Lucie's Travels (and travails?)

Hello, old friend

2011-01-19T16:34:00.000-08:00

Next week I am going to attempt to teach my fifth grade writing students how to write a memoir. One book I looked at suggested that you show them your own attempts a memoirs (one good, one bad). While writing a memoir might be an excellent diversion from writing progress reports (which is what I ought to be doing at this moment), I figured that one of my old blog entries might be able to pass, so I opened up that green page of Lucie's Travels and re-read some old posts.

It made me realize yet again what a luxury it was to not only have the means and opportunity to travel, but also the time to sit and think and write. I miss my old friend, Lucie's Travels and Travails. I stopped writing last year around the time that I started working more, not only because of lack of time, but because I figured most of the people who read my blog were people that I was interacting with daily, and they might not enjoy seeing a story about them (or worse, their child!) up on a screen. But now that I revisited the page for the first time in over a year, I am feeling a pang of nostalgia and almost a sense of loss over a pasttime that I really enjoyed.

Some reorganization might have to be done with my life and my schedule so that this can be a part of my present and my future and not just my past. This is way more fun than writing reports, that's for sure!

Animal in a Zoo

2009-12-16T11:29:00.000-08:00

I am currently sitting in a little conference room in the library of the school where I used to work (stealing the internet, of course, as well as seeing people and generally making trouble). The room has a window to the hall. One of the third grade classes (the last group I taught, and one of my all-time favorite groups) just walked by on their way to science.

Only they didn't walk by. They stopped. They looked in the window at me. I smiled and waved. They stayed. They stared. I waved and smiled. They stood. They stared. The science teacher is a bit of a practical joker, so I suspected that he was behind this, especially since one of the girls, whom I had and I know that she always does EXACTLY what she is told to do, stood there, not blinking, not smiling, just staring at me.

Eventually the science teacher popped his head in a window with a big grin and a wave, but not until I had hollered at the children, "I feel like an animal in the zoo!" Please come see this rare specimen that we have over here, Homo sapiens sapiens Lucia, acting as she would in her natural environment...

Important Lessons

2009-12-14T08:20:00.000-08:00

As I've mentioned quite a few times before, I am a teacher, and I just can't get away from that at times. So I took it upon myself this morning to teach Molly (age 11 days) her first really important lesson, something that every girl and woman should know as early as possible. (I wonder if, with the XX chromosome, we do just inherently know this.) On the computer screen was an advertisement for Tiffany and Co. I taught Molly about Tiffany Blue, and how she should ask for things that come in boxes of that color, please.

The last time I received something in that color I think was in 1993, but a girl can dream, as well as instill (totally reasonable) expectations in the next generation.

Failed Princess

2009-12-11T06:54:00.000-08:00

Some may say that I have been a princess all my life (but I imagine them saying it in not a very nice tone of voice), but I am here to tell you that last night I failed the test, and I am definitely not a princess.

I am with my friend in Ithaca, helping out with baby #2 who arrived 8 days ago. I have been camped out on an air mattress in the living room of their tiny apartment. The mattress gets shoved behind the couch during the day and the room turns into the playroom for the two and a half year old. At night, the toys get put away, and I pull out my bedding. I've gotten used to sleeping on the air mattress, and, so long as it is inflated enough, it is actually fairly comfortable.

This morning, as I groggily put away the mattress before getting the older child ready for preschool, I saw that my wool clogs were still in the middle of the living room floor. I had plunked the mattress right on top of them and slept quite soundly.

I failed the Princess and the Slipper test. A princess I am not. Alas.

I wonder if I have to give back the tiara.

Deflated

2009-12-04T18:45:00.000-08:00

I was driving back from the post office this afternoon (sending out Christmas cards, of course, because I am just that organized and anal--but only a few cards that needed to be air-mailed. I wouldn't want my friends over here to know how organized and anal I am. It's not like I already have all the envelopes addressed and am just waiting until it is a bit closer to the actual holiday to send them). I passed a house, the small front yard of which was completely filled with a variety of inflatable Christmas decorations (ornamentations? gaudiness? Not sure what those blow-up things are called), only none of them were blown up. They all lay, deflated, strewn about the lawn.

That family brought me quite a bit of joy, only not how they intended to, I suspect.

Up and Away... again

2009-12-01T19:02:00.000-08:00

Staying true to my (new) self, after five weeks of being in one place, I packed up two weeks’ worth of clothes, gifts, and a pillow into a very small bag, and I boarded a plane this morning. I’m back in Ithaca NY, doing my duty as Best Friend and helping out as baby #2 is due to arrive pretty much at any moment. I’m sure this will be quite the experience for me, for my friend, and for her two-year-old. She warned me to pack my patience. Hopefully that didn’t get squeezed out of the bag by that extra pair of wool socks I added when I saw the weather report.

This morning I received a courtesy call from the Orbitz Customer Care department, three hours before my flight, to let me know that it was on time. If they really cared about me, they would know that three hours before a 7:20am flight is way too freaking early to be calling anyone, especially a woman who has already checked in, is checking no bags, and lives 20 minutes from the airport. I still had an hour and a half left to sleep, and I did not feel particularly cared for when my phone started buzzing, nor now, as I am still attempting to scrape the sandpaper from the inside of eyelids.

Maybe Orbitz was trying to get me ready for two weeks of being in a small apartment with a newborn. God, I hope that my earplugs didn’t get squeezed out by those socks.

Who Are You?

2009-11-09T15:27:00.001-08:00

My horoscope today (not that I follow such nonsense, of course) said that "Sometimes you need to remind [others] of who you are..." Oh, how right it is! The question I have heard many times of late is "Who are you today?" I understand the question (having posed it myself many times to various substitute teachers), but it became funny to me when I actually started to think about it. The easy answer is Chris or Sally or whomever I am subbing for, but periodically I do wonder, Who AM I today?

Do we get a choice in the mornings as to who we will be? Can I be Oscar the Grouch one day, Snuffleupagus another, and Bert (probably closest to my real personality) the next? (Happy 40th, Sesame Street!) What are the factors that make me into one person or the other? Getting out of the bed on the wrong side? What outfit I put on? The alignment of the stars? Or the fact that the dog drooled on my once-clean trousers, someone took the last piece of bread, or I almost got run over crossing the street? Some days any of those events will put me under, and other days they earn nothing more than a shrug and a que sera sera. Can I switch my personality mid-day? (Copious amounts of chocolate seem to help me do that, for better or worse.) And do I have control over who I am each day?

Maybe the question I should ask myself is not "Who am I today," but rather "Who do I want to be today?" The next logical question I suppose would be, "What do I need to do to be that person?"

Tomorrow I think I'll be Halle Berry. I wonder what I will have to do to be her. Probably a lot of sit-ups and a padded bra.

Dear Lousi

2009-11-06T06:58:00.000-08:00

One of the greatest things about being a teacher of young children (which almost makes up for the bodily fluids projected at high velocity all over you) is the love note. I've really only worked with six and seven year olds, who are in the throes of learning how to read and write, and they are oh, so excited to use their new skills. Younger kids will draw pictures for you, but the older kids will add text. Over the years, I collected a number of paintings, pictures, and notes. (My two favorites were the drawing of me, supposedly putting my hand behind the child's head, but it looked like I was smothering the child, and the "Best Teacher Award" ribbon that a child made for me, to which one of MY students asked why she gave it to me... why didn't she give it to Sally, one of the other teachers.)

Last week, when I was subbing in first grade, at indoor recess I was given a couple of pictures, and one girl (VERY cleverly) folded a piece of paper in half and used scissors to cut a message in it to me, which read "Thank You".

For the past three days I subbed in second grade. I worked with those students a smidge last spring when I came back from my trip, but I didn't know them terribly well. Working with the (slightly) older kids was interesting, for they can (usually) do quite a bit more than the first graders I am used to. (One child commented to me that I "put a lot of space" between my words on the chalkboard. I guess they are slightly better at focusing on words than the younger kids.) While the kids at least feigned sadness at the prospect of me finishing up my term as sub yesterday afternoon, and I did get some hugs on their way out the door, there was nothing in the way of pictures or notes given. (No problem, for I usually "file" the notes in that nice blue plastic tub in the corner.)

Today I am back at school, subbing for the librarian. I had told the second graders this, and one of the girls, whom, as I taught all four of her older brothers, I have known basically since they day she arrived, brought me a note this morning. (I will translate some of the more creative spelling for those of you who might not be quite so fluent in "invented spelling".)

"Dear Lousi,
Thank you for substituting for us. We liked the activity of felt belts. They wore all nice. It was fun. We liked the math.
Love,
M"

Yes, I got a thank you note for being a sub. Any of you who are feeling unappreciated in your jobs, I highly recommend looking into teaching.......

Back to Work...ish

2009-11-04T17:02:00.000-08:00

I've been back home now for about ten days, and as soon as I returned I got myself lined up to do as much subbing as I can. Four days last week and three (thus far) this week. I think that seems a reasonable amount to work. I mean, I wouldn't want to push myself to extremes or anything.

It is nice to be back at work, for the most part. I love the interactions with all my old friends (although those pesky children do get in the way of my conversations sometimes), I love having things to think about (I actually dreamt of school and lessons last night!), and, believe it or not, I don't even mind getting up in the morning (especially now that the time change has happened). What I DO mind, however, is that, because I see the same people every day and I am expected to have at least a modicum of professionalism, I have to wear different clothes each day, rather than the same outfit for three days. The gall!

The only other (very small) grievance I have is when people see me in the halls and say either "It seems so NORMAL for you to be here" or "I can't get used to you being here." Clearly, their worlds did not stop completely when I left as they were supposed to do. How can anyone's world exist without ME in it? I mean, mine can't...

(Actually, it really is so great and so normal to be back at school, even when I'm subbing in a grade that I haven't taught in 13 years. Fingers still crossed that they'll let me back for real at some point!)

Time to Go

2009-10-16T18:49:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I packed up all my stuff and started my drive towards my winter stomping grounds. I was not sure about leaving New Hampshire quite yet. I didn't feel like I was quite ready to go. I could still do some work with my brother on the house he's building, and goodness knows that there are projects to do at home. The ocean was still there, needing to be walked by, and the trees were all looking lovely.

But there are people at home with whom I would like to play, and people between here and there who have been chomping at the bit wondering when I would appear. So pack up and leave I did, feeling a little sad about it. And then I woke up this morning outside of Boston and looked out the window.

It was freaking snowing. Yes, actual snow accumulating on my car. The scraper was buried underneath suitcases and boxes. So I just blasted the heat and hit the road. It snowed for the first hour of my drive. In some places the bare trees were white. This wasn't just some flurry. In fact, the radio somewhere in upstate New York was giving us a Winter Storm Advisory. Winter. If I'm not mistaken, the date on the top of this blog post is mid-October, a far cry from winter. Closer to summer in fact. But I guess not around these parts.

I was begrudging the fact that my clothes didn't fit in my backpack, because instead of packing light trousers and a few thin shirts like I had for my trip, I had jeans and sweaters and fleeces and heavy shoes. But now I'm grumpy about the fact that all I have are fall clothes, and what I really need is a pair of boots and a good heavy coat.

It is clearly time to go.

Detours

2009-09-22T07:23:00.001-07:00

I am, I'm afraid to say, one of those people who, once I make a plan, must stick to it, come hell or high water, no matter now little or inane that plan is (e.g. I'm going to go to the grocery store around two this afternoon).

Yesterday's plan was to get up, pack, play with the dogs, leave the house around 10, hit the library (looking for Twilight #2, which, alas, they didn't have yet, but my name is now on the list), and head for my friends in Northern New York. It would be about a 7 hour drive, but it was a lovely day, so no worries. The plan all proceeded beautifully, with a slight hitch when I realized that, despite the fact that I have done this drive a couple of times, I wasn't actually sure which highway to take once I hit Vermont. No problem, I have an atlas.

I love maps. I don't know how people survive with that dinky little GPS system telling them where to go. I like to see the big picture, and, well, plan my route. I look at the map regularly, just to see where I am, even on the trip from St. Louis to NH, which I have done, literally, 70 times.

So I was driving along, everything going according to plan, arrival time to be around 5 pm, when I happened to look at the map in the middle of Vermont, just to check my progress. A little red point of interest caught my eye. I don't normally notice them, but there was something about this one that jumped off the page. It said, "Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream Factory". When I focused a bit closer, I noticed that it was, lo and behold, at the next exit.

Thus ensued a little grapple in my brain. It went something like this:

I love ice cream.
But the plan has us driving from NH to NY, perhaps with a stop for gas.
I really love Ben and Jerry's.
But if you stop, you won't arrive at 5.
I wonder if they have a tour.
But that would REALLY throw the plan off. Only stop for gas.
I need gas. I bet they have a gas station at the Ben and Jerry's exit.

Really, the planning side of my brain was absolutely no match for something as great and good as a Ben and Jerry's factory. The only thing that probably could have gotten me off the road faster would have been Will Shortz giving a talk about crossword puzzles.

So detour I did, and it was good. They did have a tour, a very fun, funny, and vaguely informative 25 minutes, and yes, there was a free sample at the end. (Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough, mmmmmmmmmmm) I bought a postcard at the gift shop, wandered up the hill to the Flavor Graveyard (Popcorn ice cream? I'm not surprised it didn't make it), laughed at the fact that the sugar vat was twice the size of the milk and cream vats, and yes, I bought myself an ice cream cone (Coconut Seven Layer Bar, which is one of my all time favorite desserts, although the ice cream wasn't that great, actually. Not enough condensed milk, I would guess). The sun was shining, it was beautifully warm, I was eating ice cream and looking at the green mountains.

That is what my Gap Year(s) is all about. Taking those detours, because I can. Because I really don't have to be anywhere at any time. Letting the planning part of my brain go on a little vacation (even if it is a forced one).

Life is good.

So is ice cream.

Brrrrrr

2009-09-20T14:33:00.000-07:00

What was I saying about looking forward to crisp weather? Well, this morning it was 56 degrees in the house. My poor nephew was shaking as he ate his hot oatmeal. I gave the kids a cup of hot water, just so they could have something to warm their hands! (By noon I was sitting in the sun in shorts and a tank top, so it wasn't too bad...)

Fall

2009-09-18T15:11:00.001-07:00

I noticed that the trees are starting to change color here, and I pointed it out to my brother. He groaned and said he wasn't ready. I, on the other hand, am quite ready for fall. Usually I too think it comes too early. Perhaps it is because I've been in summer for the last 15 months (less a month in England that was bloody cold), and I am looking forward to the crisp air, lovely colors, and chrysanthemums (my favorite flower)... That is until it actually gets cold here and I start to bitch and moan about the fact that I am freezing. (I went to village district meeting last night-- about sidewalks, woo-- in a neighbor's barn, and he must have seen me shivering, for after he handed me juice and cookies, he passed over a large wool sweater.)

I may be ready for fall, but I am not one of those people who likes to jump the gun. Driving down the street the other day I saw that someone already had their Halloween flag flying, and I hollered (inside the car) "It's not even OCTOBER!!" I mean come on... the leaves are pretty enough, why muck it up by hanging a garish flag to distract the eye?

???

2009-09-18T15:07:00.000-07:00

I just tried to access my blog by typing in my address, and was diverted to "Mega Site for Bible Studies". Wow. That's different. On the second try it went the right way (although I'm sure some would argue that the first way was the "right" way).

NOT My True Calling

2009-09-03T13:11:00.000-07:00

It pains me to say it (really, I am actually in pain right now), but I think that becoming a manual laborer is not for me.

Yesterday I had grand plans to polyurethane the new dining room chairs and sand the drywall joins in the chicken coop (which I mudded, oh, last July). I put on my work clothes, and then... What did I do instead? I read Twilight. All of it.

So the grand plans got switched to today. After a few errands this morning, a late breakfast, and of course the crossword puzzle (I can't really do anything until that is out of the way... it being Thursday it took a little time to get it out of the way), I got down to work. First order of business, sanding the six chairs. (First find the sandpaper. Dickie said it was right here. Oh, here's the box. Empty. Expletive #1 of the day.) That done, I then got out the foam brushes. (This one won't even fit in the can of poly. Expletive #2.) Vaguely appropriately sized brush in hand I got to work. Drip, drip, splotch, and, somehow, a small white imprint of probably my elbow in the middle of the seat (Expletive #3), and the first chair was finished. The problem is that my skill level does not match my perfectionism. Sigh. Chair Two was a bit better, although, inevitably, I did end up getting poly on my forehead (Expletive #4).

I decided to let the chairs dry for a bit to see how they looked before I mauled the next four, so I got Dickie's plastering bucket and off I headed to the chicken coop (a two storey outbuilding that various members of the family have been working on fixing up for about the last decade. Drywalling started 5 years ago, and I am almost done with it). All I needed to do was sand the ceiling downstairs, then I could vacuum it all (LOTS of spiders and webs in there, as well as all the drywall dust), and then start on the second (and last, so help me god) layer of mud.

So I started to sand above my head, a fine, white powder flying everywhere and getting into every orifice (Expletives #5-25). I lasted about 15 minutes, finishing only half the room, before storming out in a billowy huff. I seem to have used about seven times as much mud on the first layer as necessary, and now it all needs to be sanded off. Clearly, the only thing that I know about drywalling is that it is worth paying someone else to do it.

But these aren't the only experiences that have hinted that maybe I'm not meant for a blue collar. The most dangerous thing I have to contend with in the classroom is sniffing too many markers. (One day I collected my kids from art class, and the teacher told me that they had been using permanent markers. My normally rambunctious class was basically silent and stoned.) With Dickie I've hit my thumb with hammers, kicked a saw blade, worried about falling off a room, and wrestled with various power tools (always wearing my safety glasses!).

A couple of weeks ago I was helping my brother (and his crew of three men in their 50s) build a 'shed'. (If anyone asks, it is a shed. Don't mind the fact that it is two storeys, has a shower, and costs more than some houses. According to zoning regulations, it is a shed. I think they are going to put a rake in it, for good measure.) I thrive on human interaction, so I was happy to be busy (more sanding, but not drywall) and have other people around. When I worked at school, I loved hanging out and talking with coworkers. We talked about all sorts of things. But here's a conversation I never had with them:

Ray: Do you want to see pictures of my (soon to be ex-)wife with her moose?
Me: Sure. Look at a little collection of photos of woman in camouflage, holding shotgun, standing next to gigantic moose on a hook. Other pictures of her next to wild (dead) boar. Wonder why he would leave her.
Rod: That's a nice crossbow you got there.
Bob: I shot a deer last year with a [blah, blah, blah, it is all Greek to me].

I have to say that I truly respect the fact that these guys can feed themselves rather than relying upon meat which comes conveniently anonymous and divided into little packages, but I'm just not quite used to conversations about various sorts of weaponry and tactics used to kill things.

Although earlier in the summer, when walking through Home Depot with Dickie, I, unemployed, suggested to him that I get a job there, he said, Sure, you're surly enough, (Um, Dickie, the adjective you were looking for is burly), I think I may just not be cut out for this.

Except for the week of trail clearing I'll be doing next week on an island in Maine, and the week of work I'll be doing later in the month with my friend in New York, that is. Then I'll get the iron out and start working on starching my white collars.

True Calling

2009-08-05T10:42:00.001-07:00

Despite the fact that I don't actually have a teaching job (or any job for that matter) for this fall, I am still absolutely sure that being a teacher is my true calling. I know this not because whenever I see a child (my niece or nephew, a friend's child, or a strange child at the pool) I cannot help but add in "please" and "thank you" when appropriate or explain the whys and wherefores of how plants grow. I know this not because I periodically burst into song if something around me reminds me of a song I know. (I sang "Oh, when the rain comes down it cleans up the sky" all too often in July.) I know this not because when I walk into a bookstore I spend more time poring over the children's books than adult books. I know this not even because on my trip I noticed that within the first two minutes of meeting someone, I had uttered the statement "I am a teacher", when almost no one else ever mentioned their job (which caused me to wonder if it was me or if it was the profession that caused these declarations).

