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Harvest Season: Vietnam

12 Thursday Sep 2013

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Over the past year, I have gotten the opportunity to travel to Vietnam on several occasions. With each trip, I was fortunate to explore another region of the country. In all of East Asia, it is the country that perplexes me the most. It is full of contradictions that somehow coexist in a precarious package. It is overtly communist with slogans and propaganda bombarding you at every corner; yet McDonald’s, KFC, Gucci and Hermes along with a slew of capitalist symbols operate lucrative businesses. Egalitarianism is preached through policies and sound bites but  on closer inspection the dwindling rural way of life and magnetic pull of urban centers are creating large swathes of urban poor who are trying to make ends meet. On the surface, Vietnam’s urban centers are teeming with young urbanites. There seems to be an insatiable appetite  for luxury goods with boutique stores such as Gucci and Hermes sporting gleaming store fronts. For those who can only afford to window shop, the next best trend seems to be choreographed wedding photos by these store fronts to capture the opulence in their matrimonial snaps. My experience in Vietnam’s urban centers (Hanoi, HCMC or Danang) has been very intimidating. Despite varying pace of life, traffic never stops for anyone, one has to forge his or her way through the sea of motorcycles, bicycles, cars, carts. The simple task of crossing the street becomes a battle to keep your wits, assert your presence (committing to walking in a slow and steady pace so motorcyclists can weave around you) and make it to the other side with minimal scratches. Somehow a parallel for forging a living as an urban dweller in one of the country’s rapidly growing metropolises.
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Despite the turf rivalries between Hanoites and Saigonese residents, the former known by their southern neighbors as up-tight, frugal and bogged down by customs and traditions; while the Hanoites accuse their southern neighbors of being far too happy-go-lucky, loud and brash. The war of words and divisions extends to food and life style. This neat infographic gives a bit more insight as to the preferences of Hanoites vs Saigonese. All differences aside, from what I saw the majority of residents in Hanoi, Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) or even Danang all seem to be in the below 30 years old demographics. Bia Hoi’s (local beer vendors) and pop up street food stalls are full of young, 20 something sporting the latest western clothing trends, k-pop inspired hair-dos and armed with the latest electronics. All are bubbly and chatty and the constant hum of chatter, motorcycles, vendors creates the perfect atmosphere for a people-watcher’s paradise.
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On the flip side of this urban utopia, Vietnam’s rural landscapes are breathtakingly picturesque but mask the harsh reality of rural daily life. I was struck time and time again passing through eye-popping green rice paddy fields and noticing that the arduous, labor intensive task of harvesting the rice was undertaken by elderly women. Time and time again, I saw aging women vastly outnumbering men or young adults tending to farms.  This left me thinking if all the young folks are heading to Hanoi, HCMC or Danang and not coming back, who will carry on this work? and where are the next generation of food growers?

IMG_3276Another realization is for a county that has sped up to catch up with the pace of its neighboring Asian Tigers, very little has been done to quell this mass exodus from rural settings to the cities. Although Vietnam is one of the world’s largest rice exporters. In international markets, its rice quality is seen as inferior to neighboring producers. As food consumption increases, this stress on water resources is becoming more pronounced, particularly since the staple crop, rice, is still being grown using water intensive mechanisms.

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This is a country that I would love to spend more time peeling back the layers and unearthing the idiosyncrasies that make this nation tick. It’s a task that takes some time given the tightly packaged and sanitized version painted by socialist ideals yet slowly cracking from the pressures of capitalist temptations.

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Lost in translation: China

16 Thursday May 2013

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Since my last post, many trips, travels and transitions have passed. Unfortunately many of which went undocumented in this blog. A recent visit to China made me rethink to start updating once more.

I arrived in Beijing jet lagged and under what seemed to be hazy clouds. Only after getting a bit of shuteye did I realize that this haze was not a figment of my imagination as I had previously thought but a mainstay of Beijing landscape. A sepia-colored fog that loomed over the entire city, notorious visual of the city’s growing pollution challenges. I did not spend much time in Beijing as I quickly packed off to various locations across Northern China.

