Pause for Purpose

Mark K February 25th, 2008

Are there some countries with happier citizens than others? Is happiness something that comes from within, or something you can find by traveling to a happy place? Columnist Thomas Swick asked these questions in a recent article. He describes a new book called The Geography of Bliss, in which author Eric Weiner describes his travels around in search of the happiest countries.

It’s hard to draw any easy conclusions from his findings. The United States, home of the happy hour, the happy ending and the smiley face, did not rate particularly high on the happiness scale, nor did Holland where people are often drawn in the pursuit of pleasure. He found that a fairly wealthy country, Switzerland, and a poor one, Bhutan, had happy populations perhaps due to the beauty of nature there. Not surprisingly, Russia was found to be a somewhat unhappy place, but Iceland - with it’s six months of cold and darkness was actually a fairly happy country.

Weiner points out that Americans, more than people from other countries, tend to believe that they can find happiness by traveling or even moving to another (happier) place. This makes sense, since the United States was populated by people who emigrated here from other lands in the pursuit of happiness.

I have always thought that Americans were known for traveling and that it was a right-of-passage for young Americans to take a journey with a backpack throughout Europe or some other part of the globe. Maybe things have changed with the weakening of the dollar and the fearfulness brought on by 9/11. In his blog Where the Hell is Matt? the author wanders around the world and films himself doing a little dance in each country he visits. Despite traveling tens of thousands of miles a year, he made this observation about himself and his fellow Americans in a recent post.

I didn’t invent world travel. I’m not even particularly good at it. There are lots and lots of people out there. It’s just that very few of them are American.

He contrasts this with his take on Australians:

I have an unabashed fondness for Australians — especially as travelers. They’ve got a sensibility that makes them really good at it. They’re tough, they don’t complain, and they can manage to laugh about pretty much any situation, no matter how bleak or miserable.

Matt travels to some pretty unusual places that require an adventurous spirit. I wonder if his conclusions about Americans not being out there in large numbers are accurate. I wonder, too, what this says about the theory that Americans search for happiness through their happy feet. I’m also wondering how Australians rate on the happiness scale.

Does happiness come from within, or does it come from the places where we live or visit?

Tags: happiness, slow travel, travel

• cultural diversity , mindfulness , wandering
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Mark K October 20th, 2007

I was fascinated by the stands that could be found throughout Paris, with a row of “Velib” rental bicycles parked side-by side.

“Velib” is short for “velo libre” or “velo liberte”, meaning “free bicycle” or “bicycle freedom”. While the bikes are not free, they are modeled after similar free bicycle programs which have been initiated in Holland and other countries.

In Amsterdam, in the 1960’s, the city government tried to institute a “white bicycle” plan, in which hundreds of bicycles were painted white and parked around the city center where residents were welcome borrow one, ride it to a destination, and leave it for the next person to use. Similar “yellow” or “orange” bike programs were instituted in other countries, including cities in the United States. They were always vulnerable to the same problem – theft. The bikes would soon disappear, becoming the property of some enterprising bike thief.

In July of 2007, Paris began the Velib program. This is how it works: There are 10,000 bikes available at 750 hire points throughout Paris, each containing at least 15 bikes. To use the program, you need to subscribe at a rate of 1 Euro for a day, 5 Euros for a week, or 20 Euros for a year. When you want to rent a bike, you identify yourself on the machine at the hire point, unlocking the bike from the rack where it is attached. The first half-hour of riding is free, and then your credit card is charged for each subsequent half-hour. The rate starts at 1 Euro for each half hour and increases to 4 Euros per half hour – this is because the system is intended to keep the bikes in circulation. If you decide to keep the bike indefinitely, it’s going to cost you a fortune!

The bikes have a very distinctive look, with heavy-duty fenders and splash guards and built in head and tail lights. During the transit strike, while we were visiting, you would see hire stations with no bikes, as Parisians were scrambling to find a way to get to work. Almost none of the riders were wearing helmets, but they all seemed to be very proficient riders as they threaded in and out of traffic. It was clear that this was a means of transportation and not merely exercise or recreation.

I didn’t have the courage to rent one of these bikes and join the fray, but now that I know how the system works, I’ll think I’ll give it a try on my next visit to Paris. I’ll be curious to see if this system catches on in the U.S. It’s very similar to the Zipcar program which is available in San Francisco and other cities, but it remains to be seen if a community bicycle program will take hold in our automobile-dominated society.