I do all of the these things (with alarming regularity), but these are not the reasons that I know I am a teacher through and through. No, I know that I am meant to be a teacher because, just like clockwork, and just like teachers all over, in the wee hours of August 1st, I had my first school dream. Ask any teacher you know about this phenomenon. It is quite startling. Somehow a teacher's subconscious, which has been so quietly resting and rejuvenating for the month of July, knows exactly when it is the month which will usher in the return to school, and it reacts, usually stressfully.

My school dream this year took the form of a faculty meeting. In it I was supposed to be singing a song, but I couldn't remember the words, so I just made them up as I went along. For many people, this would be a stress dream of unmentionable proportion, but for me it was pretty much normal. As I mentioned above, I sometimes break into song anyway, and at my school (former school??) it would not be at all unlikely for someone to sing during a faculty meeting. Many a time has a grade level team given a presentation in song.

So even though I may try my hand at any number of odd jobs this year, I am sure that teaching is what I should, and will soon, be doing.

Last batch of flicks

2009-07-24T16:27:00.001-07:00

Here are the last movies, from Thailand and New Zealand.

This is from atop an elephant. Quiet and bumpy...

This is what I awoke to (at about 4 am) in a village in Thailand when I did my little trek. Egads.

It is kind of hard to hear the audio on this, because it was really windy atop the pass on the Milford Track.

Okay, so I didn't realize that I couldn't turn a video clip, so you'll have to cock your head. Sorry!

This is a little clip from the Milford Track, just to show how wonderfully peaceful and beautiful it was (despite the fact that I was in a group of 46 hikers).

A quick clip from the Milford Sound. Enjoy the prettiness (and the accent of the boat captain).

One last video, this one from my favorite place, Punakaiki. (Go way back to February to see the first half of this piece.)

More Movies

2009-07-20T11:29:00.000-07:00

Here are some more video clips... This first batch is from Guatemala. I narrate the first four; the last one is walking in the back door of the cathedral in Antigua as one of the Lenten parades is starting up. (I heard this music way too often in my two weeks there.)

This next group of clips is from Kenya. The first is a local tribal dance, but I loved the fact that the kids (off stage, so to speak) were dancing right along.

This is the view from the train as it came into Nairobi.

A couple more will come later...

Movies

2009-07-17T11:28:00.000-07:00

As I can't figure out a way to get the movie clips I took on my travels to project on anything larger than my little laptop screen, I thought I'd try putting them on my blog (assuming that the internet connection in this 150 year old farmhouse is slightly faster than it was wherever I was before... big assumption), and then I can show them to all the houseguests on my brother's slightly larger screen. And I guess you can look at them too if you wish.

The first five are from Australia. You'll hear me chatting on all of them except the last, which is of some poor kid with possibly the worst summer job.

The last two are from Costa Rica. I have loads more, which I'll put on when I'm in the mood...

Houseguests

2009-07-12T18:13:00.001-07:00

The nice thing about having 16 adults, four children, and seven dogs in the house for a weekend is that it makes six adults, three kids, and five dogs seem like nothing.

Guns

2009-07-08T14:48:00.000-07:00

When I was in cold and rainy England last October (weather very similar to the last three weeks in NH, alas), I remember having a conversation with someone about America or something. I can't remember any of the details of the conversation (who, where, how much I'd had to drink), but I remember that I had the impression that this person thought that all Americans were gun-totin'. I said that I didn't have a gun at home, nor did I know anyone who did. The person was visibly relieved to have that stereotype dispelled.

Well, I'm afraid I need to amend my statement. I certainly do not have a gun of any shape or size, nor do I intend to EVER have one. But, this morning I climbed into the truck of the my brother's construction sidekick (I was doing some dry walling for my brother), and noticed something sitting on the floor at my feet. "Is that a HOLSTER???" Yes, a holster for a handgun. I asked no further questions about it, but sat in disbelief for a few minutes. The question that mostly went flying through my head repeatedly was "Why, why, WHY?!"

Not necessarily how I thought I would be starting my day.

Rain, rain, go away

2009-07-02T07:58:00.000-07:00

I had thought that I was being excessive, materialistic, and a bit crazy when I brought so many long shirts and trousers and wool socks to my summer beach haunt, but I am afraid that I was a bit prophetic in my packing. I have been here for two weeks, and I have seen the sun two days, I think. The other days I have been wearing as many clothes as I can, happy that I had purchased some jeans and winter trousers from Beans, which I thought wouldn't be worn until October. Wool socks are a must, and often I throw a scarf on as well. In fact, the other evening (when it was only cold and foggy, not actually raining) I was sitting outside and I noticed I could see my breath. It was June 30th.

The cold and rain is pretty abysmal, I have to say. Two weeks of being house-bound. Not fun in and of itself. Now know that we currently have FIVE dogs in the house (about 350 pounds worth of dog), and FOUR children aged four and under. Aside from the din, the mess, and the diapers, what really is rough is that means I can't use the words I want to use to describe how I feel about the weather.

It @#$^&*! $#*%@s, and that's all I have to say about that.

Shoes

2009-06-18T20:14:00.000-07:00

Why, when I traveled around the world with only two pairs of shoes, did I feel the need to bring five pairs of shoes with me to New Hampshire? I already had about five pairs here, and it is summer anyway. I spend most of my time barefoot...

Change

2009-06-14T14:22:00.000-07:00

Any inclination I had that I was a new, changed, more relaxed and go-with-the-flow kind of girl got thrown out the window this morning when I opened the NYTimes and discovered that the magazine (with my sacred crossword puzzle in it) had been shrunk, reformatted, and used a new font. I think I used every curse word I knew, and grumped for about an hour.

Apparently, change is NOT okay... At least not first thing in the morning.

Dancing

2009-06-11T08:15:00.000-07:00

I put the last piece of the puzzle of my former life into place last night, and I went to ballet class. Dance classes are the one thing that I truly missed this year, so it was great to put the tutu back on (I don't actually wear a tutu, but I like to pretend), which fit for the most part, and headed over to crash class.

I was pretty sure that the instructor would let me participate, as we've become friends over the past 5 years of me fumbling around in her class. (I never had any ballet when I was little, so when I took it up at age 30, it was definitely the hardest thing I had EVER done. While I certainly know more now than I did when I started, there are still MANY things I cannot do, and when she runs through a combination, I just chuckle to myself, knowing I'll be happy if I can remember the first 5 moves-- out of about 20... before we start over on the other leg.) I was greeted warmly, both by the teacher and by the ladies in the class, who happily told me they got my postcard from Paris (from the Opera/Ballet House).

I was a little anxious about taking class after a hiatus of a year plus, but I figured I had started from scratch once and survived, I could do it again, probably without the deer-in-the-headlights look this time. I was prepared for not having the flexibility or strength ("You want my leg at 90 degrees? I think 45 is plenty."), but I was surprised (I don't know why) that my coordination had disappeared as well. Double frappes (two quick taps of the toe to my ankle before pointing it out to the floor) were non-existent. A little jumping combination (which was always a bit dicey for me even in the best of times) had me just jumping up and down in place while others were going sideways and forwards and back. But the true kicker was when I attempted to turn across the floor.

Not having built all those spinning synapses when I was young, I've never been the best turner, but this was just comical. I managed about three turns across the floor, and promptly got out of line and went to the end, knowing that the girl behind me would run me over. Take two wasn't any prettier. Again about three spins, and all hell broke loose... or at least that's how it felt. There was no balance, no verticality, and certainly no spotting! I just laughed and flailed myself across the floor any way I could. But I made sure to put a nice ballerina "look at me" ending on it.

So I guess I am coming to the painful realization, once again, that I won't be a ballerina when I grow up. So sad. But I'll keep practicing and taking classes, just in case...

What Next?

2009-05-27T11:39:00.000-07:00

The question I keep being asked (and which I ask myself periodically) is "What next?" Well, I'm heading to Maine this weekend, and then to New Hampshire soon for the summer, but I don't think that is what people mean.

I'm not sure what is next. I've been subbing the last few days in first grade (my old job), which has been loads of fun, and so normal and natural to fall back into. I would like to come back and teach next year (I've even managed to get up at a reasonable hour and not be any grumpier than I normally am, even after not having to do so for a year!), but, alas, it doesn't look like there will be any jobs available here. I could get my resume together and apply elsewhere, but a) this school really is great and b) I don't feel like it.

So my plan is to 1) go to Maine for the weekend and have a blast, 2) go to New Hampshire for the summer and have more of a blast, and 3) wait and see what I feel like doing. Maybe I'll want to stay in NH until it gets cold (is that September 3rd or 4th?). Maybe I'll want to do construction work for one of my brothers or whatever financial finagling the other brother might be getting up to (still not really sure what he does). Maybe I'll come back to St. Louis and be a permanent sub. (No lesson plans-- good. Always having lunch duty-- bad.) Maybe I'll volunteer a lot.

I figure I'll either be happy with whatever bits and bats I am doing or I'll become so bored that I will have some impetus to organize a resume. I won't be homeless and I won't be starving, so I don't really have any worries except for my mental well-being. (Which sometimes can be quite worrisome, but that is a whole different story!) In fact, my biggest worry at the moment is what the weather will be like in Maine and what I should pack.

In the mean time, if anybody magically has a job for me, I'm happy to entertain offers! (Does this count as networking? It feels kind of like a debutante party, only there it is basically saying "I am now ready to entertain offers of marriage," which, by the way, I may or may not be ready to entertain, depending on who's offering....)

Thanks

2009-05-17T11:13:00.001-07:00

Even though my journeys still continue (I am in San Francisco right now), my Big Trip has come to an end, and I feel like I need to do a little wrap-up, and give thanks and praise where it is due. So here it goes.

On my whole trip I never got sick, never had anything stolen or lost, never left anything unintentionally. I never had issues with transportation or housing or anything. The Fates were smiling upon me and clearly meant for me to do this trip.

What I did was nothing special. Just ask any 25 year old who shared a dorm room with me, who has been in Central America for 8 months. But it was something completely outside of anything I had ever done-- or was ever likely to do-- and yet I am so glad I did it.

I learned a lot about the world and about myself this year. I learned that life is hard lots of places, and I had no concept of what it means to be needy. I learned that happiness can come really easily. I learned that I can do a lot of things that I never thought I could do. I learned what I need in my life and what is a bonus extra.

Thank you to those of you who supported me this year (both financially and emotionally). Thank you to the people who left me comments or sent me emails. Thank you to the myriad people who hosted me this year. Thank you to the people whom I befriended (or who befriended me) along the way.

But most of all, thank you to those of you who said I could do it, those who said I should do it, and especially to those who let me go even though they wanted me to stay. It really was a year like no other, and I couldn't have done it without you.

Clothes

2009-05-12T15:03:00.000-07:00

The first thing I did when I got home (after washing absolutely every single thing in my backpack-- anything I didn't pitch, that is) was to purge my wardrobe. I've never considered myself to be a girly-girl or someone obsessed with clothes, but I had ridiculous amounts of everything in my bureau(s) and closet(s), some of which hadn't been warn in literally a decade. (The dress code at my school was a bit more lax than previous places I'd worked-- altough not as lax as it was five years ago, alas-- and I decided that even if they don't hire me back, I don't really want to work some place where I need to wear a silk blouse. Ever. And that Little Black Bridemaid's dress that of course I would be able to wear again which hasn't been put on since September of 1997 went too.) Lucky for me, the woman who lives in the carriage house is opening a thrift store, so the ridiculously large pile of clothes that I amassed will go to good use.

But even with the great purge, I still have about ten times (maybe more) as many clothes now than I've had for the past seven months. Now I have choices to make. I thought that might make getting dressed in the morning a bit of a challenge with all the decisions (shorts or skort, printed t-shirt or plain), but it hasn't. No, what has happened is that now I seem to change my clothes four times a day. Seriously.

Today was this:
Jeans and grubby t-shirt first thing in the morning.
Yoga pants and top for yoga class.
Capris and different t-shirt to head into school to bring treats to my teammates.
And now, same capris (but different Chacos) and a tidy shirt to go the auction house and out to dinner.

Good lord, what has happened to me? Maybe tomorrow I'll try wearing the same outfit all day. Guess I just won't be able to go to yoga or do any gardening. Maybe I'll do both in my pajamas, and that will eliminate two outfits.

Being Home

2009-05-07T13:54:00.001-07:00

Technically, my travels are over (except of course for a weekend in San Francisco and a trip to Maine, both in May), but I suspect that my travails will continue (such as they are), so chances are good that I'll still be putting posts up periodically. People around me will probably continue to do ridiculous things, which I will of course feel the need to comment on (always excluding names to protect the innocent... and DeAnn).

I've been home a week now, and it is good. Sure, I've been really confused as to what season it is. (I keep thinking that it is fall, as I'm returning to St. Louis after being somewhere warm.) Sure, I've had wacky dreams each night. (Why am I dreaming about my high school reunion, when it is my college reunion that is coming up??) Sure, the dogs didn't have their toenails clipped all year, and clearly haven't been walked past the end of the driveway. Sure, my gardens are filled with weeds, and the house is filled with mail (most of which can be recycled I'm sure). Sure, I keep wandering into school each day. (It's where all my friends are, plus I don't have a computer at home right now, and I am hoping that if I keep showing up they will eventually offer me a job again...)

But it is really, really good to be back. It smells right, it sounds right, it feels right. It is so nice to see all my friends again, and my old students, and my family, and even my old-lady dogs. I can call my friends any time I want (and some of them even answer the phone). I drove a car today for the first time in almost eight months. It's just like riding a bike (which I've only done once in the last eight months).

I did have to chuckle to myself the other day as I was doing some errands with my mom (no matter how old I am, I revert to being a petulant teenager when I'm doing errands with my mother, but to my credit, she says it will be an hour, and it turns into three!), and we were stuck in traffic. This past year I have spent HOURS waiting for buses, trains, planes, which I've done with complete calm and patience. Such is life. No big deal. What's an extra three hours at the airport? But I come home and suddenly an extra round of being stuck at a stoplight and I am irate. I figured out that the solution was to take the Metrolink and then walk. I am in charge, I am happy, and I'm getting exercise. (Walking the dogs doesn't count as exercise, because I think my heart rate actually goes DOWN.)

I always knew this, but my life is really good. It is filled with beautiful things, beautiful surroundings, and beautiful people. It's nice to be truly reminded of this now and again.

Surprise!

2009-05-02T14:51:00.001-07:00

My flight home was booked for May 5th, but a few weeks ago when I got an email from my brother with pictures of my niece and nephew and my heart just hurt, and then when I thought about having three weeks of travel in Costa Rica and I started to cry, I thought to myself, Why can't I just go home earlier? And then I thought, Why CAN'T I go home earlier?? There was no reason I needed to stay in Costa Rica, and clearly the joy of travel had dissipated, so what I really needed to do was just go home. Once I made that decision (especially after I realized that the cost of changing my ticket would be less than the cost of a week of hostels and food), I suddenly was happy and whistling and humming (something other than Homeward Bound).

So I changed my ticket, but told almost no one. The last few days in Costa Rica I kept saying to myself, "48 hours from RIGHT NOW, I'll be on a plane.... I'll be on the Metrolink... I'll be in MY bed." The last days on the road were just treading water until I could come home. On Wednesday evening I arrived in St. Louis, caught the Metrolink, and walked with a very light step (and a pretty light backpack) down the road to my house. My father was in NYC, so I knew not to expect his car, but mom's car wasn't there either. Oh well. The door, however, was unlocked, so in I went. I greeted my dogs (who seemed to know me a little, or just appreciated the fact that I was someone to pet them), greeted the stranger who was sitting in the kitchen (not a surprise at all to have a stranger in the kitchen... although I eventually figured out that she was a classmate of my mother's who was in town for their 50th reunion), and then got about the business of doing laundry.

When I heard mom's car pulling in, and I went and sat on the doorstep and awaited her. She came around the corner of the porch, looked at me blankly for a moment, said, "Oh my god!" and then was rendered speechless for a few minutes (that never happens!). I did much the same thing the next day at school. My teammates (still present tense, so far as I'm concerned) were on a field trip of course, so I had to wait around until they came back. In the mean time I wandered through the halls, chatting with teachers and kids, generally wreaking havoc around the school. I pretty much was a rock star, with kids (and some adults) screaming my name and running to give me hugs. It does a lot of good for one's ego! (Although there were some older kids who asked if I had been gone three years. Either they missed me THAT much or else they don't really have a good sense of time.)

When my teammates reappeared I just stood in the hall as the first grade filed past me. When they saw me, they too looked blankly at me while they processed that I was there but shouldn't be, then squealed and gave me hugs. They said that they were going to surprise ME by picking me up at the airport next week. Oh well, sorry to wreck your surprise, but now we have a few more days to hang out!

After school I loitered in the hallways and got to see lots of my favorite parents. LOTS of hugs, lots of smiles, and lots of good feelings all around.

On Friday I flew to NYC (my morning flight was cancelled and afternoon flight was delayed two hours, but I ran into another parent friend at the airport, so it was worth it) with my mom to come to a birthday party here. We hadn't told my father (who was already in NY) that I was coming, so when he opened the door of the apartment of Tommy the Wig (the only person I HAD told I'd be coming home, as I needed to ask to stay at his apartment as well) and expected to see mom, he got me. Another blank stare, then hugs and tears.

Oh, there is no place like home. It is soooo good to be back, and not just because I actually can flush the toilet paper here. It is normal, it is right. Everything is as it should be. I even got to polish some silver this morning. Life is good....

Monteverde

2009-04-27T14:43:00.000-07:00

This past weekend I was in the mountain town of Santa Elena, which abuts the Monteverde Cloud Forets. It was high and cool and lovely. I had heard that it was windy there, but that would have been an understatement. After my little run-in with the cinderblock blowing off the flapping metal roof in Guatemala, I am a bit wary any time I hear wind knocking about tin roofs. As basically all the roofs in Costa Rica are metal, and as Monteverde is possibly the windiest place I´ve ever been, I spent the last few days ducking and cringing.

I went on a guided night hike one evening. We didn´t see many mammals (one something off in a tree, and what looked like an overgrown hamster before it got dark), but we did get to see lots of leaf-cutter ants marching back and forth, and a tarantula. Two actually. A small one (relatively speaking, of course) on a tree, and a very large one (by any standard) in a hole. That poor spider probably gets poked with a stick every night by the guide trying to bait it out for the amusement of the tourists. One of the girls on the hike about jumped out of her skin when the spider appeared, and her boyfriend pointed out that she was shaking. Good choice of activities for her to be doing.

One afternoon, I went to the Frog Pond (no ponds, just a lot of terraria displaying various cool froggies) and an Orchid Garden. Everything came with a guided tour, so am now slightly wiser in the ways of frogs and orchids than I was before.

My last afternoon I went on an (unguided) hike (at a snail´s pace) through the Santa Elena Reserve, which is another cloud forest. That means that it was actually lush and green, as opposed to the rest of the country which has been in the dry season for the last six months and is brown and dusty. I didn´t see many of the animals for which Costa Rica is famous, but that´s okay. I heard some lovely bird calls, saw some creepy crawly bugs, and enjoyed the vegetation. Orchids and moss and lots of things that I recognize as houseplants.