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First stop, Ningxia Autonomous region. Arriving in the Region’s capital, Yinchuan I was flabbergasted by my surrounding. It seemed that the entire city was constructed yesterday. Construction cranes protruding like giant tentacles, were a staple of the city’s skyline. Large avenues, neatly dotted with trees, bike lanes, public spaces. An urbanist dream design of a Chinese city….or at least on the surface. All this and relatively very few people. It seemed everything was in excess. Buildings were grotesquely large in what seemed to me an effort of one-upmanship; to convey development and prosperity.  It left me grappling with questions of how to define those terms and if development is measured by level of infrastructure in place.

Yinchuan is a stone’s throw away from ancient China’s most well-respected ancient civilizations. It is not as if Yinchuan happened over night. When I inquired about the origins of the old city, I was told it was mostly being dismantled in favor of this new Yinchauan that lies a little bit westward of its founding origins. Gaudiness aside, given that it’s highly bias to my subjective opinion, there was a sense of admiration and awe for the sense of effortlessness that filled the air. As if creating a city out of dust is just another day at the office.

Ningxia’s countryside was at times reminiscent of Sudan’s dusty savannahs and at times I could not help but compare. Hands down my favorite discovery was a visit to a museum dedicated to water resources. The region is home to  Qunitongxia irrigation scheme, a network of 39 ancient canals dating back more than 2000 years and a testament to successive dynasties that built and harnessed the Yellow River’s power.

My presence around these parts was a bit of an oddity, with many inquisitive looks. Curiosity aside, I was humbled by the generosity and hospitality of folks I encountered.

And the journey continued. Will try keep recounting reflections…

Desert Wanderer- Along the Atbara River

23 Friday Mar 2012

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I have been meaning to write about my trip to Northeastern Sudan for some time now but as usual many excuses can be inserted in this *________* space. I have been neglecting this blog for some time now but I’m hoping to be more active. Part of the delay with writing this post is also my apprehension that I find myself writing about my country in a sensationalized manner. In which, fellow countrymen are represented as anthropological case studies to be examined. So in writing this I’ve tried to be cautious of that and record my observations to the best of my abilities, without portraying the people/communities that I have encountered as an exhibit.

Every time I venture into a new part of Sudan, I am taken aback by the vastness and diversity of this country. It is also sobering to see life outside of the bubble that is Khartoum. This time curiosity took me towards Atbara River. Starting through the very familiar road from Khartoum to the town of Atbara, the sight of blown up tires littered the sides of the narrow road- a reminder that how this desert environment can be so harsh and unforgiving.

After reaching Atbara, we left the familiar tarmac road and ventured off on dirt tracks. Passing droves of ghost towns- towns built to compensate Manasir people for their displacement from Merowe. These houses and dry irrigation canals stood as a haunting reminder of the government’s blatant failure to provide any sort of adequate consultation or come up with some sort of acceptable solution that could have been far less costly than this current wasteland…Such a shame.

We drove in parallel with the Atbara River, which extends through River Nile and Kassala states and beyond the border over to Ethiopia/Eriteria. Across the border it’s referred to as the Tekeze River. The road or lack there off consisted of tracks laid by the occasional lorry or pickup truck before us. Driving across endless dunes, batched up with the occasional protrusion of Acacia trees, I realized that the horizon is much closer that I had initially thought. It seemed as our car could potentially fall off the face of the earth beyond the coming sand dune. Despite the serenity of the landscape, I found myself thinking how anyone could survive in such callous environment.

Most citizens in this area are nomadic peoples, tending to their livestock along historic predestinated routes. For centuries they have managed to forge a living through lucrative camel trading in relative peace. To take advantage of the cooler weather, our trips usually started at 5-6 am before sun break. In the early mornings we had the pleasure of witnessing impromptu camel races. Young boys, probably no older than 10 years old, mounted on the backs of sturdy camels, galloping across the flat landscape with ferocious clouds of smoke trailing behind them. These boys are training these camels for their debuts in races that take place in Kassala State. From there the best of the best are sold at rates of US$10k and upwards for pure breeds. These camels are taken to the Arabian Peninsula, mostly UAE for bigger races and camel breeders. Not long ago, many of these young boys would also be sold with the camels as their small body frames make for excellent Jockeys. Their blight came to light when several sources began highlighting their abuses; mostly undocumented in these Gulf States are they abused and then discarded like objects once they have outgrown their desired size/weight.

