Around the town | Quizalize

Tempat-tempat di sekeliling bandar ( Places around the town ) 2

Tempat-tempat di bandar ( Places around the town)

Translator: Joseph Geni Reviewer: Morton Bast Before March, 2011, I was a photographic retoucher based in New York City. We're pale, gray creatures. We hide in dark, windowless rooms, and generally avoid sunlight. We make skinny models skinnier, perfect skin more perfect, and the impossible possible, and we get criticized in the press all the time, but some of us are actually talented artists with years of experience and a real appreciation for images and photography. On March 11, 2011, I watched from home, as the rest of the world did, as the tragic events unfolded in Japan. Soon after, an organization I volunteer with, All Hands Volunteers, were on the ground, within days, working as part of the response efforts. I, along with hundreds of other volunteers, knew we couldn't just sit at home, so I decided to join them for three weeks. On May the 13th, I made my way to the town of Ōfunato. It's a small fishing town in Iwate Prefecture, about 50,000 people, one of the first that was hit by the wave. The waters here have been recorded at reaching over 24 meters in height, and traveled over two miles inland. As you can imagine, the town had been devastated. We pulled debris from canals and ditches. We cleaned schools. We de-mudded and gutted homes ready for renovation and rehabilitation. We cleared tons and tons of stinking, rotting fish carcasses from the local fish processing plant. We got dirty, and we loved it. For weeks, all the volunteers and locals alike had been finding similar things. They'd been finding photos and photo albums and cameras and SD cards. And everyone was doing the same. They were collecting them up, and handing them in to various places around the different towns for safekeeping. Now, it wasn't until this point that I realized that these photos were such a huge part of the personal loss these people had felt. As they had run from the wave, and for their lives, absolutely everything they had, everything had to be left behind. At the end of my first week there, I found myself helping out in an evacuation center in the town. I was helping clean the onsen, the communal onsen, the huge giant bathtubs. This happened to also be a place in the town where the evacuation center was collecting the photos. This is where people were handing them in, and I was honored that day that they actually trusted me to help them start hand-cleaning them. Now, it was emotional and it was inspiring, and I've always heard about thinking outside the box, but it wasn't until I had actually gotten outside of my box that something happened. As I looked through the photos, there were some were over a hundred years old, some still in the envelope from the processing lab, I couldn't help but think as a retoucher that I could fix that tear and mend that scratch, and I knew hundreds of people who could do the same. So that evening, I just reached out on Facebook and asked a few of them, and by morning the response had been so overwhelming and so positive, I knew we had to give it a go. So we started retouching photos. This was the very first. Not terribly damaged, but where the water had caused that discoloration on the girl's face had to be repaired with such accuracy and delicacy. Otherwise, that little girl isn't going to look like that little girl anymore, and surely that's as tragic as having the photo damaged. (Applause) Over time, more photos came in, thankfully, and more retouchers were needed, and so I reached out again on Facebook and LinkedIn, and within five days, 80 people wanted to help from 12 different countries. Within two weeks, I had 150 people wanting to join in. Within Japan, by July, we'd branched out to the neighboring town of Rikuzentakata, further north to a town called Yamada. Once a week, we would set up our scanning equipment in the temporary photo libraries that had been set up, where people were reclaiming their photos. The older ladies sometimes hadn't seen a scanner before, but within 10 minutes of them finding their lost photo, they could give it to us, have it scanned, uploaded to a cloud server, it would be downloaded by a gaijin, a stranger, somewhere on the other side of the globe, and it'd start being fixed. The time it took, however, to get it back is a completely different story, and it depended obviously on the damage involved. It could take an hour. It could take weeks. It could take months. The kimono in this shot pretty much had to be hand-drawn, or pieced together, picking out the remaining parts of color and detail that the water hadn't damaged. It was very time-consuming. Now, all these photos had been damaged by water, submerged in salt water, covered in bacteria, in sewage, sometimes even in oil, all of which over time is going to continue to damage them, so hand-cleaning them was a huge part of the project. We couldn't retouch the photo unless it was cleaned, dry and reclaimed. Now, we were lucky with our hand-cleaning. We had an amazing local woman who guided us. It's very easy to do more damage to those damaged photos. As my team leader Wynne once said, it's like doing a tattoo on someone. You don't get a chance to mess it up. The lady who brought us these photos was lucky, as far as the photos go. She had started hand-cleaning them herself and stopped when she realized she was doing more damage. She also had duplicates. Areas like her husband and her face, which otherwise would have been completely impossible to fix, we could just put them together in one good photo, and remake the whole photo. When she collected the photos from us, she shared a bit of her story with us. Her photos were found by her husband's colleagues at a local fire department in the debris a long way from where the home had once stood, and they'd recognized him. The day of the tsunami, he'd actually been in charge of making sure the tsunami gates were closed. He had to go towards the water as the sirens sounded. Her two little boys, not so little anymore, but her two boys were both at school, separate schools. One of them got caught up in the water. It took her a week to find them all again and find out that they had all survived. The day I gave her the photos also happened to be her youngest son's 14th birthday. For her, despite all of this, those photos were the perfect gift back to him, something he could look at again, something he remembered from before that wasn't still scarred from that day in March when absolutely everything else in his life had changed or been destroyed. After six months in Japan, 1,100 volunteers had passed through All Hands, hundreds of whom had helped us hand-clean over 135,000 photographs, the large majority — (Applause) — a large majority of which did actually find their home again, importantly. Over five hundred volunteers around the globe helped us get 90 families hundreds of photographs back, fully restored and retouched. During this time, we hadn't really spent more than about a thousand dollars in equipment and materials, most of which was printer inks. We take photos constantly. A photo is a reminder of someone or something, a place, a relationship, a loved one. They're our memory-keepers and our histories, the last thing we would grab and the first thing you'd go back to look for. That's all this project was about, about restoring those little bits of humanity, giving someone that connection back. When a photo like this can be returned to someone like this, it makes a huge difference in the lives of the person receiving it. The project's also made a big difference in the lives of the retouchers. For some of them, it's given them a connection to something bigger, giving something back, using their talents on something other than skinny models and perfect skin. I would like to conclude by reading an email I got from one of them, Cindy, the day I finally got back from Japan after six months. "As I worked, I couldn't help but think about the individuals and the stories represented in the images. One in particular, a photo of women of all ages, from grandmother to little girl, gathered around a baby, struck a chord, because a similar photo from my family, my grandmother and mother, myself, and newborn daughter, hangs on our wall. Across the globe, throughout the ages, our basic needs are just the same, aren't they?" Thank you. (Applause) (Applause)

