Amsterdam

6/20/13

The first time I visited Amsterdam was on my way to Ghana. We had an eight hour layover so we decided to the take the train from Schiphol Airport to Amsterdam Centraal. The train station looked so grand, like Disneyland and Hogwarts, except built by much older people with a different fantasy. There was a clock tower and all these trams passing around it. The trams are an efficient way to get around the city but walking was by far my favorite. When we arrived, it was nine in the morning. Most everything was closed and the sun had barely come out. We explored the quiet city and found some coffee and pastries. By the time we finished eating, the city was alive. People were walking to work or just enjoying the day. We didn't have enough time to explore any museums, but I figured that was just another excuse to come back.

Amsterdam Centraal

Currently I’m on a train to Paris. I was walking up the stairs a few minutes before the scheduled departure time when the last-call whistle started to blow. I thought I had time but then I heard the roaring of the train and I knew I had to run. I made it on and so did the three people behind me. One girl was breathless, we were all just standing between the cars drinking our water before we even checked with direction our seats were. This train is more comfortable than the plane and as much as I loved flying to Amsterdam over the thunderstorms, this train has a much better view. Passing cars on the freeway as I write this then the next minute I see only trees and open fields. Some lands are clearly carved by people, you can almost see the squares, like the aerial view from the plane. Then a minute later we are passing ponds and river streams carved by nature. Tons of river boats. The cows remind me of California. I’m getting distracted maybe I should just write about this ride as it happens and write about Amsterdam later. Never mind. Tunnel.

Amstel River

Before I got on this high-speed train. I was in Amsterdam for a day and half. I flew there because I wanted to get to Europe a day before my program and since I would have no where to stay in Paris yet, might as well pick a nearby city. A three hour train ride was close enough. Oh, the tunnel is done and the scenery is spectacular. Anyway, I got into Amsterdam and I went straight to get coffee and also one of those waffles with large sugar pieces so you feel the crunch. Plus the chocolate on top makes it even more heavenly. I walked around the city, in a few familiar places, then went down to the museum district. I saw the “I amsterdam” sign outside the Rijks Museum. Since I was alone this time and saw so many other people crawling all over it, taking every kind of photo, I held my camera out like a teenager on facebook and took a picture of myself with the sign and the museum in the back. A “selfie” as my generation calls it.

I decided to go to the Van Gogh Museum first, since that is what I was most excited about (also I had seen a small Rijks exhibit in the airport so it could wait). I spent a couple hours walking around observing the art and history. The newly renovated museum beautifully displays the different journeys Vincent took as he grew as an artist, as well as art from other masters he learned from or who inspired him. There were hallways of exhibits and different floors to go up. A hall focused on just his sketches. There was even a room with microscopes to observe paint strokes on the canvas up close. In the last room, it was his most famous style: the strokes and the swirls. Art that I've seen photos of many times before still left me in awe. Especially when I was inches from the canvas. To see the craft that went behind each brushstroke was incredible. I spent so long at the museum that by the time I ate afterwards, the Rijks Museum was not admitting anymore.

Van Gogh under the microscope

I walked around more, just enjoying the architecture. I stumbled across the Red Light District. Women, both beautiful and un-appealing, waving at me and calling me to come to their doors. Feeling awkward, I just smiled and kept walking. I did start to think about how prostitution is the oldest profession and you really cannot stop people from doing what they want. Personal morals aside, if two consenting adults want to trade favors for money, they should be allowed to. Making it illegal won’t stop it but actually make it more dangerous and surround it with crime. This system is much safer for both parties involved, compared to America. Anyway, as I was taking in the magnificent buildings and scenery, it hit me how tired I was from the flight and my adventure today. I took the tram back north and walked around to get stroopwafels for the train ride. After talking with the store owner for a while about the city, I finally checked in and got into bed.

After breakfast the next day, I walked around just reflecting. Making up stories for some of the old buildings. The tall rooftops of the beautiful dutch houses were so characteristic. I saw a sticker on a bike that said "I <3 Iran" and took a picture for my parents as I kept wandering. Exuberant that the city was full of bicycles, I wished the road in Los Angeles were as friendly to cyclists.

Now that's a bike!

