abroad

Präriepost

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Präriepost

Today from Sagres and Lisbon

June 22, 2016

It is windy, very, very windy here in the city on the Southwestern corner of the continent. The sun fights with the wind for attention, a sunburn could easily be masked by a windburn. Clouds move quickly from East to West but they evaporate as soon as they reach the Atlantic. Up high, the golden sphere pales against deep blue skies.

They call it “the end of the world” here, where towering cliffs sink deep down into the sea. Sandy beaches are nestled between cliffs, and only a few people enjoy their good fortune. Mothers and grandparents play with their children and grandchildren. Red, yellow, and purple flowers abound and question the end of the world.

The food they eat is no end-of-the world food. They know how to eat. Home-made cakes already for breakfast, long leisurely lunches, late dinners. They eat white pork, black pork, and boar. They know how to eat. And they know how to prepare fish, fish, and fish. Maceral and sardines, swordfish, sea bass and dorado. Grilled sardines are in high season. Small bones, large bones, bones everywhere. “They tell me that they come here to relax,” says the waiter, “not to work on fish bones all night.”  Finishing with port wine, bica and pastéis de nata. Obrigado, obrigado. They know how to eat.

As they drive across this beautiful land, they leave behind white cities on a hill. The cities are separated from each other by fields of olive trees, eucalyptus trees, and half-shaved cork oaks. Then they move further north: Lisbon, the city of spenders and Porto, the city of workers and of port wine, of course. Here small, steep alleys that wind their way to the top dominated by castles and cathedrals. Cobblestone, cobblestone, and cobblestone. Beautiful colored houses as a backdrop to the river. Eiffel’s bridge, or was it the one by his apprentice’s, dominating over the river. Cosmopolitan. Cobblestone, cobblestone, and cobblestone. Big city life unlike the rural existence only a few miles away.

They work hard to transform the poverty-stricken neighborhoods in the cities to clean and attractive shopping and tourist areas. Not too long ago, the rent was fixed at very low monthly rates here, now real estate agents can set their own rental price. The building industry is booming.

Perhaps it is because of the rooster of Barcelos who brought good luck to this country. Years ago, a Galician came to town and was given the death sentence because he allegedly stole silver. “Oh no,” he said, “I did not do it,” proclaiming his innocence. And when he had a chicken for his last supper, he said, “It is as certain that I am innocent as it is certain that this rooster will crow when you hang me.” He did not finish his meal and indeed, while the pilgrim was about to be hanged, the roasted rooster stood up on the table and crowed as the Galician predicted. The man was immediately freed and sent off in peace. Still today, the rooster brings good luck to all families in this country, everybody must have a colorful copy at home.

Longevity researchers come to town as strangers, and they head toward one of the oldest universities in the world: the Universitdade de Coimbra – since 1290 they teach medicine, religion, and law here – the university library alone would tempt any student to call this home. “At night, bats fly around in the library to take care of any insects that would harm the old books,” explains the librarian.

The second oldest university is the next stop for the academics. Here, at the Universidade de Évora every professor can talk from an elevated lectern, one of the professors (doteur) appears to have quite a few students. All the lecture halls have thematic blue tiles, blue tiles, of course, blue painted tiles.

The scientists move further to the remote area town of the Douro River. The resort offers spectacular views from the top, but they prefer to lock themselves in and ponder recent longevity recipes. Does choosing the right doctor make the difference? Should variability be more appreciated? Can we separate maintainers from decliners 15 years before death? There are discussions about dementia, how to measure it, about a clear diagnosis and about exceptions. Depression in very late life, is it really depression, is it affect, or is it fatigue? They will continue their quest for answering longevity queries.

During break time the nagging, repeated questions: How can an important country in the West name such an unfit candidate for president? Can this really be a serious election? An Italian neuropathologist appears to know the answer: Problems in the frontal lobe make people react very, very strangely. Perhaps Fado songs help cope with the dire mood of the country – singing about fate and destiny of those who feel they will have no hope and nothing to expect.

As they sing their songs in the back alleys of the Alfama, it would be best for visitors to walk the streets of this metropolitan city. Shakespeare may serve as their guide, “If you don’t know where you want to go, you will go the farthest.” So they walk on cobblestone, and they walk, and they walk in this beautiful country, where the wind wails around the end of the world, where the people eat, and eat, and eat, and where history and art is captured on blue, blue tile.

Präriepost

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Präriepost

June 15, 2015

Today from Cagliari

It is sunny, here, in this capital city of Sardinia, but the humidity dampens some of the impulsive activity displayed by the residents. From time to time, clouds cover up the intense sunlight and a brief shower may ensue in the late afternoon. At night, the weather is very comfortable for enjoying an elaborate outdoor dinner in the core of the city.

