Editor’s Note: I first met Jim Mielke about 20 years ago at the East West Center in Honolulu. I had just washed ashore in Hawaii from San Francisco and Jim, a native of Buffalo, was finishing his doctorate in Public Health at the University of Hawaii. A former Peace Corps Volunteer in Samoa, Jim and I had a lot of common experiences in the South Pacific and became fast friends. Jim had suffered a great deal as a young man and had learned to live with a disability. The lesson is that his disability that ceased to become an issue. In a sense he wore it on his sleeve. After graduation he left Hawaii and had a successful career as a public health doc in Southeast Asia. He is just on the cusp of publishing his memoirs and Hawaii Reporter will publish this first of a two part series that will introduce Jim what I’m hoping will be a growing readership.

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by Jim Mielke

I can still recall feeling like a new man almost immediately upon waking up with my ileostomy (a surgically created opening in the abdominal wall, with an external abdominal pouch to collect intestinal (fecal) output).  Suddenly, I was free from years of pain and misery lasting from age 14 to 19.  When I finally got my bag at age 19, I recall thinking, why did they wait so long? For the next three years, I was in and out of several different hospitals for 11 major ostomy-related surgeries, including total removal of the large intestine and rectum, while also struggling to withdraw from the addictive medications prescribed to me over the years.

During these hospital stays, I was sometimes called upon to informally counsel others facing ostomy surgery or recovering from surgery. One of the common concerns of the men I counseled related to sex, and like any normal young guy, I was pretty juiced up – chasing nurses down the ward with my red and white striped baggie flapping in the breeze. So I suppose the hospital staff felt that I could at least be a positive boost to these other guys. Following the ostomy surgeries, life simply took off with my fully recovered and excellent health.

I re-entered university in Colorado in 1980, having been forced to withdraw earlier for health reasons, and managed to complete a BA in Recreation, with a minor in Camping – all the fun stuff! Like many young people entering university, I had very little idea of what I wanted to do with my life, with no clear direction or ambition to pursue specific academic training or any particular profession. My purpose was simply to enjoy life, and to seek fulfillment by helping others find a healthy balance of work and play – and to live each day to the fullest.

I first learned about overseas volunteer opportunities with the YMCA while working as a summer employee or “Emp” at the Silver Bay Association, a YMCA Family Conference Center located on beautiful Lake George in the Adirondack Mountains of northern New York State. The YMCA’s core emphasis on a healthy body, mind and spirit has also clearly played a key role in setting my life’s course.

Early exposure to this holistic understanding of health and wellness has influenced my personal lifestyle as well as my choice of work, first in recreation, and later in international health and development assistance. These principles, embodied also in the “Silver Bay Spirit” continue to provide a firm foundation – at times an anchor in the storm – and guidance through an expanding array of challenges and unique experiences that can be known only by living them.

Soon after graduating in 1982, I left my job as the Youth Program Coordinator at a local YMCA near Denver, Colorado, and headed off to Sri Lanka on what was to be a 6-week summer internship with the Colombo YMCA – leading outdoor recreation and life skills programs for disadvantaged youth. During this time, I applied for and was repeatedly turned down by the American Peace Corps.

They did not understand that I was applying FROM Sri Lanka – and sent me form letters about “the risks” of working overseas with an ileostomy, and a final absurd one claiming that their MDs in Washington had “examined” me and found me “unfit” for Peace Corps. This was such an insult to my new-found health. Prior to leaving the USA, my personal physician had described me as “healthier than 95 percent of the population.”

Eventually, I went on to work with other voluntary organizations throughout the Asia-Pacific region, and sent a Christmas card each year to the Peace Corps Director in Washington, DC with photos of me working with Peace Corps volunteers to call attention to their global policy barring ostomates from overseas assignments. At one point, the Peace Corps Director visited Western Samoa while I was living and working there. Remembering me from the Christmas cards, she formally invited me to join the Peace Corps. But by then I was beyond volunteering with the Peace Corps.

For the next 8 years, I worked with various voluntary organizations in 15 countries throughout the Asia-Pacific region. In general, nothing was planned – there was no grand strategy, no burning ambition, life-long dream or goal to achieve other than a desire to continue living this incredible, fulfilling lifestyle out in the world. It all just happened. I came into these experiences largely by chance and without any prior technical international development training – with no formal pre-conditioning academically or professionally.

Thus, arriving as a “clean slate” my approach to each new situation was that of being open to learning from my experiences – learning by doing, and therefore naturally practicing what I later read about when I returned to school – the importance of sitting down with the local people, observing, listening, learning, as well as sharing whatever I had to offer.

Although clearly an outsider, I caught some glimpses of local situations and perspectives – working hardest at learning language, (during this time I picked up working levels of Samoan, Indonesian and Thai languages; later on, I picked up basic Khmer language and have also become proficient in Vietnamese language), which further facilitated my understanding about some aspects of the world, about people, about culture and about life – a kind of understanding that can only be gained from living these experiences.

Stay tuned for part 2 of this series

The Balinese believe when they die they’ll go to a place that looks just like Bali. And the town that looks the most like Bali, and feels the most Balinese, is Ubud, the island’s cultural center.  Ubud, whose name derives from the Balinese word “ubad,” meaning “medicine,” attracts an artsy crowd seeking a cure for the party animal hustle at the beach resorts of Kuta, Sanur and Nusa Dua. Located less than an hour’s drive inland from the coast, Ubud is a mountain town where the nights are cooler, the restaurants close by 10:00 p.m., and the closest thing to a disco is the local temple packed with teenagers watching the festive Barong dance till dawn.

One of Indonesia’s 13,000 plus islands, Bali has been a living legend since Western artists discovered back in the ’20s and ’30s and feared it would lose its soul to tourism.  It still hasn’t. Ubud preserves the storybook dreamscape that everyone associates with Bali: tender green rice fields and vaporous volcanoes, barefoot people who move with a trance like grace balancing towers of fruit on their heads, temple gates reaching to heaven, the air tinkling with gamelan music and wind chimes. There’s no doubt that Ubud has become a major resort, with its dozens of economical guesthouses and shops crammed with bewitching treasures, yet its major charm is its cleaving to tradition.