As I finished wandering around the reserve half an hour after the shuttle left (and two and a half hours before the next shuttle), I walked down the hill a bit to this Eco-Park place to check out the hummingbird garden. The park offered canopy tours and ziplines and all sorts of fun for vast amounts of money, but I handed over my measly $5 to see the cheapest thing they had, and it was worth every penny. The garden would have been fantasticallly tranquil and mesmerizing if the zipline hadn´t gone directly overhead. Nonetheless, hummingbirds are now officially my favorite animal. I stood about a foot away from the feeders and had hummingbirds swooping in and out and around me. They are so amazingly FAST, as well as agile and downright goregous. I also got to see a coati (sort of like a racoon) prance in and avail himself of the feeders, emptying every one on one stand of its sugar water.

I didn´t do much else in town besides eat a mango every day. (I haven´t had a mango yet today, so I might have to head off to the store soon to remedy the situation.)

On my way out of town a couple of guys asked if they could switch seats with me, as one of them gets carsick and needed a window. So I sat right behind the poor guy, and was forced to listen to him retch into a plastic bag (of which he and his two friends had plenty). The friend who was sitting next to him (whom I assume drew the short straw) held up his backpack so he couldn´t see his friend every time he bent over the bag. Even when they got off the bus (at a bus stop on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere), the guy was still doubled over and heaving. You would think that he would spring for renting a car if it would help....

Beach Bits

2009-04-26T07:03:00.000-07:00

Here are a bunch of random thoughts from my week at the beach (which was supposed to only be three days, but, well, you know...):

People at my hostel were getting sick left and right. Two Dutch girls were throwing up and had fevers, and one of the French Canadian couples got ill. The two girls had drunk the water from the kitchen. (I'd asked about the water, and the hostess told me that the water from the bathrooms was okay, but not the kitchen.) Not sure about the Canadians. I am happy to say that not once in my travels (knock on wood) have I been sick. Either I have a really strong stomach, or else I ate enough stuff off the floor growing up to be able to withstand anything.

I went to the grocery store with a Danish girl from the hostel one evening. She bought a melon that had the price (360 colones) written on it in marker. She smeared the 6 to make it look like 310 colones. She saved herself 50 colones, which is 10 cents. Woo.

On the bus to the beach I heard a bunch of American girls chatting with an Israeli guy (no, the nationalities of these people is in no way important, but I think it's fun knowing where everyone is from). I heard one of the girls say, "We finished college a long time ago." The Israeli asked how old they are. "25" Yeah, that's a long time ago....

Walking into the town of Montezuma one evening (with a Canadian and a German), we were approached by some guy asking if "You want something for your brain?" Somehow, I don't think he meant a book.

I love that getting dressed in the morning meant putting on a bikini, and changing in the afternoon meant putting on dry one. I didn't wear underwear for a week.

One evening the road to town was covered, and I mean covered, with crabs heading for the hills. I've no idea what's up with that, but the crab roadkill carnage the next day was pretty impressive. And stinky.

The grocery store in town sold candy bars (like all good stores do), but it was about a constant 95 degrees in there, so I can't imagine what the chocolate bars were like!

I watched some guy try to body surf in really rough waters. I saw his feet go over his head, then he disappeared for a moment. When he reappeared, he was pulling up his bathing suit.

On the bus out of town, when the journey started, the local guy sitting next to me made the sign of the cross. Did he know something I didn't??

We drove by a hotel/resort that claimed to be the "Home of Temptation Island." Bummer I missed that.

There are lots of signs around the country that declare "Jesu Cristu es el Senor de [wherever]". In my Spanglish, I first translated that as "Jesus Christ is da Man".

Costa Rica is hilly. One hill into Monteverde was so steep that the bus couldn't make it up the first time. We had to roll back, then take another attempt at it. (Second time worked.)

I'm off to hike around in a cloud forest today. Woo hoo!

Tough Day

2009-04-23T16:03:00.000-07:00

Thus far my day has consisted of:

Waking up when the sun rose, hearing the sound of the sea.
Getting up and sitting in the hammock for an hour, reading my book, and listening to the sea.
Walking up the beach, listening to and feeling the sea.
Swimming alone in a swimming hole on a stream that fed into the sea.
Reading my book listening to the little waterfalls in the stream and the sea.
Watching a group of monkeys in the trees over the stream that fed into the sea.
Listening to the rain on the roof of my hotel by the sea.

A tough day, but someone has to do it...

(If it makes you feel better, know that tomorrow I'll be spending the day on buses.)

La Playa

2009-04-22T16:01:00.000-07:00

Sorry I haven't put up a post in a while, but I've been much too busy being at the beach doing a whole lot of nothing. And it has been good.

Last Saturday I left San Ramon (aka Podunk, Costa Rica), and headed for the port of Puntarenas on the West coast on a bus that was so full that I had to stand in the aisle for the first half hour, until some nice Tico (Costa Rican) offered me his seat. I'm not sure WHY he offered me his seat, as he didn't get off for another ten minutes. Perhaps I was just the nearest female to him. Perhaps he saw me yawn. Whatever the reason, I accepted.

Puntarenas was insanely hot. I got off the bus with my big pack on my back (down to 14 kilos last time it got weighed) and little pack on front, and headed for the post office to send my last letter. I've run out of airmail envelopes and stationery, and I'm almost out of time, so I think I managed that pretty well. From there I started wandering in the general direction of the ferry, which was reputed to be 3 kilometers away. There was supposed to be a bus to the ferry that went up and down the main street, but I didn't see it. I had finally decided to hail a cab, but I couldn't find any that were free. So on and on I trekked in the heat. Eventually a bus did pull up. It wasn't labeled Ferry, so I wasn't sure, but the driver said he was going that way. I think he just felt sorry for me, for there was noone on the bus, and he didn't charge me anything for the ride. Gracias!

The hour-long ferry trip across the Bay of Nicoya was uneventful. At that point I was still pretty jaded (I'm better now), so I wasn't terribly impressed by the scenery. It was really wierd, however seeing all the trees brown and leafless. It's not because it is fall or winter, but rather because it is hot and dry. (Believe it or not, it is raining right now. Real rain. Hard rain. The first rain I've seen since New Zealand, I think. As I walked into town there was a bolt of lightning closely followed by a clap of thunder, which in turn was closely followed by a bunch of monkeys putting up quite a racket. I guess they don't like lightning.) But even in my jaded state, I was impressed by the schools of fish that you could see off the side of the boat. I was not impressed, however, by the number of jellyfish. Peachy. Rip tides and jelly fish. Just what I want in a beach!

From the ferry I got on another bus (this one of the chicken variety, although it was mostly filled not by chickens but with backpackers like myself--although I don't really consider myself a true backpacker, as my goal isn't to get drunk every night, smoke ridiculous amounts of cigarettes and anything else I can get my hands on), which also was standing room only, and felt exactly like a sauna. It was pretty much unbelievable. I turned to the guy standing behind me and commented on it, and we struck up a conversation. He and his girlfriend were headed to the same hostel as I, and I ended up spending the last four days with them. Pat and Nat were a lovely couple from Montreal, who were about my age, and were much fun to hang out with.

There actually were quite a few great people at the hostel. Another French Canadian couple, a French couple (they all were very nice to me and spoke in English all the time), as well as the younger crowd of a great guy from Edmonton, and a German who was so, well, German that I couldn't help but laugh sometimes. (When I finally admitted to him that I spoke German and I said something to him, he got a funny look on his face and said, "Well, that was an interesting combination of German, English and Spanish.") The first night at Hotel Lucy (seriously), when I was in a dorm with 5 other people (real backpackers) and I heard one say "I hope I didn't lose my rum," and another respond "You can drink my gin; I'm not going to drink it," I was terribly unsure about the whole situation. But they all left and I connected with all the Frenchies, and everything became much better. Finally, FINALLY I have the experience that everyone talks about-- "You will meet loads of people." Not until now, with just a few weeks left in my trip. Just saving the best for last, I guess.

With my new friends (who hopefully will come down from Canada this summer to the beach!), I explored Cabo Blanco, Costa Rica's first nature reserve. We hiked the two hours to the beach, had lunch and a dip, then hiked back, being chased by two women who worked there who wanted to make sure we left the reserve by 4pm when it closed. The hike through the forest was pretty, and we saw a few animals here and there, but it was hot. More hot than I possibly have ever been in my life. I know this because at the end of the hike my shirt was absolutly sodden, except for a very small patch on the bottom of the front. I drank three liters of water, and didn't pee once. I just sweat it all out. Yarg!

The next day we explored the local waterfall. Hike up a stream for about 20 minutes and you get to a great swimming hole with a huge waterfall. Swim, watch the fish, enjoy. Then climb pretty much vertically up a "path" and then up some more, and then down something which luckily had a rope to hold onto (all this in a bikini and sarong), and you get to the upper waterfall and three more swimming holes. Many people (who have much less sense than I) hurled themselves off the 10 meter waterfall into the pool below, but I was content with staying in the middle pool, swinging on the rope swing a few times. (Two days later, my arms are still incredibly sore.) Come down with the German guy in the lead, get lost a bit, end up at a fantastic lookout point with a tremendous view of the coast, then watch a group of male howler monkeys for a while. Not a bad day!

Yesterday I trekked WAY up the beach with Pat and Nat (it was crazy hot again, and the ocean was pretty rough an univiting), to an amazing beach, where it was flat, with gentle waves that weren't trying to drag us out to sea or pummel us into the sand. And someone had very kindly built little shade huts along the beach out of driftwood and palm fronds. When we got there, there wasn't another soul there. This was definitely the life.

Most of my new friends left yesterday, and Pat and Nat left today (but then the other French Canadian couple returned, due to the boat they were to take not actually having a motor or something), so I was a little worried I would be sad and lonely again, but I'm okay so far. (I've got a great book) This past few days just reinforces yet again that I really need to be with people that I like-- and respect. It was nice having grown-ups to hang out with. Even though the Edmonton kid was 13 years my junior, he was fun to talk to as well (and not just because he thought I was 28, and wouldn't believe that I am actually 36). Smart people, kind people, respectful people. Those are the people I need.

Tomorrow I think will be my last day here at the beach (I already extended my stay here three days longer than I thought), and then I'll head up to the mountains to do some hiking in the cool weather. That should be nice. After than, not much longer until I head home! Woo hoo!!!

Adios San Ramon

2009-04-17T15:30:00.000-07:00

Today is my last day in San Ramon. I can´t say that I´ll miss it terribly. It´s just a regular old town with people doing regular old things. The family I´ve been staying with have been nice enough, but with the language barrier we haven´t really been hanging out too much. Plus, there are way too many teenagers. They have a 13 year old girl, and boys aged 15 and 18. My first day there were so many kids wandering in and out that I had the wrong boy pegged as the 15 year old. A few days later I heard someone at the door calling him, and then the boy I thought to be Darió turned out to be the friend on the sidewalk. Oh well.

My career as a volunteer construction crew has drawn to a close as well. Sometimes I was busy and happy, and sometimes I was purely decorative. I felt kind of like the magician´s sidekick, who just stands around much of the time until she needs to hand over something. I was the human saw horse, vice grip, and sometimes I just was a spectator. (When I was helping my friend in NY last summer with construction on his house, we noted how it seemed to be a specator sport.) Today was my last day, and there were no teary farewells. There weren't even any Thank Yous, for that matter. I'm going to guess that's a cultural thing, for they all seemed quite pleasant. The 10 year old was proudly wearing the t-shirt that I had pawned off on him this morning under his school uniform, however. And when I was at the bus stop, one of neighbors (I think that's who she was) saw me and came over to chat. I didn't really understand anything she said, so I just took hold of the conversation and told her that I was going to the beach tomorrow and home in a couple of weeks. She at least gave me a hug and a kiss. (I HOPE it was a neighbor....)

The grandpa (although I don't think he actually is the grandpa, for the kid called him by his name, not Abuelo) commented on the heat to me this morning (it was damn hot), and asked if I wanted juice. Sí. Lemon or oatmeal? I opted for the lemon this time, so off he trotted to pick some lemons. Gotta love that. This afternoon he offered me a glass of milk. Every day around noon the milk truck comes down the road, honking it's horn. Picture a milk truck in your head.... That's not what this was. This was a little red pickup truck with a bunch of silver milk jugs sitting in the back (remember how hot I said it was?), and people come out to it with their jugs or soda bottles, or even plastic bags, and get some milk ladled in. So when I was handed the glass of milk, it was slightly warm, and some seriously whole milk. There was so much cream in that milk that it left bits on the side of the glass, and I could actually feel the fat on my lips when I drank it. Much to my dismay, no oreos or chocolate of any kind was served with this huge glass of milk, and Gramps just stands there watching you drink, so you have no choice but to basically chug it. I haven't gotten sick on my trip yet, but I figure if I am going to, it will be from this.

I have to say that doing construction in third world country is both similar to and different from that at home. OSHA standards are a bit lacking here, but just like at home there is a lot of standing around taking measurements and discussing how many pieces of wood to buy. Here the wheelbarrow may only have one handle and the ladder is homemade, but just like at home, when the officials come they stay for only 25 seconds-- long enough to ask the name of the owner, write it on a piece of paper, and drive off.

A few other random bits about being here. In attempting to converse with the construction guys, I pretty much adhered to the policy followed by my father's mother (yes, she would be my grandmother, but as she died 13 years before I was born, I think of her as dad's mom) when she (being French) attempted to talk with the local Yorkshire folk-- Say yes unless they look surprised, and then say no. I totally did that the other day when we were talking about the Brazilian dance style called capoeira (I think). I thought I was asked if I knew of it, but when I said yes and got a very startled look, I figured I was actually asked if I knew how to do it, and I said no.

The younger son was sitting with me at lunch one day. He had in his hand a little cup (like the sort that comes on the top of a NyQuil bottle), that had some light blue liquid in it. I sniffed it and decided it was probably mouthwash. The child actually drank it. Alas, my Spanish skills didn't extend to Do you really think you are supposed to drink that??

I guess that's the end of that. Tomorrow at the crack of dawn I head off to the beach. After all this hard work, I clearly deserve it.

Construction

2009-04-15T15:31:00.001-07:00

I´ve had 5 days of work at the construction site now. We (when I say "we" I mean me and the two Costa Ricans I´m working with, Robert and Juan) are building a little house for Robert´s in-laws (I think that´s the relation. They are the something of his wife, so I´m assuming he said parents). They are currently living next door, and he lives down the hill with his wife and two kids, aged six and eleven, with whom I attempt to chat sometimes. Robert is about my age, happy and smiley and knows about three words of English (about as many as I know Spanish). Juan, the other guy, is older, and seems to be missing quite a few teeth. I suspect he knows a bit more English, but he doesn´t use it. I think he´s the hired help-- as opposed to the free migrant laborer, who doesn´t understand what they are telling me to do, so I look like a complete idiot most of the time. I´ve given up on pretending I know what they are talking about, and just reach for my dictionary if sign language doesn´t work. It am having fun, though.

So far I´ve sifted a lot of dirt, moved dirt around, mixed concrete, moved concrete, poured concrete floors, and, my favorite, sanded conctete walls with-- wait for it-- a piece of concrete. (I think it was about 8 grit. That would be a rough sanding job.) My muscles are a bit on the sore side, but that´s okay. To get to the site, I have to take a local bus (which is an old school bus, of course) about 15 minutes out of town, and then walk for 15 minutes down a ridiculously steep hill. (Yes, I have to walk back up it at the end of the day... today I was a bit late, so basically ran up it in 13 minutes, because if I missed the 3:15 bus, I´d have to wait until 4:45 or walk back to town. My calves are in pretty good shape...)

Robert´s wife and/or father-in-law (who seems to have three teeth total, talks about a mile a minute, and I can´t understand a thing he says, but I love him) appear throughot the day bringing us drinks or snacks. Today they each appeared in the afternoon bearing coffee and cookies. Yesterday I was served hot fried plantains (kinda like bananas). At lunch today, the wife (no idea what her name is) brought me a glass of fresca, which was I think a melon smoothie made with condensed milk. My favorite drink though, would have to be the milky water that was kind of sweet. Oatmeal, I wondered. I asked, the grandpa said something, and the six year old pointed to the chunks in the bottom of the jugs. I checked my dictionary for what oat is, and yes, they were giving me aqua avena-- oatmeal water. It really isn´t that bad, and I kind of look forward to it now. (I still can´t stand to eat real oatmeal though. WAY too slimy.)

I´ve been studying my Spanish a bit, looking through my flashcards. I took out words that I didn´t think I would need, such as to fit, to seem, and to shave (I rarely use that word in English!). I did, however, keep in the word for to fall down, thinking that might come in handy. (It´s caer, by the way, or caigo for I fall down.) It has, three times now. I tripped over the radio cord, a piece of string leveling the floor, and yesterday I slipped on some gravel and ended up sloshing oatmeal water all over my back.

In chatting with Juan and Robert today (when I say chatting, I mean that I think about one sentence for about five minutes, finally attempt to put it together along with a fair bit of sign language and a few checks of the dictionary, then they say it back to me properly and then launch into a response for the next five minutes, about 2% of which I understand), I told them that I had been to Kenya and done some volunteer work there as well. I am pretty sure that they then asked me if people in Kenya eat each other. NO! It´s amazing what stereotypes people have. I told them that the white people I met in Kenya thought the blacks were stupid and tired (that was my translation of lazy). I said I didn´t like it. Robert asked (in Spanish), You don´t like the blacks? No, I don´t like the whites!

Two more days of work. Not sure what exciting tasks or bizarre mis-translations I´ll get up to tomorrow (or what odd things I´ll be fed), but I´m looking forward to it.

Easter weekend

2009-04-13T16:19:00.001-07:00

As I had four and a half days off work (after only one and a half days ON), I went away last weekend to La Fortuna, the town next to the largest (only??) active volcano in Costa Rica. There used to be a couple of towns closer to the volcano, but they got obliterated in 1968, when what they all thought was just a mountain erupted after being dormant for 450 years. (My father tells me that he was actually here at that time. Bet that was exciting!) I don´t know about you, but when the rivers started to run hot, I might have gotten out of town....

As I mentioned before, La Fortuna is basically just a tourist hotspot, but at least that meant it didn´t shut down completely on Good Friday. I wandered around the town a bit (okay, I pretty much walked through the entire town in about half an hour), popping in to various souvenir shops. No, I didn´t buy a hammock or sarong, which seemed to be mostly what was on offer. I did look at various wooden bits and bats, but I´m not willing to carry anything around the country. Maybe I´ll head back into a claptrap shoppe right before I leave. Maybe not.

I did get to go on an outing to see the volcano. Unlike in Guatemala, we weren´t allowed to actually climb on this volcano. (In Guatemala, I could have touched lava if I were insane. No barriers, no guards. Just common sense protecting us. Or at least some of us.) In fact, we saw it from quite a distance, but we did get to go on a nice nature hike through the forest (I think that´s what they call it here, rather than bush or jungle or something else I don´t know). Lots of palm trees, vines, and those wacky plants that you can grow in a little shell on the side of your fridge-- bromeliads, I believe they are called. They are happy growing anywhere, and don´t need a lick of dirt. (I won´t be mentioning that to any of my first graders, for it will just confuse them.) We saw howler monkeys and various birds. Everyone ooooohed and ahhhhed while the guide said "This is the most common monkey/bird in Costa Rica." As I said before, I wasn´t too bowled over, although seeing the hummingbird nest with two little (and I mean little) chicks in it was pretty cool, even for someone as jaded as myself.

My favorite part of the hike, however, was hearing this American guy ask a woman with an accent where she was from. She said Israel, to which he replied, "Cool. I have a friend who just went to India." (I think he might have been someone in Guatemala who would have melted his shoes on the lava.)