It is a bit cooler in the mountains and along the Mediterranean Sea. The golden beaches are reachable after steering over steep mountains and over long-winding dirt roads.  Finally, the sea is discernable far back – without it, one might imagine oneself driving through desert territory.

The Sardinian mentality is inimitable. People appear somber here, they show few emotions. Their long faces, high contours and bushy eye brows suggest mysterious characters. Older men gather in public places, typically under a tree or on the corner bench. They view travelers with strong-minded indifference, determined not answer silly questions. “If you can’t find your way, why did you not stay at home,” is what they seem to suggest. You know better not to ask the next time.

The food is decidedly non-vegetarian. Meat is an important part of the longevity diet here, and everybody lets you know it. There is prosciutto, there is pork or lamb, and there is donkey and boar for those who are more adventurous. Served with red wine, of course, dried shepherd bread, and local cheese – everything appears to be in good order.

Driving through the mountains is always an experience. Somewhere there is a rally today, starting in Southern Sardinia, but the real rally occurs every day on the long-winding mountain roads. Shift before the curve, accelerate, shift after the curve, accelerate and then shift again before the next curve. Timing is everything. In the meantime, gas is needed even for the most fuel-efficient car here on the island. It is Sunday, however, and the gas stations are closed. After a while, you may spot a self-service station, machine operated only. No problem, just add cash and choose the right button to get started. However, there are six options and all say “Diesel” underneath the button. While contemplating the least wrong choice, the line of local Sardinians who also need to operate the same contraption is getting longer, and they gesticulate, they point and suggest, they try to assist. Finally, the 2nd Diesel button is pushed. It works, even for the non-Diesel fuel – or so one would hope.

The tour continues alongside roads decorated with white and red blooming oleander. The upcoming city could not be more beautiful. Bosa, carved right out of a Paul Klee picture with its shimmering shapes! Terraces filled with intriguing dwellings built right into the mountain, all somewhat angled and in bright colors of blues, and greens, and yellows – above it all: the old castle seemingly protecting the quarters below. Who would not love it here?

Only the grotto is perhaps more magical, a few hundred miles south and reachable only by walking down 615 steps vertically toward the sea. If you want to enter the hidden fairy tale land you need to step down, and down, and down – but what a reward awaits at the very end of the short but arduous journey: enchanting stalagmites and stalactites lit from all sites building an astonishing world of imagination.  If only there were not 615 steps to climb up again.

Finally, strangers to this island reach the longevity region, high up in the mountains, where the nonagenarian shepherds live. Centenarian women speak of their conviction: honesty, honesty, just keep up honesty and you will live a long life. The rest is up to the power above. Longevity here is a way of life, it is part of this community that supports prolonged existence. If you have tomatoes, I will trade cheese. If you need assistance, I will take time for you.

Longevity experts from 13 centenarian research teams have gathered here to exchange their ideas and findings. FOXO3 or BNDF appear to be secret biological markers. The attendees discuss vision and loneliness, activity, resilience, the impact of longevity on caregivers, and the importance of mental health and well-being. They provide evidence that new generations of centenarians are better off than earlier generations, and they compare results from their longevity regions: strong social support and low stress levels appear to be commonalities.

The members of the community in this longevity region listens attentively to these researchers, they tell their stories regardless of the questions being asked, and they feel honored to be hosting the event. They celebrate with music, folk dances, and with local food. Slow-cooked pork, cheese pockets with honey, and red wine appear to be the favorites, here in this land of longevity, where shepherds meet in tight-lipped fashion, where food is on everyone’s mind and where mountains and beaches exist together in seemingly perfect congruence.

Prairie Post (Today from Tokyo)

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Prairie Post

June 30, 2014

(Today from Tokyo)

It’s been warm, this last week; the temperature has climbed steadily over the last couple of weeks. People lose a little bit of their patience, they complain in their quiet, unassuming ways, and they shelter themselves in air-conditioned rooms or hide underground. Or they listen to some of their favorite stories.

The Pillow of Kantan is one of their much-loved Noh tales. Rosei, a young man seeking enlightenment, wonders about how he should live, and he makes his way to Mount Yōhi in the land of Chu, where he expects to find a wise monk who perhaps knows the answer. He gets himself ready for a long trip. “I need to find out, I simply need to find out,” he exclaims.