“Bali is like an old man,” one taxi driver told me. “Life is very classical here, there are not many modern things.”

Ubud preserves the traditional Balinese way of life which blends religious worship with the making of art.  There’s no word for “art” in Balinese, it’s just something the people do as naturally as breathing, with neither fame nor fortune as their motive. They express not themselves but their religious faith and joy.

In Balinese Hinduism, the mountains are the stronghold of the gods all temples are built to face the higher elevations while the sea contains darker forces. In seaside Kuta you can cruise from Mushroom Rock to Tropical Climax to beer-guzzling Peanuts, hearing Madonna and Bruce Springsteen, while in hilly Ubud your senses tingle with gamelan music and the fresh scent of frangipani and incense wafting from endless offerings in doorways and small temples.

Every night spectacular performances of famous dances like the

Legong, Barong, Kechak and Ramayana light up Ubud and nearby villages. Hawkers roam the streets, selling tickets for just $1.50 to $2.50 apiece, including transportation to the dance site.  This is not to mention the art galleries, museums, workshops, temple celebrations and occasional cremations that make the brain reel with exoticism and pageantry seldom seen in the West outside of Mardi Gras.

I arrived in Ubud with the hope of discovering what makes Balinese culture so rich. To my surprise, the Shangri La I’d expected first appeared as a boisterous little berg on a brokendown road selling Diet Coke alongside of handwoven backpacks.  The emerald terraces, waddling ducks and suspension bridge over a plunging ravine unfolded only as I was leaving town for the Amandari, Ubud’s premiere hotel.

I was lucky enough to spend my first night at the Amandari, an organic pleasure palace perched above a river gorge. Art and tradition rule here, too. Designed by Australian architect Peter Muller, who worked equal wonders with the Amanpuri on Thailand’s resort island of Phuket, the hotel simulates a Balinese village with 27 walled garden suites virtual houses with sunken outdoor tubs. Tip toeing over stepping stones through a pond full of lily pads, I opened my villa’s front door.

Rounded and thatched, with teak beams and rattan furniture, it had floor to ceiling screens and window walls which rolled back to let in the light and lushness of the outside.  From the terrace I heard the sigh of the Ayung River far below. Magenta bougainvillea and sprays of orchids splashed the greenery with color like laughter that melted into the twilight. At daybreak, workers with flowers behind their ears were up polishing the woodwork. The glassy hillside pool trembled under the fingers of a morning breeze, giving me a taste of that hushed, spiritual beauty that sets Ubud apart.

Art touches every upscale hotel in Ubud, and many budget spots, too. The chic Kupu Kupu Barong (“Big Butterfly”), not far from the Amandari, hotel’s heart stopping views from its split level rooms that teeter like cushy attic condos over the river gorge. Closer to town, the riverside Hotel Tjampuhan has a crumbling, ornate Balinese acquaintness with twisting paths to hillside rooms swallowed in banana trees and vines. At Ulun Ubud Cottages, a mossy stone stairway winds down past tiers of bungalows to a pool slung over the Campuhan River.

I wore the heels off my sandals hunting for a cheaper guesthouse along the backroads of Ubud.  Dozens of simple inns and homestays for $10 a night and under crowd the countryside, especially along Monkey Forest Road, a dusty thoroughfare past open fields and vagabond haunts recalling the hippie heyday. I checked out the Puri Muwa guesthouse with caged titiran birds hanging on every veranda (“wonderful alarm clocks,” said the manager), the Frog Pond Inn with its bargain cubbyholes (nobody home and all the doors wide open), and the Monkey Forest Hideaway with romantic old fashioned beds and kerosene lamps instead of electricity (already booked for the week).

That brought me to the edge of the forest, a cave like, rooty underworld housing the old Pura Dalem, temple of the dead. Even Ubud’s only jungle felt like a vintage illustration. I bought a temple sash and two bags of peanuts from a vendor, and stepped into the overgrown gloom.  Almost instantly, several gray, fuzzy monkeys barreled up like gargoyles and snatched at the bag in my hand, racing away with stolen peanuts.

One of them bit an overgenerous British tourist, and a Canadian girl murmured, “Oh dear, I hear they have syphilis” while the poor Brit cradled his hand. The potbellied grandfather monkeys, their brows knit cantankerously, lumbered up with a demanding air that made me hide my peanuts and head for the temple.  A sign on its rusted gates announced in pictures that tourists could enter for temple ceremonies only in Balinese, not Western, dress. No ceremony today. The colored sash would do.

Inside, monkeys swarmed everywhere. They lolled on the fanged statue of the witch Rangda, who was devouring a child; they sunbathed on the dragons and weather stained gates; they blended into the ornamentation, the baroque intricacy and animistic too muchness that typifies Bali, as though everything is seething with life and spirits. Yet the monkeys kept to themselves, obeying some unspoken rule of tranquility that made the temple a true sanctuary, both for them and the big hairless apes with cameras.

Heading back toward town, I stumbled on guesthouse called the Artini II guesthouse (Artini I is across the street), a lovely walled compound as peaceful as a convent, glittering with gilded doors and blooming gardens. The rooms, lined in bamboo matting, came with baths,fans, bamboo beds and porches where breakfast (usually a toasted banana sandwich and tea) was served every morning.  For $11 a night, I’d found my home in Ubud.

Rebecca Bruns, was a freelancer living in San Francisco, who specialized in the tropics and exotic culture. To find out more about her visit www.rebeccabruns.net. Stay tuned for Part II of this series.

That night I celebrated by going to see the Legong dance at the Puri Ubud, the palace grounds of Ubud’s old royal family.  It was the most beautiful performance I saw in Bali.  A gamelan troupe in intense red and blue sat before their golden gongs and Oriental xylophones in the moonlit courtyard. Candles on the ascending plateaus of the ”candibentar”, split temple gates, flared toward the stars. A priest glided through the gate, sprinkling water on the gamelan players.  With a staccato flick of the hammers, their bell-like music began, a flurry of chimes threaded with the plaintive tremble of a bamboo flute.

