Discovery Channel - Last One Standing Diaries

Final Entry: The Magic of Smiling and Finding Paradise Within

Corey’s Lesson in Java:
The magic of smiling.

The six of us were getting pretty used to traveling in countries where the people we met spoke very little English. Early in the show we had gotten into the bad habit of having private conversations publicly because people did not understand us. After several days of foreign travel, we arrived in London, but since we were still not back in the U.S. Brad forgot that the English, well, speak English. Riding on the Underground, Brad yelled to me across the cab, "Man, these cats are unhappy!" Shocked and embarrassed I looked sheepishly around the train at the two dozen or so passengers. But not a single one had reacted. They all stared straight ahead. "Wow! You're right!" I called back.

When we were welcomed in West Java, the local elders attempted to respect us by offering the traditional Western greeting, a hand shake. It was one of the most awkward greetings I have ever experienced. Less because the Javans weren't used to shaking hands, and more because the meaning behind our cultural greetings are fundamentally different.

In Java, whenever we passed someone in the village, their face gleamed with the widest smile you've ever seen. As if seeing us made them feel the happiest they have ever been. But this was true for everyone, every time. While initially smiling back seemed forced and contrived, their glee was contagious. Soon everywhere we went, every person we saw, I couldn't help myself from smiling at him or her.

There is something about smiling with another person that transcends individuality. I could speak with very few of the villagers and knew hardly any of their names. But when we looked each other in the eyes and smiled, we were sharing with each other, in one simple smile, something so much deeper. It felt as though we were exchanging how magical and wonderful it is to be alive and to be able to experience life with each other. Smiling removed any barriers and it discarded any value judgment about that moment. I felt closer to that community than any I've ever been in even though I knew it hardly at all.

It was very uncomfortable for me to return to Western society after Java. Most everyone I passed never looked at me, and those that did seemed creeped out by how long I looked at them. This is so sad to me. Just think of all the amazing stories faces tell; how incredible it is that beneath our lifetimes of diverse experience we are all on the same life quest. We see ourselves as separate, but each of our lives are entirely composed of everyone else. If we love ourselves, then we must equally love everyone else for they are us.

In greeting others with a smile we recognize our place together. We have no fear of opening our hearts to others because we know that love is not something that can be taken from us. You give it to yourself by being happy that you are on this earth and smiling. It is wonderful when you get a smile back, but that is not the most important part. There is no need to believe that one person smiling can change the world — only to know that your smiling will change yours.

Mark’s Final Thoughts:
My year of tribal competing, living and traveling has now finally come to a very surreal end. Many times over the year I have sat in places, gathering my thoughts and asking questions, comparing my life to each individual tribe visited, but the truth is you can’t compare them at all. I have been comparing them because my preconception of tribal life was that it must be so hard: living off the land; not having much money; no electricity, modern-day health care, television, music or even a choice of foods to eat. But what the tribes lack materialistically they gain in richness of family, community spirit, belonging and freedom.

It’s true, we all have stresses and pressures in our lives even though they appear to be so different. I suppose that’s the only similarity between our Western developed society and every tribe I have visited.

Everybody in this world fights his or her own personal battles. It’s what is and should be important to us, but what we must realize is that they are only truly important to ourselves and ourselves alone. It is our personal journey through life. I am continuing mine every minute of every day -- maybe it’s nearly over or maybe it’s just the beginning.

One thing that does stick in my head is that I may now be 28 but, hey, look what I have to show for it. I mean it when I say this everyone, I have enjoyed the presence of these places so much, from secretive sunrises to the dramatic sunsets, the daytime tribal echoes to the haunting evening whispers of the dark.

I know what you’re all thinking! “I bet it was paradise.” Well, not always.

Paradise to me is not a place but a state of mind. It’s who you are with and how content you feel at that particular moment in time, and although the amazing surroundings can help that state of happiness and contentment, it doesn’t always mean you will be happy.

Yes, I am very fortunate to have had this amazing experience, but for those who never will, it’s not the be all and end all. If you can obtain that mind-set of contentment and happiness no matter what it is that you do or achieve in your life, and even where you do it, then you truly will be in paradise.

I guess I will have to close with a final bit of advice that can help everyone in our modern-day materialistic world -- advice from a summary of my experience. It might just help.

Live for today as you may never see tomorrow. Treat every day as it’s your last and never put off telling the people that are closest to you that you really do love them. You should then look back at your life and think, “Wow! What a ride! I have no regrets and really couldn’t have done it better.” That’s paradise, everyone! That really is paradise.

Entry 10: Baring It All to Become an Inca in Peru

Richard Writes:
The second day in the Andes began with a wholesome bowl of guinea pig soup. Basilio’s homestead was put together with warmth in mind: the stone walls are thick, woolly hides hang about the place, and a fire rages continuously in the corner. The only thing lacking is a chimney, so we spend our meals draped in a choking smog, my unaccustomed eyes watering in the smoke.

