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“[An] affectionate portrait of life in a slower-paced, high altitude society…[an] absorbing, often touching memoir.” --The New York Times
"From the moment she walks off the plane, Ms. Napoli knows she's a universe away... [She] is infatuated with Bhutan, and...has an eye for a good story."--Wall Street Journal
“Joyful….You’ll close the book wishing you could head to Bhutan on the next plane.”--Toronto Star
"A rare gift....Radio Shangri-La is much more than just a story of a midlife crisis. It’s the chronicle of a country barreling toward change, and a woman’s search for what happiness really means at any age."--Christian Science Monitor
"Napoli's wry voice and honest insights create a thoughtful, engaging narrative...[she] avoids romanticizing Bhutan while capturing the country's unique charm."--The Globe and Mail
"Comparisons to the wildly popular Eat Pray Love,’ Elizabeth Gilbert’s international travel romp through meals, meditation, and men, are easy to see...In a refreshing twist on the female travel memoir, Napoli stands brilliantly apart from [Elizabeth] Gilbert in that, in the end, she chooses herself and not another man."--Boston.com
"Lovely and fascinating."--Minneapolis Star-Tribune
"Radio Shangri-La reminded me of Deborah Rodriguez’s 2007 bestselling Kabul Beauty School. Only better, if for no other reason than the writing here is just so sharp and terrific…Journalist Napoli writes stylishly about physical and spiritual renewal. Part travel memoir, part crossroads handbook, Radio Shangri-La is unforgettable.—JanuaryMagazine.com
"Fascinating."--Spirituality & Practice
“Radio Shangri-La has shades of Pico Iyer and Bruce Chatwin and a similar genius for parachuting the reader into a strange land and culture. Bhutan has long fascinated me and Radio Shangri-La is the perfect vehicle to get there."– Abraham Verghese, author of Cutting for Stone
"Radio Shangri-La is a beautiful, touching and deeply compelling memoir by a well-known public radio reporter who arrived in the tranquil kingdom of Bhutan to help establish the nation's first radio station and, as important, to further her own mid-life assessment of a life that felt full of missteps. The book is delightful reading--honest, moving and quietly spiritual as it offers both an intimate portrait of a country only halfway to modernity and a soul in quest of meaning."--Scott Turow, author of Innocent
"Radio Shangri-La grabs you by the heart and takes you on a winding dual journey -- into the self and into a fairy tale kingdom known for measuring happiness as its gross national product. Charming, illuminating, and often ironic, this memoir is a continuous discovery of myths and realities in finding deeper personal meaning."--Amy Tan, author of The Joy Luck Club and Saving Fish from Drowning
"Bummed out in midlife, [Lisa] Napoli went to Bhutan to volunteer at the country's first youth-oriented radio station...She reveals the truths--and, yes, happiness--she found there. Perfect for everyone who loves finding-yourself-through-travel memoirs."-- Library Journal
"Enjoyable memoir about ex-journalist Napoli’s search for wholeness and spiritual renewal. A refreshingly uplifting book."--Kirkus Reviews
Enjoyable memoir about ex-journalist Napoli's search for wholeness and spiritual renewal.
The author provides a readable account of her life-changing decision to leave the comforts of her cosmopolitan Los Angeles life and serve as a volunteer at Kuzoo FM 90, a radio station for young people in the remote Himalayan kingdom of Bhutan. Disillusioned with her love life and fed up with her job as a public-radio commentator, Napoli took a chance on a mysterious stranger's offer of unpaid work in a country where "[b]eing, not having" and "[h]appiness above wealth" were the prevailing national philosophies. For six weeks, the author immersed herself in an ancient but vibrant culture just emerging from centuries of self-imposed isolation. During her time there, she experienced endless fascination, but also sadness, caused by the Bhutanese obsession with television and all things Western. At the same time, Napoli discovered the beginnings of a joy and personal healing that had eluded her at home. After her first visit, she returned to Bhutan two more times. Knowing she couldn't stay for long, she decided to "bring a bit of Bhutan to me" and sponsored a young female radio jockey, Ngawang Pem, to come to Los Angeles. In search of a way to stay in the United States and explore her version of the American dream, Ngawang eventually disappeared to New York before going back to Bhutan, marrying and inviting the author to become godmother to her unborn son. Napoli ably avoids the first-person trap of self-absorption through memorable depictions of the people and places in her narrative. She also skirts clichés about the world-weary Westerner who finds renewal in a short-term encounter with the exotic through the open-ended story of intercultural exchange. Although she ended the journey unmarried, childless and uncertain of her future, the author gained the hard-won conviction "that what I gave was more important than what I got."