Out came the dancers, lithe Lolitas of 14 or less bound in green and yellow silk, fingers dilating, heads weaving side to side, flower petals flying from their hands just as the gamelan hammers struck the tossing note. Later a masked emperor and another young girl in purple launched the Legong story: a king captures a maiden, goes to war over her with her brother, meets a bird of ill omen, and is killed in combat with her brother. It’s a complex ritual ballet of good vs. evil, like all Balinese dances, and as precise as clockwork. The girls, so sure of every step, with darting eyes and painted faces so heartbreakingly fresh, were a mixture of innocence and wisdom beyond their years.

“The Balinese start to study art from a very young age,” said I. Wayan Sinti, gamelan teacher at SMKI, the highschool for the arts in Denpasar. “They come to school already knowing their art form.” Education only fine©tunes what is passed down through the family or picked up in the community. And Ubud is one of the centers where artists and performers are in high demand.  A 1990 TV special by National Geographic contended that tourist interest has helped fund a revival in the island’s arts. Judging from the crowds it’s true.

Foreigners flow in by the busload to catch the popular Kechak dance at the big community hall near Ubud in Bona.  The night I went, an entourage of men stripped to the waist flooded the stage uttering wild chants of “chak chaka chak” led by a sort of inspired drill sergeant. The gamelan orchestra was replaced by a frenzy of guttural calls and waving hands evoking a monkey army.

Enter the great white monkey god Hanuman. In the Kechak tale, from the Hindu Ramayana myth, Hanuman helps rescue the exiled Princess Sita and her brother Rama from the evil King Rawana, after many battles, magic transformations and close calls.

The men swayed and chanted like crazed fraternity brothers as a succession of damsels, wizards, monkeys, deer, a garuda (the mythical bird of Indonesia) and others traipsed across the stage, to that incessant “chak chaka chak”. How did the chorus so perfectly synchronize what appeared to be gibberish and animal flailing? Mass hypnosis?  A trance?  Somehow a whole new organism emerged, like a great vocal flower in motion, all its parts joined in one will.

An even more extraordinary trance dance followed. No sooner had the echo of the Kechak faded when a bonfire of coconut husks flared up on the stone floor. A man with closed eyes galloped out on a straw horse, skating through the flames, smearing the red©hot husks around with his feet, kicking them like autumn leaves. Sometimes the sparks flew into the audience.  This went on until the bonfire dwindled to embers. Then another dancer ran out and caught the trance dancer while a priest blessed him and brought him out of the trance.  He sat on the floor, dazed, while members of the audience approached to touch his feet as hard as bullhide and not even singed.

Entertainment can take the most unlikely forms. It’s not only staged for tourists but for the community’s pleasure. Temples celebrate the new moon or anniversaries every 210 days any excuse will do. One night I strolled over to a temple where, in the midst of mud and clove cigarette fumes, on a plastic tarp in a palm-fringed pavilion, something akin to Shakespearean theater had the Balinese crowd enthralled. Mobs of kids surged forward, jostling and bug eyed, to see the dragons and ghouls and white haired soothsayers they’d been seeing since babyhood but couldn’t get enough of.

As one guidebook said, “The religion is absolutely everywhere and it’s good fun!  The Balinese seem to feel that religion should be an enjoyable thing, something the mortals can enjoy as well as the gods.”

If nights are devoted to performances, days are for shopping. For even the most hardened anti-consumer, shopping in Ubud is a Magical Mystery Tour of homegrown art.

Stores wake early and close late, stocked to bursting with flying frogs and cherubs with huge phalluses, bamboo windmills and toy gamelan instruments, wooden banana trees, miniatures of island nirvanas, silver geckos and earrings set with garnets and amethysts, gold and silver pinkie rings, carvings of coolies and elongated dancers. For a good introduction, wander through the Sukawati Market’s choked collection. Yes, a lot of it is whimsical trash, churned out to satisfy the tourist lust for souvenirs but dig and you may find a neglected pearl among the profusion of kitsch.

Much of the work comes from villages around Ubud, each of which has a specialty.  Ubud, Penestanan and Batuan pour out decorative naïve paintings of heaven©on©earth landscapes, Hindu demons and rural life. Mas features carvings and masks. Celuk’s emporiums wink with silver jewelry. Gianyar’s factories spin superb, muted ikat fabrics, in which the abstract pattern is dyed into the threads before they’re woven. ”Batubulan’s stone temple guardians, warriors and animals, seen all over the island, line the roadside mantled in velvety mold.

These towns are no more than 45 minutes from Ubud by public vans and bemos, which constantly zip around picking up passengers. You could spend a whole day in any town, browsing the shops and bargaining. Or you can just watch artists at work, like the family of ten carvers I came on in Mas one blistering April afternoon under an awning outside their gallery, I. Made Darsana.

I ducked into the shade and watched them chiseling out ebony herons as easily as I might cut an apple. Such talents do run in the family. The Mas gallery of I. B. Sutarja, one of Bali’s most famous mask makers, not only showcases his $1,000 masterpieces but those of his children, all 12 of whom carve masks.

While crafts tend to follow traditional models, modern Balinese art straddles both convention and innovation. Paintings at the Neka Museum and the Museum Puri Lukisan in Ubud range from impressionism to abstract expressionism. Most of what’s for sale, though, is a sort of magic primitivism: mythical Bali with every leaf and rosy breast aglow in hallucinogenic detail (you can find small originals for just $50). An influx of Western painters who fell in love with Bali in the 1930s actually introduced the concept of individual art, removed from the temples and palaces. Since then it has flourished in galleries all over Ubud–including the flamboyant hilltop home of Phillipines-born Antonio Blanco, shrine of his erotic art and illustrated poetry.

It’s said that the Balinese believe when they die they’ll go to a place that looks just like Bali.  And the place most like Bali, most like paradise, is Ubud.

Rebecca Bruns, was a freelancer living in San Francisco, who specialized in the tropics and exotic culture. To find out more about her visit www.rebeccabruns.net.

