Before we dive right in, let me take you through a brief history of the bottle opener. Bottle openers have always been an understated kitchen item, but they weren’t even invented until a Baltimore bottler named William Painter came along and did so in 1892. Before this spectacular invention, soda, beer, and all other bottled liquids came with attached stoppers. This method would of worked fine had it not been for the loss of freshness through the lid. Good old beer enthusiast William came along with a solution: the crown top which is what your bottles probably have on them today.  The crown top technology was a huge improvement from a hygienic perspective, but also required a tool to be opened…thus, the bottle opener was born!

Mermaid – Florence	Crazy Donkey – Santorini	Lizard – Barcelona
Flamenco Dancer – Seville	Rooster – Portugal	Hand – Morocco
Rhino and Lion – Tanzania	Country – Vietnam	Ho Chi Minh
Thai Boxing – Bangkok	Carved Wood – Myanmar	Elephant – Changmai
Insect – Yangshuo	Tallest Building – Shanghai	Twin Towers – Kuala Lumpur
Frog – Ubud	Say No Evil – Canggu	Koala – Austalia
Whale – CA	Lobster – MA

– Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

            I care about my shoes (although I probably would throw them out if they were moldy…that’s just flat out disgusting).  My shoes, my old, worn-out, navy-blue Lacostes, hold a special place in my heart.  When they were new, my mom begged me to wear them.  Now, ironically, she begs me to throw them away.  My mom bought them for me at the Nordstrom Rack one day and forced me to wear them: “I threw away your old ones and now you’re wearing these.”  In an act of rebellion – I mean, what’s up with an alligator on a shoe? – I made it a point to specifically wear the new shoes each and every time I went long boarding, which, for those of you who don’t know, entails your choice of footwear to slide and smash against the rough, hot pavement repeatedly. Little did I know, this would only make me more fond of them and for a mere twenty dollar pair of shoes, they sure could take a licking and keep on ticking.

Somehow those stubborn shoes withstood the test of time and wound up in my packed bag for Project Equator. Due to a greater distain for the other footwear I packed, I almost always ended up wearing these time-tested Lacostes. Where I went, so did they: up all 463 smooth marble steps of the Duomo in Florence, through the twelve-hundred year old cracked stone streets of the ancient Phaistos in Crete, over the scorching-hot, bright-orange dunes of the Sahara desert, across the wild African plains in the Serengeti, in and out of the dark, crammed Viet-Cong tunnels in Ho Chi Minh City, and practically everywhere else. I did this all unconsciously of course until one moment, which I can recall with a surprising amount of clarity — one moment in particular made me come around and realize their sentimentality.

As I walked ahead the rest of my family, I listened to the soft impact of my shoes against the dusty, granular pathway on a grey day in April. I thought about what returning to Mercer Island was going to be like, most likely inspired by the comforting overcast skies. I finally reached a venerable stone watchtower surrounded by sizable chunks of fragmented façade in this decidedly remote area of forest. Careful to test the integrity of the structure, I slowly leaned against the delicate wall and took in the stunning scenery: the Great Wall of China wound over hills and across mountain faces for as far as the eye could see.  My gaze drifted from this to the pathway from which I came, in an attempt to locate the rest of the family. I couldn’t see them quite yet, but my eyes focused on the pathway itself and honed in on the imprints in the dirt.  My footprint looked as though it belonged there, like the whole scene would not be complete without it.  I started thinking: have I been leaving this footprint everywhere?  It made me proud.  Proud that I had left my mark, a testament to my globe-trotting, albeit temporary and sometimes virtually invisible, in every single place we had been.

My gaze rhythmically followed my footsteps one by one and eventually fell upon my shoes: my shabby sneakers, bursting at the seams with gaping holes and fraying fabric, pattered with dust, but full of radiant memories.  Each gash, rupture, and tear embodied a snippet of Project Equator: the time I scaled a rock face in Santorini or when some crazy dogs attacked me in Chiang Mai or when I hiked a slippery gorge in Crete.  These shoes were my friends, I know it sounds weird but “practicality isn’t the whole thing with gloves or with anything else.”

