Be Curious

"There is something which all the greatest artists and writers, naturalists and scientists, voyages and explorers, poets and pioneers, share. It is an interest in the external world and the ability to contribute something creative to human life in this world by means of taking parts of the world to pieces and putting them all together again. The ability to observe, and the ability to see the little things that seem trivial at first, may become amazingly important and meaningful. Out of little observations huge ideas may grow; and if a mind, made receptive by training in the use of the sense, can store away a mass of observations, the time will come when the whole collection can be unrolled, connected together as a great novel is planed, in a compelling pattern that tells us something new."

- Harold Gatty 

The themes of exploration and adventure are constant companions as we travel from place to place on this grand medical school journey. There have been places where curiosity comes easily and places where those themes seem to lose their hold. The trick is to keep them alive regardless of the ease or difficulty. 

We went from a developing country with Rastafarian farmers roaming among 9 volcanoes in tropical heat to an off season deserted and frozen beach town with flat farm land leading to endless ocean. Then we went from swaths of highways coating alligator filled swamps with faceless houses gated in on either side to hillside homes serving as an escape from NYC with classic bridge and skyline views. 

The places in between those temporary base camps were just as diverse. 

Each place requires a new curiosity and provides a fresh perspective. Much like people. In all of our moving I am working to cultivate the ability to see the little things amongst the larger happenings. Because, as Gatty says in the quotation above, "the ability to see the little things that seem trivial at first, may become amazingly important and meaningful. Out of little observations huge ideas may grow." 

Dominica (view from Segment 8)

Ocean City, MD. (bayside view from 32nd st.)

Everglades, FL. (view from the drive to Shark Valley)

Great Neck in Long Island, NY (view from a hill on my run)

The Mountains of Life

"Come to the woods, for here is rest. There is no repose like that of the green deep woods. Here grow the wallflower and the violet. The squirrel will come and sit upon your knee, the logcock will wake you in the morning. Sleep in forgetfulness of all ill. Of all the upness accessible to mortals, there is no upness comparable to the mountains."

- John of the Mountains: The Unpublished Journals of John Muir, (1938), page 235.

Dominica was full of that "upness" that John Muir references in the quote above. The view of the volcanic mountains and the contrasting far sea horizon gave a glorious upness to the often difficult day to day in which we lived. (And our difficulties rarely compared to the Dominican's day to day.) The university gave us a cushion in many ways but the mountains too gave us a cushion, one that was harder to name, harder to recognize, and one that I miss dearly now. 

I stopped blogging in our last semester there. I think the idea of wrapping up a life somewhere that took real grit to settle into was difficult to comprehend. I had just figured it out and now we leave? Packing, crossing things off the Dominica bucket list, and saying goodbyes certainly didn't lend itself to a quiet stillness in which to reflect and write. Its been over a month now and I think those reflections are starting to show themselves. And the mountains are a recurring vision. 

In Dominica I was an outsider. I wasn't from there, I didn't recognize the foods, I didn't know their slang, I didn't share their history. There were figurative mountains I had to surmount in understanding how to cook there, how to buy food, how to get from place to place, how to communicate, how to be a foreigner in my day to day reality, how to live. Plus, in the med school community, I was in a sea of other outsiders struggling to do the same thing from their own experiences. 

I think some of it was just a little too much to wrap our minds around and so many of us climbed literal mountains, hardships we could see, name, climb, finish, and succeed. I think we needed those mountains, those concrete challenges and successes, in order to mentally surmount the day to day. Each mountain, each swim and run and yoga session, each physical venture pulled us out of ourselves, pulled us out of the insatiable desire to explain what was, at times, inexplicable. 

Being back stateside is full of delights (phone calls, blankets, baby spinach, affordable apples, potable water, book stores...) and many things are comfortable again, recognizable again. But after the shock of these renewed delights passed, the figurative mountains of the day to day returned. It is not foreignness but life itself that offers us daily mountains to vanquish. We exhaust ourselves trying to explain, reason, and think them away. In that exhaustion, I think of John Muir's idea of repose and upness; the woods, the sea, the mountains, the plains given as places of rest. 