These days this solitude has been abruptly disturbed by the discovery of large deposits of gold in these deserts. As a result there has been a modern day gold rush to these desolate dunes. At the occasional haphazard rest stop/fueling station (usually consisting of several large jerry cans of petrol), I was surprised to find young boys/men not exceeding the age of 30 from all across Sudan. These men have left their respective corners of the country and made their way to this desert with the prospects of finding small nuggets of gold through arduous process of breaking up sandy/rock formations and sifting through under the intensely painful sun. In talking with some of them, it was interesting to see the mix of tribes, and socio-economic backgrounds represented. It ranged from those who have lost most of their livestock, to those whose families could not support the high cost of subsistence agriculture to university educated men, who have lost hope on the prospects of finding employment. In all, their stories were tied with the same somber tone of desperation. It was eye-opening to see the extents that these young men will go in order to earn an income.

After several days of spending time in these regions of the country, it is evident that these communities have been completely forgotten by the central government and they in turn have little faith in such an institution for providing them any semblance of basic services. They definitely feel the impacts of climate change/climate variability. Clans that once boasted herds in the 10s of thousands are now lucky to retain a handful for basic subsistence. The irony of the situation was palpable. Sudan as a nation is one of the largest exporter of livestock on the continent, yet those who labor in rearing these herds reap little benefits.

We marked the end of our several day trip, exhausted and covered in a healthy layer of dust/sand. As we approached the outskirts of Khartoum, the distinct flames of the Al Gaili Oil Refinery blew in the distance- with it came lights and more densely populated communities. Entering the city of Khartoum, I was left in a daze trying to reconcile the environment that had been introduced to over the course of the previous days and the car-infested streets of Khartoum. With drivers, lacking patience went about trying to burrow themselves into tiny holes within the traffic gridlock. Recounting the pleasant conversations had over freshly brewed jabana (coffee) and contrasting it with the impatient horns of Khartoumites was difficult to grasp that these communities existed on the same continent.

Appreciative of the diversity that makes up this country. I wish it was a bit more celebrated rather than being used as divisive tool to serve political agendas.

Trying to squeeze a dollar out of a dime

19 Thursday May 2011

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I started this post several weeks ago and never really got the chance to finish it off. I spent the better part of April in Bahir Dar on work related trip. My trip was not meant to be prolonged but as work progressed, I realized I will not have much time to spend with my sister who came to visit me in Ethiopia for 10 days. So trying to kill 2 birds with one stone, I told her and my cousin to book tickets to Bahir Dar and then we would travel to a Axum and Lalibella for their sake.

Our trip however was mired in confrontations with deceptive clerks, tour guides and shuttle servicemen. Initially, I brushed off these incidences as isolated events limited to a few individuals and it would be too brash of me to generalize. But as we moved from city to city, it seemed that these problems were everywhere. A few months back I wrote about our trip to Bale Mountains and how our guide, despite being nothing but a placeholder in the car,  had the audacity to school us on what his services entailed and that many “foreigners” have given him high praises. Again, I kept on trying to give many the benefit of the doubt but it really became increasingly frustrating when  trying to enjoy the city/attraction and having to deal with all these incidents. It really does put a damper on the trip.  These incidences ran the gambit from double charging for shuttle services, exuberant prices for tour guides, pressure to utilize unnecessary transport and inclusion of tariffs that already included in the agreed upon price.

As Ethiopia’s tourism industry begins to take shape it seems that everyone is trying to cash in, as a result there is a great deal of collusion, misinformation and to some extent out-right bullying to use services that are otherwise unnecessary. It becomes even more infuriating when you know the actual costs. I’m not one for confrontations but when at my wit’s end towards the end of the trip, we engaged in a very candid discussion with a local tour guide to get a better sense of why these mistrustful activities are taking place at a massive scale. He tried to equate these prices with attraction in Europe and try to defend how tourism is helping his local community. In reality only him and a handful of those working in the tourism industry in these respective towns are benefiting, the rest of the community is merely side acts for tourists to gauk at and take numerous pictures.

Ethiopia’s tourism industry is gaining traction but acts such as those I mentioned, where there is complete lack of transparency and accountability can seriously tarnish the image of Ethiopia as a tourist destination. As we traveled along we met several other travelers who shared similar frustrating experiences. What resonated from all their conversations is the lack of outlet to air out one’s grievances as a result, despite remembering the remarkable sites and the generosity of the community, most leave with a bitter after taste.