After the hike we went to a lookout spot at dusk so we could see the lava coming down the side of the volcano. We were (literally) miles away, but it was pretty neat nonetheless. From there we went to a hot springs spa place, with 25 pools of different temperatures. I particularly liked the Giant Jacuzzi, as well as the pool that had tile recliners built into it. But, as in Thailand when we went to the hot springs (although this place, thank goodness, didn´t smell like sulphur), we were allotted two and a half hours there, and I was ready to go after 20 minutes. I assumed something like this would happen, so I had brought a book.

One evening in La Fortuna, at a restaurant where the poor waitresses were forced to wear ridiculous lacy-collared blouses and huge peasant skirts (I wanted to give her an extra big tip just for having to endure that, but when I had to ask twice for the bill, I decided on a regular tip), I saw a child with a paper napkin tucked into her shirt-- but not as a bib as I would have expected. No, this child had hers tucked into the BACK of her shirt and was wearing it as a cape. That´s my girl.

Two nights there in a hostel (I was in a dorm room, but happily had the whole room to myself), and then I came back to San Ramón. Not much going on here, so I read a lot, studied my Spanish a bit, and then took myself to the movies. You know you are truly desperate for entertainment when you pay to see Dragonball: Evolution... in Spanish. That was Saturday afternoon. Yesterday, Easter, I treated myself to Monsters vs. Aliens, again in Spanish. Luckily, neither of these plots were terribly hard to follow, and the dialogue was pretty predictable, so I was able to catch bits and pieces of it. I think my next movie will be that Benjamin Button one (in English, but with sub-titles, so I can read along and perhaps learn a bit). The final movie they have here (I still have 5 days in Podunk) is Infamundo: Mays 18. Does anyone know anything about that, or what "Mays 18" means? Is that like NC 17, because if so, I need to be mentally prepared before heading in. Maybe I´ll see that on Wednesday, when it only costs $2.40 to go to the movies (as opposed to full price of $3.80!!).

Oh yeah, I´m wishing that there was another volunteer here with me, but I did find Their Eyes Were Watching God and The Diary of Anne Frank, so at least my reading has classed up a bit. (I tend to rotate between a real book, like The English Patient, which I finished in La Fortuna, and mindless rot, like the Patricia Cornwell book I finished yesterday morning.)

I would have loved to ask my hostess if there are any special things that they do or eat on Easter (I saw no evidence of eggs, or bunnies, or chocolate of any sort), but that question is just too beyond my level of Spanish (please see David Sedaris´s story in Me Talk Pretty One Day about discussing Easter traditions in French class).

I guess that´s it for now. Adios, amigos y amigas!

Homeward Bound

2009-04-11T10:21:00.000-07:00

A couple of months ago I was in a hostel somewhere in New Zealand and, as always, I had gone to bed early with my book. While reading, I could hear the other hostel guests sitting below my window, listening to music and chatting away. I was only vaguely aware of all this until I heard the familiar strains of Simon and Garfunkle´s Homeward Bound. I stopped reading and listened closely to the words, which suddenly had new meaning to me. After a minute I realized that all the conversation had stopped among the other guests, and they too seemed to be listening intently to the song. Apparently they also longed to be where their thought are escaping, where their music´s playing, where their loves lie waiting silently for them.

I have been singing that tune to myself (and sometimes out loud) for quite a while, but now I am singing it a bit louder and more frequently. I will be homeward bound in just a few weeks, about which I am very excited. I think I am done with traveling, certainly with traveling alone. I see other people with their friends, and I get jealous. I have read a lot of books. I have spent a lot of time sitting and thinking (sometimes I just sits). I have seen many lovely things, but at this point I have simply become jaded, and as I see another monkey in another jungle-vined tree, I think to myself, "Seen it already."

Is this what it means to be world weary? I don´t think so, but that is exactly how I feel. Right now I just long to be Homeward Bound....

The Grass Is Always Greener...

2009-04-09T17:10:00.000-07:00

I am currently in the tourist mecca of La Fortuna, the town closest to the active volcano Arenal (to which I have booked a tour tomorrow). In my wanderings around town this afternoon, I saw a place called Cafe Vienna. Naturally I had to go check it out. The guy behind the counter greeted me in English (how could he tell I was a Gringa?) so I asked him if anyone there was actually associated with Wien. Yes, he was from there. I thought to myself, Great, now I can practice that German that I am so fluent in. I opened my mouth, but I could not think of one word in German. All I had in my head was Spanish.

I guess I am only fluent on the other side of the fence.

GORP

2009-04-09T15:08:00.000-07:00

I just ate a bunch of gorp that I got from SuperMega (the local supermarket), and noted that they seem to add a bit of cayenne or something to it, for it is kind of kicky. My tongue is tingling a bit. Unless, of course, it is the fact that I was eating it out of the hand that I just used to smear DEET all over myself.

Apparently, common sense seems to have taken a vacation....

Constructing

2009-04-08T14:23:00.000-07:00

Worry not, I bought lots of chocolate last night (but managed to consume only three chocolate covered coffee beans), and today the world is much better. I went to work on my own today, and spent the morning (work ended at noon, because of Holy Week) sifting dirt, cleaning up the site, and playing soccer (to the best of my non-abilities) and chatting with a six year old. If nothing else, this will be 10 days of total Spanish immersion. It was reassuring to me when the child could actually understand what I said to him (and vice versa). But clearly either he has quite a limited vocabulary or my accent is horrendous, for sometimes I would look up a word in my dictionary (always in my pocket), and he still had no idea what I was saying. (I'm guessing it's not HIS limited language....)

I do like talking to kids, not only because I am comfortable with them (after 10+ years I should be!), but because he had absolutely no qualms about chatting away in Spanish, despite the fact that I could only get a word here or there. It reminded me (as have many moments in the last few weeks) of the scene in Love Actually where Colin Firth and the Portugese woman (if it wasn't Jennifer Ehle, she's incidental) were holding a conversation of sorts, each in their own language. That's me (but alas, Mr. Darcy is nowhere to be seen).

The kid asked me the names of my students (I wasn't up to explaining that I don't have any this year, so I went with last year's class, all of whose names I eventually remembered... in alphabetical order). He got a kick out of hearing their names, and happily told me that he has an Abby in his class too. Hearing him attempt to pronounce "Oliver" what quite a trip. It just wasn't going to happen even remotely. Sort of like me trying to pronounce "Luigi" (I think that is at least a little bit like the name he was saying to me).

As to names, I've just admitted defeat, and now introduce myself as Lucia. It's just easier.

Costa Rica Service Trip

2009-04-07T16:57:00.001-07:00

I knew that the service trip in Costa Rica would totally pale in comparison to that which I just did in Guatemala, but, three days in, I have to say that so far it pretty much sucks.

Granted, I didn't do a whole lot of research on the internet (being someone who can spend WAY too long mulling things over in her mind, but having limited time between deciding I wanted to do a service trip in CR and actually arriving here), but I will have quite a few things to put on the evaluation at the end. I was heartened when I met some folks in Antigua who had actually heard of the organization (called i-to-i), but it's gone downhill from there. It apparently is almost exclusively geared towards young adults, for there was way too much coddling going on during the orientation.

Yes, everyone else in the room was 18-23 years old and on their first trip, but come on, how many times to I need to be told that I can call them any time I might want, and that I should take a shower each day (well actually, I probably should be told that). But I could handle all of that, no matter how ridiculous it seemed, because I do appreciate that others might have needed it.

What I am not particularly appreciative of, though, is that, unlike the three other service trips I've been on this year, this seems to be more of a middle-man for volunteer organizations, and I'm working for some Costa Rican/Canadian group (although I haven't seen any Canadians yet). Okay, whatever. But here's the kicker. I am the only freaking volunteer. Today there were four other volunteers, but it was their last day. All of them. So this week (which actually only consists of one more day because of Holy Week, which is another big issue I have... if I had known that sooner than yesterday, maybe I would have booked for a different week, or at least been able to look into what I want to do with my four day weekend when ALL of Costa Rica will be going on vacation and oh, the buses don't run on Thurdsay or Friday, so I'll be stuck in Costa Rica's version of Creve Coeur-- I'm actually at the mall right now) and next week I will be toiling away by myself and with whatever the local crew might be (today it was two guys). Well, I guess my Spanish will be much improved by the end of it, so if you need to know how to say, "How many scoops of concrete would you like in the wheelbarrow," just let me know.

I'm not impressed with Costa Rica thus far, no matter how much other people love it. I think I need to head into the grocery store behind me and stock up on copious amounts of chocolate (which clearly I am in need of) before it shuts for the long weekend. (I did buy myself three books in English yesterday, so that should get me through the weekend if all else fails.)

Guatemala

2009-04-06T16:07:00.000-07:00

I recently finished my two weeks in Guatemala, and I have two distint impressions about the country (or at least Antigua and Guatemala City, which is where I was exclusively). Firstly, there are a lot of guns in Guatemala. Secondly, (and completely unrelatedly) that country sure does love Lent!

I have never seen so many guns in my entire life (possibly put together). And I´m talking big guns. Every policeman, security guard, and even one random guy in regular clothes walking down the street, was carrying a shotgun. At banks, jewelry stores, street corners... everywhere. One day, when arriving back at my homestay, there was a delivery druck dropping supplies off at the little shop across the street, and standing next to the truck was a guy with a big gun. There were even armed guards at the amusement park we went to with the kids from Safe Passage. It was slightly disconcerting seeing big guns around small children. My favorite gun moment (if there can be such a thing) was when we saw a police car rear-end (quite gently, as they were inching along in traffic) another car. The cops got out of their car, bearing machine guns, and, surprise surprise, the whole incident seemed to be taken care of in about 15 seconds.

The ridiculous number of guns made me feel neither safe nor unsafe, merely bewildered. (I haven´t any idea, I´m happy to say, whether the guns were ever put to use, or if they were even loaded.)

As to the country loving Lent, well, Antigua is reknowned for their Holy Week celebrations. Although I left right as Holy Week was beginning (but not before I got to see Jesus walk down the street in front of my house on Palm Sunday), I did get to see quite a bit of pomp and circumstance. They had processions every Sunday, in which families paid (!) to have their son(s) dress in purple satin robes and help to carry around a monstrous float. Presumably this is a bit of a status thing, as well as a way to do penance. The floats were accompanied by a big brass band playing funeral dirge after funeral dirge. During the week I was there (the week before holy week), there were loads of processions as well. While wandering along, the float and band and all the guys in purple walking alongside, and anyone else that wanted to follow the procession, walked over ´carpets´ that people made (out of flowers and pine needles, or really elaborate ones out of dyed sawdust). Hours are spent making these, and then they just get pulverized. (I particularly liked seeing the cleanup crew and garbage trucks following along sweeping up and getting rid of the debris.)

It was all quite a trip. As I've left Guatemala now, I will share with you the other random things I saw, heard, and thought.

Only 18% of students in Guatemala finish elementary school.

Guatemala (or Latin America in general) is where school buses go to die. They get all pimped out and turned into what is affectionately called chicken buses. While there were no chickens on the bus we went on, there was way over the legal capacity of people! We were sitting three to a seat. On field trips with kids, that is no problem. But three to a seat with adults means that the third person has maybe one cheek on the seat and is being propped up by being smooshed into the third person on the opposite seat. (Lucky for me, it was a strapping 24 year old lad...) The chicken buses have loud, booming horns that they like to use. They use them when they think someone might cross the street in front of them or need picking up or when they get to a street corner or whenever they damn well feel like it. (My bedroom faced a large Avenue, and the honking started at about 5 am.) AND the chicken buses don't seem to have to have any emissions testing. The black smoke coming out of the exhaust pipe was exactly like (in color and size) the scary black smoke in the first season of Lost. (What WAS that?) I couldn't have the windows open in my room, because of the fumes. (And yes, I could smell them starting at 5 am also.) Blowing my nose emitted some lovely black stuff. Ick.

I got to feel two earthquakes while in Guatemala... one while I was skyping my brother (although he wouldn't have known it unless I pointed it out to him).

You are supposed to barter with the people peddling their wares. But when it is only $3 to start with, and that three bucks means way more to the Mayan woman who is selling it than to you, who cares? I bought myself a headband, and didn't blink at the price. She must have felt bad, for she threw in a bracelet for free. It reminded me of that haggling bit from Monty Python.

In wandering aimlessly around town one day, I went into a jade jewelry store. (Apparently, as in New Zealand, jade was big Guatemala.) I was totally followed around the store by a clerk the whole time. Yes, I had a back pack, and yes I looked scruffy, but really? (Welcome to racial-- or socio-economic-- profiling, take two!)

I saw a boy of about four swishing along one day in snowpants. It was about 75 degrees.

At an ATM one day, yet another armed guard made me wait outside while the (apparently incompetent) tourists attempted to work the machines. Eventually he went over to help them punch buttons.

At my homestay, the elderly and very deaf mother of my host lived with them. One night she was apparently ill, for I was awoken at about midnight by the most awful series of noises. Moans, retching, yells, and some other noises that I can't quite describe, but I'm pretty sure have been used in zombie movies. It was the only time in my entire trip that I have actually been scared. (I was very glad I had locked my door.)

In Spanish class one day, my teacher gave me a worksheet that had all sorts of kitchen implements on it (some of which I didn't even know the name of in English). On that sheet was the very useful vocab for 'meat grinder'. How often does one use that word? Well, it gave me the opportunity to wade my way through the story (in Spanglish) about the time that I was looking for an apple peeler/corer in my kitchen and couldn't find one, but found five (no, I'm not exaggerating), FIVE meat grinders.

I made flashcards for all the vocabulary I had been learning (not the kitchen stuff, for when will I use that? I did put down the phrase "I broke..." though). I went through them the next day, and the pile of stuff I knew was actually larger than that I didn't. (Probably wouldn't be now, if I did it again.)

Upon entering the security area in the Guatemala airport, these words actually came out of my mouth (hopefully not too loudly): "Why are they all green? And putting their pants on?" (It was a soccer team all wearing matching shirts and putting their belts back on after security.)

My flight to Costa Rica had a layover in Nicaragua. There's another place I never in my life I thought I'd be....

Speaking Spanish

2009-04-02T13:50:00.000-07:00

I am nearing the end of my second week (that's semana en espanol, for those of you who aren't quite as fluent as I in Spanglish), and I am more or less managing to avoid any major catastrophes with my utter lack of language skills. (As you may have deduced from various posts, I took four years of German in college, preceded by 6 very useful years of Latin in high school. My total amount of Spanish would be a few phrases from Sesame Street. So as long as someone is asking me whether a door is opened or closed, I am all set.)

My Spanish speaking started off well last week. On the first day of our service trip, we went to the Safe Passage office, where we got to pick out two t-shirts. (By the way, my wardrobe has doubled in the last two weeks, as I got two t-shirts from Safe Passage, one from Bowdoin, one from the house building I'll be doing in Costa Rica, and one from the Spanish school. Getting dressed in the morning now is really hard, because I actually have decisions to make about what to wear!) I told the woman doling out shirts that I would like una blanca pico y una verde pico (probably totally screwing up all endings, but whatever). She told me, "Muy bien," to which I responded, "Danke... Bitte.... Scheisse!" (That would be German for Thank you... You're welcome... $#!t.)

While I had the Spanish-speaking Bowdoin folks around me, I pretty much rested on my linguistic laurels and let them do the talking. (I was eavesdropping on a fellow alum who thought he was talking about bacon one day, and I said "I could go for some [whatever the word was he said and I naively repeated]." The person I was speaking to looked blankly at me, and told me I had just said I could go for a Guatemalan woman. Hmmm, not today, I think.)

(By the way, I am happy to tell you that I am able to tune out children in any language. On the van to the amusement park on Saturday, I sat happily thinking my own thoughts while the din of excited children rang around me. Much the same thing happens on field trips at home. Happily, it was the OTHER van which contained the students who all started singing Waddlyacha, for which the other volunteers were not thankful to me.)

This week I am taking Spanish class for four hours each morning, and then doing my own thing in the afternoon. (Sometimes I have homework! I haven't had homework in 15 years. Sad to say, as soon as I pulled it out that first night, I automatically turned on the TV. It worked so well for me in college, why not continue thus? I like to pretend that watching American TV and reading the Spanish subtitles counts as language research.) I am staying with a family, and they chat to me in Spanish. So long as I have context and a fair amount of sign language, I can understand a fair bit, but I am not so good with the speaking myself. I managed to communicate to them that I don't eat breakfast, but I did inadvertantly accept a cup of coffee the other afternoon. (I don't drink coffee.) It came with a big chocolate cookie from this amazing bakery in town, so I decided it was worth it.

Taking Spanish class is funny to me, for I haven't been a student in quite a while. One morning I was learning to tell time in Spanish, so my teacher drew a clock and put the hands on it. She wanted me to read 6:30, but I was hung up on the fact that she had both hands pointing exactly to the 6. As anyone who teaches time (especially to the half hour) knows, when the big hand is at the 30, the little hand is half way to the next number! (I redrew the hands for her, and told her the time.) There was another time when she had me doing a little exercise where I had to change verbs from singular to plural or present to past within the context of sentences I was reading. I could do the exercise because I understood the formula, but couldn't have told you what any of it meant at all. There was no genuine understanding to be had that day!

Yesterday I decided that my Spanish skills were good enough (and I was in dire enough need) that I headed off in search of a place to get my hair cut. (I haven't had a haircut since the Gidget hack job that I had done in June.) The woman said something to me in Spanish, to which I looked blankly, and then she said "Shampoo?" No. No, I do not want a shampoo. No, I have not used any shampoo for the last week. Not sure what she was asking, but I think I answered it correctly. I told the woman that si, I wanted two or three fingers' worth of hair cut off. Then to emphasize the point, I put my hair in a ponytail to say that it still needed to be able to do that. I think my sign language translated to "Please cut it off to this length", for many inches of my hair fell to the floor. (Oh well, it grows.) I did have to do some corrective surgery with some kitchen shears when I got back to the casa, for there were quite a few hairs that hadn't gotten their due trim. Luckily the shaggy look is in. But for $6.60, what can I expect?

This afternoon I think I am going to treat myself to a hot chocolate while I make flashcards for myself. I head off to Costa Rica on Sunday for two weeks of housebuilding, so I'll be using my dictionary to translate such phrases as "Please hand me that hammer," and "I think I just chopped the top of my finger off."

pix

2009-04-01T13:26:00.000-07:00

I put up a couple pictures on the last few posts, so you can check them out. I´ll put some more of my favorites here. Enjoy.

Snail Mail

2009-03-31T09:12:00.000-07:00

I don't think "Snail Mail" accurately describes the postal service from Kenya. I have gotten three emails in the last two days saying that the postcards I sent in November had just arrived. Goodness only knows where they've been these past FOUR MONTHS! (In that time I've been to seven different countries on three different continents.)

The Cast of Characters

2009-03-30T16:08:00.000-07:00

The service trip that just concluded was filled with quite the cast of characters.

There was our fearless leader (class of '06, god help me!), who had volunteered with Safe Passage a couple of years ago and had lived in Antigua for many months, but after a week here, still turned the wrong way out of the hotel when she was going to walk me to my homestay.

There was the Bowdoin professor who was quiet but lovely, and who slowly but surely sipped her way through more tequila shots than the rest of us.

There was the 24 year old 6 foot 3 inch former football player (yes, Bowdoin has a football team) who was dubbed "Sparkles", for he was covered with glitter for about half the week. He regaled us with stories about his semester in Argentina, telling us about a hotel he had heard about which you could rent by the hour, which had covered parking for privacy, and at which you could rent various toys. He concluded his story with "It was awesome."

There was the woman ('06) who looked like Madame X from John Singer-Sargeant's painting, who instantly became my Food Buddy, because neither of us had any shame at digging right into whatever was put in front of us (and each other, and anyone else's food on the table).

There was the guy ('93) whom I knew of because he was in the same frat as some friends, who had me in stitches the entire week, especially when I watched him attempt to salsa. (I know you aren't supposed to laugh at people, but sometimes I just can't help it!)

