Beijing – November 8

Oh boy…Beijing…so many sights, so little time.

And, congratulations blog readers, you did successfully help me procrastinate my biggest grade for developmental economics. And profs here are not nearly as lenient about deadlines as Dartmouth profs are. Great. Good thing grades don’t transfer, right?

I would say that hands down, my favorite part about Beijing was being treated like some international super star. The videographer and camera person for Semester at Sea travelled with our group, so everywhere we went, we were being followed by a very intense looking crew of cameras and camcorders. But even without my every move being recorded for the SAS video and slide show, every single Chinese person we passed turned around to snap a picture of me. …I have blonde hair you see. And I spent most of my time in Beijing with Nicole, another lucky blonde. And I may or may not have been drinking a beer at the top of the Great Wall at 9am, which also won us some attention. (Hey, you’re only at the top of the Great Wall once, why not have a beer to celebrate?)

Unlike the other blondes in our group, Nicole and I loved the attention. If we noticed somebody taking a picture of us (and they were not to secretive about it), rather than rudely snap a picture back of them like most the others in our group, we would ask if they’d like to take a picture WITH us. Their faces would light up with learning about this unimaginable luck and they would quickly rush over and pose for a picture – holding their peace signs high of course. Nicole and I actually came to love this attention so much that we were offended to walk around areas and not have anybody take pictures of us. We would wear our hair down and unnecessarily throw it back due to the “wind,” just hoping somebody would notice our blonde locks.

It was definitely attention enough for me to be happy with my terrible dye job – because, if nothing else, it does mean that my hair is blonde. I only hope that they do the same in Japan. Because it will really be a sad day for me when I stop being special to strangers on the street.

In Memory of Kurt Leswing – November 7

I don’t normally write poetry. Actually this may be the first time I have ever written it outside of an assignment. But for some reason that is where my mind went when I learned about Kurt. So here we go:

I Know

I know three too many people who were lost too early –

Four if you count my Uncle Greg.

I know very little about Jason.

But I do know that he garnered my brother’s respect,

And I know that my brother’s respect is very hard to garner.

I also know that he was not in pain when he passed,

Because he was strong enough to let us all know that.

As little that I knew about Jason, I knew less about Cliff.

But judging from the numbers – the swells –

That paid their respects at his viewing

(and Jason’s funeral)

I know that they were both great kids.

Kurt, well I know that he was a great kid.

I know that I slept in his tent.

And he pretended to be mad –

But, really, it gave him a chance to go somewhere else.

I know this because he slept with two girls instead.

And he laughed as he yelled at me

For making him sleep in their tent.

I know they all had dreams – because everybody our age does.

I know they were all excited, on the top of the world, right when they lost it.

Cliff had just returned for his second year,

Excited to live with all his friends in a new house.

Jason had just started college –

And he even pushed through classes until the end.

And Kurt was travelling the globe on an itinerary

Packed full of adventure and fun.

I know of three tragedies that are incredibly hard to bear.

I know that it was unfair.

What I don’t know is how to justify any of it.

And I don’t know if I’ll ever know that.