civil Rights struggles and so on. It's a lot to take in, a depressing failure of the so-called ideals of equality, justice and opportunity that this nation is supposedly founded on, and which our politicians never seem to tire of trotting out for public speeches. This particular American chapter is a sobering but absolutely necessary read, and it was too bad the museum's popularity meant it wasn't possible to take all of it in, to give each exhibit the time it needed, to record in photographs all the images I would've like to have shared on this post. Do yourself a favor and try to visit:

The Amistad revolt:

The cotton gin, the "benefits" of which only served to strengthen the institution of slavery in the Antebellum South:

Lynchings no longer occur in the U.S. Nowadays, young, unarmed African-American males are instead gunned down by law enforcement officials. Due to the crowds, we somehow missed the section on Emmett Till, but considering Amber's age and everything we had seen already, it was probably for the best:

Black travelers faced extensive hardships just simply trying to move around their country:

Two of my favorite TV shows when I was a kid were The Flip Wilson Show and Sanford and Son:

I'm old enough to remember the Boston busing crisis (though too young at the time to have understood it) and the shameful incident pictured below of an African-American man being attacked with an American flag. (I also remember hating Reggie Jackson for hitting three home runs in Game 6 of the 1977 World Series, but that was due to the fact that he was playing for the New York Yankees and against the Los Angeles Dodgers, my then-favorite team):

Tuskegee Airmen exhibit:

It was a lot to process, but at the end of the historical sections the museum provides a much-needed Contemplation Court. Individually, I was aware of  most of the things that make up the black American historical experience, but to see it all in one place, at one same time, was overwhelming, to say the least. It's a history that sadly should never have occured, but it did (and is still happening in some aspects), and more Americans need to familiarize themselves with the narrative if this country is ever going to be all that it claims to be:

The upper floors of the museum continue to focus on the struggles faced, but also celebrate the contributions made, by black athletes, artists and entertainers to American culture and society. I found myself gravitating toward the baseball exhibits. The Cardinals uniform below belonged to Curt Flood, whose unsuccessful fight against the reserve clause eventually laid the groundwork for free agency:

I was floored to learn that Amber did not know who Jackie Robinson was. What are our schools teaching our kids these days?:

Muhammad Ali was one of my favorite athletes when I was a sports-crazy boy growing up in southern California - by the mid-1970's kids my age didn't know who Cassius Clay was, nor did they care. All of my sports heroes back then were African-American, including Henry Aaron, Wilt Chamberlain and O.J. Simpson. Yeah, about that last one, he was a great running back...:

I was equally impressed at seeing a photo of the Bad Brains playing a gig (in the background) as I was with Jimi Hendrix's vest:

The P-Funk Mothership, from which Dr. Funkenstein would emerge "to better administer funk to the audience":

Chuck Berry's 1972 Cadillac:

The Garden of Eden (1852), by Robert Duncanson:

Skin-whitening products:

My daughter poses outside of the museum afterward. I'm not sure what Amber made of everything she had seen inside, especially the more disturbing exhibits. She had been excited about going, but was quiet throughout our visit as we made our way around. On the way home, we talked about the discrimination faced by Asian immigrants and Asian-Americans:

Being an American of Asian descent means having to attend Chinese classes on the weekend, and on Sunday my daughter's school held a show to celebrate the Lunar New Year. Amber's class (they learn to read and write traditional characters) read a story (in Mandarin) about red envelopes 紅包, while one student showed off his skills with the Chinese yo-yo 扯鈴:

The National Museum of African-American History and Culture is an excellent, albeit long-overdue, addition to the Smithsonian group. I would like to return one day when the crowds are a little thinner in order to spend more time coming to greater grips with this country, its history and its peoples.