There was the mild mannered doctor ('92) who managed to shatter the sink in his bathroom pretty much just by looking at it, and who was called upon way too often to tend to various medical needs in the group. (One brings those first aid kits on trips, but never pulls them out. Ours was pulled out five times, and there were at least two other instances where they could have been put to use... like when I was standing on a patio, being amazed at how windy it was and watching the tin roof blow off. And then the cinder block which was supposed to be holding the roof down fell on me. I broke its fall with my shoulder and hip. No blood, but a really good bruise!)

There was the woman ('92) whose first question was how to get out of the hotel in case of fire. Always good to have a safety nut in the group so that we are held accountable for all our actions.

There was the woman ('84) who was so wonderfully sarcastic that I couldn't help but smile every time she opened her mouth.

And there was the man ('76) who couldn't open his mouth without creating some diplomatic crisis, but whose heart was absolutely with us and the Safe Passage kids.

Everyone got along with everyone (not my experience with all service trips!), and there isn't a one of them that I wouldn't be happy to call my friend for a long time. Yea for us!

Bowdoin Service Trip

2009-03-29T16:48:00.000-07:00

The week-long service trip with alums from my college has just come to an end. I haven't had so much fun or laughed so hard in months and months (no offense to those I've seen in the last few months, but this was seven days of banter and laughing and being with nine other really smart people). The point of the trip wasn't necessarily to connect with alums (we ranged from class of '76 to '07) but rather to work with an organization in Guatemala City called Safe Passage, which works with families who are garbage pickers in the city dump.

While I was pretty overwhelmed by our trip to see the dump, and in disbelief that there were people whose job it was to chase down the garbage trucks and sort through their loads as soon as they dumped them in search of recyclables (hoping not to get buried, run over, or fall over the edge), I was not as moved by the school or kids as the others were. I'm not sure why exactly. Perhaps school is school to me, and I couldn't get over the bedlam that ensued in the classrooms. (Apparently the ship I run is tighter than I thought.) I had to keep reminding myself that, for the primary and highschool kids, this was more of an after school program, as they already go to school for half a day. And, as many of us know, after school programs tend to be a bit manic.

Our group worked with a bunch of 14 year olds to make plaster masks one morning. I don't speak any spanish (yet... I start a week of Spanish school tomorrow at 8 am), so I was not in charge of anything educational. Even though I spoke no Spanish, I could tell that the entire introduction to the lesson and directions consisted of "We're going to make masks," and then the 10 volunteers descended upon the faces of these kids. In the afternoon, when we were going to lead a first grade class in making birdhouses, Spanish or no, I just took over. I could envision that madness that was about to ensue, and I knew I wouldn't be able to stand it. So I showed them how to make the house, reminded them, of course, to put their name on it, and viola, they all could pretty much do it without any adult interaction, and the activity that was planned to take an hour took all of 20 minutes. (Oops!) So then I dragged the kids over and taught them one of my favorite songs, Waddlyacha, while the others got the paints and glitter (o-rama!) out for decorating. It all went pretty well, and it felt good to be bossing kids around again. My fellow alums went on and on for days about how well I did, and how apparently I was born to be a first grade teacher. (Tom, are you reading this?) It was nice to hear, and reassuring as I think about what my plans are for next year.

We were supposed to go into the program on Wednesday and Thursday as well, but we had what I am calling Guatemalan Snow Days. On Tuesday afternoon, three bus drivers in the city were killed (gang violence, I believe), and another two on Wednesday, so school was shut while things calmed down so it would be safe for the workers and volunteers to come in. (Don't worry, all was totally fine where we were staying, and where I will be this next week. We are about 45 minutes outside of Guatemala City in a lovely old colonial touristy town called La Antigua. I won't be going into the city except to the airport, and I assume that's not actually in the city at all.)

Instead of working those two days, we had time to explore the area we were in. We went to a Mayan textile cooperative on morning, and hiked up an active volcano in the afternoon. Yes, I saw lava rolling down a hill. It was hot and very, very neat. We were all absolutely filthy (and lots of us had cuts on various appendages) after four hours of walking around in lava dust, but everyone adored it. On our other free day we had a walking tour around Antigua, which was neat. It's funny to me that this area was colonized so much before the States. Life was trucking along here about 200 years before we got our act together up there. I guess it was easier to colonize the warm spots first. Or else the Spanish were just a lot more active than the Brits back then.

On Saturday we took the first graders on a outing to a zoo/pool/amusement park. The kids were all well-behaved, but having 13 kids in an olympic sized pool with 200 others, as well as running over to a kiddie pool, and only five of us had bathing suits (no bathing suit, no entry into the pool area at all) was pretty much one of my levels of hell. While the others got in and played with the kids, I stood guard and watched them run between the two areas and I counted, counted, counted them again. We managed to lose only one kid on the field trip, and that was as we were leaving and his aunt was there so he just stayed with her.

As I said, working at the project wasn't actually all that moving to me. However, getting the chance to spend a week with an amazing group of people moved me greatly. I know that my group of friends from Bowdoin is awesome, but this reinforced that they pretty much all are. From the cutie 24 year old guy to the dryly sarcastic 54 year old guy, every single one of them made me think, smile, laugh, and generally feel good about myself and life in general. On more than one occasion we had a Bowdoin Love-fest, where we all talked about how amazing it was to be with such a fantastic group of people (only a couple of them knew each other before, and not necessarily well).

Now that they are gone and I am here for another week, I think I will be sad and will really miss them. But I'll be busy taking Spanish classes, so at least I'll be able to send them emails in Spanish saying that I miss them.

I'll put up pictures tomorrow, hopefully, and post a blog about all the ridiculous things that we did, said, and saw. As night is falling, I need to head out to dinner!

Racial profiling

2009-03-26T16:44:00.000-07:00

When I was on the gangway getting onto my plane in Miami to come down to Guatemala, there were some immigrations officers (as well as a cop with a drug-sniffing dog, all with big guns) who were pulling people out of line. They grabbed the guy ahead of me and pulled him aside. When I looked at the line of people that they had accumulated, they were all Hispanic. That was the first time I'd seen racial profiling in action, and it made me really uncomfortable. (Not sure what the immigration guys were looking for, as this was a plane back to Guatemala.) I wasn't terribly proud to be an American at that moment...

GRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!

2009-03-26T16:41:00.001-07:00

I just wrote a long post about being in Guatemala, and the freaking computer ATE IT! I think it will have to wait for another day, for I'm tired now, and don't feel like writing it all over again. Maybe tomorrow I'll bring the usb cable with me, so I can get pictures uploaded at the same time.

Until then, I'm in Guatemala, doing fine, and having fun. (But pissed at the computer.) More later.

Cayman Islands

2009-03-21T19:27:00.001-07:00

I am just finishing up my four days in the Cayman Islands with two of my friends from work. I arrived in the Miami airport at 5 am last Wednesday, and promptly became one of those people you see, who is curled up on the floor trying to sleep. It was going all right for me until someone opened a door or something and an alarm started to blare. No one came… And no one came… And no one came. (So much for security in the Miami airport!) I think I lay there for about 10 minutes listening to this constant wail, for my body was incapable of moving. (I’d gotten about half an hour of sleep on the plane from LA, and not slept enough the previous three nights, so I was a wreck.) I found a new spot, dozed a bit more, and eventually gave up around 8 and started wandering the Miami airport. (Brookstone foot massage chair…. Gooooooooood.)

DeAnn and Claire arrived from St. Louis around 9:45 and there was much rejoicing. We talked, we laughed, we caught up, and, when we got on the plane to the Cayman Islands, we fell asleep. We stayed with a friend of Claire’s who emigrated to Grand Cayman not too long ago. (It’s good to have friends with friends in nice places.) Trevor was an excellent host this week, driving us around the island (literally… we drove around the entire island this afternoon), taking us to fancy restaurants (all you can eat Brazilian beef on swords) as well as good old dives (doner kebabs).

The famous (although I’d never heard of it until I arrived here) Seven Mile Beach was just a few minutes’ walk from the house, so we headed there each day. Being with two pasty people who haven’t seen the sun in months (poor souls), we sought out shade, but there were trees conveniently located along the beach. One time, though, we apparently set our towels in the wrong place (just in front of a sign that said “no trespassing beyond this point”), and this Irish (although Claire thought she was Scottish) woman proceeded to try to tell us that the beach was private. She kept saying something about the water’s edge, but I wasn’t understanding exactly what it was she meant, so I asked her to repeat herself about three times. Of course, it could just be that I was distracted by the fact that this woman, while nicely telling us to shove off, was, to all intents and purposes, fondling her large aqua bosom (as Claire put it).

Yesterday we had a fantastic day (despite the lack of large aqua bosoms—we three don’t quite add up to six lentils nailed to three boards). We went on a five our boat tour through North Harbour. First stop was to conch dive. Masks and fins donned, into the water we went. DeAnn wasn’t so sure about going the 8-10 feet down to get a conch, so we compromised. I got the conch, then went back under water 3…4…5…6 feet so she could get it from me. She claims she could see me smirking even with the snorkel in my mouth as I held the conch deeper and deeper and made her swim for it, but I don’t know what she’s talking about. From there we went to the Coral Gardens for some proper snorkeling, then to Stingray City, were we got to swim with, hold, and even kiss some stingrays (apparently it brings 7 years good luck, so we’ve got 21 good years coming our ways). Last stop was lunch, where we ate the conchs we caught. (We got to keep the shells. Claire is VERY kindly carrying mine home, as I certainly am not willing to shove that massive and heavy thing in my backpack and take it to Central America.)

One might think that the day couldn’t have gotten better after all that fun in the sun (and a scorching sunburn on my back. Haven’t had one of those in decades!), but it did. We went out to dinner at a relatively non-descript place, but the music that they had playing was fantastic. Every late 80s/early 90s song that we knew and loved, starting with, of course, Ace of Base (or at least that is when I focused on the music, for I can hear “The Sign” from miles away). It was not a karaoke bar per se, but we had a good old raucous sing-along for about an hour, probably much to the amusement of those around us—certainly to the amusement of Trevor. (No we were not in our cups—they’d each had only one beer, and I’d had nothing to drink.) The best part was that a number of times we mentioned a group or song, and soon thereafter it would play. It was freaky, and we actually looked around to see if there was a microphone listening in on our conversation, but we decided that we just would be really good friends with the DJ, for clearly we all had the same taste.

Today was a somewhat lazy day, but really, when you are on a Caribbean Island, what day isn’t a lazy day? Tomorrow we head off at the crack of dawn and head our separate ways… they back to STL and I to Guatemala. It has been really great to catch up with them (to get the gossip from school) and just to hang out with people I know. It has been confusing again, though, for me, and I have wondered where I was many times. (But not which direction I was facing as I watched the sun set into the ocean, as DeAnn did.)

Tomorrow I return to my life as a nomad among strangers. Hopefully this interlude of two weeks with friends and loved ones will have been good and won’t set me into a homesick spiral. (Anyone know how to say “homesick” in Spanish?) But the light is burning pretty brightly at the end of the tunnel. I think I’ll be home in two months (and wondering what to do next… suggestions welcome).

Hiatus

2009-03-20T14:37:00.000-07:00

Sorry about the long gap between posts, but I had a brief hiatus on the West Coast (of the US!), and didn’t seem to get around to writing anything. But now that I am in the Cayman Islands with nothing to do but sit on the beach and get sunburned with two of my teacher friends from home, I think I probably can find the time to jot something down.

I arrived in San Francisco after about 30 hours of traveling (ugh) and was met at the airport by a friend of mine from college (same friend I called when I had my little meltdown in the town square in Christchurch, so I was happy to thank him in person, as well as to show him that I came through all right). I managed not to fall asleep in the subway, so was coherent enough to appreciate when he said to me, “You’ll like this…” and pulled a dead bird out of his backpack. (No, nothing to worry about there—I don’t think. He’s just a bit of a bird nerd. So you never really want to go diving into his freezer in search of ice cream. Of course that could just be his ploy to keep the ice cream all to himself.) Although he was pretty busy with school work, he managed to find some time to hang out with me. (And when he couldn’t, he distracted me with a large pile of saved NYTimes puzzles.) He’s pretty calm and quiet, so let my stories pour forth as I saw fit. Luckily (I guess), he doesn’t read my blog, so all of my stories were new to him.

After just two days with him I headed back to the airport to go up to Portland, Oregon , to meet my mom and see some other friends. When I checked in at the San Francisco Airport, I saw that the gate assigned on my boarding pass was different from the one on the board (but only by one). I headed to gate 48, and there was the flight to Portland. Out of curiosity, I checked to see where the plane at gate 49 was headed. Saint Louis. I smiled, and checked my ticket to make sure that I was indeed heading to Portland.

While standing outside of security in the Portland Airport awaiting the arrival of my mother, I was surprised at how unexcited I felt. It’s not that I wasn’t looking forward to seeing my mom, I just wasn’t as giddy as I’d expected. Mind you, it could have been that I had absolutely no feelings whatsoever at that time, for jetlag was seriously kicking my butt, which really hasn’t ever happened to me before. I wasn’t managing to fall asleep until 2 am, and then my friend and his housemate were both up and functioning (and therefore I was as well) by 7 am. Ugh. But when my mother did appear, we both got a little teary-eyed, so I knew that all was well in my world.

We had a nice few days up there (COLD! I haven’t been in cold weather since England in October. But mom had brought me jeans), although I did try to get in on the wrong side of the car a number of times. On Sunday I went back to the airport (another flight… sigh) and flew back to San Francisco for a couple more days with my friend. Getting on the plane (Alaska Airways) in Portland, I had to walk out onto the tarmac… in the hail. I gave the guy ahead of me a good long headstart to get up the ramp into the plane, but I still was way faster than him and was standing in the rain and hail trying to protect my head with the Sunday Times (but not the magazine… that was safely tucked away from the elements so that the puzzle would be undisturbed). Once on the plane, I heard the guy behind me say “Let me try to get this hail out of my ear.”

Two more days of calm and quiet in San Francisco, and then I was back on the road. It was nice to be home (of sorts), I think, but it was a bit weird. My packing system was all thrown off. My sleep was a mess. And I constantly was confused as to where I was. (That has, surprisingly, only happened ONCE thus far, until now.)

And I did have many times where I wondered about the fact that I had thrown myself off the merry-go-round of life, and whether I would actually be able to get back on. Has my job gone by, and do I care? Do my friends still remember and need me? It may seem silly, but it’s true. But seeing my friend in SF, and getting to talk to friends on the phone whom I haven’t spoken to in months really helped allay my fears. I think it will be all right. And even if I can’t get back on the merry-go-round of my former life, I think that will be okay.

But I’ll deal with that all later. Now I think there’s a bottle of wine being opened by DeAnn and Claire (it’s 4:15, and I am colada behind them)…

random

2009-03-10T16:32:00.000-07:00

The problem with having a blog that people actually read is that when I see my friends again, I'll have nothing to say!

The Longest Day

2009-03-10T16:15:00.000-07:00

March 9, 2009 was the longest day of my life. Literally. It went on for 48 hours because I crossed the international date line. 30 of those 48 hours were spent in transit from Auckland to San Francisco (via Fiji and Los Angeles). I thought it would be the day from hell, but it turned out to be the best day of my trip thus far.

On the first flight from Auckland to Fiji I was seated next to a very friendly, interesting, not-hard-to-look at guy just a few years older than I, who has spent the last 3 months traveling through New Zealand. We chatted away and had lots in common, so that plane ride went by in a flash. He was making the connection to LA as well, so the whodunnit that I'd bought for the 6 hour layover looked like it might not get read.

When we got off the plane, we were hit by a wall of heat and humidity. The thought of six hours in a transit lounge again became unappealing, so when the airport people said we all needed to go through customs and then check in again (because the layover was just a tiny bit more than six hours), I didn't mind too much. I was looking forward to getting a Fiji stamp in my passport, and I thought I might escape for a while and see what I could see of the town or island. (The handsome man on my plane was right behind me in the customs line, but an airport guy came and said that we could actually check in, so he must have wandered off with the rest of the people after I went through.) So I changed my remaining $25 NZ to $22 Fiji, and went out to find a taxi. I told the taxi driver I had $20 and loads of time, and to please show me what he could show me until the money ran out. He seemed somewhat reluctant (I think $20 probably would have gotten me to the town of Nadi and back, but I didn't care), but agreed.

I introduced myself to the driver, Vinod, and we headed off. He suggested that if I had a bit more money, he could show me some really beautiful places. Nope, $20 was all I had to spend. I asked him various questions about Fiji and the town and we chatted. He drove me by a Hindu temple (he, like 35% of the Fijian population, is Indian) and asked if I had a camera. I duly took a photo of this colorful temple, so not to offend. He drove me through town, telling me that it was a public holiday (Mohammed's birthday, so there's another religion. I saw a church as well somewhere along the lines). Then he drove me into a little residential street, honked the horn in front of a somewhat ramshackle house and gate, and asked if I wanted to come to his home. Ummmm, okay.

So I got to meet Vinod's wife, Asha, 15 year old daughter, Arusha, and 20 year old son (whose name I promptly forgot, but it means rain). They gave me a cup of tea, and I shared the remains of my wasabi peas and half a candy bar which I had in my little pac. After half an hour or so, Vinod said he needed to get back to work, but I would stay with his family and they would make me dinner. Ummmm, okay.

I went outside with the son to get some leaves for dinner. No, we didn't go to a little garden plot and pick some spinach. He got a big knife (think machete), chopped down a large branch off of a tree (I kept asking if it was a tamarind, but everyone said no, even though it really looked like one to me), and picked off the little leafy branches. Asha cleaned the branches (smacking them a few times against her hand to shake off the bugs, I assume), then chopped up the leaves. Meanwhile the son cracked a coconut and shredded the meat.

When it was all said and done, that became a delicious something, which was served along with rice, roti with dal, some breadfruit curry, dal soup, and a dish made with potatoes and something I hadn't heard of. It was all amazingly delicious. And there I was, a random stranger sitting in their living room, having this Indian feast.

Vinod came home about 8 and the whole family, including the upstairs neighbor and her two young kids, piled in the car and drove me back to the airport. They asked if I would be coming back to Fiji some day. ABSOLUTELY!!!!! As I checked in again, and all the way into the transit lounge where I found the handsome man again, I had a huge grin on my face. What a wonderfully serendipitous day.

If you ever land in Nadi, Fiji, I highly recommend the taxis.....

Lake Taupo

2009-03-07T18:09:00.000-08:00

The mice and rats in Taupo eventually did all arrange themselves as they were supposed to, if a bit late. I had just booked myself into a youth hostel, made my bed, chatted with two German girls I'd be sharing with, and was heading into town, when my phone finally rang. My hostess's phone was again working and she's just gotten my pleading email with my phone number.

So I headed back to the hostel, folded up the sheet on the bed, and (quite luckily) got my money back. I did see the two German girls and I thought about explaining that I was going to stay with a local, but I thought it would be more fun for them to postulate on what had happened to me.

I sat out front, wondering what sort of car my hostess would arrive in. At first I thought it would be a sedate little grandma-like car, like my two previous hostesses (this woman, as with the previous two, had been a student of my aunt's 53 years ago). But then I thought how my aunt had said that one of the pleasures of staying with this woman would be to have your bath in the garden, so I decided she might have a bit more of a clunker. Perhaps a beat up old station wagon. Datsun or Subaru. Lo and behold, about 10 minutes later an aged Subaru (which she pronounced su-BAH-ru) station wagon pulled up, and I gave myself a little pat on the back.

