Author Archives: Cirina

The Immigrant Polar Bear

(Somewhere in Iceland, Story by Steven “Blast” Halteman)

Iceland has no polar bears. But sometimes Iceland has polar bears. They, like me, are visitors. Our similarities end there.

 

Polar Bear photo by Cirina Catania

All polar bears arriving in Iceland share a different nationality than myself. They are Greenlanders. Which is another island a long way off in the Atlantic Ocean. To be precise,186 miles away from Iceland at its narrowest separation. The separation increases significantly if you’re going up or down either coast. Upon arrival in Iceland, our receptions lie at opposite ends of the spectrum. For my part, the Icelandic welcoming has felt like my Grandmother’s warm kitchen on a January morning. Polar bears, on the other hand, are shot on sight after entering the country. Such discrepancies are worthy of discussion.

 

Humans first started settling down in Iceland in the Eighth Century. Polar bears have been showing up long before that. Dug up polar bear bones have been dated at 13,000 years old. Which arguably gives them seniority rights to the country. The humans in Iceland originally came from the east, primarily Scandinavia. The polar bears came from Greenland to the north and west.

 

But how did they get to Iceland?

 

Humans came by boat. Originally tracking the flight of ravens to the island. How polar bears  came to Iceland is a bit of an open question. The consensus answer is a combination of icebergs and swimming.

 

A possible scenario. Polar bear is hanging out on some ice in eastern Greenland. The ice breaks away and flows out to sea. Polar bear either doesn’t figure out it’s on an iceberg or is content to ride along without fixed destination. After a long time, the iceberg drifts near Iceland. The very hungry polar bear spots land and swims to shore. Or its iceberg bumps into Iceland and the polar bear steps onto a different island.

Polar Bear photo by Cirina Catania

Another scenario. A polar bear goes for a swim. That turns out to be very long. Their intent and level of lostness unknown. After many days, the polar bear swims up to Iceland and walks onto the beach. Is such a thing possible?

 

A swimming polar bear can clip along at 6.2 mph when pressed. A race no human could hope to win. If going the distance, a polar bear is capable of 200 miles of open ocean swimming. And then there are the exceptional swimmers. A Phelps like polar bear was once tracked for nine days, off the northern coast of Alaska, swimming an astonishing 427 miles without break in the process. The bear’s four inch layer of body fat keeping it toasty the entire way. So, the short answer is yes. If a Greenland based polar bear was seized with a hankering, it is capable of swimming over to Iceland. Though the iceberg scenario seems more likely.

 

Regardless of the means of arrival, there is one very safe assumption. When the polar bear arrives in Iceland, it is crazy hungry. And therein lies the rub. For everything that moves in Iceland is considered part of an offered buffet to the starving polar bear. Take for instance the story I read in front of a polar bear. The bear being stuffed and permanently housed in a museum on the northern coast of Iceland. The story went something like this.

 

One day In the late 1800s, a gentleman walked out the front door of his farm house. At about the same time, a polar bear made its appearance in the courtyard. For the sake of drama, we can assume an Icelandic oath, or two, was uttered by the gentleman. Who barely managed an escape to the barn hayloft with said polar bear in ravenous pursuit. The bear then turned its attention to the gentleman’s wife. Who equally managed a narrow escape to the house attic. The couple’s panic understandable in a country where the only native mammal is an arctic fox. Which is the size of a dachshund and perhaps not comparable to the largest land based carnivore on Earth.

 

Back to the gentleman in the hayloft. Hearing his wife being pursued allowed him the opportunity to flee to a nearby farm. There he gathered an avenging cavalry. Who returned to shoot the polar bear midway through its dining on the family dog.

 

So how often do such arrivals play out?

 

Well it’s not common, and it’s not uncommon. The first recorded encounter was in 890, when a hardy character spotted a mama polar bear and her two cubs strolling along an Icelandic lake. He managed to capture the threesome alive and haul them back to the king. Who gave the capturer a ship for his troubles. And so it went down through the ages.

 

In the 1500s, polar bears would show up and start slaughtering sheep. The villagers would try to drive them off with spears. For each bear they managed to kill, the Danish King paid the villagers a handsome ten dollars. In return, the king possessed a monopoly on the Icelandic polar bear skin trade.

 

In the 19th Century, a polar bear was spotted swimming off the coast of Iceland. A hardy character (Iceland is necessarily full of them), called for volunteers to slay the beast. Suddenly, the entire village was fascinated by the ground around their shoes. Probably some more  Icelandic oaths were uttered, as the character headed out solo in a rowboat. After a long battle of wills, the individual was able to overtake the polar bear and kill it. Then somehow he dragged the dead bear out of the sea and into his rowboat. No little feat, as polar bears can weigh up to 1200 pounds. His follow-up safe return to the village ensuring a lifetime of hero worship.