After some time walking, I saw an Iranian store. Immediately speaking Farsi with shop owner on entering, I bought some Persian sweets, which were actually authentic. After a small chat I left, realizing I was down to my last 30 minutes in the city. Praying my 24 hour tram ticket had not expired, I grabbed my stored bag and headed for the tram. Luckily, the ticket was valid and I could relax all the way to Central Station. I walked through the grand central doors one more time, bought whatever first sandwich I could grab at a store, ran up the stairs, and barely caught my train. Now I’m going to go enjoy this chicken pesto sandwich - lucky grab - and the beautiful scenery until I get to Paris.

Written by : Arman Ghorbani
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Ghana

Just a little over a day after sharing Christmas dinner with my family, I find myself walking hand in hand with Nana and Atto, two local children from Ghana. Surrounded by excited children, elders singing and playing music, and a group of fellow UCLA students, we were welcomed to the community Abor. We would be spending the next two weeks getting to know the community and setting up a mobile clinic to serve their health needs.

Before I was allowed to go to Africa, I had to get multiple vaccinations as well as malaria pills, so naturally my parents were very concerned about my safety. After the first day there, the amount of love and welcome we felt would be more than enough to put their worries to rest; too bad I didn't have Internet to let them know that. Communicating with the kids and teenagers was not too difficult since they learned English in schools, however for most of the elders we needed an interpreter. One man named Simone could speak enough English where we could communicate directly. Simone and his wife had lived in the village all their life. Almost every day, he would walk two hours each direction to his farm to provide for his family. His strong calloused hands reflected the years of hard work yet his eyes still beamed with youth. He welcome me into his home, which he had built himself with clay, rocks, and bamboo. Simone told us, “I know it must look simple, but I am very happy.” Next to his house, was two smaller huts - one used to store crops and the other as a kitchen, with three clay lumps to hold a pot and build a fire underneath. Simone’s wife was cooking their local specialty, Fufu, which is made with the cassava plant. He then led me over to show me a surprise for his youngest son. 

Simone and his son

He had bought another patch of land and was building a nicer home, built with bricks, for his son to have when his son came of age. “I am building a new home for my son. I want him to have better than me.” I’ll never forget his smile then, his face was filled with pride. I grew fond of Simone because his mentality reminded me of the sacrifices my own father makes for my family. My dad always said he worked hard so that we would one day have a better life than his, just as my grandfather did for him. Even across the world, good fathers think the same. After that, the whole community got together and held a welcoming ceremony for us. The elders and Chief introduced themselves and we had a chance to speak to the community as whole. Then begin the dancing. They taught us how to Azonto, which is a popular dance move and song in Ghana. We danced until we were dehydrated, then we refueled and kept dancing.

The kids dancing Azonto

After a few days meeting many of the families, we began to set up our clinic at the local schoolhouse. I saw two spiders the, each the size of my hand, on the walls of the classroom and thought how most American children interrupt class with their screams when a bug crawls by their desk - what would they do if they saw this. We set up the triage station, the doctors consultation, special rooms for the dentist and OB/GYN, and lastly the pharmacy. On the first few nights, we spent hours organizing the generously donated medicines into bags and then grouping them into suitcases. We rotated shifts and my first day I spent mostly in the pharmacy. I became close with the local pharmacist, Kofi, when he taught us about all the medicines. When the doctors prescription would come down, we would fill the orders and give the patient a “goody bag” with the proper medication. After shadowing the doctors during consultation for a while, they would stop giving a diagnosis right away and see if we could answer based on the symptoms. “So they are eating but still malnourished, what could that be?” I would reply, “They most likely have worms-” and since I had already worked the pharmacy, I’d continue “-so prescribe them albendazole.” As the week went on, I got to take patients blood pressure and temperature and talk to them about their symptoms before they went to the consultation. I saw teeth being pulled, cases of malaria, hernias, and even a protruded uterus. The last one I wish I could un-see.