I was taken out to the house, which was amazing. It reminded me of an Italian villa, but then, as I was reading The House of the Spirits which is set in South America, I decided it was actually more Spanish. There was a central courtyard, bits and pieces of sculpture all over, and an absolutely amazing garden full of exotic trees. I went for a little wander through the garden, and was amazed (and sometimes startled) by all the sculpture around (the large copper leopard in the tall grass made me jump). I did some mental planning of what I want when I grow up and have a house of my own. (I typed "hose" the first time. Much more likely.) And yes, there was a bath in the yard. It was a hot-spring fed tiled pool, surrounded by bushes and ferns. Oh yes, I did my fair share of late-night, under the stars, skinny dipping, as well as some not-too-early morning dipping.

WAY better than any hostel!

As happens sometimes, I was not the only visitor to the house. My hostess's Kiwi goddaughter was arriving with her American husband and kids. It turns out that they live not half an hour from where I spend my summers. As he was my age, we started playing the name game. I began with all the people I knew growing up, but that got us nowhere. As he is a cabinet-maker, I went into the carpenters I know. My farmer-boss doubled as a carpenter, but this guy didn't know him. He did know another farmer though, so he tried out her name on me. I knew OF her, but didn't know her. Then I started listing off the names of farmers that I knew. (I spent 13 summers working on a little organic farm in coastal NH, so I knew a couple.) We had lots of luck on that front. He had been good friends with one of the farmers who lived in my house for quite a few years. He said to me, "You don't live in that farm house near the horses that lots of people rent out?" Yes, I was half way around the world, and I met a man who had been in my house. (Then again, who HASN'T?)

One day my hostess decided to take me down to the Hawkes Bay region to see Napier, an Art Deco town (it was destroyed in an earthquake in the 30s, so was completely rebuilt in the Art Deco style. Alas a lot of that has been pulled down to make way for more modern--read "ugly"-- construction) and go to a couple of wineries. Out of the garage she drove her 1962 Cadillac. I was excited to get in the right side of the car again, but was a bit dismayed to see that there was a leopard-print cloth covering the whole front seat, so none of the three of us (who were sitting abreast without touching, the car was so big) had seat belts. It's not like the roads in NZ are only two lanes, hilly, and windy or anything.

The woman was a bit of a nut, but enjoyable, and treated me like the little queen that I know I am (or would like to become), so I had a lovely stay there.

Random Kiwi thoughts, part 1

2009-03-05T19:32:00.000-08:00

Random thoughts and observations from New Zealand, of which I have plenty, so I'll probably do this in two goes.

No, I have seen no Kiwi (birds), although I did hear one one evening (they are nocturnal). Yes, I have eaten Kiwi (fruit), which actually comes from China. I've even had a golden kiwi.

Every single Kiwi (person) feels that it is their responsibility to give you a little history of the area/country. Given how many different Kiwis I've met, I feel that I might be able to recite the Treaty of Waitangi (the agreement between the Maoris and Europeans in 1840).

When Aussies and Kiwis talk about "the bush" they really just mean the woods. Let's for a moment imagine that Robert Frost was from Down Under. "Whose bush this is I think I know..."

In small NZ towns, one shop will act as the post office, information center, local museum, gift shop, Internet center, and, if you're lucky, cafe and general store as well.

At a restaurant the other day I heard, in succession, I Will Survive, Lady (by Lionel Richie), and The Gambler. Flash back to elementary school and a sing-along-o-rama!

New Zealand money is actually printed in Australia.

I misread "AERO CLUB" as "AFRO CLUB". Common mistake, I'm sure. (I actually saw a couple people of African descent the other day. Not a lot of African blacks here, although the Maori refer to themselves as blacks.)

I still don't know about the water flushing down the toilet in reverse, but I can tell you that the hot and cold taps are often reversed. But not always. Someone please explain that to me.

Maybe they have this in new buildings at home (which I have apparently not been in), but I was surprised the other day when I went to get on an elevator, and instead of pushing an up or down call button, you pushed the number of the floor. Once inside the elevator, there were no numbers. (Yes, it was confusing to me.)

I saw a guy throwing bread to the pigeons.... but he was throwing it into the street. Trying to keep the bird population down?

The Wellington Museum tells the history of the city, and the first exhibit is a little replica of the old wharves, complete with rat scurrying along the bags of grain.

I saw four women walking down a pedestrian mall in Wellington (a couple older women, a younger one whose face was painted like a vampire) carrying a bathtub. (Not clawfoot.)

From a distance, alpaca look like giant roosters. Shorn alpaca look like giant poodles. (Not sure what I'd eaten or drunk that day....)

There are no superhighways here. In and out of the really big cities you might get two or three lanes, but in between cities and towns, the roads are two lanes-- one in each direction-- and many of the bridges are only one lane. So when looking at distances, don't think you'll be doing 60mph (or even kph!).

I saw a guy at a restaurant in Christchurch shooing away the gulls with a Super Soaker.

In the Cantebury Museum they have the Paua Shell House. This is the reconstructed living room of Fred and Myrtle Somebody. The display started with a little video. I was a bit worried when the door to the screening room closed with an ominous click. Had we just been locked in so we couldn't escape the movie about NZ kitsch?

On the way to Queenstown the bus was driving alongside a creek. I saw someone all togged up in scuba gear standing in it.

Have you noticed road signs with lots of little dents in them? I always assumed it was kids shooting the signs with BB guns or something. I saw one down here which had a hole the size of a golf ball blown through it. No idea what made that.

I didn't get to go to the Hokitika Sock Machine Museum. Bummer.

I officially turned into my grandmother when I wrapped up my extra bun-- and the free butter-- and put it into my bag for later.

They talk about pies here a lot, but theirs are made of possum, rabbit, deer, venison, goat...

I saw a sign that said "Sandflies arrive on mass."

Old bathtubs are scattered throughout fields here as drinking troughs for the animals. Where do the farmers get so many old tubs from?

Dogs like to eat crap (literally) sometimes. Dogs like to rub their muzzles against your leg sometimes. Sometimes dogs leave crap on your leg.

I was drinking water that tasted a bit funny. I asked my hostess if she'd put some herb in it (sage?). No, just lemon. A few minutes later I did see a leaf in my glass. No, wait, those are wings. And the legs are floating over here...

In Tauranga, I stayed at a house around the corner from the oldest Kiwi vines in NZ.

The people over here don't wear shoes much either. One day my barefoot host took me to a cafe, a Target-like store, the grocery... Apparently these people missed the day in biology class where they talked about all the diseases and worms that you could get through your feet. (I'm not usually one to worry about hygiene, but that always stayed with me.)

That's it for now. More later.

School Visit

2009-03-05T18:21:00.000-08:00

To pretend that my year of playing has some professionalism to it, and to remind myself what classrooms look like, I've tried to visit schools in the countries I've been in. Today I had two quick tours of some West Auckland public elementary schools. It was Friday afternoon when I visited the schools, so I didn't expect to see a whole lot of serious teaching or learning going on, but that's fine with. One can get a pretty good idea of a school just by looking at the walls.

At the first school the main impression that I got was that the staff was ridiculously young. I like to pretend that I am still one of the young teachers, but in reality I've moved into the older bracket. Such is life. But at this school I didn't see anyone who looked over 30, and I don't think it is just that Kiwis age well. It made me wonder about teacher turnover. (Which at times is non-existent at my school. They know a good thing when they see it!)

The second school, which has a huge emphasis on technology so there were a dozen computers and laptops in every room, is only 7 years old, in a new building that has water issues. Serious water issues... like many of the classrooms had huge poles in the middle of them supporting the ceiling so it wouldn't collapse. Bummer! I noticed that the dress code at that school was pretty lax. More lax than my school used to be before Dress Code Drucilla came into existence. One guy (a sub) was wearing a black t-shirt and shorts, a camo hat, and had a mohawk/mullet hairdo peeking out from underneath. Wow. That's about all I could say. Wow.

I was chatting with the deputy principal and asking various questions. I asked about how often the teacher teams got to meet. (At my school we are required to have one team meeting a week, but on my team it was more like two or three formal ones, and myriad informal ones.) The woman proudly said that the teams had one whole day per TERM that the teachers had to meet and plan, and then pointed to the staff room behind me as an example. In it were four teachers, all sitting at separate tables, all working independently on their laptops. Good teaming! (I am hoping that the one day per term that they had to meet was just when they were released from class for the day, and not the ONLY time that these teachers met.)

It was fun to visit the schools though, to remind myself that there is a reason that people from all over the world visited our school.

Vagabond Days

2009-03-01T12:57:00.000-08:00

Ah, the best laid plans of mice and rats...

Traveling around the North Island was supposed to be easy breezy, being passed from person to person. Alas those people have lives and schedules and aren't on holiday as well!

After a nice (albeit a bit wet-- 4 inches of rain on Saturday!) weekend with some lovely people in Tauranga, I was dropped in town this morning at 7am. (I am NOT a morning person.) No onward bus yet booked, and not able to reach the person I am hoping to stay with this evening in Taupo, I went to Starbucks to pass the time. I don't make a habit of going to Starbucks, but not much else was open at that hour, especially where I could settle in and read my book for an hour and a half.

The bus is now booked for Taupo, but I still haven't been able to talk to the woman in Taupo, so she has no idea that I'm coming. Last I spoke to her, a week ago, I had said that I didn't think I'd be able to make it down there, but would let her know if I could. The day after that call she left town for a week and I found that my hiking trip up north was canceled, so I could stay come visit. Considering how many times during the call she said I sounded beautiful, I am assuming I will be welcomed. That is if she got the email or phone message I left.

Adventures in traveling. It wouldn't be so bad wandering around homelessly if I didn't have this huge pack on my back and looked like a vagabond. (I can't wait to get to the States next week, however briefly, so I can get rid of a bunch of stuff and not walk doubled over. I've tried changing my posture so that I walk a bit more erectly, and work on my abs at the same time, for my six pack has been diminished to about two.)

Pass the Parcel Tour

2009-02-25T17:30:00.000-08:00

When I was staying in New Plymouth with one of my aunt's former students (or the sister thereof), I was told that I am on a "pass the parcel" tour. I would be the parcel, being shipped from person to person. With one sister in New Plymouth (which supposedly has a beautiful Fuji-esque volcano near it, but I sure didn't see it with all the clouds), a night at a hostel in Waitomo Caves (where I got to see glowworms galore, which were pretty cool), another sister in Hamilton, and she dropped me off today with the brother of one of the parents from the school where I teach. Taught. I wish I could say that I had a lovely collection of stamps on my forehead (or my backpack) from all the passing of the parcel, but alas not. The only thing you might be able to see is the result of all the meals I've been fed. (THREE a day! I don't eat that at home.)

New Plymouth, despite the fact that the mountain was hiding, was lovely. We went for a walk through the lush city park one day, and the next day we headed out of town a bit to the Rhododendron gardens. I do like plants and walking, so I was quite happy.

The Waitomo Caves experience threatened to be pretty beastly at first. It was one of those days where I awoke with a black cloud hovering over my head, and things didn't seem to be going my way all day. The bus dropped me off miles from anywhere. The cafe where I was told I could call for a pick-up was closed. The hostel that I'd booked at was no longer a YHA, so I got no discount. The kitchen of the hostel didn't even have glasses in it. (You had to put down a $10 deposit for cutlery. Bugger that, I have a water bottle.) But the next day I awoke, and, despite the fact that it was absolutely peeing with rain outside, the black cloud had disappeared and all was well. I walked down to the glowworm cave, handed over ridiculous amounts of money for a 45 minute tour of the cave (the only way you could get in), and I got to experience the magical place. (Glowworms are the larva of some fly, which glow to dupe other bugs--quite possibly their cousins-- into flying into their snares and eaten.) The glowworm cavern was like looking at the stars in the sky from a Phantom-of-the-Opera type boat ride. Loved it!

I am now in Hamilton, the fourth largest city in NZ. It's not an overwhelmingly exciting city, but that's okay. Probably like visiting Des Moines. It has it's charm if you look for it. (No, I've not been to Des Moines. Or Iowa. Too many republicans there. (That's for you, Eric.)) There's a river I may go wander along, and this evening I'll be going to see The Taming of the Shrew in the park. Again. I saw it with my hostess last night, but the parcel has been passed today and my new hosts have that on their agenda for tonight, so I told a little fib and said No, I'd not been to anything at the festival, and off we will go. Unless it rains. Although today looks like the first day that it is NOT going to rain! Of course.

Tomorrow I get passed along again to points East.

It Isn't Easy Being Green

2009-02-24T14:10:00.000-08:00

After all the brainwashing that I have tried to do to my students over the years about recycling and being environmentally conscious, after walking or riding to work for 10 years (many days, not all), after volunteering for environmental organizations, I have seriously fallen off the wagon this year, and my carbon footprint is about as bad as it can get. In a 10 day period I will be on 8 different flights. Add four more days, and then it is 10 flights.

Good lord, I am never going to want to see another airplane or airport again!

Wellington

2009-02-21T17:59:00.000-08:00

In this year of staying with random contacts, I find that I win some and I lose some. In Wellington, I was supposed to stay with a friend of my aunt, who is a renowned NZ actress (the friend, not my aunt, although she's pretty cool too). After receiving an initial email from this Dame (in the OBE sense, not the Bogart sense) in October saying she looked forward to welcoming me, I got no further responses from her. So I figured that my Wellington experience, which had promised to be a winner, might turn into a loser.

Luckily, not too long ago, a family friend from home said that one of her old college friends lived in Wellington, so I sent off a quick email, and invited myself there. Like all Kiwis (that I have experienced), these people said they would be delighted to have me.

Let me tell you, these few days were seriously in the "I win" column. I was a bit disgruntled initially that they told me to get taxi from the ferry (are there no buses?). I had to shell out $25, and we couldn't even find the house. Her directions gave me the street number of the house opposite, but not theirs. It turns out that the block of flats that we kept driving by in the taxi was actually their house. The first thing I noticed (once out of the rain and inside) was that they had an amazing art collection to go along with their amazing house. The second thing I noticed was that my host (probably about 60) was really, really interesting. I loved that the 30 year old daughter lived in a flat in the basement with her husband, and the 23 year old son was coming in and out. It felt just like home.

In talking with him, Ian, the father, would mention things like, "When I was the head of TV NZ... When I ran the NZ division for Expo 92..." I nodded and smiled and listened to the interesting stories. But on my final day there, when I noticed all of the large framed political cartoons featuring my host, I finally asked him, "Who ARE you???" He said he had thought about it, and that he was NZ's version of Ted Koppel. That would have explained the photographs of him shaking hands with Nelson Mandela and Prince Charles (not at the same time). Huh, go figure. And here I am imposing myself upon them. (No, I'm not going to give out their contact information, for I'm going to keep it all to myself so I can invite myself there again and again!) I had just as much fun with them in Wellington as I had with the lovely little old lady in Sydney! (But they had a puppy to boot, so maybe they win.)

Wellington itself was great. A very liveable city, if a bit steep. (That would be putting it mildly. My calves actually became numb one day walking up the hill to their house.) I had a nice wander around the city for a few days, once getting a bit lost and ending up actually standing in front of the American Embassy, where I was quickly met by a guard who hastened to guide me on my way... away. (Stupid paranoid Americans. The other embassies had no guards running out to meet me as I passed, and Cuba even had their gate standing wide open!)

I went to various museums, including Te Papa, which is their national museum. One of the exhibits was a set of videos of New Zealanders talking about their favorite places. There was one Maori (which is pronounced kind of like 'moldy' here) who talked about his 'fakapapa'. (I eventually found the word written, "whakapapa"-- but remember the /wh/ sounds like /f/-- and it means 'genealogy' or 'family story'.) In the movie, someone said, "When he whakapapas..." I spent the rest of the afternoon (and actually many successive days) saying to myself "fakapapa", for it is just so much fun to say, especially quickly as they do. (If you are feeling blue sometime after I get home, give me a call, and I will just say the word to you a few times, and I'm sure we'll both feel much better.)

I was very sorry to leave Wellington, but I figured if I didn't force myself to leave, I might not ever do so, and I would turn into one of the house guests my family has had who was meant to stay for three weeks and stayed for two months, 8 months, and in one case, about 7 years! (If you haven't seen the film "You Can't Take It With You", you should. I'm pretty sure it is written about my family. I'm the one in the tutu.)

pix up

2009-02-17T16:03:00.000-08:00

I have managed to get pictures up--and even a little video-- for The Best Place in the World if you want to go back and check it out. But for some reason the video whacked out the spacing, and when I go back to correct it, it seems to take about 45 minutes to think about processing, so you're on your own for the moment in deciphering where paragraphs should begin and end. Sorry!

Kayaking

2009-02-14T23:51:00.000-08:00

Over the weekend I spent three days kayaking on the Tasman Sea in the Abel Tasman Park, at the top of the South Island. At some point during the three days (okay, many times during the three days), I thought that maybe it was a good thing that my two week Outward Bound sea kayaking trip in Costa Rica was canceled.

The day we headed out was a bit blustery. The eight of us were taken in a water taxi (translation: speed boat with all of our kayaks strapped to the back) about an hour up the coast. I apparently had gotten into the booby seat, for everyone else was sitting under a plastic cover, and I was getting thoroughly sprayed as we crashed over every wave. So before we even got into our kayaks, I was soaked. Nothing I could do but laugh, knowing that they would be just as wet as I soon.

We were all in double kayaks, I paired with a retired gentleman (of course) from Sacramento. I was not sure about the fact that he had control of the rudder, and I could do nothing but paddle (which I did, often attempting to steer us as he had us zig-zagging around the sea). (I became quite worried about my partner at camp that evening when he, sounding surprised, said he had met a New Zealander who did NOT like George W. Bush. Wait, you found only one?? Apparently I was saddled with a conservative. Luckily we were too busy wrestling with the elements to be able to talk much.)

We paddled about in a lagoon at first, getting used to the boats, and then headed out through the breaking waves into the high seas and headwind. I don't know if it was raining or not, because there was so much spray. I asked the guide how high these big swells were that we were in, and she estimated, "Um, one and a half or two." That would be meters. Yes, I was out there in a kayak (sitting about two feet out of the water) in seven foot swells. It actually wasn't scary or bad... until about an hour later when it was slightly less rough but still very wavy, and we were going up and down, up and down, up and down. After about three minutes of deep breathing I decided it wasn't worth it to try to fight it off, and I turned to my partner and said "There's a good chance I'm going to be sick in a minute." And I was.

I've only thrown up twice since I was a kid. Once was the one and only evening when I was drunk (four Bloody Marys and a Jaegermeister and Coke-- followed by 12 hours of being ill and swearing that I would NEVER get drunk again, and I haven't, much to the chagrin of many friends over the years. But they always have a designated driver!), and once on a whale watching trip. Apparently I am prone to sea sickness. But, I am happy to say that after I divested myself of my lunch, I felt much better, and got right back to paddling. (I just wish I had brought some Tic Tacs with me!)

Eventually we made it into camp (I'm sure the guide was way more relieved than we were). After putting on all the dry clothes I had (I got to use that long underwear that didn't get used on the Milford Track), I got about the task of setting up my tent. One of the guys on the trip, a self-professed former Boy Scout from England, offered to help me with my tent ("Because it is so much easier and more fun with two," as my grandmother would always say when asking me to help her make beds). Needless to say, it took twice as long to get my tent set up as if I'd done it on my own, and it looked ridiculous. Stupid Boy Scouts.

On the second day the headwind had died down a bit, it was just cloudy rather than rainy, and the swells were only about two feet. And I took the offered Dramamine. Much better. Plus, I got to be in charge of the rudder. Alas, that meant that I had no one to blame but myself as we zig-zagged across the ocean. (I decided that I would rather have a scape goat than control.) The problem was that every time I put my paddle in, I would push down on that foot. Right paddle, right foot. Left paddle, left foot. I guess I was using it as resistance for the mighty stroke I was taking or something. (Luckily the left paddle pushes you right, so the rudder and the stroke were sort of counteracting each other.) Steering must have been taking a lot of concentration, for I realized at one point that I was sitting there with my tongue sticking out of the side of my mouth, which, alas, is what I do when I think really hard. Maybe when I grow up I'll stop doing that....