Serendipitously, I recently encountered a new pair at Nordstrom Rack….so oddly foreign compared to my shoes

The airplane window is like a catalog: a big, glossy catalogue that flaunts it’s not easily attainable, but very desirable merchandise. Do you know what you fly over on a direct flight from Australia to San Francisco? I have no idea, but the views from the airplane window would blow your mind! Although, I would resist the urge to open that window shade and peek out onto the wondrous landscapes if I were you. Why? Because as soon as you do, your “Places to Go” list expands profoundly.

While the airplane window can mercilessly take advantage of those infected by the travel bug, if you need inspiration I encourage you to look. That’s right. Pause that okay movie that came out a couple of months ago and look out into the clouds, over the mountains, or into the ocean. During the very first flight of this trip I distinctly remember looking out the airplane window; hovering just below the cloud line, we appeared to be gliding across a puffy snow bank that went on and on for as far as the eye could see. The whole scene radiated a calming stillness: just our plane, us passengers, and a fluffy, impeccably white floor. The most amazing part though was out in the distance, on the horizon the sun set and exuded vibrant orange and pink hues. Of course, to the people below, the sun was simply lowering itself from a thick layer of clouds that had selfishly concealed it for the entirety of the day; however for us, and all of those above the clouds, the sun put on a magnificent early showing.

Today, on the last International flight of the trip, I sit here writing this post. The captain just announced the commencement of our landing in San Francisco and the flight attendant asks we put away all electronics. Time to browse the catalogue.

Nobody expected to get much out of Kaula Lumpur “the layover,” and we had nothing on the agenda other than to sleep off a persistent jet lag. The air possessed a thick, musty odor that reminded me of L.A. only fruitier. Our hotel’s appointed driver held a white piece of cardboard with “SHARPLES” penciled on the front. He was very accommodating, super-friendly and we were all having a great time until he blurted out, “Don’t worry. Be happy. I will not kidnap you.” What?! “Ok… Thank you?” I for one wasn’t worried about anyone kidnapping me until you just brought it up. Wow. What a great introduction to Kuala Lumpur that further solidified the idea that staying inside our hotel room for the duration of the visit would be a good idea.

Two hours in and my vow of silence stood strong. The hotel room, a massive, modern pad occupied by Jones, Otto, and I, looked right out onto the Petronas Twin Towers. The jet lag kicked in about an hour or two ago and I only now retained consciousness by staring out the window. Otto and I decided it was time for bed and began our nightly routine. For some reason, I felt like ordering warm milk beforehand, I’m not sure why but it just sounded really good. Since I could not speak, I scribbled on a piece of paper, “Can you call room service and order some warm milk please?” Otto, who almost always has my back, made the call.

Eight hours later I was chatting up a storm. Yeah, I know, my mom’s always right. My vow of silence amounted to a whopping twelve hours, and for eight of those twelve, I was asleep. Between the stunning views, that time when we didn’t get kidnapped, and the failed attempt at a vow of silence, Kuala Lumpur definitely proved itself as, not a layover, but a destination of Project Equator.

I used my vow of silence time to jam in a ton of school work, next to the pool

Arusha, Tanzania.  I never knew when these shocking moments would hit. At around ten that morning, I groggily stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom: a crucial part of my daily routine. The shower always represented a place to unwind, relax, and mentally prepare myself for the upcoming day, and in Arusha, Tanzania specifically, the nozzle represented no danger what so ever, however today I was in for a rude awakening. I falsely felt a sense of safety as I took a luxuriously hot shower.  As I thoroughly rinsed the remainder of shampoo from my hair and finished up, I reached down for the metallic lever to switch the shower off.  As soon as my hands made contact:  ZAP!  Volts of galvanizing electricity violently made their way through every fiber of my body.  As you probably know: wet person plus electricity equals not good. I shook up and down with my hair standing on end like a cartoon character.  In the midst of this involuntary spasm, my hand bumped against the lever once again and doubled the pain, and doubled my distrust in showers from now on. Ever since that experience, I now do a little poke test on metallic levers with the tip of my index finger prior to dampening myself. I stepped into that bathroom a tired, naive, and unprepared zombie, but left a shocked piece of toast who couldn’t feel more awake.