Jack-o-Lanterns What Is a Jack-o'-Lantern? Carved pumpkins are called jack-o'- lanterns. Jack-o'-lanterns are used to decorate for Halloween. People started carving jack-o'-lanterns more than a hundred years ago. At first, people didn't carve pumpkins. They used other vegetables instead. An old fable from Ireland may tell how people began carving jack-o'-lanterns. The fable is about a man named Stingy Jack, who liked to play tricks on everyone. When he died, he was cursed to walk in darkness forever. He carved a turnip and put a light inside. His ghost was known as "Jack of the Lantern," and then "Jack-o'-lantern." Modern Jack-o'-Lanterns The Stingy Jack fable later became part of a night called All Hallows' Eve. In Europe, people lit fires and dressed up to keep away ghosts. In Ireland and England, people carved scary faces on vegetables and placed a light inside. All Hallows' Eve later became known as Halloween. When jack-o'-lantern carving was brought to the United States, people started using pumpkins. About 1.5 billion pounds (more than 680 million kg) of pumpkins are grown in the United States each year. Carving Jack-o'-Lanterns Carving pumpkins is fun for people of all ages. Smooth pumpkins work well for jack-o'-lanterns. Some people buy carving kits, while others carve without any help. First, with help from a parent, cut a hole in the top of the pumpkin to make a lid. Next, scoop out the inside flesh and seeds. Draw a design on the pumpkin, and then carve it carefully. After the pumpkin is carved, place a candle or other light inside. Finally, put the pumpkin lid back on toр. Jack-o'-Lantern Events Many cities have events to show off their carved pumpkins. In Hudson Valley, New York, jack-o'-lanterns make up a big display with spooky sounds and music. Pumpkins are used to make snakes, dinosaurs, and a dome carved with twinkling stars. A huge display in Los Angeles, California, has pumpkin cars and dinosaurs, and pumpkin carvings of famous people. The artists carve their pumpkins at the event while people watch. A town in New Hampshire broke a world record for the most lit jacko'-lanterns. The town had thirty thousand jack-o'-lanterns lit at once! The Tradition Continues. Carving pumpkins into jack-o'- lanterns is a fun holiday activity. However they are carved, jack-о'- lanterns are a sure sign that Halloween is around the corner.