The final day of the trip was gorgeous, and what we had all signed up for. (Too bad that only three of the eight of us actually had signed up to do all three days. Bummer for those other five.) It was sunny, almost flat seas, and we even had a tailwind to boot. We got to see a seal having breakfast out in the seas (squid, the guide thought), and a little Blue Penguin just bobbing along, looking an awful lot like a black and white (or blue and white, I guess) football with a beak.

I was a little sore in my shoulders yesterday, but nothing too bad, so I've decided to continue to look into sea kayaking trips in Costa Rica after all.

Updated Agenda

2009-02-11T20:39:00.000-08:00

We'll see whether I return to the classroom after this year (I hope so), but I can tell you for sure one thing I won't be doing with my life, and that is becoming a travel agent. All this planning has my head completely spinning!!!!!

Just so everyone (mostly my family, but adoring fans as well who like to gaze at maps and think what I must be doing at that moment) has some idea what I'll be doing when, here is the update to my agenda (god help me!):

Tomorrow: Sea Kayak in Abel Tasman for 3 days
16th Feb: Ferry to Wellington. Proceed to impose myself on my North Island contacts
3-8 March: Hike around the far north of NZ
9 March: Fly Aukland to Fiji, Fiji to LA, arrive before I left, hope my friends on the West Coast want to see me for 8 days
17 March: Fly LA to Miami
18 March: Fly Miami to Grand Cayman to meet some teacher friends for Spring Break (WOO HOO, Girls gone wild! Or something.)
22 March: Fly to Miami, then to Guatemala City (don't mention my carbon footprint, please. I will never drive my car again) for a week of volunteering with alums from my college
29 March: Hopefully do a week of Spanish Language school in Antigua, Guatemala (because my Spanish needs some help, for all I can ask for is a kiss and a beer-- and I don't like beer)
4 April: Possibly do a four day sea kayak trip in Costa Rica. Or maybe two weeks of volunteer housebuilding in Costa Rica. (Notice how I switched countries all of a sudden? No, I don't have a plane ticket for that yet.)

AAAAAAAARRRRRRGGG!!!!! I know it probably all seems pretty great to the armchair traveller, but to she who is living it.... AAAARG!!!

By mid May (funds and patience probably both running low) I think I'll be ready to come home. Possibly via Key West.....

And then comes the process of figuring out next year.

I think I need to go lie down for a while.

Best Place, part 2

2009-02-10T16:25:00.000-08:00

As if life weren't great enough already here at the Te Nikau Resort, last night there were only two of us in my lodge. I had the downstairs, and Pat (or Jan, or some other cvc name), a 50-something English woman over here to do some WWOOFing (look it up if you don't know what it is), had the upstairs. I put two dunas (alternate spellings: dyne or doona, also known as a duvet or comforter) on the bed, for there was a slight nip in the air, and happily crawled in. The only sound I could hear last night was the ocean.

I was going to get a lift in to the bus at 12:15 today (my bus isn't until 3), and wander about seeing the Pancake Rocks again and maybe walk on a little trail. But when James, the guy who works here and drives people back and forth, suggested not going until 2:30, I agreed heartily.

I bought myself some fresh-baked (still warm) multi-grain bread, took a book (which remained unread), and the rest of the bottle of wine (which, me being me, was still mostly full), and headed down to the beach to have a little picnic and watch the tide come in and go back out again. (Never mind that the sun wasn't yet over the yard arm... I'm on holiday.)

All the while, I kept saying to myself (sometimes out loud), "Life is very, very good."

(This is the first place that I have said to myself that I will DEFINITELY come back to some day. Let me know if you want to join me on the return voyage!)

The Best Place in the World

2009-02-09T20:24:00.000-08:00

Since leaving Queenstown, I have been travelling up the west coast of the south island. Clearly I am on the same path as other people from the Milford Track, because in Franz Josef I was at the ATM when I heard someone calling my name (the family from Rhode Island was passing through town), and today while crossing a street in Hokitika I heard my name again (the professor from my college). Small island, small country, small world. I spent two nights in Franz Josef (one of them undisturbed in my bunk), and hiked on a glacier on the day in between. I wasn't really in the mood for it, but when am I going to get the chance to hike on a glacier again? So I forked over lots of money (NZ is expensive with all the fun activities I want to do! Good thing the exchange rate is so good for me), strapped on a pair of crampons (sounds like a tampon made by Crayola), and set off in the rain. (Of course it started to rain as soon as we got to the glacier. Oh well.) It was totally cool (and not just because we were on a stretch of ice the size of Delaware--give or take a few square meters) and I'm glad I did it. Today I got back on the bus (LOTS of buses, but at least they are all narrated, so I find out interesting little tidbits about NZ, like in Maori "wh" is prounounced /f/, where bits of Lord of the Rings was filmed, and that a stag in that paddock over there has "a nice set"... a nice set of what??), and headed up to Punakaiki, home of the Pancake Rocks (layers of limestone which look like a big stack of pancakes). The Rocks were really neat to look at, and if I ever figure out how to upload pictures from the YHA computers, I'll show you! (I may be able to find an internet place in Nelson, where I'll be tomorrow.) I had booked myself into the Te Nikau Retreat, which is a youth hostel associate. It was a bit out of town (what town there is... a visitor's center and two cafes), but they offered pickup. And at $22 NZ (about $12US at the moment), I decided to go for it. Oh my goodness, is all I have to say, closely followed by: 1) You all should come to New Zealand 2) You should come to Punakaiki and 3) You should stay at the Te Nikau retreat!!! It is a series of cabins (all different, ranging from a 'stargazer' wooden tent to a nice cottage) set in the rainforest. So imagine your favorite piece of woods somewhere, then tuck in about 10 cozy little cabins all down little paths, so you can't see any of them from each other. (Add in the smell of muffins baking at the main lodge.) Oh, and put a path at the foot of the steps through the rainforest to the beach. I am staying in an A-frame cabin that has 7 beds on two levels (plus cozy chairs and a couch), it's own little kitchen (which is in a greenhouse... could I love it any more?!) and bathroom. I am going to celebrate this wonderful place by enjoying a nice glass of red wine (I bought a whole bottle from reception!) with my dinner of pasta and sauce (I haven't bought pasta sauce EVER, but when you are cooking for yourself in a different kitchen each night, sometimes you just have to cave). Needless to say, I am immensely happy. (If you are really lucky, I'll be able to upload a little guided tour movie that I made, so check back...)

Dorm Life

2009-02-08T19:26:00.000-08:00

As my aunt only managed to give me one contact on the South Island (as opposed to five on the North Island-- the gall!), I've been staying in lots of Youth Hostels. This is my first experience living in a dorm, as I never went to camp, and in college I managed to have a single room three of four years, and an apartment with only four of us when I was in Vienna.

I have managed to get used to having other people rustle around (earplugs definitely help). I have been tolerant of the smell (a musty, damp, body odory kind of scent). I even accepted the fact that my bed shakes when the person in the other bunk gets in, gets out, or simply rolls over.

But I draw the line at the woman who tried to crawl into my bunk at 2:30 this morning (with me in it, of course). Startled awake when suddenly someone was touching my leg, I let out a resounding "Jesus!" which elicited many apologies from her, and then lots of whispered conversation and giggling in French with the person in the bottom bunk. I can only assume that she had spent the previous four hours (the time since I, like any reasonable person, had gone to bed) drinking herself into a stupor. I have no idea who she was, where she was supposed to be sleeping, or where she ended up going. Nor do I care. She and her friend had cleared out by the time I got up (hopefully full of embarrassment and a nasty hangover).

Then again, maybe she just read my post from yesterday and was trying to make up for it.

What I Miss

2009-02-07T20:33:00.000-08:00

Being someone who loves her rut, there are many things that I thought I would miss this year. The wooden pen that I have used to write in my journal every night since 1990; the ugly grey plastic mug I've had at work since 1993; the bookmark that a student gave to me in 1998. I quickly found that I didn't need these things at all, and that life goes on quite happily without them. I don't mind wearing the same three outfits day after day after day. There aren't even any foods that I miss particularly. (Although the smell of bacon did draw me right into a restaurant the other day.)

However, there are odd things that I do miss. I miss normalcy. I miss my morning routine (begrudgingly get out of bed, go to the bathroom, brush teeth, get dressed, brush hair, go downstairs and scowl at whoever happens to cross my path). I miss my laundry detergent (unscented, leaves no grainy bits on my clothes). I miss my bureau (having clothes actually spread out).

And I miss being touched. Not sensual touch (although I wouldn't say no to that), for it has been ages since I've had a significant other (or semi-significant, or even possibly significant), but the normal everyday touch that happens between friends which says "I know you and I care about you." Any of you who have known me longer than a week have (I guarantee) been touched by me at some point, for I am just a touchy-feely kind of gal. (Any of you who are former students of mine have given me 160 hugs, give or take a few for sick days and snow days.)

I didn't realize I missed being touched-- I wasn't even conscious that it wasn't happening-- until a few days ago on the Track when the professor from my college and his wife each touched my arm on their way to bed. It was so comforting. I've had plenty of handshakes hello and even hugs goodbye, but it is the less-formal human contact that I miss.

That, and a bacon double steakburger with cheese and a junior chocolate shake from Steak 'n Shake.

Milford Track

2009-02-06T19:41:00.000-08:00

I just got back from my hike/walk/tramp (depending if you are from the States/England/New Zealand) on the Milford Track. It is reputed to be one of the most spectacular walks in the world. Granted, I haven't been on that many walks around the world, but this was really, really great.

All 46 of us (ranging in age from 21 to early 70s... average age about 55, I'd guess) arrived in Queenstown on Monday for a briefing, which mostly involved being told that we really did need to bring long underwear even though it is mid-summer. They gave us medium-sized packs (along with bag liners, which is just an over sized plastic bag) and told us to report back the next morning. I threw a few things in to my pack (not much, because I didn't want to carry stuff for three days that I didn't need!) and reported for duty on Tuesday morning. We took the bus to Te Anau (I sat next to an older guy from Denver, who was giggling when I told him all the random people I have stayed with this year), had lunch, then a pre-departure picture. I chatted with a family from Rhode Island a bit, and mentioned that, although from the mid-west, I spend my summers in NH. When re-boarding the bus, a man tapped me on my shoulder and asked where in NH, as he goes to NH in the summer too. I didn't recognize the name of the town where he goes, but I DID recognize the name of the town he lives in the rest of the year... Brunswick! It turns out he's a professor at my college. I shouted out a GO U BEARS, gave him a big hug, and hadn't been so happy in a long time. (It is a very small college that no one has heard of, so when I find someone connected to it, I get very excited.)

After lunch we took a boat across Lake Te Anau to the start of the track. There were 20 independent walkers (as opposed to guided, which our group was) as well. They took off first, and we didn't see much of them again, as they stayed in huts further down the track.

The first day's walk was really tough. All .8 miles of it. It took about 15 minutes. It gave us plenty of time to go on a nature walk around the area and get to know each other more. There were about 15 Aussies (all totally insane but lots of fun), 12 Americans, a few Brits, Kiwis, Taiwanese, Japanese, and three Germans. (I did get to sprach some Deutsch, which was amusing given I haven't really spoken German in ages, but appreciated, because two of them didn't speak much English.) After dinner we got up by country groups to introduce ourselves, and we had to sing a song. Seriously. The Aussies went first and were all over that (much to the surprise of the Americans, who only sing under serious duress). The day we started the trip was some Japanese holiday, so their presentation involved one of them donning a demon mask and the others throwing beans at him. Needless to say, it was a lively group. (I actually did sing a song on behalf of the American group. One of my favorites from first grade, which I thought might be appropriate for the trip. "Oh when the rain comes down it cleans up the sky...")

The first real day of the walk was 11 miles of pretty flat terrain, with a quick stop by a swimming hole. The weather was absolutely perfect the whole day. I tramped along with an Aussie girl who was also there on her own.

The second day was the tough one... 9 miles, but with a 1000m hill in the middle of it. One of the German women and I led the group (well, behind one of the guides). Oh yeah, that's right, I led the pack. Going up was easy breezy (and it was very breezy on the top), but coming down wasn't much fun on the knees for me. But again it was an absolutely gorgeous day, so everyone was happy.

Once at the lodge, we took a side trek to Sutherland Falls, which, at 580 meters, is the 5th highest falls in the world (even though it is actually a cascade, I was told). Another quick-- and very chilly-- dip, and then back to the lodge for some well-deserved rest.

The last day, thirteen flat miles, was rainy, but that was okay. It justified bringing all the waterproofs, and it caused all the waterfalls to come out. It was stunning. I walked slower than the other days so that I could take time to appreciate the rain forest that I was walking through. Beech trees, ferns, and moss galore. Truly, truly magnificent.

A quick ferry ride took us from the end of the track (after we wolfed down a scone) to our last lodge. There was a certificate ceremony, of course, which normally I could do without (mine will be recycled soon, but I'll keep the photo), but last night's was a hoot. For whatever reason, one of the Japanese women, when giving a hug to one of the male guides, bent over so she was hugging his waist with her face pretty much in his crotch. The laughter went on for many, many minutes. (The guide told me that's not the first time it has happened, and that the Japanese women don't seem to get why we are in fits of laughter.)

Today we had a cruise on the Milford Sound, through the fiords. Again, stunning, stunning, stunning. You think you are used to all the beauty after a while, and then you turn around and your breath is taken away all over again.

It was a fantastic experience, not the least because every day ended with a hot shower and delicious meal. (This is the kind of through-hiking that I could get used to.) Life is definitely good!

Queenstown

2009-02-01T16:51:00.000-08:00

Here I am in Queenstown, which quite possibly could be the adventure capital of the world. Any storefront that isn't a restaurant or clothes shop is a company which will throw you off of or out of something (at great expense-- not to mention risk-- to you). There is a gorgeous lake here and it is surrounded by mountains, but other than looking, shopping, and adrenaline rushes, I'm not sure there's much to do here. Okay, there are about a zillion walks I could do, but as I'm about to head off tomorrow to do four days of hiking on the Milford Track, I decided I don't need to go for any punishing walks today.

While here, I am staying with (I finally figured it out exactly) the nephew of the sister of a girl (woman now) my aunt taught when she was here (probably about 40 years ago). I had sent out a bunch of emails in October to the contacts my aunt had given me, and they all wrote back saying of course I was welcome to stay, and some even suggested that they had relatives elsewhere in NZ. I just filed them away without thinking too much about them. After a few months I decided to check into where all these people were on a map, and WHO they were (according to my aunt's annotated contact list). One of them, the one who actually had sent me the most emails-- including one saying she had family in the south island-- wasn't actually on the list. I checked the name, checked the email address, and said (out loud of course) to the computer, "Who ARE you??" I did some digging and discovered that one of my initial contacts had suggested various relatives, and cc:ed them on her message, and one had picked up on it. Once I figured out who this "Karen" was, I decided it was okay to ask about her contact in Queenstown. So here I am with her nephew (by marriage, of course). (I think I actually have fewer degrees of separation to Kevin Bacon.)

So Marshall came to collect me from the bus stop yesterday. All I knew about him was that he was a builder, liked to play the drums, and was willing to have me stay. Things looked good (to me) when he pulled up in a Subaru Legacy. (I have an Outback myself.) Things looked iffy when he didn't get out of the car to greet me. (He did have the window rolled down though, so he could ask, "Lucie?".) Things looked iffier when I saw an open bottle of beer in his drink holder! (I didn't see him drink from it, though.) He took me back to his house, where his mum was just packing up to head home after a weekend at the lake. (She asked how I was connected, and when I told her, her response was "tenuous"... same as mine and my father's!) After I handed over a bottle of red wine we had a nice chat, and I decided all would be well.

Marshall seems very nice (he is housing a total stranger after all), but although he is probably my age, I definitely have just slipped back about 15 years in time (and I'm not just referring to all the 80's music that is playing in the shops). He is a builder, but he said that really he lives for music. As he had a captive audience, he played a couple of drum tunes for me. That meant that he put in a hip-hop CD, cranked the stereo up to 11, and bashed away. I wasn't quite sure how to respond. Does one leap up and shout "Bravo!" in instances such as this? I went with "That was nice." (Luckily that went on for only about 10 minutes, so my ears didn't start to bleed.)

Dinner was another trip back to post-college days. For appetizers he served me a cheese roll. This was a piece of white bread, rolled up with cheese spread (dear god!) inside, and grilled. (He bought a whole packet of these pre-rolled things at the grocery store... along with potato chips, candy bars, ice cream popsicles, those toaster tart things, and all sorts of other junk food.) The second appetizer was cheese-infused baby sausages. (At least they didn't come out of a can.) For the main, he did cook fish, but with that we had hash browns. He handed me some newspaper to use to cover my lap (no napkins or paper towels in sight), and we ate while watching The Simpsons. I am pretty sure I had that exact experience with a guy friend in 1995....

But, as I said, he is hosting me, and for that I am appreciative. (And it was nice to watch The Simpsons again.)

Lake Tekapo

2009-01-31T13:31:00.000-08:00

Yesterday morning at the crack of dawn (8:30!) I boarded the InterCity bus to head from Christchurch to Lake Tekapo. I'll be travelling on this bus line a lot in the next month, and I am happy to say that my first trip was fantastic.

First of all, the ENTIRE bus was covered in upholstery. Only the windows were spared the blue and purple carpeting. Secondly, the trip was narrated by our driver, Bernard (which was pronounced BERnerd, of course). I am pretty sure that he was actually working for the NZ immigration department, for, after telling us the history of Christchurch (founded by an Oxford man, of course), he went on to explain the great welfare system, health care system, auto system... and then gave us the government website for all things New Zealand, pointing out it was alphabetized, and I is the most important letter, for immigration. (But, let me tell you, it wouldn't be so bad to live over here. Or so it seems at the moment while the exchange rate is about 2:1, and it is summer!) In fact, after listening to his NZ plugs, I felt as inspired as after hearing Kenneth Brannagh give his St. Crispin's Day speech in Henry V. Yea, rah! Go New Zealand! CHARGE!!!

The bus went through a number of small towns (including Ashford, which boasts the world's largest spinning wheel factory) in the plains before coming into the mountains. I'm not sure of the range we are in here at Lake Tekapo, but the Southern Alps are in the distance, and they are pretty spectacular. (I'm heading there in a few hours.)

Once I get pictures up, you'll see that Lake Tekapo is this freaky milky blue-green color. It reminds me of some laundry detergent we had when I was little. Apparently the milkiness has to do with the run-off from glaciers or mountains or something. (I should have paid more attention to BERnerd, clearly.) A nice English girl was settling herself into the same dorm room as I (gotta love hostels), so we went for a little hike yesterday up a small mountain. (1000m above sea level, but, since the lake is a dammed lake, we were starting at about 700m.) Last night I was hoping to go star-gazing, as this is supposed to be about one of the clearest skies there is (probably has to do with the fact that the ozone layer is gone here, hence the sunburn I got the other day), but, alas, it was cloudy. Another night, perhaps.

Guess that's it for now...

Back in Action

2009-01-29T21:59:00.000-08:00

After my little fall off the emotional roller coaster the other day (four months before a breakdown is pretty good, I think!), I'm back to normal. I decided that I needed to not think about how much anything cost (as I'm staying with people most places, so don't have to pay for accommodation or dinner), and start throwing dollars around and just have fun.