Wrapped in my host’s poncho, and with a few boiled potatoes safely stored in my pockets, I joined my comrades for the day’s climb. From everyone’s coughing, I sensed the chimney situation was shared among us all, but we were all in high spirits. We were surrounded by mountains, which glistened in the sunshine. The weather was glorious and we set off in the merriest of moods. Picture us then: rosy cheeked and optimistic, hearty, even jogging at one stage, as we took on the mountain for the first time.

Eight hours later much had changed. The sky, which earlier had shone a faultless blue, now hung heavy and black and rumbled ominously. Freezing rain lashed down. The rocky terrain, once so steady, now gave way treacherously, sending us stumbling onto our knees. And our faces, earlier so eager, were now weary and grey. Brad’s lungs were on the point of collapse; Mark was enduring a raging headache from the altitude, while Rajko was lamenting his decision to wear shorts. I myself was powerfully hungry (my potatoes were long gone). Shivering and fairly dispirited, we pressed onward and upward, numb hands tucked under armpits for warmth.

At last, we reached a plateau, and in its middle, a small lake. Our guide announced that we had reached our destination, and nodded to the water.

“El lago sagrado.”

It was perfectly still, and even in the darkening light it seemed to glow, an astonishing turquoise hue. Though deep, at its bottom you could see plants and pebbles quite clearly, and I knelt by the bank and dipped my hand. We were close to the snow line but my numb fingers couldn’t feel the water. It was an odd sensation, mercurial almost, like I was brushing air.

My moment’s contemplation was interrupted by the sound of my teeth chattering, and I felt it was time we headed home. Our guide felt otherwise. Taking an orator’s stance, he declared in simple terms that to become Incas we had to swim in the lake. I was about to remind him that we had no trunks, but it seems that had I done so I would have missed the point.

We undressed quickly and obediently. Corey was first to dive, a flash of white skin darting through the fumbling crowd and off the bank with aplomb. Such decisiveness galvanized us all, and without prolonging matters I yanked off my trousers with shivering fingers, turned, sprinted, and leapt.

Now I am no nudist, but I can’t deny that I felt rather exhilarated. Naked as the day I was born, buttocks pointed skyward, I flew like a cold bird over the water. It was a glorious, exciting, uplifting moment. An albatross must get that feeling every day, but for me, that one nude leap into the Andean air was about as close to nature as I’ve ever felt.

In the next instant, I was in the water, and all was pain. Icy, confusing, strangling cold – the sort that tightens your chest and stiffens your muscles. Thrashing like an imbecile, I swam back toward the bank, and slipped on the rocks on my way out. Shaking violently, I dragged my clothes back on and blew air into my hands to give them some life. My head ached mercilessly, I couldn’t feel a thing, and all the joy of the dive had disappeared. I like to keep an open mind about most things, but if I ever dabble with nudism again, it’s not going to involve a freezing lake. The one greatest consolation was this: the cold would fade as soon as I got home to Basilio’s, whereas being named an Inca – that lasts for life.

Corey’s Lesson:
The commitment to honor

Peru was my location. It's hard to imagine an event that could be more catered to a Spanish-speaking Alaskan mountaineer than a race on foot carrying ice in the Andes.  With few locations left, I was embarrassed to be the only athlete with no wins, and saw this as my best and potentially my last opportunity to prove I deserved my company. My performance in practice gave my hosts great hope that I would win the prize llama for their family. Hiking every day beneath beautiful 6,000-meter (19,685-foot) peaks and then watching them cast in moonlight from the thermal hot spring, I was falling in love with this location. All until the locals pulled out the whips.

It turns out the sport we were training for was a hybrid Incan-Catholic reenactment of the crucifixion of Jesus where we had to whip each other to repent for our sins. Initially the whipping seemed playful, and I pretended to whip my partner (by hitting the ground at his feet) to be respectful of their tradition and try to remain nonjudgmental. It had been clear from our travels that a huge problem among developing countries was foreigners coming in and telling the people how they should live their lives, and I did not want to contribute to that imperious trend.

My simulated whipping fit appropriately until we made our pilgrimage to the sacred glacier. On the morning of the race, having tested the course and feeling very confident, I was suddenly asked to be publicly whipped.  We'd been through plenty of excruciating pain on this adventure and it should be clear that was not the issue. But by laying down on the snow and accepting ceremonial whipping, I would be choosing to participate in violence. The overarching teaching from every tribe that we visited was an ethic of compassion where they taught us to strive in every action to limit our harm on everything around us.  I desperately wanted to compete, but all I could think about was watching the look in my mother's eyes when she would watch me sacrifice my values for pride and personal gain.

I finished with the fastest time. But I did not race with the others. I was disqualified from the competition for my unwillingness to participate in the whipping ceremony. I sunk into wrenching regret as my host family and many of my travel companions expressed their disappointment for my decision. But while the zero on the scoreboard shamed me, hindsight soon proved that I had scored a huge victory for myself.  Despite hallowed tradition, the potential for personal gain, and the pressure of most around me, I had managed to listen to my heart and stand strong for what I believed. In the words of my late Boy Scout role model, "Without honor, a man is nothing."