 

Back to the short question, followed by a long answer without answer. There have been around 600 sightings of polar bears in Iceland since the 8th Century. Scholars believe much of these are repeat sightings, and that the more accurate figure is around 300 sightings in the last 1100 years. So it does happen. Just not enough for Icelanders to be constantly looking over their shoulder. Though perhaps there is a need for that. As multiple human fatalities have occurred in Iceland when a visiting polar bear was successful in its hunt.

 

So what can Iceland do?

 

The polar bears continue to arrive. The last sighting/polar bear shooting was in 2016. Which was the first sighting/shooting since 2010. Thus the problem continues. Its solution complicated.

 

The law until 1994, was that polar bears on Icelandic land, or in Icelandic waters, were shot on sight. In 1994, the law was altered. Polar bears on land still receive a death sentence. Bears at sea are left alone. Though a polar bear drifting endlessly on a melting iceberg in the Atlantic is surely doomed.

 

Conservationists raise the legitimate question. Why not tranquilize the polar bear and send it back to Greenland? Where it could tell the others the trip wasn’t worth it. Or send the bear off to some zoo. Iceland’s response is basically, “We tried.” Greenland was approached. But with a few thousand polar bears in residence, compared to 56,000 residents, Greenland’s answer translated from diplomatese was, “No thanks, you keep ‘em.” An answer the Icelanders were probably happy to receive, as the return would have cost a couple hundred thousand dollars.

 

Polar Bear photo by Cirina Catania

And the zoo option? In 2008, an arriving polar bear, the second of the year, was shot with a tranquilizer dart by the Icelandic authorities. The intent was to ship the uninvited bear to the Copenhagen zoo. But the polar bear wanted no part of the plan. It shrugged off the dart and headed back to the sea. A bullet replaced the dart and that was the end of the zoo plan.

 

Which brings us to the future and certainty. Polar bears will continue to arrive in Iceland. They will continue to be killed upon discovery by humans. And even if not discovered, a polar bear cannot make a go of it in Iceland, as the food and ice resources for its survival don’t sufficiently exist. So the options are instant death or slow starvation. And an ultimate fate of ending up stuffed in the nearest town museum. With a placard underneath explaining that fate and how it came to be. Definitely not the temporary to permanent transition any immigrant would wish for.

And so, it begins anew. Dad and Daughter Explore Iceland

(July 17, 2017, Somewhere in Iceland on a speeding train)

Goals

 

If the afternoon hike was to be free of complaint she needed sleep. As really all growing 14-year-olds do. But Iceland rushing by her window swarmed her eyes with stimulation. Making a nap seem far from possible. I explored some obsolete dad databases. And came to a dusty solution that had been planted during the earliest of her years. Would it still work?

 

The scenery was supportive. As sheep were in every foreground. But being a father often demands indirectness. Which is just another word for trickery. So I changed my sleep tactic into a game.

 

“Hey daughter of mine, how many sheep in the next 10 kilometers?”

 

“I don’t know, maybe seventy five.”

 

“I’m guessing you’re way low. Ninety five is my thinking. Chocolate bar to the winner.”

 

A pivot of her head began the counting. She made it to seventeen before subconscious memories flooded and her eyelids dropped. Counting sheep giving new and old meaning to sleep like a baby.

The Death Q, My Guide to an 811 Mile Mojave Desert Hike, is Published!

It’s here!! After a couple years of writing, The Death Q is finally up and available on Amazon. The book is about a hike I created that circles Death Valley following abandoned railroads. The book is a mix of history, guide, detective work, how to, character biographies, fiction and memoir. Admittedly it as a labor of love about an obscure topic. But, hopefully, both the hiker and non-hiker will find it entertaining. Regardless, it is something I set out to do and did. And sometimes that alone is plenty.

Feel free to share the word if you know anyone that might have an interest in such endeavors. Here’s the link to the page on Amazon where you can buy the Paperback or a Kindle version. Share. Post. Click. Repeat. Oh, and get some good boots if you are going to try the hike.

Thanks!

