What It’s Like Taking a Trip with Camp Yoshi

Our group bonded quickly—as we mingled on a walk and a bike ride through town, we took note of the fact that everyone in Bend seemed to be looking at us. And why wouldn’t they be? Nearly 90% of the city’s population is white. When was the last time thirteen urbane, stylish people of color marched their way through the city center? At one point, we gathered at a coffee shop, unwittingly crowding around a table someone had left a bag beneath. When they returned from the bathroom, they were clearly a bit confused by our group. As they delicately reached for their bag, they said something like, “Sorry for interrupting the people of color convention!” They quickly walked it back—”More of this please, it’s so pale here”—but the clumsy initial comment echoed in my mind for the rest of the week. The damage was done.

I have experienced plenty of racist interactions on press trips. Memorably, while I was biking in Vermont, someone rolled down the windows of their van to whoop at me with their hand and mouth. Never mind I am South Asian and not Indigenous—or, as my high school U.S. history teacher so gracefully put it, “Dot, not feather Indian.” Accuracy is always lost on racists. In the moment, I flipped the driver off and went on with my ride (you can take the cyclist out of New York…). When I recounted the story to my compatriots on the trip, they were appropriately horrified and sympathetic. But at that moment I didn’t want prolonged sympathy, I wanted to briefly make fun of the fool and move on with the day.

This was much easier to do on a trip without white people. It was genuinely refreshing to be around our group when a local introduced the dog I was petting as Buddha. I immediately made eye contact with another camper—we didn’t need to go deep on the insanity of telling a South Asian person you had named your dog after a South Asian religious founder. We kept our cool until a safe distance, then just started laughing.

As we toured Bend on bikes, Jesse took a moment to quickly give us one of the Camp Yoshi mottos. “Morale is high!” he exclaimed. He didn’t dive too deep into what that meant, but I also never felt like it needed explaining. Throughout the entire trip, whether we were kayaking in Elk Lake, participating in a group yoga class, floating the Deschutes River, or just chilling at camp, I kept feeling myself smile with my entire face. I felt so at ease in our group from the get-go, never unhappy or unsettled. Morale was high indeed.