Kimberlee Ke‘ala Bassford is an independent, Honolulu-based documentary filmmaker with a passion for social issues, cultural and women’s stories. Born and raised in Honolulu, she graduated from Punahou and holds a BA in psychology from Harvard and a Masters in Journalism from the University of California Berkeley.

Ms. Bassford is probably best known in Hawai‘i for her documentary on the late Patsy Mink, a U.S. Representative and the first woman of color in Congress. (Patsy Mink was also the co-author of Title IX, the landmark legislation that mandated gender equity in education). The film premiered at the Hawai‘i International Film Festival, where it won the Audience Award for Favorite Documentary. The 60-minute production has also won numerous awards at other film festivals and was aired nationally on PBS in 2009.

Her latest endeavor, Winning Girl, also premiered at the Hawai’i International Film Festival last week. Winning Girl follows the nascent athletic career of Teshya Alo, a 16 year old, 125 pound, part-Polynesian judo and wrestling phenom who throws women twice her age and regularly beats the boys.

To call Teshya ambitious would be an understatement. She has her sights set on taking gold at both the judo and wrestling world championships–and, is gunning for the Olympics.

A truly gifted athlete, she has all the other right stuff–moxie, drive and a loving family that is squarely behind in her.

Clearly she wasn’t born with a silver spoon or anything close to it, but there’s plenty of fairy dust sprinkled in her corner. She’s a Kam School student, she’s got great coaching and somehow, she and her family are able to travel with her to Mainland and International tournaments.

Even with her immense confidence, Ms. Alo discovers going for the gold is no cakewalk. Her youth and lack of experience work sometimes favor her opponents. The “agony of defeat” shatter her ego but she finds the inner strength to pick herself up and move forward.

As if her judo and wrestling career aren’t enough of a distraction, she’s in the midst of puberty, protective parents and learning to confront her own limitations.

Think National Velvet meets Rocky Balboa.

It’s all neatly captured by Kimberlee Brassford.

I caught up with Ms. Brassford, aka Kim, at the Koko Marina Theater where her documentary was being featured on a recent Saturday afternoon.

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Q: Tell us little about yourself. How did ever take the leap into film making? 

A: I’m a local girl born and raised in Hawai‘i. I graduated from Punahou and then went to Harvard University for my undergraduate degree and the University of California Berkeley for my Masters in journalism, which is where I made my first documentary. I chose this career because I wanted to tell stories that made a difference in the world and I wanted to be creative visually. I also liked the idea of being my own boss, having a flexible work schedule, exercising many different skills each day and learning something new with each project.

Q: You’re well known in the community for the Patsy Mink documentary.  What other films have you made?

A: My first documentary was a short called CHEERLEADER (2003) that followed a Northern California cheerleading squad of 8- to 11-year old girls through their season and ultimately to the national championships. It aired on HBO Family. I then worked on two different national PBS documentary series as a story producer, THE MEANING OF FOOD (2005) and UNNATURAL CAUSES: IS INEQUALITY MAKING US SICK? (2008). I also did a short documentary, LOTUS ROOT: A GREAT GRANDDAUGHTER’S JOURNEY (2010), about my great-grandfather who was the first person from my maternal family to come to Hawai‘i. Along with PATSY MINK: AHEAD OF THE MAJORITY (2008) which you mentioned, and now WINNING GIRL, all of my films seem to explore either gender or culture.

Q: How did you choose to make Winning Girl? What piqued your interest? 

A: I first became aware of Teshya Alo’s story from a Honolulu Advertiser article published in July 2009, announcing Teshya’s recent victory as both the freestyle and Greco-Roman champion at a national wresting tournament in Utah, titles usually held by boys. I was instantly intrigued by this wrestling prodigy who happened to be a girl, and immediately contacted her coaches and family. The first time I met Teshya in person, the 11-year-old ran up to me, flexed her arm and said with a grin, “Do you want to feel my muscles?” I immediately knew this girl was going places.

Q: Were you always interested in sports?

A: No. I don’t even watch sports on television! In my childhood, I was a dancer and did gymnastics. And then I was a competitive cheerleader all through high school. I do find it kind of funny that many of my films have been about girls in sport, first with CHEERLEADER and now WINNING GIRL. My Patsy Mink documentary also touched on sports briefly since Patsy Mink was the co-author of the landmark Title IX legislation, which opened up athletic opportunities for America’s women. Maybe deep down I do love sports! As a filmmaker though, I think I’ve been attracted to sports stories because they have built-in drama and are dynamic and visual.

Q: Was the Alo family accepting of you from the get-go or did you have to really earn their trust?

A. Oddly, both. The family was warm and inviting from the very start. And when it came to Teshya and her sports, access was great. But later into the project, I realized that Teshya’s parents were a little more hesitant about me filming them (which is understandable). So it took time to build trust and to make them understand that while the film was about Teshya, they were an integral part of her story and really needed to be in the film too.

Q: Teshya struck me as being a great subject for the camera. Talented, photogenic, cocky but at the same time vulnerable. What made her story appealing to you?

A. I really love that the story unfolds over four years and that you get to see Teshya grow up before your eyes from age 12 to 16. When I started filming her, she was already a judo and wrestling phenom, beating boys and girls who were much older than her. But in the film, you really see her transform into a world-class athlete. With each competition, she challenges bigger and more experienced opponents and has more at stake as she pushes herself ever closer to her dream of being world champion.

Q: What was the biggest challenge in making this film?

A: Well, I ended up having two kids over the five years of the project. So trying to keep the project going while becoming a mother for the first time was probably my biggest challenge (and finding a balance between family and career is an ongoing challenge)! But besides that, there were certainly many challenges related to the film itself. Since this was a vérité film, I didn’t know where Teshya’s story would lead or what would happen. So deciding what to film and when was always a question. If I had all the time in the world and all the resources and unlimited access, I would film 24/7 but of course, that’s not possible (and probably would make the edit impossible!), so you have to make choices based on the information on hand and what you think the story is. There was also the challenge that Teshya did two sports not one, so there were twice as many practices, matches, tournaments (many of which were on the mainland or abroad), coaches, etc. And then once filming was done, we had so much footage, it was a challenge not to get lost in it all and to really find the core of the film’s story.