Growing up in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, a small city surrounded by endless plains, I've found unexpected echoes of home in China's smaller towns — from the warmth of locals in Huaihua, Central China's Hunan province, to the quiet charm of Yangshuo, South China's Guangxi Zhuang autonomous region. With an itch to see more of China's lesser-visited regions, I began planning a trip to the northwest with seven friends — five Americans, one Pakistani, one Zimbabwean, and one Colombian. We bought round-trip tickets from Shanghai to Yinchuan, Ningxia Hui autonomous region, for less than $120 each. From there, we planned to rent a car and drive to Xining in Qinghai, then on to Qinghai Lake, and finally to Lanzhou, Gansu. To make that possible, several of us applied for Chinese driver's licenses, a process that involved translating our US licenses into Mandarin and passing a short test on traffic laws. Within a day, we were licensed. As we piled into two rental cars in late March to begin our eight-day journey, it became clear that this wasn't just a road trip — it was the culmination of our four years in China, the Mandarin we had so diligently studied, and our ongoing effort to contribute to US-China people-to-people relations. Right away, we drew curious reactions. At the Yinchuan airport, taxi drivers offered us rides into the city, only to stare in astonishment when we told them we had rented cars. "You're driving? In China?" one driver asked, visibly surprised. It was a reaction we'd encountered multiple times during our trip, as foreign drivers are rare in China, especially in remote regions. In Yinchuan, we stocked up on snacks and adjusted to the chilly desert air. From there, we headed west, navigating wide highways framed by dramatic landscapes: arid plains, jagged mountains, and occasionally, a herd of sheep crossing the road. The vastness of the Northwest was humbling — and as someone who grew up on the wide-open prairies of South Dakota, it felt oddly familiar. One of the highlights of our trip was camping by Qinghai Lake, the largest saltwater lake in China. A few summers ago, Santiago Solano, one of my classmates from the US, cycled from Xi'an in Shaanxi to Urumqi in the Xinjiang Uygur autonomous region over the course of a month and met many kind strangers along the way. One of them was Geng San, a Tibetan lamb herder who managed a piece of land right next to Qinghai Lake and graciously invited us to camp there. "That's what China is — it's the people. The quiet generosity of an old Tibetan nomad who, years after we first met, still offered us a place to rest on his land," said Solano, who is also part of the group on this trip. But apparently, we underestimated just how cold it would be to camp next to Qinghai Lake in late March. It was deathly freezing. In preparation for the trip, we had ordered two tent kits and eight sleeping bags. However, when the temperature eventually dropped to — 10 C, all of us piled into the cars and turned the heaters on. So much for camping. From Qinghai Lake, we drove to Lanzhou, where we visited many food markets and tried every type of noodle on offer. Since we are college students, we rented a gaming hotel room — something I've only ever seen in China. At night, instead of attending local parties as we had before, we stayed in the hotel and gamed late into the morning. For me, the trip was as much about the journey as it was about the destinations. Driving through Northwest China gave us a unique perspective on the region's natural beauty and its people. At gas stations, shopkeepers greeted us with curiosity and kindness, often offering recommendations for nearby attractions. At roadside carts, we sampled local specialties, grabbing a quick skewer and a mango for the road. And at every stop, we were touched by the warmth and hospitality that make traveling in China so rewarding. As an American who has lived in China for several years, I'm often asked about my experiences here. Trips like this one remind me of the similarities between the two countries, despite their differences. Just as road trips are a quintessential part of American culture, they've become my favorite way to explore China. Whether it's driving through the rolling hills of South Dakota or the deserts of Ningxia, there's something universal about the freedom and camaraderie that come with having complete control over where you end up. Written by Charlie Howes, a 22-year-old American who has lived in China since 2019. He completed his final year of high school at Beijing No 80 High School and is currently studying at New York University Shanghai. He has founded a company in China focused on facilitating US-China trade and plans to continue living in Shanghai long term. He enjoys road trips, cycling around the world, learning languages, and meeting new people.