The author's authentic voice and light, pleasant cultural insights make for a refreshingly uplifting book.
The Thunderbolt, Part One
Harris said he’d be at the cookbook party by 7:00 p.m., which gave me an hour to hang out with him there before I headed uptown to have dinner with another old friend and his family. The party was a bit out of the way, and I almost skipped it, but since I was only in my hometown, New York City, on rare occasions, I figured I might as well get out and see as many of the people I loved as I could. What had brought me here from Los Angeles was the chance to fill in for a month at the New York bureau of the radio show where I was on staff as a reporter. I bolstered my energy for a busy evening of flitting around the city in hyper–social butterfly mode—a way of life I rarely indulged in anymore.
The walk from the office on East 47th Street to the party on 66th Street filled me with wonder and made me wistful for this place I loved so dearly. In early autumn, twilight in New York is magical; the sky glimmers and there’s energy in the streets. You feel powerful, invincible, as if every gritty bit of the city is yours. I found myself doing a mental trick I hadn’t done since I’d moved away: reciting the address of my destination while I walked as if it were the lyrics to a song. Two-three-four / East Sixty-sixth Street, I sang to myself over and over again this September evening, the clunky tune mingling with the click-clack of my bright pink “comfort” high heels. Inevitably, after all that repetition, I would muck up the street number, and I did this time, too. But there was such a crowd in front of one particularly gorgeous old brownstone, I didn’t need to check the little slip of paper in my purse to know I’d arrived.
Crazy busy. Some swanky food magazine editor was debuting a new cookbook. Harris had long been a foodie, and in the last few years had broken into writing about all things gourmet. Good for him to be mingling in such well-fed company. Now it seemed I’d have to fight a dreaded crowd to find him. How could I be a city person and hate mob scenes?
As I made my way to the front door, I took a look up the staircase. It was packed with a crush of people. In the thick of it, facing in my direction, was the most handsome man. He had a shock of brown hair and big brown eyes to match. I know it sounds ridiculous, but in that instant, the mob seemed to disappear. Much to my surprise and delight, I saw him looking right back. Not just in my direction, but at me. Our eyes locked, and, even from a distance, I could swear a sort of chemical reaction erupted between us.
I’d read about these celebrated coup de foudres, thunderbolts, where people met and fell in love at first sight. I knew from experience that an instant attraction could be intoxicating—and dangerous. As was the impulse to imagine that a momentary connection was something larger. But this thunderbolt felt different. This was a beautiful, instant intensity I’d never, ever experienced.
Practical me prevailed: I had to find Harris. Time was tight. I peeled my eyes away from the handsome stranger and pushed through the thicket of people. After a series of wrong turns, I spotted him holding court in a corner of the room, smiling and gesturing as if he owned the place. Harris was so good at making people feel welcome, connected. Everyone clutched goblets of wine—no disposable plastic cups for this crowd. My friend did a round of introductions, and as he got to the end of the group, I was happily surprised to see the man from the staircase.
“Lisa, this is my friend Sebastian I’ve been telling you about, who I’m going to Asia with next week. You know, for that story I’m writing for Gourmet magazine. And Benjamin, this is Lisa, my friend who works in public radio out in L.A.”
He was better looking now that I could see him up close, and there was a warmth about him, an easy friendliness. I felt a bit self-conscious and suddenly a little off-kilter in my pink shoes.
Long ago, I’d been one of those kids who hid under her mother’s armpit to avoid looking at strangers. Then I went into the news business. Earning my living posing questions to people I didn’t know had cured me of my innate shyness. Confidence was a good quality, one I was happy to have cultivated—especially now faced with this handsome man. Right at this instant, though, I found myself feeling unsure about how to proceed. I wanted to say something clever and prophetic, but I couldn’t find the words. So I stuck out my hand, and he stuck out his, and we shook. Sebastian asked if I wanted a drink, and I said yes, and he said he’d get me one from upstairs, and I said I’d go with him, and there we were, presto, in our own conversational bubble. We talked a bit about public radio—always reliable upscale cocktail-party chitchat. With everyone captive in their cars, and smart programming in short supply thanks to budget cutbacks and media consolidation, the public-radio audience tuned in with almost cultlike devotion. Personally, I was sick of the news, and tried to avoid it as much as possible. At the same time, I appreciated the attention those commuters paid our show, and was grateful to have a job at a news outlet that had such an enormous, attentive audience. Better than having no audience at all. I’d been out of work a number of times, and underemployed, so I knew well what that was like. I also was very aware that in situations like this one, my profession converted into useful social currency.