Yangshuo, China.  We entered the substantially sized grocery store with an equally big grocery list: eggs, fruit, vegetables, milk, and the other usual items needed to accommodate the maximum impact family.  My mom and I looked around puzzled.  Neither of us could read Chinese, but by first glance everything appeared wrapped in shiny, vivaciously colored, plastic wrappers.  We circled the store while scrutinizing the merchandize; the entire “supermarket” contained nothing more than various packages of gummies, candy bars, and other highly processed goods.  Just to be clear: this isn’t some random candy store, our house manager specifically told us that this is the supermarket.  We walked in to that store expecting to leave with food, but left with a full grocery list and a greater gratefulness for the supermarket a short walk from our house back home that carries dairy, meat, fruit, vegetables, and everything else.

Ubud, Bali. The inconsistency of plugs frustrated me from day one.  Why does everybody insist on using different shapes?  We carry a bag of adaptors with us at all times because you never know if the plugs in the next country will be shaped like a guy with a surprised face (the US plug), a sad face (Australia), a mad face (Tanzania), or any other expression you can think of.  In Bali, the outlets only accept double pronged, cylindrical plugs.  As I fiddled with various adaptors seeing which one would fit into the holes like solving some jigsaw puzzle, my hands frequently made contact with the metal prongs. Sure enough:  ZAP!  I successfully tapped into the electricity, inaccessible with United States plugs, with my hand. Albeit, the shock did not hurt as much as the shower escapade in Arusha, but that is not saying much.  I plugged in with a mild perturbation of using adaptors to charge my iPad, but unplugged my body with a mild fear of using adaptors to charge my iPad.

Bagamoyo, Tanzania. I anxiously awaited with my hand under the shower nozzle for the water to turn from freezing cold to an amiable temperature. Thirty seconds went by, then a minute, then three: the water pressure began to dwindle and the temperature stayed at a constant fifty degrees (Fahrenheit). I finally just stepped in and took the excruciatingly cold water like a man, but only for another minute or so, because after that, the water went from a drizzle to a drip-drip-nothing. That was the second worst shower of my entire life. I turned the shower on expecting hot water and the pressure of at least a squirt gun, but the cold stream shortly died out along with my misconception that showers are only warm and soothing.

Koh Tao, Thailand. Fizz stood a favorite restaurant of mine in Koh Tao, Thailand until the third visit. We all fell in love with the cafe ever since the first night: eating healthy, delicious, pomegranate salad and watching the exotic sunset with the tropical Thai beach in the foreground. The second time at Fizz, we lounged in beanbags on the soft sand, sipped on extravagant cocktails (virgin of course), and listened to their DJ lay down some original drumbeats. The third visit to Fizz, I planned on sitting in the corner, eating some fresh lunch, and working on Biology while my family walked around the island… but not everything goes according to plan. I unpacked my bag at the table and plugged in my rubber, white power cord into the outlet nearby  (a US plug, I couldn’t believe it.)  I nonchalantly picked up the end of the charger to begin charging my device and ZAP!  The doohicky that magnetizes itself inside the computer sent a volatile shock throughout my whole body. I somehow plugged the possessed cord in, but my whole body shuttered and a tingle went up and down my spine. I stared at my dad and started stammering, “Dad, DuDad, Dad!”

He stopped walking away, “What’s the matter?”

“The stupid cord shocked me when I picked it up!”

He responded with, “Did you touch the end of it?”

“Yes,” I tentatively replied.

“That happens to me all of the time, it’s fine.” He seemed unconcerned.