 

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The Wall

(Aug 22, 2015) The Great Wall is well named. When all its branches are factored in it stretches 13,170 miles. That’s a lot of wall. It was built, ignored, rebuilt, and re-ignored over a parade of centuries and dynasties. More than 1 million gave their lives for its construction. It’s purpose was to keep out the trouble that always seemed to come from the north. For that it was impractical. A concentrated attacking army will always overwhelm isolated wall garrisons. Through force, threat or bribery. No, the wall succeeded elsewhere. As that of a radar and an early telephone. Manned beacon towers were placed every couple of kilometers. A structured system of smoke and flag signals in place. When a threat was recognized, the message was sent down the line. Tower to tower. In that way a warning could be sent at the speed of 800 miles a day. In other words, the great tripwire.

Jiayuguan Fort

Jiayuguan Fort


We spent time with the wall at both it’s ends. In the West lay Jiayuguan Fort. The last bastion of an empire. Beyond its walls desolation. Here persons in empire disfavor were sent. Flushed into exile by simply opening and closing a door. Their survival chances limited.
Restored

Restored

In the east we jumped on a bus that made its way to Mutianyu from Beijing. Here 3 miles of wall masonry had been restored for the tourist trade. Regardless it is magic to follow as it piggybacks along the crest of a mountain range. Put in the sweat and you will arrive at the end of restoration. Keep going for a primer on what 400 years of nature’s conquest is capable of.

Ego

Ego


At a high point I stopped and gave the wall a good eye soak. It made little sense to me. The mountain slopes were steep. Why put a wall on top of such a natural barrier? No invading army could possibly pass it summits. Why go to the effort? My theory is ego. Let’s call it the Everest theory. A climber makes it to within 25 feet of Everest’s summit but must turn back. Though the climber made it to 29,000 feet the climb would be seen as a failure to many. Because it wasn’t complete. The Great Wall succumbs to the same logic. To be complete and thus great it needed to be continuous. No matter how ludicrous the terrain. The demands of ego dictated a wall without break. Much to my appreciation.
Disappearing

Disappearing


Eventually the wall was rendered obsolete by the invading Europeans. Who rudely arrived by sea, on beaches behind the wall. Some curiosities. The wall is invisible from space, contrary to the popular opposite opinion. Marco Polo never mentioned the wall in his travelogue. Which to me questions the credibility of this entire journey. And finally, China’s massive Internet censorship program. Which bars Google, Facebook, Instagram and most articles critical of China to name a few. It’s official name? “The great firewall.” Still trying to keep the outside out.

Forest-eating wall

Forest-eating wall

A Camel Ride

(Aug 4, 2015) The plan to create a remembered past. Catch a one a day train up a narrow River Valley. A train for miners to a mine. From there bum a ride 20 km up to an alpine valley. And a hike of three hours to the July 1st glacier at 14,000 feet. Why? That was the day Fumiko delivered, albeit two weeks late. In the midst of a thunderstorm. On this day though the miners were enthusiastic for their digging for the 7 AM train left at 6:25. Once again we were late. But a little early for disappointment, so we jumped on the adage and headed west on a bus.
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Dunhuang is surrounded by dunes. Hollywoods version of them. Large and wind textured into wrinkles. My astronomer tells me that there are more stars above then grains of sand on earth. Looking around Dunhuang clarifies infinity. On the way to our guesthouse Fumiko spotted a camel. Consolation. Within three hours we had three camels for three days. The double humped variety as opposed to the single humpers. Bactrian rather than Dromedary for the name droppers. Our guide was Mr. Li, a man prone to silence in any language. Which was OK. I like my deserts quiet. One camel for supplies, one for Fumiko and one for myself. Mr. Li seemed inclined to lead by walking. I boarded. Some days fortune and misfortune seem to be a couple. Today it was camels and glaciers.

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Day two. Hours on a camel saddle seem to support Mr. Li’s position. Fumiko is still whooping though the temperature has 100° in its review. My courtship is with Ali, the number three transport camel. He demands a physical relationship while I want to give our love some distance. Symbolically Ali is tethered to my saddle by a rope. The rope is attached to a stick that passes through his nostrils. It is a branched on one end. A holed plastic bottle cap against the branch prevents the stick from repassing through the nostril. The rope is never taught. Slackness is a measure of his affection.

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Ali’s head is Siamese to my hip. His whiskers sewing needles. His breath sulphered and decomposing. When there is an itch, either my leg or back suffice for Ali’s need. But the test of our love is the sneezing seizures. Usually a series of seven by count. Camel snot has both a sheen and volume that are a marvel. The series usually begin at my leg, move up my arm and end at my neck and face. Their blasts feel weighted. Our love is on his terms.