Once we had my wine and a refill for him, I started plying Benjamin with questions about his upcoming trip to Asia. He ticked off the itinerary: a swing through Hong Kong, a few provinces in China I had never heard of, two places in India whose names I knew simply because of their tea—Assam and Darjeeling—and, for a few days, the tiny neighboring Kingdom of Bhutan.
“Ahh. The happiest place on earth,” I said. I hoped my being dimly familiar with one relatively unknown country in all of Asia—and knowing the factoid that it was purportedly filled with blissfully happy people—might impress him. Although I’d never come anywhere close to the continent. I wasn’t even certain just where on the continent Bhutan was.
“Yes,” he said smiling. “Exactly.”
“I’ve always been curious about this happiness thing and Bhutan. It has to have something to do with the fact that television is banned there, right?” I’d now exhausted the extent of my knowledge about the obscure little nation.
“Right, although His Majesty did let TV in a few years back,” Sebastian said, his smile broadening and his eyes intense. “But it’s still a very happy place. Hey, get a visa and come with us. Harris and I will be your guides.”
What I wanted to say was that I would have driven to the airport and boarded a rocket to another galaxy with this man, whether or not my dear old friend Harris came along as chaperone. We kept talking, but I really don’t remember what we said. I was lost in Sebastian.
Then, a sort of internal alarm rang and jolted him into remembering he was looking for quarters for the parking meter. After I dug a bunch out of my purse and handed them over, I asked the time and discovered that the clock was ticking for me, too. I needed to head to the other side of town for dinner.
A quick good-bye, and off I ran. The friend I was meeting turned out to be running very late; I sat at the restaurant with his family as he called every five minutes with updates from the traffic jam. Ordinarily this would have annoyed me, but not tonight. Just knowing Sebastian was out there in the world improved my disposition immeasurably.
The next day, I sat in our midtown offices trying to motivate myself to research a story about rich young couples who were trading the plush suburbs surrounding New York City for a new crop of multimillion-dollar kid-friendly condo complexes being built right in the heart of Manhattan. With enough money, you could now have a family without disrupting your metropolitan lifestyle. Among other luxuries, like on-staff dog walkers and a wine cellar, these buildings offered concierges to assist the nannies. An email popped into my inbox and saved me from my internal rant about conspicuous consumption and the decline of civilization. The very sight of the man’s name made my heart beat faster.
It was great to meet you last night. I owe you a drink for all that change you dug up for me. When can you get together?
Sebastian and Harris were leaving on their journey in just a few days, and by the time they returned, I’d be back home in Los Angeles. I could find a way to see him tonight. My calendar was totally open after work. I liked it that way, and this invitation reinforced why: The most interesting experiences seemed to happen spontaneously—just the opposite of how most everything worked in New York City, where every moment had to be planned by the quarter hour, lest you felt as if you might be “wasting” a bit of your precious time.
And yet I found myself hesitating to accept this invitation. I’d witnessed many a friend as they sabotaged or just plain avoided opportunities out of some sort of unexpressed fear that success or happiness might result. They became riddled with anxiety and self-loathing before they’d even sent in that cover letter or gone on that date. Now here I was, similarly paralyzed.
The voice of this other me politely declined. It was easy to justify not seeing him. We lived on opposite sides of the country; launching into a relationship that was destined to be long-distance was preposterous, a mistake I’d made in the past that I’d vowed not to repeat. My, I was getting way, way ahead of myself.
Posted March 16, 2011
In Radio Shangri-La Lisa Napoli is struggling on the edges of depression, trying to find a way to reconcile herself with a life that isn't all she dreamed of. It all begins when she attends an experimental workshop on positive thinking. One day the instructor assigns the class homework, each night before you go to bed write down three good things that happened. As Lisa takes the assignment to heart her outlook on life and what she values begins to change.