As much as enjoyed the medical aspect, especially because of how much I was learning in a short time, it was the immersion into the culture that really made my trip memorable. Nana and Atto found me everyday just to say hi and hang around when I was free. They were 8 and 9 respectively, so they had learned a little English already. Nana was a great dancer even though he was missing most of his toes. He was the one who taught me how to Azonto on the first day. Every time I miss Ghana, I just listen to that song and I am transported back to Abor. We spent the last few days discussing public health and split up into age and gender groups to answer any other questions they might have. I was with the teenage and younger adult men. Many of them I got to talk to before on a personal level about our lives as well as our countries. One day, I spent over two hours answering questions about America’s politics, government, economy, religions, social customs, and more. Everything from gays and lesbians to why some people call Obama the anti-christ. It amazed me what specific things they knew or did not know about America. It was refreshing to see how curious and intelligent they were. Also it made me think hard about America when I answered their endless questions. Of course, I had my fair share of questions for them and I cherished the fact that we could sit down and talk about the differences between our lives. Some of them even had Facebook so we added each other when I got back, but they don’t use it as obsessively as American youth do.

The last day we spent in the capital city of Accra. Our friend Thomas, who worked with our program, guided us around. We visited Cape Coast Castle, which was an old slave trading point. It was well-built and lined by the coast with canons to guard from invaders.

View from Cape Coast Castle

The castle changed hands between many people trying to advance on the slave trade, yet the slaves were provided by many Ghanaian tribes who sold the people of opposing tribes they had conquered. Our tour guide discussed this difficult part of their past as he walked us down into the holding areas. Large underground rooms with very little light used to be packed with slaves. Many would never survive this part of the journey due to the fact that they would have to eat, sleep, and defecate all in the same area for months. There was a thick permanent layer of hardened blood and feces covering the brick floor. Ironically enough, there was a church for the slave traders right above the holding cells. I felt a wave of emotion come over me as I stood where many suffered and died due to the greed of others. The castle was beautifully morbid.

Walking around Accra, we had a chance to do some shopping. The shopping reminded me of that in Iran - you have to haggle. I bought many local paintings and woodwork to bring home to my family. I even bought a small drum after we had an exciting jam session in one of the stores. They taught me some rhythms and we all played together for a while. When we got back to our bus, we were still waiting for a few people so the local vendors walked up to offer their wares to us through the window. My friends saw that I knew the language of bargaining and asked me to help them get a decent price. At this point the artist liked me so we had fun throwing prices back and forth until we agreed. The locals liked my spirit so much that one of the artists gave me a painting for free. I gave him a bracelet I had made earlier as a gift in return. Though I am sure even with all the haggling, we were charged more than any local would be, we still got fine items while stimulating the economy. Everybody wins.

We also went to Kakum National Park where we walked across rope bridges above the forest canopies. The view was breathtaking. Afterwards I tried chicken gizzard.

Mmmm gizzard

Before I left, I finally got a taste of Fufu. It was served with chicken and their own spicy sauce. It smelled great as Simone’s wife was preparing it earlier in the trip and on our last day Thomas got me some. We even shared a Ghanaian beer together. Saying goodbye to Thomas at the airport was hard but thanks to modern technology, I know we could find each other next time I am in Ghana.

My trip to Ghana was the first time I had ever been to Africa and it will not be my last. I would love to go back to Abor and visit the friends I made. Africa is the birthplace of humanity and is all of our motherland thus she should be treated with respect and appreciation. With any place, do not let the media’s image be the only one you know. I went to Ghana with an open mind and returned with a full heart. Though I could not simply capture my entire trip into words and photographs, I tried my best to share my experience and why my time in Ghana had a lasting impact on my life.

Inverted Fountain

When I first started this site, I planned on writing the accounts of all my previous adventures and slowly move up to present day. However, my final months of undergrad were so time demanding that I haven't gotten the chance to tell those tales. Tomorrow morning I am flying to Europe to journey around as well as study history in Paris for my last college units. Thus, my previous travels will have to wait as I try to fill this dot-com "journal" with my new adventures.

In the mean time, I'll share a poem I wrote about the Inverted Fountain. The tradition is that all incoming freshman (and transfers) place their hand in the fountain to be "bruintized" as a UCLA Bruin. After that, students are not allowed to touch the water again until they graduate otherwise they will be cursed with bad luck and an extra quarter onto their time at the university. The fountain was shut off due to construction and I was afraid my graduating class would not have the chance to partake in this long tradition. I started a petition to garner support for halting construction during the week of graduation. It gained many supporters and the attention of local media which prompted the administration to listen to our request.

