My article, “Why Travel is the Most Patriotic Act You Can Do,” was published today by Brave New Traveler.

The article recounts some of my experiences traveling in Cuba. Since many Americans don’t travel to Cuba, however, I thought it would be nice to take you there virtually….

I remember when I worked in a cubicle and, later, in my own office (oh, happy day! To have my very own office!), and the biggest deal ever was to decorate that little territory and make it my own.

Poems by Pablo Neruda, by William Stafford, by Mary Oliver.

A quote from Stanley Kunitz’s poem, “The Layers”:

“I have walked through many lives,
some of them my own,
and I am not who I was,
though some principle of being
abides, from which I struggle
not to stray.”

Back then, I was a psychotherapist specializing in creative arts therapy, so I had poems and drawings by clients on my wall. Funny notes from colleagues. Tasteful pictures of people I loved.

But now, I work for myself. I have my own little creative spaces wherever I go. Here in New York, my desk looks like the photo above.

Over my desk is a painting by Juan Antonio Picasso. On the wall are two pictures of Francisco and myself shot, absurdly, into the reflection of an Airstream trailer on display at MOMA. There’s also a note with the name and address of a friend’s boyfriend’s bar, a list of articles to edit for Matador, and a recipe for a drink that I clipped from Bon Appetit that I’ll eventually get around to making. Or not. I just like the looks of it there.

On my desk are books and journals with notes for projects done, in progress, or in the perpetual dream state. There’s the list of things to do, of course.

And then there are the items closest to me, the ones that have no value for anyone but me but which mean more than anything.

Inventory:
-Photo of Francisco and me in Boston: We’re both in suits. It’s very unlikely you’ll see us in suits again.
-Two shells from a beach in California: Souvenirs from a roadtrip in January 2008. The larger one still spits sand all over the desk. I don’t get it.
-Piano key: From a tour of the Steinway Piano Factory that Francisco and I took together a few months ago.
-Piece of granite in the shape of a heart: I found this in a fallow field in my hometown when I did an interview with the writer, environmentalist, and professor, John Lane, this past January.
-Empty cologne bottle: Even if Francisco hadn’t been the amazing person that he is, I probably would have fallen in love with him for this cologne. It’s an empty bottle of Miller et Bertaux, No. deaux. He bought it in a thrift store. We haven’t been able to find it since. If you do, let me know. For real.
-A cork from a bottle of Prosecco. Our first. I’m sentimental that way, you know?
-A little pot of ink for a real fountain pen: It’s called, not so nostalgically, Speedball. But I have a real ink pen and I use it.
-A Moroccan tile I use as a coaster for morning coffee and evening libations. Also a thrift store find.
-A letter from Cuba, written in 1981, which I found in the garbage: I found this in the garbage on my most recent trip to Cuba and it’s still cause for wonder: Who wrote it? To whom? Why was it in the garbage? I love it.

So here’s where YOU come in:

I’m endlessly fascinated by these types of details from other people’s lives, so if you send me a photo and brief description of your creative space, I’ll post it here. Don’t be shy and don’t say something silly like, “Aw shucks; my little space is a folding TV tray or it’s a neatly organized desk that no one would be interested in.”

I’m interested.

What does it mean to you? What do you do there? Tell us a bit about your space. What are the objects and what do they evoke for you each time you see them? Send me your stories (and a photo): writingjulie@gmail.com. I’ll post some of my favorites here as they roll in.

If you’re interested in travel or travel writing, I hope you’ll check out the articles I’ve had published this week:

Sonidos de la Tierra: Saving Children Through Music

Cinterandes: Innovating Mobile Medicine in Ecuador

Top Five Secrets Travel Writers Won’t Tell You

Travel Stories: Knowing When to Pitch to an Editor and When to Blog: co authored with Peter Davison

Published by Matador Volunteer, March, 2008

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Organization: Kiva.org

Opportunity: Fellows Program

Organization Overview: The U.S. based microlending organization, Kiva, has generated major buzz, enthusiastically supported by President Clinton and featured in The New York Times Magazine and a documentary produced by Frontline/World, all of which have praised the organization for its novel approach to linking social entrepreneurs and lenders through the Internet. With a 99.9% loan repayment rate, Kiva is popular with both lenders and loan-seekers, and is positioned to continue attracting attention.

Opportunity Overview: Less well-known is Kiva’s year-old Fellows program, a natural extension of Kiva’s mission. Anyone over 21 can apply for the Fellows program, the purpose of which is to strengthen Kiva’s relationship with its microfinance institutions (MFIs) by placing skilled volunteers on the ground in communities where the work that’s being funded is performed. The Fellows are a vital link between Kiva staff, lenders, and loan recipients, sharing information among the stakeholders, increasing exposure and awareness, and providing technical support to loan recipients.

Ideal Volunteer Profile:

-21+ years of age (current volunteers range in age from 21-60)

-Proficient with photography and blogging

-Strong travel history, especially independent travel

-Language skills: Fluency in French, Spanish, and Asian languages are particularly needed for West Africa, Asia, and Latin America placements

Expectations of Volunteers:

Volunteers are matched to regions, organizations, and tasks based on their experiences, skills, and interests. All volunteers are expected to photograph members of the microfinance institution and post blog entries to Kiva’s site; the blogs are intended to chronicle the lives of the working poor and provide first-hand accounts of how microlending is impacting people’s lives. Volunteers also work in the microfinance institution’s office 2-3 days per week, providing assistance with a variety of tasks, which may include data entry, accounting, document creation, training, and other forms of technical support.

Bonus Points for the Fellows Program!

-Couples can apply.