Entry 5: Dodge Ball, Yurts, Goats and a Broken Rib

Rajko Writes and Sketches:
One-Man Dodge Ball
We actually stayed the night in a tiny town halfway to our location (Mongolia) in a funny little hotel. It was a great evening! It started with the funniest little scene involving Jason, Corey, Richard and me playing a game of one-man dodge ball. Basically, I said to Jason that he could have three free shots at me with the volleyball as long as I could cover my balls and my face with my hands — and as long as I could have three shots at him. So he stood 10 meters (10 yards) away and launched one of them right in my face! It was only luck that my hand was there, so all that happened was that my hand slapped me in the forehead. Then I pounded him in the stomach and the arm. But it was just a funny game to play and typical of Jason and me. But it got really funny when Corey thought he’d get some close-camera footage by positioning himself right behind Richard, who himself was about to get pummeled. So there was Corey, peeking out behind Richard’s shoulder and Jason was preparing to launch one at Richard. As destiny would have it, the ball spun through the air and picked out Corey’s head with absolute precision! And before he could duck out of the way, he had an eyeful of video camera and the fastest black eye I’ve ever seen.

Mongolia
My sketches get better and better. I know why I didn’t take art too seriously in school. Anyway, this sketch shows pretty much everything there is in Mongolia: mountains, goats, yurts (i.e., tents) and nothing else. But literally, to get from the yurt that I share with Jason over to Brad and Rich’s where we train each day is a good 30-minute walk … and that’s our closest neighbor after Mark and Corey. They understand the idea of space here.

Mongolski Nadam
What an interesting day, but what a painful one! In fact, as I write this diary, my injured rib is horribly painful — in almost all positions. I guess that is the consequence of ignoring pain and wanting to prove something and being a “tough guy.” Frustration, I think, was the main feeling — frustration at being injured, frustrated at not being able to prove myself at wrestling, and frustration at not being able to do anything against the lard-a** in the ring with me. And now the frustration of having to begin recovery again — but enough moaning! I made the decision, so I’ll deal with the consequences. I’ll train, eat, sleep, ice, train, eat, sleep, ice … and somehow get ready for the next phase. But I’ve definitely disappointed myself and it's going to take a grand miracle to be 100 percent fit in 10 days — but I’ll do my utmost. What choice do I have?

Memories of Trip
Wrestling in pants
Fresh goat's milk and cream
Going to the toilet (rock wipes)
Open-door policy in yurt (friends and neighbors always welcome)
Children, capable/hardworking, still kids!
Relaxed/peaceful people
Rosy cheeks
Fresh mountain stream
Fresh air

Brad’s Take:
All of our hosts definitely had us kind of like trophy stepchildren, especially in Mongolia. I mean, me and Rich were living together and we went back home and there were 20 cats chillin' in our little hut. I didn't even think the hut could hold 20 people, so me and Rich go in and make 22.

So they're taking shots of vodka and they just wanted me to come in and take my shirt off. They're feeling on me. And I've never had so many men touch me in my life. It felt really uncomfortable but then I'm like, you know, they're not doing it in a weird way, just relax, man. And then the chicks got up and started feeling my hair and telling me my hair is beautiful and I'm just thinking, “This is twisted. But, you know, go with the flow.” And me and Rich had a couple shots of vodka and we're feeling good. Everybody's chatting it up. I don't speak Mongolian. Rich doesn't speak Mongolian. Honestly, we don't know what the hell is going on the whole time but we're just going with the flow.

Then I get a cat that calls me outside and this champion comes from three villages over just to see me and challenge me to lifting a stone. You can't challenge me at my own sport, man. And he got the stone six times. I mean, he picked it up, pressed it overhead six times. I got it 18. Now what? Now he wants to wrestle me. I didn't know he was a champion but I went at it anyway and tore his pants. And he ended up beating me three times. But I beat him in the stones and I tore his pants.

But through the whole thing, it's kind of like, not only within our village, not only within my hut and within my village, word spread through other villages and they actually traveled to come see me and the others before we even competed.

Corey’s Lesson:
Patience
Mark and I were so grateful for the hospitality of our hosts. But six people living in one tiny yurt was just too much. Even finding a little space to breathe was a task -- not to mention trying to sleep, eat, train and maintain hygiene.  As the days passed we became more and more annoyed with each other and our surroundings until we snapped and winged at every inconvenient detail. The funny thing was Mark and I were only visiting a cramped yurt for a couple days, while our host Strong, his wife and their two kids LIVED there. During our entire visit they never shared a cross word, not even once. 

Our patience is tried the most with those closest to us, but it is these relationships that are the most important. Strong shared with me that the small things don't matter and everything is a small thing in the long run. He taught me to always have patience with my loved ones unconditionally, all the time, no matter the circumstance:
It’s easy enough to be pleasant
when life flows by like a song
but the one for me is the one who'll smile
when everything goes dead wrong.
For the test of the heart is trouble
and that always comes with the years, but
the smile that is worth all the praises of the
earth is the smile that shines through tears.