I touched my index finger to the smooth, metallic trackpad and ZAP!  Again.  Now, I not only felt scared and shocked, but angry at Dad who convinced me to shock myself again.  I frantically looked up at him and blurted out, “It shocked me again! It really hurt.”  He walked over (at a pretty slow pace I might add) and touched the computer: ZAP!  Sweet revenge. “Let’s find a different cafe,” he suggested with an anxious look in his eye. I walked into Fizz expecting to get a tranquil view, a healthy plate of salad, and a good amount of work done, but left with the bottle of water I ordered and a newfangled cautiousness when handling my power cord.

Zanzibar, Tanzania. Zanzibar opened my eyes in many ways, but perhaps the most significant shocker occurred when my grandfather, dad, brother, and I visited Kingey’s home… our driver from Crazy Mzungos.  We made our way out of a small street market and turned onto a bumpy, dirt road.  Houses, comprised of scrap metal, cardboard, and cement surrounded us, along with a herd of stray cows, palm trees, and a group of local kids playing soccer with a scrappy ball of trash.  Everything looked dirty and exasperated by the oppressive heat.  We parked the car outside of a tiny cement compound with no windows, and walked in through the door frame (there was no door.)  Inside sat three women, one elderly and two middle aged, as well as two small kids who looked three or four years old. They greeted us with big smiles and said hello in Swahilli, “Jambo.”  I scanned the room: no lights, no furniture (besides two plastic stools and palm leaf mats) and nothing to entertain themselves but each other. They had so little, but still seemed so joyous. I walked into Kingey’s home hot, tired, and longing for a cool pool, but I left shocked and grateful for what I already had.

Wiring in Yangshuo, China where we had the best WIFI in Asia!

I would constantly dream about coming home.  Literally: almost every week I would have a dream about coming home and playing with the dogs, eating lunch with my friends, or going in the hot tub. I would spend hours planning out my daily schedule for Mercer Island, down to the finest details, like what I was going to eat for breakfast, or what deodorant I was going to buy.  Otto and I regularly discussed the topic of “the first thing we were going to do when we step foot in our house again.”  I know what you’re probably thinking, but don’t even start.  I know it is a waste of time.  I should be spending my time enjoying the miraculous medina of Marrakech, not scrolling through Evo and trying to decide what skis to buy next winter.  The thing is: it was all a coping mechanism.  I desperately tried to fill up that hole left by the part of me that stayed behind in Seattle, and yeah, it killed a lot of time, but I think it did help combat the sickness for a while.

Now that this trip is coming to an end however, I feel my homesickness subsiding.  I still look forward to the day we return, but I am also scared.  I think back on the past year and am always left smiling to myself: happy, but with a hint of despondence.  I am glad that I had all of those amazing experiences, but I guess that I was wrong all along: that I don’t want it to end after all.

As if I didn’t already have enough to make me realize this truth, I recently read an article titled: “The Hardest Part Of Traveling No One Talks About.”  As I read the last paragraph, I finally knew that, somewhere in the wild plains of the Serengeti, or perhaps in the peaceful rice patties of Ubud, I too had contracted what is known as the travel bug:

“This is why once you’ve traveled for the first time all you want to do is leave again. They call it the travel bug, but really it’s the effort to return to a place where you are surrounded by people who speak the same language as you. Not English or Spanish or Mandarin or Portuguese, but that language where others know what it’s like to leave, change, grow, experience, learn, then go home again and feel more lost in your hometown then you did in the most foreign place you visited.”

The truth to this paragraph is almost ironic. My parents have a current list of countries going in Notes with a heading that says, “Trip Around the World 2025,” and I am already thinking heavily about college gap years. I guess the reason why I am struck with both despondence and comfort when reminiscing about the past year, is because I have once again contracted homesickness. A piece of me may be anxiously awaiting my return to Seattle, but I know reclaiming this piece will not make me whole again. For another piece of me is waiting out there… an airplane ticket away.