Andy and I still live by the sea now but without any mountains for miles. Some days I run up to the ocean to look out on the waves and the horizon and run home again, once again pulled out of myself, slightly accepting the inexplicable and taking a deep breath in the reality that we are given work to do and it is ours to do it. 

Work Hard, Play Hard

September is here, fall is not. Summer continues here on Dominica as we enter the last semester of med school island life. The last semester. It is hard to believe. And yet, the amount of crazy work we've put in, the hours of emotional stress, relational strain, exhaustion, and odd loneliness definitely adds up to more than these 9 months in my book. 

We've celebrated 2 breaks from school since January. Literally. There are no nights, no weekends. At the end of April/beginning of May, we flew to St. Vincent with Steve and Jenny (another med school island couple) and sailed around the Grenadines, learning how to sail and navigate the breezy Caribbean waters. Seeing these raw wild places from the sea almost seemed more natural than living on the islands. The Grenadines have a similar vibe to Dominica but a different history that makes up their own complicated social and cultural fabric. 

Sailing is not for the faint of heart and much more complicated than those peacefully billowing white sails suggest from the horizon. Our instructor, Bob, and his wife Sueno, patiently taught us the intricacies of the boat and the ways of boatmen. Local boats, painted bright reds, yellows, greens, blues, pinks, and purples, pulled up along side when we moored and offered us fish that hadn't even been to shore yet. We swam with sea turtles and sting rays and finally dug our toes in the famous white sands of the Caribbean. (Dominica only has black sand). We slept in tiny, hard cabins under the boat a few feet from our boat companions, cooked like we were camping, and ate family style meals around the small boat table. We pulled lines in, let lines out, and felt the wind push us from wave to wave. We jumped off of the boat and swam each day, an act which Andy and I counted as our shower... leading to my hair being almost naturally dreadlocked with salt water by the end of the week. 

This peaceful struggle to sail preceded the hardest semester here. I wonder if the sailing experience somehow added to our ability to calmly push through, to adapt, and loll with the waves of the semester.

Our second break, at the end of August /beginning of September was also full of colorful beauty, enthusiastic activity, and exploration together. This time we ventured back to America for a dose of culture shock with friends and family. Our people in Chicago and Minnesota reminded us of the love and comfort of home. It was nerve-wracking to drive on an incredibly fast highway with so many cars. There were so many things, just things, everywhere. Customer service shocked our socks off. My mom surprised us in Minnesota and I dropped all of my things and cried at the airport when I saw her. We talked and shared meals and walks and drives with people that looked at us with familiarity. I loved seeing leaves that weren't shiny and wet and bigger than me... only because thats what feels like home to me. Chicago and MN? Neither of those places are home to Andy and I. But the people there are. 

And there is nothing quite like home. 

Paradise? Bloom Where you are Planted

I heard from my family today. It snowed again. And its almost April. And they live in Virginia. That is not supposed to happen. Today's Facebook and Instagram feeds from my East Coast friends were filled with shock, complaints, and witty remarks about snow, cold, weathermen and groundhogs. Everyone is dying for sun, for spring to come, for green grass and flowers, for change. And I get a lot of comments about living in paradise during these times. "If only I could be where she is," people think... 

But wait. Isn't there a saying about this? The grass is always greener on the other side... But is it really? 

I took picture this near the beach where they filmed Pirates of the Caribbean! 

Lets talk about here. It is wet. Let me tell you, the rainforest, the tropics, the islands... it is really wet. Not like Scotland or Ireland; foggy and raining, grey and poetic. Not like monsoon-season in India; everything washed away or drenched and then the parched dirt cracks in the heat a few weeks later. Here on Dominica, at least so far (January to April), its more like ... a broken sprinkler system. 