 

Walled City of Harar

29 Tuesday Mar 2011

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Making good on a promise to get out of Addis and explore the rest of Ethiopia, I jumped at the chance to visit the Eastern city of Harar with a few friends. We opted to take the bus because I definitely wasn’t going to entertain the idea of driving 8 hours on a very busy road that eventually leads to the Djiboutian port. The city is unlike any other place in Ethiopia and while trying to navigate its complex network of narrow alleyways, it definitely did not feel like I was in Ethiopia.

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Harar is a walled city, with 5 main gates that once were closed on a nightly basis to protect the city from invaders. The city is regarded as the 4th most holy city in Islam. It also boasts a whopping 90 mosques within the small radius of 45km2. The old town or Gugul, has a feel of small Maghrib towns with stone homes, brightly painted and very narrow passages. Getting lost and roaming around these passage ways was a highlight of the trip. The first time I stepped into the guesthouse, I was taken aback by the amount of trinkets hanging EVERYWHERE. I thought this was some sort of tourist gimmick, but it turns out this is very much the norm. As the pics in the slide show indicate, it’s customary to hang or display every piece of kitchen ware on the walls and built-in shelfs in the living room area. Decoration meets functionality. It definitely took a minute to take it all in a bit dizzying.

We spent an entire morning fabric shopping and stopping at every cafe for a cup of tea. As shop keepers began to wane off and retreat to their Khat chewing sessions and escape the burning afternoon sun, we took a wonderful siesta and returned to our aimless meandering around the town. As for the tea, amount of sugar used was literally half the small cup it was served it. I thought Sudanese liked their sugar…but Hararis have taken the prize for that one.

We were dragged by a certain someone to go and see the infamous “Hyena man”. An old man who has taken to feeding the hyenas that roam around the city. Ironically, I ended up feeding the disgusting animals, while the person who dragged us there was scared to death to even approach them. I have no idea how this man came across this odd hobby that now probably provides a steady income from various tourists wanting to partake in the experience.

Down side of the trip was the unexpected aggressiveness by young guys around town. We were constantly followed, at time claiming it was for our “safety” or to help us bargain in the market. Constantly trying to ward off these unwanted individuals definitely was a test on our collective patience. Despite these annoyances, the long bus ride and ridiculous amount of customs checks along the ride back, the trip was well worth it and a must see for anyone visiting or living in Ethiopia.

Off the beaten track: Bale Mountains

10 Thursday Mar 2011

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Talk of a trip to Bale Mountain had circulated for many month but when it came down to it, we managed to put the trip together in a matter of hours and leave the following day. Ethiopia is slowly but surely building up its tourism industry. It has managed to get thousands of foreign tourists on the so called” Heritage trail”, which encompasses several Northern cities starting with Bahir Dar and moving northward to Gonder, Lalibella, Axum, Mekelle to visit various ancient religious sites that are mostly associated with the region’s strong ties to Orthodox Christianity. The other popular route of tourism, is what I like to refer to as the “people watching tour” where visitors are caravaned down to the Omo River region to watch people of various indigenous tribes such as the Hamar, Mursi and Murele tribes to name a few. Although I do my best not to generalize and stereotype, the latter tour generally attracts hoards of westerners wanting to “experience” these traditional lifestyles but in reality can be very invasive with their prodding and bulky SLR cameras and video equipment. I will not dwell on that matter. Nonetheless, Ethiopia has much to offer and Bale Mountains, most notably Suf Umar caves tend to get overlooked in terms of tourist destinations. Great news for us, but a shame for the many that comes to visit and never take the opportunity to explore these amazing caves.

The first day of the trip we rode off from Addis en route to Dinsho, the base camp for Bale Mountains National Park. En route we drove via Shashamane and stopped by the town of Dodola to pick up a local guide from the Dodola Tour Guides association (the story about this guide deserves its own post, keep a look out for it). Arriving in Dinsho late afternoon, we took advantage of the remaining day light and trekked through the park and saw an array of animal in the process. Impressive Nyalas , Ethiopian Wolves and numerous birds to name a few. The chilly weather was worthy of a nice warm fire and given the lack of electricity in our basic lodge, we had plenty of time to star gaze. In all honesty I have never seen a sky so littered with stars in my life; simply phenomenal. Standing in the cold, necks tilted to the heaven for hours was unexpectedly very enjoyable. It was captivating.