Yve, Otto and I in the Kuranda tropical rainforest of Queensland, Australia 

Pro #1: I man up and take some responsibility

Have I learned more about biology and calculus while traveling around the world than I would have in a school building with a teacher standing in front of the classroom drilling me for six hours a day? No, probably not. However, my hard work has generated a whole different type of knowledge. The lack of deadlines, onslaught of classes, and knowing that it all lay in my haphazard hands stressed me out. I felt as though I was flat out not in good hands. I know my reputation better than anyone.  Although I may go into something with high hopes and good intentions, more often than not, inherent procrastination knocks on my door for a reality check, takes its toll, and all of a sudden, a month later, I finally turn the assignment in, 29 days later than expected.

Be that as it may, that was the old me. The new Wescott has learned the importance of time management, deadlines, and schedules. Boring, right? It may sound boring, but without these newfound skills I wouldn’t become a Junior next year. Instead, I would be retaking biology and math while regretting every second I didn’t make a schedule or commit to a deadline.

Con #1: I have to man up and take some responsibility

Another lesson learned from this enriching school year online is that responsibilities take up a whole lot of time! Almost everyday, I have to actually plan out when I am going to make a schedule for tomorrow and how long it will take. A question I often struggle with nowadays is, “Where do I draw the line?” “When does a good thing shift into too much of a good thing?” “How many wheat grass shots do I ingest to reach the optimal level of health, without drinking so many that I start spastically puking my guts out?” Through extensive research on the subject of good-schedules versus over-scheduled-schedules, my current answer to this question is, “When I know exactly, down to every single minute, what I am going to do tomorrow, I have taken it too far.” I have been in this position for weeks on end at times: over planned, lackluster, uninspired, and usually unproductive. I try to find balance by only planning the things that absolutely need to be planned and leaving the rest to chance.

Pro #2: free time

A bonus to taking classes with the University of Nebraska-Lincoln High School, fresh out of the Mercer Island School District, is that you will instantly see a dramatic difference in the free time department. To be frank: Mercer Island School District requires much more of your time. I can’t even begin to count the hours I dedicated to High School last year as a Freshman at Mercer Island. The free time available once you cut out all of those tedious hours hunched over a desk doing some busy work, like extremely precise formatting, empowers the exploration of what you personally want to do. I, for example, am now able to study computer science and logo creation with lynda.com, cook a new recipe everyday, and exercise much more often.

Con #2: it gets lonely

With online high school you find yourself a little lonely at times. There isn’t a physical teacher to answer any random questions that pop into your head.  There aren’t any smart kids to collaborate with and form study groups in preparation for upcoming tests.  And, most importantly, there isn’t a hilarious friend to distract you all class long from learning. There is a tight-knit community in high school. It’s like any job I suppose, the people whom you work with can motivate you to return day after day. You may have to endure a long, hairsplitting lecture or two, but all of those classes are worth it to be able to hang out with your friends during lunch time.

I really miss the simplicity of raising my hand, asking a question, and getting an answer as well. When your high school is online and your teacher is on the opposite side of the planet, things get slightly more complicated. You have to email the school with a question and wait nine hours for it to be the morning because the time zones are different.  Then they have to forward your question to your teacher, who has to respond, send it back to the school, wait some more, then send it back to me.  Finally, after all the back and forth, I learn what the teacher meant by, “How many harms are there in data table number five?” Harms was a typo, she meant to say “herons.” This whole process takes between four to six days and is very labor intensive. It’s the little things I took for granted.

Pro #3: learning World History, among other classes, while traveling the world

Oddly enough, our trip itinerary actually corresponded pretty closely with my World History course syllabus. We started out in Italy and during that time, I was reading all about The Renaissance, The Statue of David, and Leonardo DeVinci in my World History textbook. Not long after, I found myself answering questions on my World History tests about ancient paintings from the prolific Minoan civilization that resided in Greece. After taking the test for a while, I realized that I had already answered half of my test, not based on what I read on a textbook, but by reflecting back on the previous Tuesday.  We drove twenty minutes from where we were living, over to the famous Minoan port, Phaestos, and gazed upon excavated and preserved Minoan paintings of bulls, gods, and athletes competing in sports. My stories go on and on: learning about the Swahili kingdom in Tanzania, the Vietnam War in Hanoi, and ancient Chinese history while hiking the Great Wall. Without the invention of online high school, none of this would have been possible. I would have had to choose between passing sophomore year OR going on a trip around the world. It was awesome when I discovered that I had the option of sophomore year WHILE on a trip around the world.