We halt for lunch. Using the camel saddles and a bush Mr. Li creates a shade tarp. The wind resists. Ingeniously he ties rope to sticks and buries them lengthwise in the sand. From this anchor the rope to the saddles is strong, preventing them from toppling. I catalog the technique.
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Lunch is cup of noodles and watermelon. I failed to share with Ali. Perhaps stung, he wanders off. And off. And off. With the others. Mr. Li mutters a sour oath. And goes looking. Several hours ago. All of their return is of much interest to Fumiko. But right now the sands are presenting their canvas to the clouds. From my shade perspective Mr. Li and love can take all the time they want.
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10 Observations About China

(Aug 16, 2015) 10 observations (which might be inaccurate).

1. The vast majority of the taxis run on natural gas.

2. The method of tracking foreigners movements is clever. When you check in to a hotel it is entered into a national police database by the hotel clerk. When you check out the same process. You can’t check in to a new hotel until your previous check out has been noted in the computer.

3. Han Chinese (92% of all Chinese) can only have one child by law. If the next generation husband and wife were both from one child families they can have two children. Ethnic minorities can have as many children as they want.

4. A crosswalk is the Chinese symbol for a target. Arrows come from 360°. The bull’s-eye is the pedestrian.

5. 95% of relationships between a Chinese and a foreigner are between a Chinese woman and a foreign male.

6. 60% of Chinese males smoke while only 3% of females do. No smoking signs are only for decoration.

7. A line is not a straight thing leading away from what is being waited for. Rather it is a surge from any angle possible to get to what is being waited for. The more physical contact the better organized the line is.

8. Every youth hostel has a dog or cat in residence, the uglier it is the more time a 12-year-old must spend with it. To the tune of hours. It is a patience Boot Camp.

9. Turn on the television and chances are you will be watching a World War II drama. A complicated time in China. The Japanese, the nationalists under Chiang Kai shack and the communists under Chairman Mao we’re fighting each other and each other. Regardless the drama will play out along these lines. The Chinese were heroes and self-sacrificing. The Japanese incompetent. Contrary to popular history.

10. Many, many Chinese cars have red ribbons tied to each wheel as well as the sideview mirrors. These ribbons effectively ward off the bad luck of car crashes.

Footrace with Monks

Footrace with Monks

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Fumiko touring the forbidden city while under the weather.

Fumiko touring the forbidden city while under the weather.

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Yurt Life

(Aug 18, 2015) Staying in the yurt of a kazak family for a few days. Formally nomads now settled in a village by order of the government. The yurt on the ridges above Tianchi lake. A stunning body of water now drowning in mass tourism. The yurt was enough away from all that.

Tianchi Lake also known as heavens lake. Made famous in the book "From Heavens Lake" by Vikram Seth not too far from the border with Kazakhstan

Tianchi Lake also known as heavens lake. Made famous in the book “From Heavens Lake” by Vikram Seth not too far from the border with Kazakhstan


Yurt Life

Yurt Life


We sat with the family on a raised eating platform which doubled as their bed. The yurt plan included three squares a day. A guest is family. So we ate like one. All circled the tray that was placed at our center. Taking food communally with fingers. On this day the meal was a boiled sheep over 3 inch thick noodles. The sheep was whole minus its hide. Legs, head, innards and hooves. Dad picked up the skull and carved off the cheek. And handed it to me. I ate it. Then he pulled off the ear. Again he offered it to me. I blinked. Then to Fumiko espanolcialis.net. She demurred. So mom popped it in her mouth and had at it. It looked to be a challenging chew. Dad stayed at the skull. The eyes he didn’t offer but kept for himself. The brains he split with his son. They were black with yellow synapses. The daughter seemed surprised that the son was honored with half the brains.
Lunch

Lunch


I focused on the meat and fat. Which there were equal proportions of and no desire to separate. Eating large pieces of pure fat is novel to me. The innards were indentifyingly confusing. So I ate them without selection in great quantities. Along with the noodles saturated in the animals grease. The bowled drink was a broth made from the animals juices. Dad plucked various choice bits and handed them to me shouting “kazak style”. I ate from his hand. Mom was all encouragement. Ji, Ji (eat, eat) every time we slowed. A first in my life, to be embarrassed by my limited eating capacity.
Two-thirds of the way done.

Two-thirds of the way done.


The meal went on for a long time. The family good with each other’s company. Dad grabbed a foreleg. He bit the joint off. Clean. Then split the femur length wise with a knife. He shared the marrow with Fumiko. She pronounced it fruity. By the time dad finished with the skull there was nothing but calcium and teeth. Gradually the goat itself was reduced to the same. I recognized a respect to the animal itself. If you’re going to kill and eat an animal, then eat it all. Every possible calorie. I thought of the west. How far we are removed from an animal when it is eaten. Then I got to thinking about vegetarianism…

Alot. As we spent the next 48 hours simultaneously vomiting and shitting.