Tags: Community, travel

• cultural diversity
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Mark K December 14th, 2006

My friend, John, and I decided to do our own little Camino pilgimage right here in Marin County. We parked our car at Tennessee Valley, near Mill Valley, and started up this trail to the top of the ridge. We came down the other side and hiked through Muir Beach and then spent the night at the Zen Center at Green Gulch Farm.

On our way up the trail to the ridge we decided to walk separately, in the spirit of a zen pilgrimage, and try to be in the moment and notice our surroundings and thoughts. When we reached the top of the hill, we met to share our experiences. I found that talking about it really helped me to clarify what those experiences were and made it easier to write about it later.

My first impressions were that I was really enjoying the experience and was exciting about setting out on such a unique journey. Then I found my “monkey mind” wandering and racing from thought to thought. I found myself narrating what I was doing and thinking, sort of rehearsing for what I would tell John later on. The trail grew steep and I started breathing hard and sweating. This helped keep my mind from wandering as I paid more attention to how tired I was and was divided between appreciating this feeling of physicality and wishing that I were at the top of the hill.

I started to notice the sounds in the distance. It had stopped raining, but we were still in the middle of a major storm - you could hear the waves crashing in the distance. I could also hear at least three signals coming from buoys or foghorns: the first was a series of three whistles “Doooo, doooo, dooo”. The second was a low hooting sound, like someone blowing across the mouth of a giant coke bottle. The third was a ringing bell. The was a periodic crashing of waves and then a general noise that sounded almost like traffic and children playing. I was probably almost a mile from the ocean and there were no cars or children anywhere nearby, it was just the sound of the sea with maybe a little help from my imagination.

I met with John at the top of the hill and he pointed to the waves in the distance. He showed me the series of swells which he said that surfers called “courdoroy”. He had been watching them pass a buoy and timed how long the interval was between swells. He said that it was 22 seconds, when five seconds was what you usually would see. That told him that the waves were huge and we could actually see them breaking on a shoal called “The Potato Patch” where the water was 25 feet deep. As a surfer, John could appreciate that this is something that happened only about once a year. He estimated that the waves were “triple overheads” - about three times the height of a person.

We stayed in the guest house at the zen center. There are dozens of people who live on the farm, studying Buddhism and organic farming year-round. As it turned out, there was also a group who were just completing their two month “practice period”. We stumbled into this situation and benefitted by enjoying some special meals - dinner included vegetarian quiche and ice cream sundaes - as part of the celebration of completing the session. We got up at 5:30 the next morning to join the meditation in the zendo, which was once the barn of the ranch. I struggled through the very ritualized meditation with my mind wandering, my back aching, and my foot falling asleep - it may have been a beginning effort at meditation, but I was glad to have the opportunity to take part in a ceremony with experienced practitioners.

The guest house was my favorite part of the grounds. The building had been built as a communal project in a very traditional way. The woodwork was beautiful and they used wooden pegs instead of nails in the construction. The center of the building had a two-story atrium lobby with a wonderful wood-burning stove with a stovepipe running to the ceiling and giving off heat all night long. Each room had its own balcony and a bed with a warm comforter where I fell asleep listening to the soothing sound of rainfall on the roof.

On the way back it was raining steadily, so we put on our panchos and got wet from our sweat instead of from the rain. We divided up again for part of the hike and I found that the rain and fog and my limited view from the hood of my pancho helped my mind to keep from wandering so much as it had the day before. Maybe spending the night at the zen center had even shifted my perspective a bit? Right before we split up, John had seen a bobcat or mountain lion sitting in the middle of the road in the mist ahead of us. The thought of a cat hiking in the chapparal at the side of the trail kept on creeping into my thoughts!

A great blue heron walked in the brush next to us as we neared the end of the trail, his neck and head jutting forward comically with each step. I felt like a self-contained unit under my tent-like pancho, with all of the possessions that I needed on my back. It was a wet day, when most people wouldn’t venture outdoors to hike, but I wondered why I didn’t take more journeys like this one. It started as an idea, a bit of a lark that John and I had discussed. It turned out to be fairly easy to do and was a marvelous, unique experience. As we approached the car, we were already planning a longer “Coastal Camino” with Green Gulch farm as one of the stops along the way.

Tags: travel

• mindfulness
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