This year has renewed a lot of mysticism around school that has slowly depleted throughout my school career. The first day of school, real school (I’m talking Kindergarten here,) was magical. It was new, weird, and oddly fun because I was learning and that was interesting. Over the years, I lost the excitement about learning, the lust to know more about something. Why? Did the subjects get more boring? Did the material get too confusing? Where did I lose my six year-old sense of bewilderment? I believe it all got too familiar–too routine and mundane. I believe that I got tired of the same schedules, the same desks, the same classrooms, the same everything.  Self-induced fascination eventually waned to obligatory reluctance and what used to be fun in Kindergarten was now a job. I needed to shake things up. I needed to take a trip around the world and take classes online. I loved it, but it was more of rehabilitation than a way of life that I would want to continue indefinitely.

I am done rehabilitating and ready for normal life. I am once again excited for the first day of school.

Getting some work in as I wait for the family to catch up on The Great Wall.

[University of Nebraska profiled Wescott on their website….you can read the article here if you want]

If you can’t already tell by my tone of voice, I was skeptical. No, I am not trying to pull a fast one on you guys by substituting “The Great Wall of China” in for the word “Parthenon” with my previous The Pretentious Parthenon blog post, albeit the attitude was not dissimilar as we sightsaw around Greece.

What can I say? My eyes have an exceptionally voracious appetite. You know how people are always saying: “Feast your eyes!” when they show you something marvelous?  Well, frankly, my eyes do not feast. Actually, maybe they do feast, but more accurately, are never satisfied.  In plain English: I’m not one for sightseeing. Which is a major problem because sightseeing has been a main objective throughout this entire trip. I don’t know if I was always this way though, because we used to hike a lot at home and I always thought that was fun. Now that I think about it: this trip has totally spoiled my eyes! My eyes have sampled holy lobster rolls from the Mattapoisett Oxford Creamery, and now just roll their eyes (pun intended) whenever you say, “We’re going to go down to the xyz restaurant and get some lobster rolls.” Yeah, a great view is great and all, but unless it’s the Santorini Caldera, Sagrada Familia, or a couple of baby cheetahs, you can count my eyes out.

In addition to my eyes being picky about what they “feast upon,” they also tend to rest on their laurels. In other words: they like the lobster rolls at Oxford Creamery, and why would they mess with a good thing? Why try the lobster rolls at the other restaurant two blocks down the street? My eyes are content and aren’t exactly eager to try anything new any time soon.

Hey. No judgment: they like what they like. Fortunately, for my persnickety eyes, they don’t get to choose what goes into their mouth and what doesn’t; my parents do that. Unlike my eyes, my parents’ eyes want to try every lobster roll restaurant the world has to offer, so there wasn’t really ever a debate when it came to going to see The Great Wall.

I didn’t believe the hype. Pictures from countless tourist flyers and posters cluttered my mind with scenes of a big stretch of wall, shoulder-to-shoulder dense with hordes of people and a ridiculous multitude of tour buses. This is what my mind was preparing itself for as we drove to the hotel.

We rolled into The Great Wall Box House late in the afternoon. I really needed to take a pee. Our driver from Beijing to The Great Wall Box House didn’t speak any English, and since I wasn’t really up for playing “I really need to go to the bathroom” charades with him, I painfully endured two straight hours as my bladder quivered on the brink of explosion. Because I ran straight for the bathroom like a maniac, my eyes didn’t get a chance to behold the meal they would soon be “feasting upon.”

