Thanks.

In light of thanksgiving.....

If I were a living turkey, I would be a Jain, I would hope humans convert, and I would be thankful to be alive.

DISTRICT 9

Last night I saw District 9 at the dollar theater. The movie was interesting and quite entertaining. I dropped off a few friends afterwards, including my friend Andre Abamonte. As we drove towards his house, we unleashed a toy laser gun, which lights up and has laser sound effects as well. Don't ask me why that was in my car. With a combination of craze, adrenaline and overtiredness, we agreed with enthusiasm to "shoot" the gun at a passerby. We pulled up alongside a guy getting out of his car, after he had parked it on the side of the street. I lowered the window and yelled, "Fire!" Andre pulled the trigger just as this kid opened his door. The laser noise and red light went off. The kid jumped and cowered behind his car door in fright. It was quite possibly the funniest thing I have seen, ever. Andre and I laughed really hard for about 10 minutes. Hopefully that kid didn't crap his pants.

Bike crash

A few days ago I was at the bike rack on campus, about to head home for the day. Suddenly a seemingly nerdy guy on a mountain bike rode by really fast. My curiosity as to why he was cruising by so fast inside the bike rack area caused me to watch him as he rode by. He nicked the curb and tumbled to the ground. I held my laughter in. He got up really quickly, looked at me and said, "Don't worry, I am always doing tricks and falling." I couldn't hold in the laughter any longer. Unfortunately, I think my pleasure was about equal to his embarrassment.

On Two Feet

I have always been a thrill and adventure-seeker. I always want to get to the top of my challenge. I always find a way to get hurt. I have always been fascinated by mountains, particularly the Himalayas, the largest mountains in the world.

Last fall, the geology department at BYU announced they would be accepting applicants for the annual mega field trip. The field trip was planned to go to the Himalayas in northern India in August. I was pumped. I filled out the application right away. The professor hosting the trip was the very professor for whom I was hired as a research assistant. I found out a few weeks later that I would be able to go on the trip. My parents were willing to help me with the expenses. All I needed to do was to get in shape, because the trip would require a lot of backpacking in high elevations.

The winter came, along with ski season. I went home frequently to spend time with my dad. We often went skiing at Deer Valley, his favorite resort. Deer Valley is known for its' ritzy lodges and facilities. It is also known for the exceptional groomed runs. "Hard-core" skiers like to bash Deer Valley because it offers little backcountry skiing. Yet, I really enjoy skiing there with my dad. We practice our form all day as we carve through the soft, dry, groomed snow.

One particular day in February, as we were chatting on the lift, we decided to ski down to the race course and time ourselves through the flags. I was really excited about the idea. I hopped off the lift with enthusiasm and bolted down towards the race course. As I skied down the steep, bare face I saw a jump, situated adjacent to the only tree on the entire mountain face. I made way towards it, adrenaline and anticipation for the race flowing through me. I cut hard in front of the tree to hit the jump straight on. Unfortunately, the snow behind the tree was icy and unresponsive to my cut, I lost my edge, and slammed into the tree going approximately 20 mph.

There was an indescribable crack, as my body flung in spirals down the slope. When my body stopped rolling down the mountain, I looked at my right leg, which was now essentially in two pieces. I immediately started screaming in pain. The crack I heard was not the tree, but my femur snapping in half. Someone on the rising ski lift above me, asked casually, "Do you need help?" I impatiently and instantly yelled back, "YES!" When my dad caught up to me, he found me helpless, ski-less and witless yet very full of emotion. His sense of panic, which was ineffectively hidden, horrified me. As ski patrol arrived, I was in a state of conscious shock. My mind raced to the fleeting Himalayas. I thought my leg would surely have to be amputated.

I had surgery the following day in the University of Utah Hospital. I left the hospital a week later with a permanent steel rod inside my surgically aligned femur with a estimated healing time of 12 weeks. Full recovery was estimated to be about a year. Everything considered, I was lucky to be alive. The large arteries in your thigh carry tremendous amounts of blood. If an artery were to be severed, I could have lost my life in 15 minutes. If I had struck the tree in any other spot, I would have had permanent damage or would have died.

At my first check-up with my surgeon, I asked if it would be possible to make it the Himalayas in August. He simply looked back at me and said, "It's up to you."

The possibility of going to Himalayas was my motivation to rehabilitate quickly. After a month, I quit physical therapy because they were treating me as if I were a retired grandpa with a broken hip. I hit the weights and the pool everyday. The progress was sluggish. My right leg was considerable smaller in size. In fact, I measured it in July and it was still 2 inches smaller in diameter than my left leg. My once full butt cheeks resembled the backside of a malnourished indy rocker. Yet, the progress was very evident after looking back in larger intervals. I was off the wheelchair and crutches by May. I began hiking, backpacking and climbing in July. When August arrived, I was ready.

My anticipation to see the high Himalayas during the first few days was overwhelming and obvious to all those on the trip. The gorges we drove through were so steep, we rarely saw the tops of the mountains, let alone the high Himalayas, which towered over all the mountains. The first five days, my eyes were peeled to the horizon in search of the high, snow-covered mountains. They were either blocked by our perspective in the deep valleys or covered in monsoonal rain clouds. My anticipation was transitioning into impatience!