When we first arrived the rain would come in droves, sometimes in a cloud, sometimes seemingly raining from the sun itself. A few minutes later the sun would shine and things were nicely moistened. Except that I was still drenched or just emerging from my protective overhang or constantly carrying my raincoat, even on the sunniest of days. Until recently this on and off confusion was the trend and it was simultaneously pleasant and a bit frustrating. 

But summer is coming. And we can feel the threat. Its a bit like a lighted match is getting a tad too close to my fingers. The sun's heat is shockingly strong at times. I hear its only going to get worse. While the broken sprinkler system seems to be mostly off, the cool winds still make the days bearable for now. But soon the sun's flame will burn close all day and the humidity will drown us all. I hear that the wetness that once was outside will be your own sweat constantly streaming. The sea is like bathwater and the once cold showers are just more wetness washing over you. No one pays for air-conditioning (especially as you can watch your electricity meter go down) and the nights bring little relief. Sunscreen is your constant companion and, even with the incredible amount of walking we do, I'll cross the street multiple times just to escape the sun. 

Hearing about the snow, more and more snow, makes me yearn for some. I missed an epic year of snow forts and cross country skiing. I missed fires and hot soup and being snowed in. I missed the silence that only falling snow can bring and the dirty slush that looks like a 7-11 Root Beer Slurpee all over the roads. And now I will miss the change of seasons back home, from snow to spring. Its was hot when we got here, pleasant mostly but warm and it will stay hot and get hotter. The sun will shine and then shine some more. I do love it. But there will be little change in the season. Is it better here? Or is it better where you are? Yes ... if the grass is always greener. 

But its not. It takes effort and conscious choice to be content and grateful where you are. Choose gratitude not paradise. I have to tell myself that everyday and have people who will remind me too. 

The Nature Island Challenge!

http://www.gofundme.com/7k65rs

There are four of us. All women. All Americans. And we are the only Americans and only women who are competing in the Nature Island Challenge: a four day adventure race on the island of Dominica in the West Indies! 

Team Captain: Sarah (Coffin) D'Alessandro 
Teammates: Jen Manly, Maddie Pletta, and Tara Jorski 
[Subs: Meche French and Charles Manly. These two incredible teammates are willing to be subs in the event of an injury.]



We need raise $1500 USD for this competition. And we are stoked that anything beyond the $1500 will be given to a local Dominican charity. Thank you so much for your support, encouragement, and cheers! 

THE RACE: This race covers over 50 miles along the Waitikibuli National Trail. Everyday includes 10 - 15 miles of trails, cultural challenges (last year they had to relocate a cow and make cocoa tea), and a major team challenge that may include diving, paddling, relay racing, or any other crazy thing they come up with. We have to be ready for anything. 

Our training includes wet hikes in the tropical rainforest, running epic hills, swimming in the Caribbean ocean, rowing machines, paddle boards, kayaks, bikes, and various other sweat inducing, stamina testing, morale trying, and muscle pumping activities. 

This race, however, isn't just about the physical. The Nature Island Challnege is about Dominican culture, about learning, thinking, and coming alongside the local life. We, as a team, get to learn about this tiny little island, rich in resources, stories, and cultural histories, and share the wonder of those things with the world. The event, April 7th through the 11th, will be televised and all over social media (FB, IG, and Twitter). Follow our story and the story of Dominica! 

Social Media?Sarah: sjdalessandro on IG; www.TheStudyandTheStudio.com
Jen: jennifermanly
Maddie: 
Tara: montarmoments
Meche: fitness_traveler

A Beach is a Beach.

Or is it?

Calibishie is on the northern coast of Dominica where the Atlantic meets the Caribbean. Because of this the waves are larger and the swells are greater. Like most places on Dominica, the little town is rustic, colorful, and wild. Calibishie is a little different though. If you are paying close attention you will notice that the town has a lot of fresh paint...well, at least more than some of the other towns. Why?