At first glance, it was greater than I ever imagined: long stretch of ancient, rugged, crumbling path with a great heap of worn stone that resembled a watchtower here and there. It was magnificently peaceful. Nobody was in sight and no tour buses were idling out front. It was just us, the Box House, the quaint town of Gubeikou and these mystic hills that cradled amazing, antique pathways and bits of historically mind-blowing stone.

We reluctantly rolled out of bed for sunrise the next morning. As we climbed a brisk and relatively steep hill, the main attraction came into view. A methodically winding wall, lit up with a golden hue by the first rays of dawn, slowly awoke, like a drowsy serpent regaining consciousness after an eternal slumber. There it lay, waiting for us, the first to greet on this fine day; for as far as the eye could see, not a single person was in sight. The wall seemed to beckon to us that humbling morning. It seemed to be enticing me to trek onwards, and to discover the secrets that lay deeply imbedded in every ancient crack, hole, and crumb of stone. “The things I have seen and the adventures I have witnessed are beyond belief.” It said. I took one step forward. One foot lifted from familiar weather-beaten dirt and landed on ageless, everlasting stone. I envisioned the feet that had been here, in this same situation, before mine, the people who had took this step ages ago. Maniacal Huns storming Chinese forces?  Chinese soldiers hastily preparing for war?  Maybe. A swift messenger who brought vital warnings of a Hun invasion at least.

My imagination had a field day with those thoughts, and my eyes, they just stood there: awestruck by the taste of the lobster roll they just put into their mouth.

View of the Great Wall at sunrise the first morning

This is the section of the Great Wall which was right next to our hostel

Me on Great Wall Jinshanling which is a section that has been fully restored and even has a gondola!

Seeing Tiananmen Square for the first time was like finally seeing the face of that person you always hear so much about from your friend or family member: they almost never look anything like the way you pictured them. Tiananmen Square did not surprise me in terms of shape, for it was square as I suspected, but it fell decisively short in the awe-factor. In other words, I guess I expected more of this place I heard so much about in home and school. The way my teacher droned on and on, you too might have suspected some sort of mystical aura to be radiating off of the well-worn tiles. But alas, it was a square; a red square full of flustered tourists, flashy cameras, and perpetual commotion.

Now, while we are approximately a world away from China, I realize that the Square is not about what you can physically see, but what it represents. Nobody in “The Hunger Games” looks at Katniss’ Mockingjay pin and sees a gold pin. They see an idea, they see revolution against the Capitol.  But the thing about ideas is that they can be interpreted differently depending on perspective.  Some see a gold pin and hope, while others may see a gold pin and chaos.  What do you see when Tiananmen Square comes to mind?  I think that the name one uses to refer to the protests of 1989 gives you a lot of insight into what their thoughts about the whole event are.  I made this chart to help categorize people based on my understandings:

Wikipedia: If you are Wikipedia, a walking dictionary, or extremely passive person, you will use an amenable term like “The Tiananmen Square Protests of 1989.”

The Everyday Westerner:  We as Westerners are typically critical towards the manner in which the protests were dealt with on June 4th. By manner, I am of course referring to the way in which the government slaughtered hundreds to thousands of unarmed civilians in the streets. We call it as we see it: “The Tiananmen Square Crackdown,” “Protests,” or “Massacre.”  I will refer to not only the mass killings that took place in Tiananmen Square, but the event as a whole using the term, “Tiananmen Square Crackdown.”  I went with “Crackdown” for no philosophical reason other than because it sounded familiar: not as harsh as “Massacre,” but more descriptive than “Protests.”

 An Obedient Chinese Citizen:  The Chinese Government puts a lot of effort into diluting the severity of the Tiananmen Square Crackdown.  When talking with a friend of ours who grew up in China, the subject of Tiananmen Square came up.  We were shocked when he promptly told us that the Government refuses to talk about it.  The teachers are not allowed to cover it in school at all, nor are they permitted to answer any questions about the event.  Uneducated Chinese citizens commonly use names such as the “June Forth Incident” or simply “June Fourth,” the day that the People’s Liberation Army actually began killing protestors.