The following morning after a stop for breakfast in the town of Robe we drove to Suf Umar. Given that Saturday is a market day we also weaved through the masses of people, donkeys, cows, goats and camels making their way to the Suf Umar market. The trip to the cave was definitely worth the long drive, 200 km of which was on a dirt road. These are the second largest caves of their kind in the world, with many paths still undiscovered. Cave exploring and crossing many rivers and streams that converge within the darkness of these spaces was an indescribable experience. At times while trying to traverse the river within the cave, we had to wade in rapids that were waist deep and hold on to the edge for fear of being swept away by the currents. During the several hours of exploration we also got to hear stories of local folktales surrounding the naming of this cave and infamous Suf Umar.

After several hours of trekking within narrow passage ways and pitch black darkness with thousands of bats, we headed out of the cave and chilled by the river. In was perfect weather, and the water was refreshingly cold. Clearly we were not the only ones with this bright idea as it seemed to be the local swimming hangout, laundry facility and animal watering hole. Several hours more were spent wading in the river and lounging on large rocks near by, which made for a very relaxed ending to a very adventurous day.

Agra

01 Tuesday Mar 2011

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I couldn’t come this far and not get the chance to visit the magnificent Taj Mahal. Many in our group believed that it was a grand mosque and were surprised to find out that this was built by the great Mughal ruler Akbar to honor his wife Mumtaz. She must have been something to have such a monument constructed in her honour. It was beyond expectations.

The trip from Delhi to Agra was nauseating. The swerving cars, the constant use of car horns drove me to the brink of insanity. These drivers seem to have their hands permanently attached to their horns. Never really understood the bickering mechanism between various drivers conveyed through the excessive usage of car  obnoxious sounds. Nonetheless that was not going to put a damper on my chance to see the Taj Mahal.

Upon Arriving at Agra after a 4 hour drive, we rushed in to get our tickets and head over to this great monument. From the boundaries of the city to the ticketing booth, it took more than an hour battling cars, carts, cows and anything on 2-4 legs/wheels.

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Walking past the grander than life gates, one of 3 that surround the mausoleum, it was hard not to think about the effort was exerted in building this structure; without any modern machinery. The structure is impeccable. I shall let the pictures speak for themselves in this one because nothing I could possibly write can do it justice.

Himalayan Foothills

28 Monday Feb 2011

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From Delhi we took a night train up north to the state of Uttrakhand’s capital, Dehradun. The 270 km journey took us the entire night. The sleeper train was an interesting experience with a flurry of passengers trying to ram their bags safely underneath their beds. The platform at Delhi’s train station was packed with passengers awaiting their respective trains. There was literally no place to stand let alone sit. We awoke the next morning in chilly Dehradun.

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 From Dehradun several hundred kilometer journey awaited us to the Himalayas or the Himalayan foothills. As we began to traverse the tightly wound roads that curved around the mountain peaks, it baffled me that these mountains were referred to as hills. At the peak of our journey we reached locations with altitudes surpassing 4000 ft above sea level. I suppose when your base of comparison is Everest and K2 these are just merely foothills.

 At times I felt queasy looking out of the car window to realize if the driver veered mere centimeters to the one side we would go flying off the edge of the cliff. The further upwards we traversed the chillier it got and from a distance the distinctive snow-capped peaks of the Himalayas came to view. Along the way we passed many hill towns and villages and I am still awestruck by how these homes are constructed in such environments. From a distance once could see small hamlets literally clutching the side of the mountains, at it appeared as if houses are piled on top of each other. occasionally we would pass the odd valley or flat region amongst the mountains. Given the harsh environment, people residing here have had to become extremely resourceful over the centuries. Many have very deep ties to their ancestral homes and would never think of relocating to the “plains”. These valleys were extremely well-organized to maximize benefits and turn the odd patch of land into profitable enterprise from various cash crops.

Among the many communities that we encountered the most interesting was probably the Jaunsari tribe. Traditionally this community practiced polyandry (1 wife, many husbands). The woman usually married all brothers in one family. When I inquired as to why that was, I was told so that the family wealth will not be split up. Today very few villages of this tribe practice this custom.