On our fifth day in India, we arrived a small town called Joshimath. A tram from Joshimath, rises over 1000 meters to a settlement over looking the valley from 13,000 ft. We rose at a steady pace over Joshimath, Ganges River and green mountains. Eventually we rose into the clouds. The clouds slowly dispersed, revealing a whole different world from the one we left below. Above the green mountains, were the high Himalayas. The sight was magnificent! I couldn't stop expressing my thoughts out loud to my group in the tram, who seemed to be looking on as if this was a familiar sight.

I realized at that moment that this moment had much more significance to me than it did for the others. I reached a goal which seemed unachievable and I had every reason to be happy about it, and I did on two feet.

INDIA

So I lived in a "third-world" country for two years. This country was Brazil. I was told that India is unlike any other place in the world. For some unknown reason, I set aside these statements, assuming it could not be any different or more impoverished than I had already seen. After 15 hours of playing video games, watching movies, snacking to my hearts delight, using the restroom occasionally, and sleeping on the flight, I arrived in New Delhi, India. As soon as I stepped off the airplane, heat, humidity, and horrid smells filled my senses. Sleeping in such a place seemed impossible. As soon as I left the airport, I was overwhelmed by the drastic and seemingly unending poverty. My sense of appreciation skyrocketed immediately as did my embarrassment as I walked amongst such hard-working, sincere and humble people. This sense of gratitude transitioned into duty as my trip wore on.

The purpose of my trip was primarily geologically related. Yet, most of my attention was directed towards the fascinating culture and people. Our first significant geologic and cultural stop was Haridwar located at the foothills of the Himalaya mountain range along the Ganges river. The source of the Ganges comes from a sacred mountain named Nanda Devi. Nanda Devi was once thought to be the highest mountain in the world and is named after the bliss-giving goddess. The sacredness of the mountain is inherited by the Ganges River, which flows down into the Indian continent. Haridwar is where the Ganges exits the himalayas and spreads its' power to the majority of the country. This power can be interpreted to be figurative and very much literal, as much of the country depends on its' water to nourish the billion people that live on the Indian continent.

Every evening on the banks of the Ganges river, the people participate in a religious ceremony where the creamated dead are emptied into the strong current, accompanied by traditional Hindu music, chants, singing, prayers and occasionally bowing gestures. It was easily, the most foreign thing I have ever seen, heard, or been a part of. Here I was, a day off the plane from Chicago, drenched in sweat, surrounded by Indians, participating in a very spiritual, cultural, and religious experience.

I remember having an overwhelming feeling of insignificance and ignorance, shortly followed by gratitude. Firstly insignificance because I grasped very briefly, how small and inconsequential I am in this big world. My insignificance was followed by ignorance, because I was experiencing something that I had only glanced over in my world religions class at BYU, as if it were a fictional, romanticized, story. My gratitude was deep and sincere as I observed the simple, humble believers during the ceremony. I was grateful to have my eyes opened to a new culture, grateful to know that these people have strong religious beliefs to guide them, and grateful to know that I too have strong religious beliefs that continually guide me and allow me to accepting of others.

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The following week we spent driving in a crammed bus on an uneven, narrow, and essentially "two-laned" one-way road. I am not one to get car sick, yet this ride, which consisted of three consecutive days along the Ganges River gorge, made everybody in the group nauseous. The Ganges River Gorge is very much a gorge. Every summer between May and September, torrential rains attack the Himalaya Range. As the storm front collides with the Himalaya range, the clouds are forced upwards, condense and precipitate in large amounts on the south side of the mountains. This rain, which is essentially

continuous during these summer months, erodes the mountains down at very quick rates leaving behind deep, steep gorges and swift, sediment-loaded rivers, such as the Ganges. These roads along the gorges walls leave no room for error. Often, landslides and rockslides cover the road inhibiting transportation for days.

More than once, our bus was stopped because of a landslide which covered the road. At one particular point, we were stopped because a tributary stream covered the road and toppled boulders all across the already narrow road. We were somewhere between Joshimath and Badrinath. Badrinath, our destination, is a sacred sight for Hindus and Sikhs. It is where the road stops, just 10 km from the Tibetan border. Hindus and Sikhs make pilgramages to this sacred spot as often as possible. Thus, there were several buses, cars and countless mopeds full of religious people stopped at this landslide.

The street along which we were stopped, quickly filled and the street venders quickly emerged. We were the source of attention in the streets. Mostly the three girls were the attention. I assume that the locals see plenty of male trekkers and climbers up in these parts, but rarely see blue-eyed western women. The whole group dispersed along the street in search of cheap, hand-made items. I bought a few scarfs, ate some fresh, fried potato treats, and chatted with some sikhs. These sikhs had traveled all the way from Mumbai and were obviously very educated. I asked them all sorts of questions about their pilgrimage and lives. I could tell they thoroughly enjoyed the attention and the opportunity to speak english.

Dancing ensued, as we became more comfortable and the spotlight for all the locals and pilgrims. I made a few quick, uncoordinated dance moves to the indian music which was playing in the street. My decision caused quite a stir. The indians gathered around and insisted I continue. Others from my group began doing hip-hop moves to the traditional Indian music. The people were fascinated and very entertained by our dancing. One Indian man, jumped into the circle and showed us how they do it in India. The other men in the circle, watched on with crossed arms and ashamed smirks. It was quite the sight to see; Gringos and Indians hip-hop dancing to traditional Indian music, in a small Himalayan village, surrounded by the largest mountains in the world.