Q: This was obviously a long term endeavor. Where did you find the funds and how much did it take to make?

A:  Funding was a huge challenge. Most film funders are looking to support social issue documentaries, and while my intent with the film has always been to use Teshya’s story to empower girls, the film isn’t squarely a social issue doc. And neither is it a humanities-based documentary, which is the other focus of most film funders. So I had to look elsewhere. The biggest funder of the film was Pacific Islanders in Communications (PIC), which is a member of the Corporation for Public Broadcasting’s Minority Consortia and whose mission is to promote programming about Pacific Islanders on public television. PIC supported the project in development, production and post-production, and I’m incredibly grateful. I probably would not have embarked on this project had I not had PIC’s early support. I also received funding from the Harold K. L. Castle Foundation, Atherton Family Foundation and Dolores Furtado Martin Foundation, as well as numerous individual and corporate donors, most of whom I know personally.

Q: What did you take away from this film? What did you learn from the subject, the family and perhaps about yourself?

A: For me, the film shows that it takes a village to realize a dream. Teshya is an incredibly gifted athlete, but I think much of her success lies in the fact that she has a family, coaches and support network that are fully committed to her dream too. Personally, I am so inspired by Teshya’s positive attitude and her pursuit of excellence. In the film, she suffers a big loss, and I love something she says about it. She says, “Whenever I think about losing, I don’t think about giving up or quitting, I think about the next match that is gonna happen…and how much better I can make myself.” I think it’s that commitment to continuous improvement that is one of the keys to her success. She knows she can always improve, always do better. And I think that’s something that people who are successful in all fields share — that idea that excellence is not fixed but something to continue to strive for. Finally, what I learned about myself during this project is that it’s tough to balance family, career and life. I feel like you can do anything, but you can’t do everything — at least not by yourself. So it’s important to prioritize and to collaborate with others whom you trust. This film was completed in part because I had strong collaborators to lean on, such as the film’s editor Shirley Thompson, director of photography Henry Mochida, mainland/international crew David Hamilton and Tania Khalaf, animator Ashley Burke and composer Mark Menza.

Q: So what’s on for you in the future?

A: Well, the festival version of the film is done, but I still have to finish the hour-long PBS version! And there’s still a lot of work to be done in getting the film out to the world, which includes submitting to film festivals, organizing outreach and community screenings, getting a website up and finding a distributor. I also have a few ideas for new documentaries brewing and will be applying for development funds for those. And now that the film is done, I am hoping to get more sleep again, or at least to go to bed before midnight most nights!

 photos courtesy of Making Waves films

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by Jim Mielke

Eventually however, it became clear that I needed further technical training in order to progress professionally, and to contribute more effectively to international health and development. In particular, an early experience on a grass-roots primary health care project in northern Thailand had revealed to me the central importance of integrated, multi-sector and multi-disciplinary approaches to development. So I returned to the USA long enough to complete my Masters and Doctoral degrees in Public Health at the University of Hawaii, funded by a US Government grant administered through the East-West Center research institute in Honolulu, Hawaii.

Returning to school after eight years overseas was pure luxury, and although I did my graduate studies in beautiful Hawaii, I quickly became immersed in books – at last I had the time to read – and with access to stimulating pieces that articulated, analyzed and helped to explain so much of what I had been experiencing.  I also learned technical tools of the trade, including how to do scientific research.

The resulting combination of field experience and academic skills has enabled me to function with increased confidence and competence, both independently and working with other professionals in international health and development programming and research. Returning to school for specialized training has also greatly enhanced my employment options, with greater overall job preference and an expanded professional capacity for continued learning and contribution. Professional contacts made during my time in school also helped to open doors for employment.

My MPH summer research project reviewed State and National polices and programs affecting Alaska Native health, and could have extended into a full-time job following graduation.  However, as much as I enjoyed working on Native issues, I was not willing to face the Alaskan winter. I did my doctoral research in Thailand under the sponsorship of a major Thai university, which lent some credibility to my research there.

UNICEF Thailand ultimately identified my research topic – a serious and pressing issue that could be investigated inexpensively by a student. I also benefited by getting published in a major collaborative study, involving the East-West Center in Hawaii, my graduate program funding source, and the Thai Red Cross Society, a former employer – facilitating further exposure and credibility for my subsequent appointment to UNICEF, Cambodia.

Finally, after five stimulating and comfortable years in graduate school, I began to feel increasingly out of touch with the real world – after all, I was living in Hawaii!  And yet, after receiving my doctorate, a full two years of job searching passed without a single job offer.  So, the obvious choice was — to go sailing!

So I joined a couple of my college buddies on a 26-foot sloop for two seasons of glorious sailing through the South Pacific, eventually getting off the boat in Fiji Islands, to begin a 6-month consulting assignment with UNICEF, Fiji. I went on to join UNICEF staff as a Project Officer in Cambodia for two years, and then to Vietnam for a UNAIDS consultancy, followed by an AusAID-funded primary health care project.

Now, after 35 years of health and development work in over 20 countries, including youth leadership development, HIV/AIDS prevention and care, primary health care, and women and child health, as well as adventure travel to exotic destinations throughout the world, I am living in Thailand where, until my most recent surgery, I was overseeing the health component of a $24 million USAID-funded Burmese refugee and migrant health and education project.

Having enjoyed many years of full living and excellent health, it seems that my ileostomy, which had served me so well over the years, had finally worn out. So indeed, with this latest episode (emergency surgery in May 2006 for fist-sized abdominal hernia, resection of gangrene ileum, reconstructed ileostomy, and strangulated groin hernia with groin and abdominal mesh implants), I have felt a bit like a well used car in need of servicing – getting all the repairs done while in the shop, sort of like one-stop shopping. As some parts needed to be removed or replaced, and others have been repaired, I can look forward now to being rolled out onto the street again – all shiny and good as new – just like a sturdy, dependable car that simply came due for a tune-up.