In general the “hills” people put us to shame with their hospitality. Their kindness is indescribable. A flood of strangers we were to them but they welcomed us with open arms. Despite the language barriers and the use of sign language, I felt very comfortable in their presence. Without a doubt all the communities we visited along our week-long stay in the region were far more hospitable than any we had met to date. I came to find out that the “hills” people are generally fearful and mistrustful of the “plains” people living in the rest of India. Despite the tribal differences in various foothills communities, there seemed to be a thread of commonality between them.

Another remarkable stop along the journey in this region was the chance to visit the great Lakshman temple. This state in particular is home to some of the holiest sites in the Hindu religion. Millions of pilgrims trek to these remote parts and even further into Tibet on an annual basis. At the Lakshmani temple where at the end of the journey, pilgrims shave their heads and bathe in the Ganga River. It was inspiring to see a sight of such intense devotion.

Overall we covered hundreds of kilometers around narrow, landslide prone roads and shared experiences with some of the warmest people I have come across. In every community somehow I was dragged into some form of dance. I followed the moves of the crowd and carried on as best I can. We travelled to the borders of the Tibetan border, which was also quiet the experience.  This by far was the most rewarding aspect of the trip. Memories that will forever be etched in my mind of continuously smiling faces; outbursts of laughter at our mutual use of sign language to communicate and happiness about this shared experience.

Delhi in a flash

24 Thursday Feb 2011

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After several days in the southern Indian state of Karnataka, I headed up north to the nation’s capital en route to the Himalayan foothills. Luckily it was a Sunday and the infamous Delhi traffic was a bit more bearable. The city has been given a fresh new “wash” if any of you remember the debacle that surrounded the preparations leading up to the Commonwealth Games that took place in 2010. Streets are freshly painted; bright new road signs in 4 languages (Hindi, English,Urdu and Punjabi) adorn the streets; greenery is finely manicured and;  the infamous cycle rickshaws, which for me are synonymous with India were conspicuously absent from areas surrounding major tourist destinations. This reality of Delhi was a far cry from what I had imagined.

Trying to make most of our day in Delhi we began early by hitting up the major tourist destinations. Took sometime to soak in the tranquility of the gardens at the Bahai Lotus Temple, after which we zipped across town and walked around the infamous Red Fort. From there we visited various other parks in the city and of course I couldn’t leave without seeing the magnificent Humayun’s Tomb. After which many of the group members wanted to get some shopping done. So we headed off to discover some of Delhi’s famous street market.

After escaping the tourist hotspots and veering into some of the markets, I began to see through the veneer of New Delhi. Through the cracks one could see old Dilli, the city whose boundaries were once confined to the perimeters of the Red Fort; the Dilli that smelt of sweat, spices and sandalwood… and the occasional wafts of stagnant water. This Dilli was far more colorful, one where chaiwallas (tea boys/men) artfully balance giant thermos on one hand and many cups on the other….serving delicious chai masala (spiced tea with milk). From various food vendors around the streets, steam rose swiftly to join the smog created by autorickshaws, motorcycles and cars. navigation through the streets is a skill that must be mastered, not only must you dodge bi,tri and quadrupedal vehicles, you have to worry about the occasional cow or herd of cows. It is here that I discovered my favorite street food….vegetarian momos, which are essentially similar to chinese wontons (steamed dumplings).

After an eventful afternoon traversing through local markets, we headed to a shopping center is the district of Guragon (technically part of neibouring Haryana State). The spotless, air-conditioned complexes were akin to massive American style shopping centers. Most of the stores were American or European global brands. The appearance of most shoppers was a stark change from what I had seen earlier in the markets. The distinct kurtas and patiyallas (long cotton shirts and loose pants) were oddly missing. Most shoppers with perfectly coiffed straight hair, marched through the malls in jeans and “western” style clothing. As I eavesdropped on various conversations although the majority were Indian, English was always used as a means of communication. The sight of a ladies trying to juggle numerous shopping bags, a purse, while simultaneously talking on a cell phone or vigorously pounding away at a blackberry was common. It is here that I realized the start difference between Delhi and Dilli. I got the sense that a large swatch of the upwardly mobile population now see traditional customs as somehow backwards or constraining and the push towards “western” way of living is somehow more liberating.

All in all it was a great experience visiting the nation’s capital and home the seat of parliment of  the “world’s largest democracy.” That phrase was echoed in several conversations I had with various people throughout my stay.