Not unlike him, many wonder about the essence of life, the path to longevity, and where, where would we find it. Perhaps we should make our way to distant destinations, places where people are known to live a long life. The fountain of youth somewhere on these islands? Compression of morbidity, here in some corner of this land? “I need to explore, simply explore,” he tells all those who would like to hear.

The path is long and arduous, the walk fatigues and slows down, here, in the mountains of the beautiful countryside, and it is time for a rest. Rosei stops at a guesthouse, hunger plagues him, and he needs more energy. The innkeeper welcomes this unexpected visitor from far away, and suggests that he rests, lay down and put his head on this special pillow. “I will wake you when the millet meal is ready,” she exclaims.

The trip is definitely long, and every day in this country takes up new energy. It is time to rest and to trust the host to provide a good meal, to slow down and contemplate long life, healthy long life, and perhaps respite will provide new insights and discoveries of unchartered places.

Rosei is approached by a messenger who tells him that he will now be the king of this territory; he will rule the land with all splendor and glory. And for fifty years he rules this country, fifty years of recognition, of decisions affecting the lives of many people. How good it must feel to lead the citizens of this country.

And so he dreams of new findings, of new insights into life, long life, and discoveries now come so easy: Exercise, of course, specifically stairs, and stairs, and stairs. Gardening and activity, of course. Nutrition, of course, but not so much what you eat but how you eat, small portions of many dishes, and one of the wisest ones exclaims, “eat everything!” And then, other components: of course, personality, self-discipline, agreeableness, and certainly no anxiousness. “Fear not, do not worry.”  Low stress, adaptability, harmony, kindness, and aesthetics. Support, family and community support, omiyage. Health care, universal health care relating to the long-lived in this country. Cleanliness or purification, onsen for every age. Happiness, physical health, less functional health. The symbolism and culture of longevity makes this perhaps a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Rosei is woken from his dream, the meal is prepared. And he realizes that, just like the kingdom he dreamt of, life itself is but a dream. There is no need to search further, he can go home now.

And so the dream brings this journey to a close. It is time to be pinched, perhaps the secret of longevity, like life itself, is but a dream, here in this beautiful country where people like to go on long hikes carrying parasols, where people like to contemplate and appreciate life for what it is.

Prairie Post (Today from Hokkaido)

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Prairie Post

June 17, 2014

(Today from Hokkaido)

It’s been raining, raining just about every day of the week, here, in this rare place that is part of Japan but in so many ways is not. Heavy showers start during the late morning and will not let up until sometime in the afternoon when short dry spells trade places with more heavy rain. All the precipitation has made for a very lush, fresh, green flora; the white birch trees and poplars of Hokkaido proudly show their spring splendor in Daisetsuzan Sounkyo. And it is raining, and raining, and raining.

Higher up on Kurodake the snow is still piled up, dirty remnants of the long winter season that has just passed. The snow covers hiking paths in too many places making it next to impossible to continue a safe hike up the mountain. Some innocent trekkers attempt to master the path through deeper and deeper snow only to find out that the scenery at upper levels reveals the same foggy clouds all around. Perhaps it is the challenge of nature itself that propels them to continue to the next snowy hill. “Why not?”  they ask and continue onward. Others follow the path to yet another glorious waterfall, one step at a time, up and up, with raingear in hand. At each corner they warn unsuspecting brown bears that they are coming. Without the famous bells, a human chirping will do. After a long roundtrip, they return to the small village for the reward: a warm ramen noodle soup with plenty of mushrooms or a local donbori dish with delightful chicken pieces. Outside it is still raining, and raining, and raining.

A little more toward the canyon the colorful flowers have started blooming: Japanese alpine cherry, skunk cabbage, lilacs, azalea, moss phlox, lily of the valley. Their yellow, red, pink, purple and white display of colors challenge the gray sky above and brown soil all around. They lead the way to spectacular waterfalls gushing over the top of the summit, water pulled by unimaginable force to the base. And it is raining, and raining, and raining.

Away from this special park, there are other national treasures worth logging. The lakes of Akan and the geysers and mud pods of Noboribetsu in Shikotsu-Toya. A bath in the local onsen immerses visitors completely in sulfuric waters, a milky bath promising to heal all ailments humans might encounter. Meanwhile, it is raining, and raining, and raining.

The coast of this island invites with roaring waves that seemingly want to push the clouds further away, the surfs come in big waves and retreat just as soon as they reach their destiny. The Pacific is close to marshland here, home of the red-crested crane that has made a remarkable come-back in recent years. Only ten or twenty were left just a few decades ago, now they have made the shallow water their trusted territory again. So they pull up their head and trumpet their primitive territorial songs for everybody to hear. “This is my land,” “This is where my hatchlings will grow up” – “Leave us alone.” Only the Japanese cuckoo responds from the distance. And it continues to rain, rain, and rain.