Morning Yurt

Morning Yurt

A Monastery Town

Xihte (pronounced She a hey)

(Aug 11,2015) An entire region bottled into a town. Temples and Han Chinese to the southern blocks. Central, Muslims and their minarets. And to the north Tibetans and their grand Labrang monastery. Home to 3000 burgundy clad monks. Protected by walls of prayer wheels. Which are spun by the pious completing their clockwise 3 km circumambulation. The spin spirals the prayer upwards to those that listen. The particularly devout can take days to loop. Their forward progress restricted by a bodily prayer. It’s brutal physiology basically, standing with hands clasped above head, to the knees and then a forward belly slide. Repeat. The length of their body trunk measures their progress. Shredded clothes witness to the effort.

We stayed in the Tibetan section. Their hospitality is well-known to me. And they cater to that quirky Western habit of a separate meal for breakfast. An omelette to break up our consecutive noodles for breakfast streak.

Tibetan Temple, note the brown bands of compressed branches

Tibetan Temple, note the brown bands of compressed branches


Prayers

Prayers

Labrang Monastery is set in a narrow river valley. Significant temperature swings accompany the suns restricted presence. The river itself is not picturesque. Tamed by concrete edging and polluted by the Chinese habit of throwing trash where it pleases. Averting one’s eyes from the river though brings nothing but beauty. Yaks dot the hillsides. Goats wander the streets. All is peaceful.

Street goats and one lovely daughter

Street goats and one lovely daughter


But not always. Tibetans here have not been impressed with past Chinese policies in greater Tibet. There have been riots. Monks have immolated themselves. For years at a time the town and region have been closed to tourism. A classic carrot and stick economic approach to unrest. As well the government has restricted the number of monks allowed to study at the monastery. Though others claim it is the monastery itself that limits numbers as they would be unable to feed their waiting list. Regardless, it was time to have a look.

The monastery offered an English tour. We were the only takers. Our tour guide was a 26-year-old man named Torchin. There was something about him. Just one of those people whose personality is well-suited to the world. He had become a monk at 12 years old, though seven is the youngest age of admission. Torchin was a monk for life. No smoking, drinking or sex during that life. A one-shot deal. Blow it or walk away and the door to monkhood closed. It can never be reopened. Torchin’s path seemed devoid of doors.

Chart of traditional Tibetan herbs

Chart of traditional Tibetan herbs


We followed him to the college of Tibetan medicine. There novice monks learned what herb attacked what disease. Students were tasked with memorizing 150 ancient books of medical knowledge. The books resembled collapsed accordions covered in bright silk. The memorization process apparently took years. Torchin found great humor in their struggle. I asked him his field of study. “Philosophy. Much, much harder than medicine. I will need a lifetime.”

Onward to the main temple. Torchin led with a continual Batman cape maneuver with his settling robe. Chinese tourists sought him out as we crossed the grounds. One asked about how to deal with altitude. Others just wanted a photo with him. He had time for everyone. All children we passed received a touch on the cheek with a murmured blessing. There was something about him. All noticed it.

At the main temple Torchin explained the brown band around every Tibetan temple. Branches laid horizontally, ends protruding and greatly compressed. “Tibetan air-conditioning. Air comes in cool in the summer, warm in winter”. Ambience for the 1500 monks whose prayer day commenced at 5:30 AM. “Where did you learn your English?” “I taught me.” Which completely cracked him up. When he had no answer. “OK, I don’t know”. More laughter at the elusiveness of knowledge. From Fumiko. “Do you have a phone?” “I have an iPhone. We Tibetans love iPhones. They are the only ones that download the Tibetan language.”

And then our time was over. We had seen all Torchin had to show us. He smiled and said “I go now.” With that he turned and walked away. Our time too brief. I wanted to prolong our time together. I won’t say he was holy. I never met a human being who truly was. I will say that he took the teachings of his religion and personified them more than any other I’ve met. Humility, detachment, compassion, openness, humor and presence. All were there. It’s not often you meet someone who shows you a way by example.

A Different Ride

(Aug 11, 2015) The road was a mess. The bus’s suspension worse. Every pothole powdered my spine. Of course Fumiko slept on. Her head pivoting to wherever gravity took it. Most everyone else was conscious saudemasculina.pt. The groans from the wounded synchronized with the impacts. There were hours yet to go. I looked across the aisle at a young boy. His cheeks impossibly chubby. I watched fascinated as those cheeks registered every potholes slam by rippling. Someone started to vomit. Some days the road is a little too long.

The Western Wall

The Western Wall

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Graves

Graves

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