Making it to my 50^th in January 2007, I decided to take a break from the working world for a while – freed up again to focus on the important things in life. I moved from Bangkok to my seaside villa in a peaceful, natural setting on the southern Thai resort island of Phuket. The whole scene had become too much of an effort – like swimming up-stream, when I really need to go with the flow on to the ocean, or wherever it takes me.

My body is trying to tell me something. The universe is telling me something – and for once, I am listening. Amazingly, having decided to make the break, once again it all seems like a blessing in disguise – a needed push from supposed security to the blessed freedom that uncertainty brings. It’s like witnessing the evolution of my soul, with a whole range of possibilities opening up. Life is full of mystery, uncertainty and opportunities, and the possibilities are endless.  Now, I am so excited about the next chapter about to unfold, I can hardly stand it!

The overnight boat from Bombay is jammed with cadaverous natives on their way to an easier life. Some other westerners and I pitch our tents on the deck between gibbering families and betel-nut chewers. The boat goes into the night as gently as a cradle, rocked by warm southern waters and sweet breezes blowing from our destination, but the air of expectancy on board – westerners are no less excited than the natives – makes it almost impossible to sleep.

Before  full sunrise everyone is up, bundling ragged possessions together and crowding around the deck rails. We are there! A golden radiance swells up behind thick palm jungle and spills across splendid empty beaches where waves run gently up and down for sparkling miles. I want to  dive overboard for joy! We are in a tropical paradise: Goa.

We  come ashore at Panjim. I catch a bus to the market town Mapusa and land in the bustling central plaza. It’s a circus! Motorcycles vroom, bicycle bells shrill, rattletrap buses wheeze by, the chants of bus recruiters vie with the cries of little boys hawking their wares. Stalls offer chunks of palm sugar, black with flies, tiny bananas pink as baby fingers, papayas big as watermelons.

Honey bees swarm around fragrant flower necklaces, smiling ladies under fractured umbrellas offer a skirtful of dried mackeral at a bargain. Drunk on exotic sights and smells, I catch the bus to the beach town of  Adjuna.

My  bus reels along a dusty road overhung with starlike blossoms, past blindingly green fields, past stocky little whitewashed missions and stocky pastel houses with molded love seats flanking front doors. At the Adjuna stop I drop out amid browsing goats and a few chickens. Some brown legged children carrying jugs start up the trail to Adjuna, and I follow.

It’s hot and dusty, I  am caked with dust. Then we are in the blessed cool of a palm forest, and suddenly through the trees sunlight glitters on blue water, the sound of flutes and guitars mingles with the cheerful namaste (good morning) of schoolgirls passing by. We are in Adjuna.

For two dollars I buy a beach hut  fully equipped (a kerosene stove, a lantern, a Ganesh poster for prosperity, a biscuit tin for storing food) and join the colony of beach dwellers. Mornings I wake to a girl leading a water buffalo by a string, selling fresh milk, or a boy selling  bottles of watered-down honey, a papaya lady, a coconut lady, a chiki lady. Many things come to my door.

A man dressed as a Hindu Jezebel goes from hut to hut dancing for coins. And dope is rampant. About once a week a nice looking clean-cut guy carrying a burlap sack of ampules of morphine  strolls door to door with his friendly greeting, “Hi. Want some morphine? 25 cents or two rupees an ampule.” The junkies mostly keep to themselves though once in a while a rash of thievery breaks out and you pretty well know who’s to blame.

There  is entertainment aplenty. Westeners make music, read tarot cards, do tattoos, preach, throw impromptu parties with shark stew for everyone and rock music blasting out of human-size  speakers, courtesy of a generator. Wandering home late at night with my coconut shell flashlight in hand (half a coconut shell with a candle stub inside) I stop for a visit with the banana man who fries bananas on the beach till midnight. At times I choose to stay in my little hut, reading by candlelight, or early to bed and to sleep lulled by the muted thunder of the waves, a sound I have come to love.

One day I decide to go exploring. North of Adjuna and Calengute, the favorite beach villages,  lie ten miles of  gorgeous and relatively isolated beach gashed by outcroppings and ending in jungle. I pack my sleeping bag and canteen, shut up the hut, and start walking.

I walk all day, sometimes crossing little rivers that cut into the beach, sometimes passing fishermen drawing in their nets; but mostly it is silent and empty, just me and the sea. Near sundown, approaching a nudist village, I see my first nude westerner. There are only a few dozen. They move quietly between the beach and their secluded village, or disappear  around a little freshwater lake and up into the jungle that swallows the hills behind  the sea.

In the jungle, I am told, some French girls live around a banyan tree. The next day I take the lake trail to find them and am soon hopelessly lost. A dry river bed leads me to a sheer red wall, on either side steep slopes mangled with roots. In a panic, I scramble up  a slope and  meet a tribe of large white monkeys loping along.

They stop and gather around me, and I plunge back down into the river bed. Somehow hours later the riverbed  leads me to the banyan tree where the French girls are indeed living on rice and  tea in primeval nude bliss. I stay the night, and snug in my sleeping bag hear a beast tearing another beast apart in the river bed below. In the morning I carefully follow the trail they show me  and leave the jungle behind.

I never  go  back to the jungle but gladly return to the cheerful noise and confusion of Adjani . Is there anything better than to stand in the doorway of your own little hut  in the cool pre-sunset breeze, sipping a cup of freshly brewed tea and watching the sun slip into the sea? But I’m almost out of money, and the year of my wanderings is over. I sell the hut for the $2  I paid for it, pack, and say my goodbyes. The Goa I am leaving has the friendliest natives, the gentlest sea, the most unspoiled beaches I will ever know. May

Vishnu the Preserver keep it so.

Rebecca Bruns, was a freelancer living in San Francisco, who specialized in the tropics and exotic culture. To find out more about her, visit www.rebeccabruns.net.