 A Slightly More Rebellious Chinese Citizen:  These citizens don’t let something like “government censorship” stop them from learning what they want to learn.  They are slightly more pugnacious and critical towards the government and use slightly more critical names like “June Fourth Massacre” or “June Fourth Crackdown.”  To bypass Internet censorship they use code names like “May 35th,” “VIIV” (Roman numerals for 6 and 4), and “Eight Squared” (which is equal to 64).  It’s pretty awesome.

 A Chinese Government Official:  If you are a government official in the country of China than you are most likely trying to eradicate the existence of the Tiananmen Square Crackdown from history, because, like those who were against killing the protestors, you would probably be ejected from the government if that is not your objective.

Ever since the Crackdown, the government has slowly been changing the name they use to refer to the event. It started off as a “counter-revolutionary riot,” however that was dialed down to simply “riot” after a while, this evolved into “political storm,” and finally they settled on an extremely neutral phrase: “political turmoil between the Spring and Summer of 1989,” which they continue to use to this day.

Tiananmen Square represents something different depending on your perspective.  The aura that I desperately searched for on the day that I visited Tiananmen Square was there, but I just couldn’t see it at that time. It is metaphysical; an intangible idea that varies depending on who you are. Now that aura is obvious to me. I can feel it radiating from all the way across the globe in an extremely symbolic square that came to life once I stepped across it’s storied past.

I don’t know how often you come across a place as extraordinary and awesome as Mood Food, but I’m just happy we did. Mom, Yve, Otto, Tuck, Jones and I ate here every single day for one month straight (sometimes for both lunch and dinner.) During our stay in Yangshou, we got to know the owners, Daniel and Yanzi, a couple of the coolest people we have ever met! Daniel teaches meditation; Yanzi teaches Yoga: together they are the ultimate health, mind, body, spirit power couple, and not to mention the life force behind the magical Mood Food!

All of us in a meditation class at Mood Food. We were lucky enough to be able to take meditation for a month with Daniel, a Qi Gong Master!

While Yanzi sets an incredibly fun tone with her constant jokes and carefree personality, Daniel is the innovation engine behind Mood Food’s legendary, rawsome recipes. “I woke up in the middle of the night and the recipe for this juice hit me: the Emerald Reviver.” That’s the level of raw passion we are dealing with here: dreaming about recipes for detox juices. Not only did Daniel teach me a great deal about meditation and healthy living, but he also taught me a great deal about zeal and the importance of finding your passion.

Power brownie! This was one of our favorites… a raw power bar! On our last day we ordered 12 to take to Beijing with us

Mushroom Medley! An amazing veggie dish!

Watermelon plate. The presentation of everything was almost as awesome as the taste!

Raw sun burger….another favorite!

Mood Food’s kombucha is the best in the world! …at this point, we have tried a lot of kumbucha around the world

When I say, “I am addicted to Mood Food,” this statement may sound a bit like a blithe hyperbole, but I am straight up serious! Now that we have finished our stupendous, life-changing stay in Yangshuo and moved on from Mood Food, we are all having withdrawals. When it is raining out, I long for Mood Food, the coziest place to cuddle up with pillows and sip on some healthy, warm, and delicious cashew milk. When I see a vegetable, my mind wonders back to magnificent memories of Mood Food, and my mouth yearns for a bite of their delicious aromatic broccoli dish! Day after day, night after night, Mood Food was always a highlight!

I mean, the fact that Jones, who insists on eating at McDonalds every day, and who’s favorite snack is potato chips, still asks, “Can we go to Mood Food and eat their garlic bread?” Justifies its excellence! I love Mood Food, it is one of my all-time favorite restaurants, and I would recommend visiting Yangshuo just to eat at this restaurant, chill out, study meditation, practice yoga, and make memories that will put a smile on your face twenty years later!

Jones with his daily order of garlic bread

All of us hanging out with Daniel on our last day at Mood Food!