Mardi Gras and Food for Thought

Mardi Gras is a bigger deal than I realized. I thought it was just several days of festivity, this year culminating on February 24, the Tuesday before Ash Wednesday. But about two weeks ago, shortly after all the Christmas decorations had come down, the Mardi Gras decorations began to go up. They are beautiful. The Mardi Gras colors are purple, gold, and green, and you gotta (especially when your favorite color is purple) love a holiday that spotlights those colors. Couple that with the rare but still occasionally seen Valentine's Day decorations, and I am in magical color bliss.

Here are some questions we've been struggling with recently. Why does begging have such a negative stigma attached to it? We stepped into a hotel yesterday to use the restroom on our way home from busking in the Quarter and Brendan noticed that a buffet lunch was in progress. We talked about what it would be like to go to a hotel kitchen as ask them to give us the leftover food from buffets such as that one, food that would otherwise be thrown away. My immediate reaction is that I would never want to do that because it seems like begging.

An article I read awhile back in a sustainable living magazine highlighted a woman who has developed a relationship with her local grocery store. She goes there on a particular day once or twice a week and they give her their just-expired products. She takes what she needs for her family, and delivers the rest to a shelter or food bank (I don't remember the exact details). This is essentially the same situation as the hypothetical one, but it feels so much "nicer." I put that in quotes because it seems like an illusion to me. It's still someone taking someone else's trash.

So why does it so much better than the first example? I think the only reason is because of the extra going to a shelter or food bank. The grocery store and the person who takes what he/she needs and donates the rest can both feel morally superior for having done this good act. I don't mean to demean this--I think it's great that perfectly good food that would otherwise be trash would go to someone's grateful belly. I also think it's great to support shelters and food banks. But why do I react so strongly against something that seems akin to begging and not to something that's also like begging but couched in good deeds?

These are just preliminary thoughts. But I think this question is well-worth considering. There is something wrong that we have such negative reactions to begging.

On Las Vegas

After winning this trip to Las Vegas from a timeshare company and being told what a wonderful trip it would be, it’s funny how the company then tried to get us not to take the trip. They said if we didn’t upgrade it really wouldn’t be that great and when we said no to the upgrade they said the trip was overbooked and wouldn’t we rather have some cash than take the trip? And we said no again, and had to deal with hassles of traveling to Vancouver in order to fly to Vegas, but it was oh so worth it for both the hitchhiking and the couchsurfing.
And so we flew to Vegas, after first flying to Phoenix. At the Phoenix airport they have a fun paging system where you can type in a message to your party and then that person’s name is called over the loudspeakers that always seem to be going off in airports and if that person goes to one of many computer screen message centers, they can find their name and read their message. This message system is a fun way to pass the time if one can think of a message that will get past the screeners (edit by B: Mine was "from Jorge Borges to Ricardo Montalban: Please pick up your A.P.E. and follow the instructions for the Garden of Forking Paths", Stina's was "from Veronica Lodge to Forsythe Jones: Please meet your party at the Hot Dog stand in concourse C"). But it only occupies all of five minutes, if that. We passed more time by juggling out of the way but in full sight of passers by, and by trying to strike up actual conversation with credit card salespeople.

We made it to Vegas by around 9pm and headed outside to catch a bus to our hotel. Thanks to a little help from family (Phone to Internet) we knew what bus to take, and even if we hadn’t, there were several others waiting for the bus who were eager to help us find our way. One man we met this way told us all about how he thinks the internet is the future for basically everything, but primarily politics. He was concerned about whether or not Washington would vote democratic in the upcoming presidential election. He made sure we knew what stop to get off at before getting off himself.

Walking to our hotel from the bus stop, we met another Las Vegas resident who is soon relocating to Bellingham. He was a self-described pot-head who loves the atmosphere of Berkeley and had recently been to a Dave Matthews concert there, and he seemed excited about moving to Bellingham. He told us that people who live in Las Vegas are unhappy and mean to one another because of it. He was headed to the casino at our hotel and walked us right to the door.

We stayed at the Fitzgerald, a pretty nice hotel in downtown, where a sign says “Welcome to the Fremont Street Experience.” This is about a 15 minute bus ride from the strip, but is much cozier and very pedestrian friendly. A few blocks are closed off to cars and there is a roof over the streets, creating a neon-lit safe-to-get-drunk environment. That first night we were approached by another time-share representative and this one was offering show tickets, a free dinner buffet at the Luxor and another free meal offered during the timeshare talk. We didn’t have any plans to see a show, so free tickets appealed greatly. A tip for getting free stuff from time-share talks: If you make less than 40k, lie and say you do. They don’t actually check. And if you know that you have a hard time saying no to things, don’t do it. But if you can say no and are willing to sit through a 2-3 (or sometimes 4) hour talk, the payoff is worth it.

So we signed up to go to a talk the next day. There was some difficulty actually getting there, because we don’t have ID with our current address, and we didn’t have any of their other required proof that we live together. But after much one person asking another person who asked another person who finally got a hold of someone with the authority to say it was fine, we were able to go. And more on that soon.

On staying in Vancouver

Here in verbatim is an exercise where we each wrote our impressions of the place where we couchsurfed:

We went to the door and tried to open it after tapping on the window to alert them to our presence but someone said “There’s a couch in front of the door” and to come around to the window. So we walked around to a window that led to the kitchen and climbed in and immediately met many people whose names I mostly don’t remember. The kitchen was smallish with a big bowl of salad on the counter (I was later told by a girl from Germany we could have some salad) and just off the kitchen was a bedroom. Our host was in there so we introduced ourselves to her and several others. Past that was the living room strewn with sleeping pads and sleeping bags and a couple of couches. We were told it was “survival of the fittest” to find a sleeping spot. Across the living room was the bathroom and beyond both was another bedroom. Felt immediately like we were in a hostel. Met many people from several countries and everyone was welcoming and had the air of traveler. It smelled like a hostel too. It’s the smell of being abroad or maybe just the smell that results from many different people sharing a relatively small space. It was a bit more chaotic than an actual hostel, but also more friendly. One bathroom for that many people (maybe 15 or so? More? I’m not sure) means waiting one’s turn. We walked out to buy liquor with a girl from Germany and a guy from Mexico, but the liquor store was closed. Got to practice a little German with the many German speakers.

Our host’s hostel was a delightful reminder of less delightful abodes. It was reminiscent of my time in a squatter’s hovel while still feeling safe and a dorm with only the neatest people and a hostel with no cost. I thoroughly enjoy being able to see a community intent on living apart from capitalism. People call it living cheaply, but most people I know who live as cheaply as they can, actually approach goods and life differently. They’re more pleasant, more willing to share, more eager to accept others. We met several people traveling from other nations, all eager to know us and to connect to us. Our hosts’s hostel greets you with a fleet of surfers at the bay win-door, a simpler keyless entry system. The basis of the system is the trust we should have everyday. The fridge is filled with donated food, and the sink is responsibly clean, as one would expect of responsible people. The bathroom sink has a warning on it--warning of its fragility. The living room is filled wall-to-wall with softeners of the floor, foam and air matresses. I imagined as we arranged ourselves for sleep, a program to install bunkbeds, thereby doubling the available sleeping surfaces. Considering some 20 people shared one bath, there was plenty to go around. Even those taking a shower didn’t lengthen the line too much. I hope we’ll never pay to sleep again, and that we can offer the same to others throughout our lives.

And that, folks, is primarily what we experienced of Vancouver.

Stindan Weinson