Flying Kites The Hoppers pressed their noses against the window. They watched the March wind blow outside. "Remember, do not leave the house while we are gone," said Mother Hopper. She and Papa Hopper were going shopping. Snubby Nose cried, "Can we sit on the doorstep?" "Do not set one paw outside," Mother Hopper said. She and Papa Hopper left for town. The Hoppers swept the floor, made their beds, and made lunch. All the while, Snubby Nose said, "I want to fly my kite. Let's fly our kites!" After lunch, the Hoppers took out their kites, just to look at them. They sat by the window. The March wind blew around the house. "Let's just fly our kites in the yard," said Snubby Nose. "Mother said we must not leave the house," said Fluffy Tail. The March wind blew some leaves against the window. Snubby Nose couldn't stand it anymore. Hе stepped outside with his kite, and the other Hoppers followed. Fluffy Tail was the last one out. They ran around the house with their kites. But soon they got tired of their yard. "We can go down the path," said Snubby Nose. The Hoppers flew their kites down the path into the woods. Floppy Ears cried, “Oh, no! I let go of my string!" Her kite sailed away. Then Speedy Legs cried, "A branch tore my kite!" "We should have listened to Mother," said Fluffy Tail. Just then, Snubby Nose howled, "My kite is caught in a tree!" Just then, Grandpa Grizzly walked by. "What's all this crying?" he asked. "We are in trouble," said Snubby Nose. "My kite is caught in a tree!" Grandpa Grizzly winked. He climbed the tall tree and pulled the string from the branches. He brought it down and gave it to Snubby Nose. "Be careful, now," he said. "That kite might do strange things. You should always be good when you play by yourselves." Snubby Nose took hold of his kite string, and the kite sailed up and up. Then Snubby Nose went up and up with it. Soon he flew out of sight. Speedy Legs, Fluffy Tail, and Floppy Ears nearly burst into tears. But Grandpa Grizzly led them home. "I have a feeling you'll see Snubby Nose soon," he said. When they got home, Floppy Ears looked into the sky. "I see a speck!" she cried. "Is it Snubby Nose?" cried Speedy Legs. It was Snubby Nose, still holding the kite string. He came down and landed right on the doorstep. "Have you learned to listen to your mother?" Grandpa Grizzly asked. "Yes, we have," said the Hoppers. Just then, Mother and Papa Hopper came around the corner. Before Grandpa Grizzly went home, he gave each little Hopper a brand new kite!