-The volunteer positions are largely autonomous (no supervisor on site) while also highly collaborative (working closely with the members of the MFI).

-Beyond the required 10 week commitment, the terms of service are flexible. Some Fellows have been in the field for more than a year, and have rotated through more than one organization… or country!

Details: For full details about the Fellows Program and to download an application and instructions, please visit http://www.kiva.org/about/fellows-program/.

Feel Good Story:

Anushka Ratnayake, Fellows Program Manager, shared the following story:

“One of my favorite Fellows stories is about Liz Vilette from Houston who went to Azerbaijan. She was finishing her MBA and wanted to see what she’d heard about in theory in practice. She’s a former soldier and was really gung ho to try anything. We really wanted a fellow in Azerbaijan because it has a really strong microfinance industry and we were sending lots of funds there. Liz was incredibly resourceful. [Even before she left] Liz found out that Houston is a sister city with a city in Azerbaijan and she found an expat community in Houston and got them really excited about Kiva and helped them connect to people at home. They helped her find a homestay and she went to Azerbaijan for over three months and ended up working with three of our partners there. She trained staff and provided English language classes, which really added value to the MFI, and helped improve staff retention. She was making Kiva real to them.”

Published in Traverse, September, 2007

I am hurtling down Avenida Reforma, one of Mexico City’s main arteries, in one of the ubiquitous green and white Volkswagen taxis that everyone—tourists and locals alike—waits for, favoring nostalgia and its slight discomforts over the newer red and white Nissan Sentra taxis, which have no personality as far as we’re concerned. Nearly every block features an impressive monument rising up from the center of the avenue, each of which eventually becomes just another detail in the backdrop of life’s daily shuffle here in the capital city.

Mexico City, “D.F.” to locals, is a fascinating place where the old and new, the urban and the rural don’t so much collide as co-exist. Step into the heart of the city and you’ll find business people in suits, as likely to make important transactions over a lunch of sushi as over a one-peso huarache, or an ear of roasted corn bought at the corner food stand. Alongside the business people you’ll also
find men and women in indigenous clothing sitting on blankets on the sidewalk where they sell handcrafts, gum, and phone cards. Many people who come from the pueblos to make temporary homes in the city have no plans to stay. They come to make money and go home. But they
also come for a reason that is equally as urgent to them, and that is to bring their political and social concerns from the country here to the capital city, where they hope to attract attention for various causes: the alleged abuse of elderly people, illegitimate politicians who were not elected, land seizures, and the like. These campesinos, who form part of a movement known as 400 Pueblos, build tent cities on the side of Mexico City’s busiest thoroughfares, where they cook and live and protest, using the visibility of their location to bring abuses that are invisible to city-dwellers to the attention of the government, Mexico’s urban citizens, and to tourists alike.

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From the taxi I notice the nude and semi-nude men, who have grouped more than 100 strong, around one of the city’s most important statues, one that is strategically positioned in the middle of a round-about where the city’s principal avenues converge. I ask the driver to stop
and let me out, and I watch the men, entranced. They march, single-file, around the statue, not shouting, not waving banners, not doing any of the things one typically expects of a protester. Some of the men are completely nude, their penises hidden only by a photo of a politician,
which is secured to their hips with string. Most of the men, though, are in their underwear, with little else other than shoes—tough, worn-in work boots or sandals—or hats to shield them from the alternating chill and heat of a typical day in Mexico City. They range in age from young boys to elderly men, some handsome, some not, some thin, others obese. Some are wearing briefs, others boxers. Some underwear looks newer, but most is threadbare. The men do not appear to be having fun—it is obvious that this is not gratuitous exhibitionism—nor do they appear humiliated. They simply look determined, as if they believe
completely that their presence in this place, on this day, matters. What strikes me, as I stand on the sidewalk, is how powerful a statement they are making, and I wonder how anyone could ignore them. 

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The protest goes on for weeks and stretches into months. The men are marching every day, all day. Their behavior provokes a range of reactions. Commuters complain that the men’s presence, coupled with other protesting groups at other key spots on Avenida Reforma, is adding to already significant traffic woes of the city. The novelty
of the men’s nudity having worn off, they have become a nuisance, an inconvenience, and newspaper editorials urge the 400 Pueblos members to pack up and go home. The police who are assigned to the nude protest beat have also tired of the march. “We are here to protect their right
to march,” one officer tells me, when I ask him about the 400 Pueblos protest and inquire about the fact that he’s not carrying a service gun. “We must permit them to feel safe. And to ensure that they have the right to freely express their concerns, we don’t carry guns. But
to tell you the truth, this is all becoming very tiresome.” Even some of the marchers, in their dogged determination, begin to wonder whether their unusual form of political activism will achieve its ultimate goal, which is the rectification and redress of wrongs committed in the pueblos. “We are humble men,” one marcher tells me, when I ask about the protest and its effectiveness. “We have nothing but our bodies and so we are here. The government does not listen to us, so we must present
our concerns in another way. We don’t know if it will work, but we must continue to try.”

At the end of August, when the men and the women and children who accompanied them to the city decided to pack up and return home, it remained unclear whether the protest had achieved its desired goal. While the protest
brought attention to the concerns of the campesinos, it did not unseat Veracruz Senator Dante Delgado, who has been singled out as the figure who symbolized the worst of all the campesinos’ complaints. Nonetheless, the members of the 400 Pueblos movement, who plan to continue their
activism and who will likely return to the city, recognize that change—particularly when it involves bureaucracy—is slow. Although the nude march went on for months, and attracted international media attention, the men and women understand that their fight will continue, using the only means that are available to them.