Roberta Davis never thought she’d end up living in Taveuni. The Honolulu-bornDavis and her husband, John Llanes, a Hawaii Island native, run a B&B style property called Makaira, just a few miles from an old dirt airstrip. The property consists of four bures (cottages) perched on four acres of a hillside, once the site of an ancient village.

It’s got an a 180 degree ocean view—essential back in the good old days when Fiji was known as the Cannibal Islands. When European settlers arrived, it morphed into a tranquil coconut plantation. Just down the hill is a white sand beach with better off shore snorkeling than you’ll find anywhere outside of Haunauma Bay.

Unlike Haunauma Bay there’s no Costco-sized parking lot, no tourists at your elbow and far more species of tropical corals.The property overlooks the Somosomo Straight, which has world-class diving and a fishery that includes Marlin, Sailfish, Wahoo, Mahi-mahi and Yellow fin. There are also a few other species not found in Hawaii such as Walu and Dogtooth Tuna and a host of reef fish. Roberta’s significant other, Captain John Llanes has released over 2,000 fish since he started charter fishing on Taveuni. (The average is about 9 releases a day).

The angling is so good that Hawaii Skin Diver made a pilgrimage to Makaira in May to film a show that aired last June on OC 16. (You can watch the Hawaii Skindiver show to see what I mean).

Known as the Garden Island, Taveuni is slightly larger than Lanai, and has about 12,000 inhabitants. A lush, rainy, formerly volcanic island, it boasts with waterfalls, parrots, giant fruit bats and a native boa constrictor. Locals (as in most of rural Fiji) are steeped in their indigenous culture, speak their own language, grow their own food and rely on the ocean for much of their sustenance.

Roberta Davis reckons she lives a lifestyle that harkens back to Hawaii of 50 or perhaps 100 years ago.Of course the good life in Fiji is not without it’s challenging side. The Fiji Islands reside in cyclone country and getting whacked by a mega storm every other year or so has become all too commonplace. Every cyclone is different. They can be mild or ferocious–short or long in duration.

Cyclone Tomas, which hit Taveuni in March of 2010, was both ferocious and long. Roberta described it simply as “terrifying.” Holed-up in a small concrete bunker, she feared for her life when the walls started to shake uncontrollably. “It was noisy,” she said. “The storm was like a freight train bearing down on us. In the distance we heard the trees firing coconut cannons and the cracking echo of shattering Monkeypod trees.”

Roberta described the the island going from “lush to desolate over night–like it was hit with Napalm.” Six months later it was back to lush again.

She went snorkeling with fear in her heart not long after the storm to assess the big surf damage. The beach is approximately a quarter mile long. From the shoreline to about 100 yards out and across the whole cove, the reef was completely desolated. Staghorn coral colonies lay shattered and uprooted with broken arms lying like so much rubble on the sea floor.

Despite the general devastation, some areas of the reef were leveled where as others were intact. The amount of damage correlated to the depth and the contour of the reef.

To her delight, Roberta discovered that her favorite underwater treasure had survived: a large rose bubble tip anemone colony with attending melanopus clownfish. Her second favorite prize, which she named the Aquarium, survived, perhaps because it lay inside a blow of reef.

Was it a was a sign from on high that things were going to be O.K?  Maybe but she knew something had to be done to attempt to resurrect the once beautiful reef system.

Rob Kay is the author of Fijiguide.com.  Stay tuned for part II of the story.

Grahame’s great gift is to make Buddhism accessible to Westerners. He has a knack for taking everyday trials and tribulations, say being stuck in traffic, and turning it into a “learning moment”.

I’ve taken several of his retreats and never fail to be impressed with his homespun sagacity.

Grahame began meditating in 1969 while in England on a youthful world tour, which is a rite of passage for Aussies. His spiritual odyssey led him to BodhGaya, India, where in 1971, he spent a year as a Buddhist monk.

The rest as the bromide goes, is history.

Last year I decided last year to produce a short video, with the idea of distilling the essence of his practice. I wanted people to know who Grahame is and what he does. I had the very good fortune to run into Kim Huynh, a filmmaker and the daughter of Xuan and Thanh Huynh (who I meditate with here in Hawaii). Kim also had the intention of doing a video on Grahame and we decided to collaborate on this project. Kim agreed to edit any footage that I could come up with and the short video below is the fruit of her labor.

The practice can yield to spectacular results in just a few years. A little planting can protect the corals from their predators and can go a long way in helping reefs rebound. More importantly scientists have recently discovered that corals send out chemical signals that indicate a particular area is safe to populate. Other species of corals will answer the call and migrate into the area.

Roberta decided, she didn’t have fifty years to wait for the reef to mend itself.

Immediately after learning the replanting drill, she logged about 200 free dives to make certain replanting actually worked in the wild. To her relief and it did.  She has made thousands of free dives since then which consist of picking up coral fragments off the sea floor and planting them. She reports a 90 per cent survival rate for the coral fragments which “take-off like a shot within 4 weeks once they take root.” She’s also engaged the local population to get involved.Every Sunday, Roberta and a small group ofMakaira staff and teenage boys from the nearby village, plant coral fragments on the reef. Even resort guests have joined in.

Her favorite guest moment was right after the cyclone, when a thirteen year-old boy joined the Sunday coral gardening event. At this early stage the pounded reef was just bare rocks and coral fragments. The boy earnestly asked Roberta if he could plant his very own little reef. She smiled, shook her head and said “pick anywhere you like and knock yourself out”.

With much enthusiasm he planted what is now magnificent little reef, which makes her smile every time she takes guests on a snorkel tour.

Guests who would like to indulge in reef gardening are greatly appreciated. Generally Roberta will go out with them and pick an area where they can plant their own section of reef. They mark their territory with a fair amount of colorful, blue staghorn acrophora corals. Upon their return, guests can see the stunning results. Blue-green Chromis occupy the burgeoning coral and the rest of the reef fish population is catching up. Once guests see the fruits of their labor, they immediately schedule time to plant more corals.

Like the transplanted coral, the 50-something Kalani High School grad and her Big Island husband have surely taken root in the Garden Island of Fiji.