The lucky accident Probably every Zumba fan knows this story: Alberto ‘Beto’ Pérez invented Zumba by accident. He was an aerobics instructor in his home town of Cali, Colombia. One day he forgot the music for his class. He had some cassettes of Latin dance music in his bag. He played them and improvised the exercises: a mix of dance steps and aerobic movements. His class loved it. The music was different, the moves looked attractive and the workout was fun. That’s how this ultra-energetic new fitness programme was born. Before, things were not easy for Beto. As a child, he loved dancing: he watched and imitated John Travolta, but his mother had no money for dance lessons. At the age of fourteen Beto already worked to help support his family. Still, he danced when he could. In the late 1980s, a dance called the lambada became very popular. Beto won a national lambada competition when he was nineteen. After that, a dance academy in Cali contacted him with an offer: he could study dance and teach aerobics. It was then, as an aerobics instructor, that he created Zumba. He decided to take his idea to the USA. He went to Miami, Florida with little money and almost no English. Fitness centre managers were not interested in his videos at first. Then one day a gym owner said, ‘OK, teach me.’ It was early afternoon, the gym was empty. But soon people started coming in. When they saw Beto dancing, they immediately wanted to join this new class. And so he got his first job in America. Breaking the world record for the largest Zumba class (Mandaluyong City, The Philippines). In Miami, he met Alberto Perlman and Alberto Aghion, who became his business partners. Together, the ‘three Albertos’ built up Zumba to the global business it is today. The company trains thousands of certified instructors, runs classes for all age groups, sells music, training videos and clothes. According to the official website, fifteen million people around the world take part in Zumba classes to keep fit and have fun. And it all started by accident!

Write questions about the following story:Into the Woods Henry David Thoreau raised his pen to write, but the chatter of guests in the next room filled his ears. He stared at the page. “Concord, 1841” was all that he had written. How would he write a book with such noise in his family’s house? Thoreau headed outside, shutting the door with emphasis. He would have to find a place of his own. Thoreau walked out of town. Tall white pines soon replaced the painted houses. He listened to the rustling of the leaves. What if I could stay here, he thought. He could live off the land, close to nature, and begin his book. It would take work, but he could do it. FPG /The Image Bank/Getty Images Years passed, but Thoreau still did not have a place in the woods. One day, his friend Ralph Waldo Emerson had an idea. Emerson was a well-known writer who had bought some land near Walden Pond. Because he and Thoreau shared the same interest in nature, Emerson decided to let Thoreau use part of this land. In March of 1845, Thoreau began to build a cabin. By July, it was ready. He could live and write in the woods.Cabin Life Thoreau’s move to the woods indicated that he liked to be alone. But Thoreau did not feel that way. “I have a great deal of company in my house,” he wrote. Red squirrels woke him by running up and down the sheer sides of his cabin. A snowshoe hare lived in the debris under his cabin, thumping against the floorboards. A sparrow once perched on his shoulder. Thoreau recorded these experiences in his journal. How easily writing came to him with the beauty of nature around him! On Walden Pond Thoreau was a naturalist. He noticed the habits of animals. Each encounter showed him something new. One afternoon, Thoreau tried to get a close look at a loon, but the bird quickly dove into the pond. He knew loons could travel long distances under water, so he guessed where it would come up. But every time Thoreau paddled to one spot, the loon came up somewhere else and let out a call—a howling laugh. What a silly loon, Thoreau thought. But after a while, Thoreau felt as though the bird was laughing at him because he still could not catch up to it. Thoreau wrote in his journal: His white breast, the stillness of the air, and the smoothness of the water were all against him. At length he uttered one of those prolonged howls, as if calling on the god of the loons to aid him, and immediately there came a wind from the east and rippled the surface, and filled the whole air with misty rain, and I was impressed.The spectacular scene made Thoreau wonder at the loon. It no longer seemed a silly animal, but one with some mysterious power. As months went by, Thoreau also became aware of each animal’s ability to stay alive. “His power of observation seemed to indicate additional senses,” Emerson once remarked. In winter, as he warmed his cabin by fire, he watched in awe as the moles warmed their nest by their own body heat. He understood forest life as never before. Back to Concord Like the geese that move to new ponds at the season’s end, so too did Thoreau leave Walden. He had done what he had set out to do, and had learned much from the woods around him. He packed his few belongings and his stack of journals and returned to Concord. Now, he would turn his journal entries into a book. Generations to come would know life on Walden Pond!

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