Today was the first day all year
That I've seen the Inverted Fountain running.
Sitting on the ledge,
Picturing myself reconnecting with it
In only nine days.
The sound of the water
Rushing over the stones
Being pulled to the center,
Blocks out the conversations
Of students walking by.
I am lost in my thoughts.
Four years ago,
I dipped my hand into the fountain
Not knowing how much
The initiation as a Bruin
Would shape me.
As I stare off into
The seemingly endless waterfall
And mentally prepare myself
For graduation,
I understand that
Our life is like this fountain.
It is as significant and limitless
As we choose to perceive it.

Congratulations UCLA Class of 2013

South Carolina

I still remember the first time I heard about the "Millennium." I was 8 years old and eating fries at In-N-Out as I listened to the adults talk about this big event. Finally I concluded that the Millennium was a place they were planning on going to on New Years Eve that was going to "change everything."

Though I was wrong about what the Millennium was, Y2K did change many things. Personally, it was the first year I remembered traveling. I was born in a small town in Illinois and moved to California when I was around 16 months old. I had also flown to Iran as a child but being so young, those memories are inorganic creations from photographs and stories shared. However, at the start of the new decade was the first time I truly remembered the process of traveling.

In the summer of 2000, we headed to Charlotte, South Carolina to visit my aunt and her family. The plane ride felt like a roller coaster - while my mother felt sick during turbulence, I threw my hands up and welcomed the butterflies to dance in my belly. Once we landed, I was reunited with my cousin, Laleh, who has been the closest thing to an older sister in my life. Given our ages, it shouldn't be surprising to hear that I annoyed her while she tormented me. After she frightened me with the tale of Bloody Mary, I started leaving the door wide open when I used the bathroom fearing that she would appear in the mirror. But when I was scolded for a lack of manners, I began secretly taking a kitchen knife with me whenever I used the restroom, to be prepared in case Mary came out of the mirror. This habit lasted for a few weeks.

One evening we were playing outside when the wind started to pick up. A few trashcans were blown over and I could barely hold my balance; the butterflies returned. We ran inside. That was the first time I heard the word "hurricane." The windows rattled and I watched debris being blown across the yard. Not realizing that the hurricane could potentially be dangerous, I was relaxed and content watching a Gilligan's Island marathon on Nick at Nite. Suddenly, just as the Skipper and Gilligan were arguing, the power went out and we were consumed in darkness. For a moment, everyone was silent and I remember being unable to see my hands and only hearing the pounding of wind against the house. It was the first time I wanted the butterflies to leave.

The parents lit some candles and we spent the rest of the night sitting in a circle talking with each other. This is something I cherish because nowadays, it seems most of the time everyone's mind is partly present and partly absorbed in their digital life. Back then we didn't mind entertaining ourselves. Somehow Laleh convinced me to braid her hair in exchange for getting to blow out ALL the candles when the lights came back on. The power finally returned and I ran to extinguish each flame. However, the candles had been burning for a while so there was a nice puddle of melted wax. As I approached the first candle, I huffed like the big bad wolf, only to have hot wax splash onto my face. Luckily, I was close to the sink and instinctively threw my face under cold water as the adults panicked.
Thankfully I do not have any noticeable scars. I did, however, get over the childhood obsession of blowing out every candle you see.

On the upside, never again did waiters have to relight our candle multiple times while my parents sat embarrassed at a restaurant.

Basic Beginning

Too long have I only created an online presence through anonymous blogging and mostly meaningless social networking. Thus today, I bought my first domain. Completely linked to me. No pen-names. No flooding of status updates.

The following posts are accounts of my adventures and travels, as well as notable observations. Here I will compile my significant journeys along with my interpretations of our world; to share with others and for self-growth. Maybe even some of my poetry - if I am to feel so brave.

Though I prefer pen and paper, I have accepted my generation's obsession with technology so I will also transfer some hand-written works here. As I start writing to fill the whiteness of the page with what I hope is personal gold, I think to one of my favorite writers:

Let the world burn through you. Throw the prism light, white hot, on paper.
-Ray Bradbury

These are my archives.