Thus when the friend of a friend leading trips into the mysterious land of Bhutan offers to help her get a position starting up Bhutan's first ever radio station she doesn't hesitate but dives in head first. All she knows about Bhutan is that it is widely considered the Happiest Kingdom on Earth and measures the Gross National Happiness of its citizens, but she is determined to find out if the people there are really all that happy and how to achieve that for herself.
This was a very fun and light hearted look at the female midlife crisis. While Lisa works through some serious issues in the book you never doubt that she will come out shining in the end. The glimpse into the land of Bhutan is fascinating. The travel literature aspect of the book was phenomenal. I feel like I have actually visited the place myself and met the people. I love that she didn't try to sugar coat the situation in Bhutan or ignore the changes going on there, it made the book feel all the more authentic. I recommend this book as a great summer escape.
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Like a new mother giving birth in these uncertain times - Lisa Napoli documents this tiny countries willing and eager transition to a more democratic representation and embrace of modern media. Ms. Napoli's extensive 'news media experience' informs her concerns for "The Happiest People On Earth" when she accepts an offer to help launch Kuzoo FM radio. While consumerism and pop culture make inroads in the national air waves, the government is also busy building automobile roads to open them up to more travel and commerce. For me, the real pleasure of "Radio Shangri-La" is traveling with Lisa. Her observations reveal a deep wisdom and ambivalence. Like any mom readying her children for the future ...you can't help but wonder what will be lost and what will be gained? Given the changes occurring during the visits that are chronicled here - I'd say it's a must read because some of it will be 'disappeared' before you can book a flight to Bhutan and step off the plane.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted March 8, 2011
"Radio Shangri-La: What I Learned in Bhutan, the Happiest Kingdom on Earth" by Lisa Napoli is a memoir starting in 2007. The author volunteered to go to Bhutan and help launch their first radio station.
Long time journalist Lisa Napoli is in her early 40's, without a family and unhappy at her job. She readily agrees to a stay for six weeks in Bhutan to help a fledgling radio station called Kuzoo.
The station is staffed by a young and inexperienced group which are as much a part of the story as Ms. Napoli. We meet Ngwang who wants to come to America and becomes family to Napoli; Pema, the pop loving radio jockey and Pink, whose marriage is falling apart while she's moonlighting as a DJ at night clubs.
Lisa Napoli's relationship with her protégés and her experiences in a remote corner of the world are fascinating and enlightening.
When I first started to read this book I thought "not again". A woman, in mid-life crisis, flies thousands of miles and changes her life forever. I hated "Eat, Pray, Love" (book review) and didn't want to go through pages and pages of whining again.
What I discovered, however, was the fascinating chronicle of a country moving in a breakneck speed towards change (and yes, a woman's search for happiness - but Ms. Napoli doesn't whine).
The book made me want to go visit Bhutan, although I doubt my beloved wife and Mr. Wallet will agree to the $200 tourist fee, charged per person, per day. Luckily for Ms. Napoli she's given a free pass as a volunteer who has been invited to advise on a youth oriented radio station called Kuzoo FM, Bhutan's first radio station.
Lisa Napoli describes Bhutan as a beautiful, quirky and complex country. The country measures its success by Gross National Happiness, since "[e]conomic progress at any cost, went the thinking, was not progress at all". Framed by the Himalayas, Bhutan markets itself as "The Happiest Kingdom on Earth", with no traffic lights, new roads construction, penises painted on buildings for good luck and good natured people.
I almost bought a plane ticket.
But. you know. $200 per person, per day.
At the time the author has visited Bhutan was going through a massive transformation, TV and Internet has been allowed since 1999 and a clash of cultures is bound to arise. In addition, the King has decided to hand over the country to a democratic government. Exciting and important indeed even though about a year after the elections the democratic government suspended live TV feed from their hearings (it confuses people) and gave themselves a raise and a car for their efforts.
Welcome to democracy Bhutan.
Where I find the story weak is when Ms. Napoli starts to examine an interesting personal topic and then simply drops it. I will leave the relationship details alone (even though she does that at least twice) but she never fully examines the contradiction of helping a Bhutan establish a broadcast industry despite her aversion of the broadcast industry at home.
While Napoli's take on Bhutan is strictly of an outside observer, I still found the window she opened to the country fascinating. The book is a wonderful look not only at a far away place but also at how certain places and people have the innate ability to change our lives forever.
Posted March 8, 2011
No text was provided for this review.