Pirates of the Caribbean tourists.

Just down the road (kind of) you will find "Number One Beach." This is the beach where they filmed  Pirates 2 and 3. That said, don't start imagining white Caribbean beaches with lounge chairs, bars, and steel drums. Dominica and especially these little towns are extremely remote. The bits of tourism and fame that have touched the island only draw the most adventurous of travelers who don't mind the Nature Island's wild ways.

My lovely new British friend and I walked to the nearest town, caught a local van taxi thing, smashed into the 15-passenger vehicle with 22 others, and rode the eye-widening 45 minute drive to Calibishie. We stopped for a treat at the Buttercup Bakery and then proceeded on our beach touring adventure: Calibishie beach, Number One beach, a secluded no-name beach, and Batibou beach. Normally, when someone says "going to the beach" I have a general idea of what that means. I've been to various beaches from Ireland to Maine to Minnesota to California to Maryland. But here? Going to the beach is synonymous with going on a hike and going on an adventure. Carrying a chair, towel, sand castle tools, and a good book is NOT the general idea. There is no parking lot, the rains come in droves and leave just as quickly, and you have to watch for coconuts falling on your head. Cultural definition shift!

I'll let the visuals tell you the rest.

Not sure why I'm standing as though I conquered this pile of coconuts... I had nothing to do with their demise, unfortunately. 

Palm roots exposed. 

A drawn map... Not sure if we followed it.

We grabbed a coconut here and broke it open (along with our fingers) on the concrete. It was SOOO yummy and worth the pain! 

My new ride?

I found mushrooms! I did not smoke or eat them. 

Valley of dry bones... 

I think sprouted coconuts are some of the silliest looking things around. 
They have so much personality! 

Huge bone-looking drift wood. 

A low tunnel going through to the other side created a 'blow hole' of sorts. See video. 

A sperm whale bone from a whale that washed up on shore. 
The locals picked it apart pretty quickly and buried the rest. 

Even the crabs get in on the color. Not so crabby here. 

And then it was time to go home... 
Home?

The Morning Structure

Each morning Andy and I wake up for coffee and oatmeal or eggs. Warming up his brain for the daily study grind, he watches a study video and I read. The mornings are cool now, as it is winter here, and the rains blow in and out through the early hours.

I'm easing into island life and settling into this as my home. Our first home. The structures of my days are still settling into place. But the mornings are a breath of fresh structure among the seeming waves of change. I love change and fear monotony but a healthy amount of structure is life-giving. 

So, each morning, after eating and reading, I walk Andy to class. The walk includes a steep uphill and is just long enough that going back and forth wouldn't be optimal. I am still trying not to forget all of the things I want to bring with me on this trek. The sun and rain are both rather forceful here and like to make their presence known. So, I drink a lot of water, wear sunscreen and sunglasses, and carry a raincoat. We have 7 large water bottles that I take to the "well" (ie. fill up on campus) when empty.

The average morning walk includes the following images of my "travel" items and a few things I walk passed each day (and a philosophical musing thrown into the photo comments).

If you can, zoom in on the money... thats really what it looks like!
They just decided to include everything related to the Caribbean on each bill.  

Our neighbor's beautiful hung laundry.
Hers is definitely some of the more beautiful laundry I see hanging.
"Laundry?! Seriously?" You might be thinking...
Its hung with such care and precision, maximizing space, hanging by shape and size and color.
The contrast of clean white flapping fabric to the dirty heavy concrete and piles of dirt is a beautiful thing for the eye to rest upon. 

The tile at the bottom of our stairs. Assorted colors, textures, and shapes cemented together. 

The "Fun House"... I think I would be dizzy everyday if I lived here. 

So many colors everywhere... this one is like a burst of flames on the corner near some trash. 

Piles of ... treasure ... are in strategic locations. I've gotten some great things... more on that later. 

Construction of a new building. The sapling use fascinated me.