Rob Kay is the author of Fijiguide.com. For more information on Roberta Davis and John Llanes resort visit Makaira online.

Last month the cost of the Wall Street Journal’s annual print subscription for Hawaii readers doubled to more than $1,000, and as a longtime subscriber, I decided I’d had enough. It was time to go digital and join the 21st century. I needed a tablet that was suited for reading e-books, newspapers, and surfing the web. In a pinch it would be nice if the device could operate as a word processor.

What to get?

I evaluated a couple of popular tablets and came to the conclusion that both are worthy of consideration albeit for very different reasons.

Amazon Fire HDX 8.9
To really understand the Fire HDX 8.9, all you need to recognize is that it’s the latest incarnation of the humble Kindle reading device. Amazon has fine-tuned its tablets for ease of use. The on-off and volume buttons are located on the back (as opposed to the sides), the edges of the tablet are beveled and the HDX’s 8.9-inch screen and 13.2-ounce weight all feel right.

The hardware-software does video very well. The screen is brilliant, the system is fast and the speakers won’t shortchange you. Battery life and power management are first-rate. The only problem I had (and it was pretty insignificant) was that the screen would flicker occasionally. (Perhaps this was a flaw with this particular unit. I couldn’t find any other mentions of it in forums or with other reviewers).

Web surfing is done on Amazon’s proprietary Silk browser, which works satisfactorily but wouldn’t be my first choice.

The hitch with the Fire HDX 8.9 is that if you’re a Chrome user and want all the Google apps, you’re going to be disappointed. There’s no Gmail, no Google Maps, etc., and grabbing documents from any cloud other than Amazon’s is a hassle.

Essentially the device is proprietary and built specifically with the Amazon universe in mind. It’s a vehicle to help merchandise their products.  Fortunately it’s a nice vehicle. (Think Lexus or Infiniti). If you’re OK with all Amazon, all the time, and want a high-end reader and video player, you’ll be very happy with the Fire HDX 8.9.

If you need a device with more flexibility when it comes to leveraging the web, especially the myriad of Android apps, the Fire HDX 8.9 may not be your cup of tea.

The price starts at $379 for 16 GB storage.

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Nexus9

It’s time to confess. I started off with a bit of apprehension about reviewing the Nexus9. It’s manufactured by HTC, which made a phone for Sprint that gave me nothing but grief. Despite this less than stellar memory, I wanted to give Google’s newest tablet, the Nexus9, (which is also manufactured by HTC) the benefit of the doubt.

After all, the tablet is made specifically for Google, which is not to be confused with Sprint. Google did not become one of the most powerful entities in the world by lending its name to crummy products.

I’m really glad I kept an open mind. This tablet is a keeper. But don’t let me get too far ahead of myself…

The Nexus9 has the same general dimensions as the HDX 8.9 and also makes for a good e-reader/video player. The screen quality and display are excellent, but the color saturation isn’t quite as rich as the HDX 8.9. (Not a deal-breaker by any means.)

The tablet is fast and nimble, because it runs the latest Android OS, “Lollipop”.  On a practical level, I like this tablet because you can easily adjust brightness controls, which helps keep photos and illustrations readable when you’re in the sun. You can choose between an automatic mode that will adjust the screen brightness according to the ambient light or simply tweak the level to your own satisfaction.

The ergonomics of the tablet are a mixed bag. The placement of the on-off and volume buttons are sort of hidden on the upper right edge. They could be more accessible, but this is a personal preference. The surface, brushed plastic, has a pleasing tactile sense. It simply feels good in your hands.

The dual front-facing speakers generate lots of clean volume — better than you’d expect for a midrange tablet. You can play movies or music videos with plenty of audio gusto. Battery life is very respectable. The Amazon tablet may have a teensy weensy edge in the battery longevity department but in practical terms there’s not a lot of difference. Both tablets do a great job in conserving juice.

A huge plus with the Nexus9 is its integration of Google apps.

I admit in this case I’m positively biased. I own a Samsung phone so am quite used to the Android ‘culture’. Thus if you are already used to Android’s ways, this tablet will fit like an old shoe.

For users who want a tablet that is going to be used as a comprehensive web tool (rather than primarily a reader) the Android factor is a huge advantage over the Amazon product. For example, if you use Google drive or Microsoft’s One Drive, grabbing items out of the cloud is easy. (One of my colleagues, Cindy Ramirez, an avid e-reader and video watcher loved the Amazon product because web functionality was not her priority).

Yes, I like this tablet and recommend it. Price is $363 (with 16 GB).

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The Zagg Pocket Keyboard

I happen to be a writer, so any tablet I buy will have to double as a writing tool. At least that’s the theory. The upshot is that to write with any efficiency on a tablet you’re going to need a keyboard. The most popular varieties are clam-shell type arrangements that double as portfolio style cases. It’s good concept the portfolio set-up protects the tablet.

However, if you want a keyboard that will work on multiple devices there are other blue tooth products worthy of consideration.

Zagg’s new “Pocket Keyboard” ($69) breaks new ground by providing a super  lightweight platform that you can fold up and yes, carry in your pocket. It will accept just about any mobile device (Apple or Android) up to 9 inches. Unlike the typical carrying case models, it folds into a thin (9-by-2-1/2-by-1/2-inch) rectangle that you carry separately.

I tested it on both the Nexus and the Amazon tablets as well as a Samsung smartphone. The keyboard is small but has a nice “clickable” touch. It’s perfect for the occasional email or touching up a document, but you wouldn’t want to write a novel with it. It came it very handy on a recent airplane flight–I used it to write a eulogy. (Yes, I was probably breaking the rules by using bluetooth on an airplane but suffice it to say, we landed safely).

The main thing you have to get used to is the small footprint.

You’ll have to adjust your typing style because the keyboard is cramped but as they say, there’s no free lunch. It’s not after all, a full sized keyboard so adjustments must be made. That said, it worked really well and after a while I felt comfortable using it.

If you don’t need or want a case/cum keyboard and like the option of having one, very transportable item for all your mobile devices, this is a winner. It’s priced at $69.

Photos by Rob Kay

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