The showers do not bother the Ainu here, indigenous people who have lived with harsh weather conditions for centuries. They imitate the cranes’ dances and their honk, they weave and they carve, and they keep warm around the fire built in the middle of their huts. They pull out their mukkuri, a distinct wooden hand harp, and play strangely vibrating sounds that surely tell a tale of bygone times when the God of Fire ruled here, in this peaceful land, where nature governs, where the cranes defend their territory, and where it rains, all days of the week.

Prairie Post (Today from Kyoto)

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Prairie Post

May 25, 2014

(Today from Kyoto)

It has warmed up a bit this last week, here in this city of tradition and splendor. The sun is beginning to dominate during the day, and everybody is aware that the rainy season is expected to take over soon. Humidity has set in, and all signs suggest that there will be an important shift in the weather pattern.

The older generation knows that it is time to work in their fields and gardens. Rice shoots are showing their green leaves and are flooded by artificial lakes of water. Tractors are driving through the muddy, water-covered fields to bring some order to the fields. Men and women wearing their conical rice hats tend the grounds to inspect the season’s crop and thin out the plants. Rice means life and livelihood in Japan.

Women in the city carry their summer parasols as shields from the sun’s damaging rays. Kimono wearers are choosing light fabric with beautiful summer flower designs. And the more modern inclined generation chooses high heels over comfortable sandals. They wobble one step at a time, they hold on to railings when walking up stairs, but they feel proud to master the art of high-heel quavering. This city is full of contrasts: Business people in their dark suits sit next to students in jeans and t-shirts. Women in kimonos walk next to tourists in shorts and sleeveless tops.  Every fashion is spotted here in the city.

The younger generation does not mind breaking some of the conventional rules. Oh no, there is a young man eating a sandwich in the subway. He sheepishly tries to hide the food in his bag, but we all saw this! Oh no, there is a young women who did not cover her shoulders. Perhaps she is just returning from the Western world. Did she think we would not notice? Oh no, there is a young man who receives a phone call in the subway. He jumps up from his seat and runs toward the corner. Too late, young man!  We heard the ring loud and clear.

Kyoto – the city of temples and castles, and shrines, and gates – Nijo castle shows all its splendor on this late spring afternoon. The gold-platen gate promises a grand place inside. The Togugawa Shoguns built this wonderful palace containing paintings of tigers and leopards crouching under protective pine trees, of hawks and egrets, searching their next meal. The tatami rooms open to the most beautiful garden of trees, lakes, and magnificent boulders.  How generous the space, covering more than 275,000 square meters.

And then we find the path leading to the Fushimi Inari gates; more than 30,000 torii gates, they say, lead to the top of the mountain, stairs up, stairs up, and more stairs up. We can only image what the guardian foxes would say. Inari is the God of Rice, so they plant a holy rice field here to honor the higher being. And then there are stairs, stairs up, up, and more stairs up. They walk through red-orange painted gates. It’s been said that the bright color scares evil away. As the path leads to the top of the mountain – oh, did we mention, stairs up, up, and more stairs up – hikers seem to become younger and younger the farther one follows the path – perhaps these steps lead to the path of youth? People at any age would be easily convinced to turn around after having passed through perhaps the first 18,000 gates. But they keep walking, and walking, and walking, stairs up, stairs up, and more stairs up, until they reach the shrine on top of the mountain. People come to pray, press their palms, clap twice, bow, and pray. People come to face the city and play the recorder, a contemplative melody that transcends through the woods. People come here to pronounce a life that is well lived, they blow a conch-shell horn as if they had an important announcement for the rest of the world. This is a special place, a path up a challenging mountain. After a brief rest, visitors slowly descent to the base, down the stairs, and more stairs, and more stairs down.

The longevity researchers who had come from all over the world have now left town after discussing their secrets. There was much debate about FOXO-3, about the importance of social support, about life satisfaction, and gender differences; there was discussion about frailty, the importance of leisure activity, and loneliness, the importance of dental care, quality of life and personality, and debate about culture, about eating regular full meals, particularly those containing leucine. A historian shared his unique finding: a proclamation of how the people of Nara were to treat centenarians around 900 anno domini.  At that time, centenarians were entitled to receive a whole year’s worth of rice on their birthday and they were authorized to be cared for by four caregivers (three if you were an octogenarian). What an incentive for long life, here, in this classic city where people still like to wear kimonos, where there are torii gates everywhere, and where young people like to bend the rules, if only from time to time.