With that in mind, today I went down to the coast to a town called Akaroa (means long harbor). The area was formed about a zillion years ago (or 6,000, if you are Sarah Palin) by a bunch of volcanoes, so it is hilly and gorgeous. I wandered about the sweet little town for a while, then went on a boat ride out to see the dolphins. (They handed me a glass of wine upon boarding the boat, and cookies when I got off. Who needs dolphins???) We saw a bunch of Hector's dolphins, which, at 4 1/2 feet long, are the smallest (and most endangered) aquatic mammal. We also saw a bunch of seals sunning themselves, and a few little white flippered blue penguins (which I kept hearing as "little flipping blue penguins" and I didn't understand why the skipper was so angry with them). It was all gorgeous.

I went to the Akoroa Museum as well (it started with a movie, which is always good), and while I was in there, I could hear masses of sirens going off outside. Sounded an awful lot like tornado sirens back home, and when I looked around, the museum did seem to be empty. Of course, how many people want to go into a museum on the history of Akoroa? I wandered to the front desk just to check that I didn't need to seek shelter or make a final call to loved ones, and was told that it was just the volunteer firefighter alarm. (But it was an old WWII air-raid siren, so my instinct to duck and cover wasn't far off.)

As I've mentioned before, I find myself mis-reading signs a lot. I don't know if my eyesight is going (probably), or if things are out of context (or I just expect them to be out of context), but it has happened a lot. (Like the store called Fire and Ice which sold "OPEX"... when I got closer I saw it actually said "OPEN".) On the drive down to Akaroa this morning (narrated by a nice old guy named Graham, which was entertaining unto itself), I glimpsed a sign that I thought read "Lifestyle for Sale". I made a mental note to check it out on the way back, which I promptly forgot until we were on our way home this afternoon, and I glimpsed another sign that read "For Sale-- Lifestyle Plus". What? Now I was keeping my eyes peeled for that first sign, and eventually I did see it, and it really did say "Lifestyle for Sale". Alas, my eyes weren't quick enough to catch the phone number to call for that new lifestyle.

Tomorrow I head inland and south to Lake Tekapo, then onto Queenstown and the Milford Track. Woo hoo! (See, I'm all better now. I "woo-hoo"ed.)

(By the way, in Queenstown I'll be staying with the nephew of the daughter of a friend of my aunt. Oh yeah, that's a solid connection!)

Oysters

2009-01-27T21:01:00.001-08:00

Today was my first real day in NZ (as yesterday was cold and rainy and I didn't do much, it didn't count). I walked into the center of Christchurch to see what it had to offer. There were shops and cafes, galleries and museums, a festival of buskers (street performers), a street market, and a tourist information site which had about a thousand things that I would love to do in my six weeks here. The world was my oyster. So what did I do? I had myself a good old-fashioned breakdown.

Yes, in the middle of the town square, with jugglers and vendors and tourists surrounding me, I melted down. All I wanted to do was find a quiet corner by myself and cry. I had to settle for an unoccupied bench; I put something on my lap that I could pretend to read, let my hair fall around my face, and I sobbed.

I was overwhelmed by all the choices I had, all the decisions I had to make, and, most importantly I think, that I would be doing it all on my own. I was just suddenly blindsided by the fact that I am lonely. Not alone, by any means, for I've had plenty of people to talk to, but it's not the same as being with family and friends; as sharing all these amazing experiences with people I know and love. So I sat and felt sorry for myself and cried.

When the tears and snot got to the point that they were dribbling into my lap I decided I needed to do something. I stole a napkin from a cafe, and used one of my lifelines to phone a friend. I only had 8 minutes left on my Australian SIM card, so we didn't have long, but he said all the things I needed to hear-- most importantly, "Hello."

I am better now. I knew it would be a fleeting thing, and it was. I spend the rest of the afternoon wandering around, visiting the lovely Botanical Gardens, and reminding myself how terribly lucky I am. I'll be home before I know it, and wishing I could do it all over again, I am sure.

But, to paraphrase the fantastic children's author Judith Viorst, everyone has bad days... even in New Zealand.

PS Except for the fact that they give us pearls, I don't really care for oysters.

New Zealand

2009-01-26T14:44:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I left the hot and sunny shores of Australia, and came to the lovely, but quite cold, shores of New Zealand. (Today is raining. The first rain I've seen since November! At least now I'm in the mood to buy long underwear, which I will need for my hike on the Milford Track next week.) As soon as I got in line to board the plane, I knew I was going to a different world. First of all, I noticed that the NZ passport is about twice as thick as ours. Clearly, these people travel. Upon entering the plane (Emirates Air), I noticed the mood-enhancing atmosphere coming from the vents. Literally. There was smoke or steam or haze or (could it be?) actual moisture puffing out of all the vents. All I needed was a little black-light and maybe some strobe lights, and it would have been a flashback to the endless 6th grade plays at my school.

There were two things I enjoyed about being on that plane (beside the ridiculously large selection of movies I had to chose from). First was the sign which read "Please open hatracks with care." I think they were referring to the overhead compartments. The second great thing, which I had heard about but not seen myself, was the camera on the underside of the plane somewhere, which showed us the runway on take-off and landing. That was pretty cool.

My favorite thing about NZ so far (I've been here about 20 hours, and half of that was spent asleep), is that we started our descent into Christchurch (on the east side of the south island) before we even had gotten to the west side of the island. We crossed the entire country in landing the plane! I was glued to the window the whole time, for the mountains on the western side of the country were spectacular. It should be a good stay here (even if I have to buy lots more warm clothes).

Final Oz Thoughts

2009-01-26T13:38:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I clicked my heels together or got into the hot air balloon and came back over the rainbow, away from Oz. It was a nice 5 weeks, and by the end I didn't even notice their funny accents. Here is an assortment of random thoughts and observations I had while there that didn't make their way into any previous Oz blogs (or at least I don't think they did).

In wandering around some art museum in Melbourne, I glimpsed an Aussie standing in the next room, without shirt or shoes, and actually just in his tighty-whities. Given that they didn't seem to wear shoes that much, I wasn't really terribly surprised. Upon looking at the man properly, I discovered that he was actually a sculpture.

Given how hot the country is, the people in Western Australia seem to keep dogs with ridiculously thick coats.

The Royal Melbourne Institute of Technology has its alumni courtyard in the Old Gaol Hospital Compound. What does that say about how you view your alums?

After being in countries where they drive on the wrong side of the road for four months now, I have almost got it figured out. I look the correct way when crossing a street, but I do get awfully surprised when I see a 10 year old in the driver's seat.

I can't remember now what it was apropos of, but I saw a sign somewhere that read "STD calls". I can hear it now, "Um, mom? I have something I need to tell you..."

For whatever reason, my cousin's child (just turned 3), decided that my name was Chloe. I get Julie and Susie a lot, and even Jane once, but this is new.

The house I was staying in in Sydney, with the lovely old lady, smelled just like my house. I couldn't pin it down at first, until I pulled a book off the shelf and was hit with it. It smelled like old books. Old books and woolen blankets (mothballs). It was great.

At the North Sydney Community Center, one of the Adult Health classes that they offered was "Hoolahoops". That would have been fun to watch!

Australian possums are WAY cuter than American opossums. WAY!

I misread a sign, thinking at first it said "Home Lessons." The I reread it and wondered what "Home Lessness" was. Of course, it said "Homelessness".

I was on the bus one day and there were two boys (aged maybe 6 and 10) sitting at the back. They were chanting "Grey matter! Grey matter!" for some reason. At one point, the younger one said, "If I up-chuck..." which elicited a worried look from the guy sitting directly in front of him, who promptly switched seats. The kid followed.

More than once I saw someone jogging with goggles around his or her neck. Always ready for a swim!

The Sydney Airport played the best collection of 80's sing-along music. Call Me, Fame, Sweet Dreams. At least I think it was supposed to be sing-along.........

I finally put up pictures on my Sydney post, by the way.

I hope you enjoyed Australia as much as I did!

"I'm mellltiiinng..."

2009-01-23T20:03:00.000-08:00

I am sure that I will get no sympathy from those at home who keep sending me emails about how cold it is and photos of thermometers registering 0 degrees (Fahrenheit), but I have to tell you that it is hot here. Really hot. And humid. It's 100 degrees right now, and the sun is beating down on all the buildings and pavement and it feels like I am in a pizza oven. (That would sound tasty, as I haven't eaten all day, but it is too freaking hot to want to eat.)

I have spent my day seeking air conditioning. I went first to a movie (Slumdog Millionaire-- fantastic, if a bit hard to watch at times), then to a random hotel and sat in the lounge outside the conference rooms and made phone calls home. Now I am in the state library.

Don't fool yourself that into thinking that there might be books here that I could read to pass the time. No, no, it is not that sort of library. It is a reference library, which means that everything here is dead boring. Example: When waiting for this computer to open up I glanced up at the books on the shelf in front of me. What did I see? The absolutely gripping page-turner that is the Encyclopedia of Consumer Brands, volume 2: Personal Products. I know, it quite likely will have been grabbed off the shelf by the time I finish writing this.

Once the sweat has dried off my body, I will head back out into the heat and make my way home. I'm going to another play this evening. No idea what it is about, nor do I care. All I know is that the theater has AC.

Addendum: It turns out that this was the second hottest day EVER in Sydney, coming it at 41C (that would be 106F). And humid. So I don't care how many emails I get whining about it being cold. It was HOT!

Sydney

2009-01-22T22:08:00.000-08:00

I've been in Sydney for six days now, and while I've put up a few posts in that time, I've not actually talked about being here. So here it is...

I am staying with a lovely 85 year old woman who is friends with my high school Latin teacher. (A tenuous relationship, it might seem, but I take my contacts however I can, and this one has turned out to be a gem!) She reminds me of my grandmother, my aunt, and all the other little old ladies whom I have loved and respected. It is a treat to have dinner with her and chat at the end of each day (when I'm not sampling Sydney's culture)... Yet again proving that I am really a 60 year old trapped in a 36 year old's body. (Make that a 28 year old's body.)

While here I have hit the standard highlights... a walk around the Sydney Opera House (it really is cool), a trip to the aquarium (also blessedly cool, as it has been about 95 degrees for a few days), and various museum. Today I went to the zoo. It had a nice view, I can say that for it, but it cost $39AUD!!!! (That's about $26 US.) Luckily my cousin in Melbourne had given me her membership card, so with some wheedling (they require additional ID to prove that you aren't some American tourist trying to wander in on your relative's card-- go figure!), I got in for free. As I said, the view was good (on a hill, overlooking the harbor towards the opera and downtown), but I have to say that going to a zoo after seeing the animals in situ in Kenya just didn't really cut it for me. I fear that zoos will forever be changed in my mind. (Oh well, I didn't go there that often anyway. Only to pick up unsuspecting zookeepers.)

I had a good wander around the Botanical Gardens one day (not nearly as nice as ours at home), clearly at lunchtime, for the place was packed, and I mean PACKED, with people exercising. Whole hordes of joggers would go by, group after group. Other groups would be doing push-ups or sit-ups. Some would be boxing, others running up and down the stairs. I felt sorry for all of these office-workers, so cooped up all day that they feel they need to go out in the sweltering mid-day sun to get a bit of exercise. (Outside time was scheduled into my job, three times a week... unless it dropped below 20F, which was a point of some contention...)

My visit here happens to coincide with the Sydney Festival, so there are lots of cultural events going on around town. I gave myself a nice treat, and last night I went to see the new(ish) dance company Morphoses. (Sure, they are based in NY, but I haven't seen them there, so I might as well see them here.) It was lovely, of course. (The director came out beforehand to tell us various notes about the program, including that the cosutmes for the first dance were designed by the woman who designed Michelle Obama's gown for the Inaugural balls. That got a cheer.) The night before my hostess's son, who is a theater critic, took me to see a play called The Yalta Game. (He had been reading Homer, apparently, as one is wont to do, and it said that there is nothing better than being kind to strangers, so I reaped the benefits of that!) Normally I am not a huge fan of theater (I keep waiting for them to break into song or do a dance or SOMETHING), but this was actually great. It could have been because it was only 60 minutes long. Or it could have been the glass of red wine I had right before (upon entering the theater, I wanted nothing more than to say a series of "WEEEEEEEEEEEEE"s and "WOOOOOOOOO"s as my head spun around. Maybe wine on an empty stomach wasn't such a good idea). Whatever it was, I enjoyed the play, and may get to go to another one tomorrow night.

Where I am staying is on the north (referred to as "Nth" here. They LOVE their abbreviations, and it takes a while to figure them out. Still don't really know what 'arvo' means), so I have been taking the bus or ferry into town each day. I have never thought of Australians as particularly polite (I think the adjective that would have leapt to mind for Aussies would have been "tan", but as I've mentioned before, the anti-skin cancer campaign has really done a good job here, so that descriptor would be wrong), but I have to say that I have never heard so many people thank bus drivers. I would say probably a third of the passengers, when disembarking (even from the back of the bus), thank the driver. (Maybe that was in the same add campaign as the sunscreen. "Thank your driver while you slap on the sun goo.") Mind you, it is quite possible that people at home are just as courteous to the drivers, because, honestly, I can't think of a time I have been on a bus. (Oh wait, in Boston in the mid 90's I took a bus once or twice. I am sure I thanked those drivers. If not, thank you now.)

As I have mentioned before, and will likely mention again for it is unlikely to change, I am not particularly fashion savvy, but sometimes I just don't understand what makes people put on certain outfits. People here seem to be dressed for the beach at all times of the day or night. At least I hope some of those dresses are beach cover-ups. If not, then, EGADS, have some decency! (The dresses here seem to leave little to the imagination in terms of decolettage. Sometimes I wonder how the important bits actually stay in!) And then there are the shoes. Women seem to have only three sorts of shoes: flip-flops (called 'thongs', which was a little disturbing at first when I would see signs saying "no thongs in pool"), spike heels, and what I would have to call slave sandals (as in Egyptian slaves from 2000 years ago). I'm still waiting for the spike-heel slave sandal to appear. (I do have to tell you, though, despite looking like all my clothes have been shoved in a backpack for four months, and perpetually being ready to go on a hike if someone asked me to, I was approached by a woman today who wanted to know where I got my Chaco sandals. Of course, she was around 50, and probably suffering from foot pain after years of heels, but I'm taking it as a compliment!)

Some women might take offense-- but I just find it comical-- that men of all ages, occupations, and levels of intoxication (ranging from, hopefully, NONE in regards to the bus driver, to HIGH in regards to the 20 year old on the bus) have referred to me as "dearie" and "love". And me not even having batted my eyelashes!

Just a couple more (hot) days in Australia, and then I am off to New Zealand, where I hear that their accent is even odder, and it might just be snowing. (Yes, it is summer there.)

Inauguration Day

2009-01-20T21:06:00.000-08:00

I have never been at all political. When I see someone on the street trying to rally support for someone or something, I steer clear. My total knowledge of how the White House functions is courtesy of Aaron Sorkin. And I don't think I could actually tell you the names of both Missouri senators and the govenor. (I might get one or two out of the three, but that would be sheer luck.)

I am not at all patriotic. The last time I waved a flag I was probably ten. During the one week out of the year that my class learned about the Pledge of Allegiance, I had to dig a crumpled flag out of the filing cabinet. And if I ever wear red, white, and blue, it is by accident.

But today, Inauguration Day, I actually thought that I wouldn't mind having a little American flag on my person somewhere. (Obama was inauguated at 3:30 am Sydney time, so I consider today Inauguration Day, even though it is the 21st.) I went into the city this morning, and on every newspaper at every store the front page had photos of Obama being sworn in, the Oath of Office, and quotes from his speech. I walked around grinning like mad, often with tears running down my face. No one approached me, but I'm sure they all thought I was a bit off my rocker. But if I'd had a little flag or sign saying "I'm an American" they might have understood. People all over the world, I can tell you with first-hand knowledge, are thrilled with today.

The inauguration was being rebroadcast here at 12:30 pm, so I cut my touristing short for the day, and headed back to where I am staying (via a bakery to buy some apple pie, which was the closest thing I could think of as being patriotic. It did have rhubarb in it, though, for I clearly am not in America). I have never watched an inauguration before. Sure, I probably was actually working during previous inaugurations, but I wouldn't have cared to watch them anyway. But this one I wanted to see. I had my pie and my tissues (it was a two-tissue event), and I was ready.

I never understood the mania around JFK, why people were so crazy about him, why there are JFK memorials literally all over the world, but now I think I might get it. Even abroad, Obama-mania is sweeping through.

In my travels, I've never shirked my nationality, but neither have I broadcast it. But today I would. It is a good day to be an American, wherever you are.

NZ customs

2009-01-19T02:44:00.001-08:00

I was just checking the website for New Zealand customs to see if I can bring in the little wooden thing I just bought or if I need to ship it home, and I found that I am not allowed to bring in "cloned and hybrid human embryos". Damnit, now I'm going to have to repack.

Australian Money

2009-01-19T02:29:00.000-08:00

Some of you may know that the Australian money is color coded by denomination (great idea), has different sizes for the different bills (great idea), and is waterproof (great idea...especially for when you want to swim up to the bar). The smallest bill that they have is the five dollar bill. For one and two dollars, they have coins (but, inexplicably, the $2 is smaller in size than the $1 coin... much like our dime, I guess). Being a former British colony or protectorate or commonwealth thingy, the queen is on the front side of all the coins. As a result, on many occasion I have had to catch myself from referring to the money as pounds and pence. (You'd think that I would find it easy to adapt to calling the money dollars and cents, but not so much.)

I have sheepishly handed over $50 bills at all sorts of establishments in the last month, apologizing that I had nothing smaller, but no one has been phased at all. (Guess $50 isn't worth that much over here!) Until today. The driver on the bus this morning couldn't break it. I asked what I should do, and she told me to sit down, and she'd think about it. When we arrived at the terminus, I went back and offered her my small money (two pounds, twenty five pence), but she said I should just buy someone a cup of coffee at some point today. (The bus driver this afternoon-- during rush hour-- wasn't quite so accomodating. Maybe I should have offered HIM the cup of coffee.)

They have no pennies here. They did away with the coins a few years ago. And yet, things still cost $1.97 or $23.61. So what do they do? They just round. I think the till just automatically rounds up or down when it gives you the change, assuming, I suppose, that it will all work out in the end.

Go figure.

Melbourne

2009-01-16T00:46:00.000-08:00

I've been in Melbourne a week now. (I haven't written about it because I thought I would give you time to digest the last flurry of posts. Plus I've been busy being a tourist-- and hanging out with my new bogan friends in their cool green utes.) My cousin who lives here said I could stay with her (when I invited myself, she kindly accepted), but she and her family were on holiday my first day in Melbourne, so she recommended a backpackers' place called The Nunnery. Yes, as in "Get thee to a..." So I got myself there. (Really, it was only a matter of time, wasn't it?) The Nunnery (an old, Victorian house which had been a convent at one point, and still had lots of religious art around, but all done tongue-in-cheek...I think) was actually great. High ceilings, wooden floors, and a bed (bunk bed, with a Japanese girl above me) that was actually comfortable. Plus, there were free pancakes (really crepes) for breakfast on Sunday morning. Yum. (By the way, I just found out that prostitution is legal here, and there's actually a brothel around the corner from the Nunnery. Oh, the irony...)

I had the day to kill before my cousin would be collecting me, so I wandered around the suburb of Fitzroy (Melbourne's oldest suburb). It was really nice. Not nice in a swanky sense, but nice in a lots of character (and characters) sense. They seem fans of what the NY Times once referred to as "elegant distress". (Translation: bare plaster is in.) Brunswick Street is the main strip, which is filled with lots of restaurants and bars and shops. Melbourne seems to really be into the hip and cool look to their shops, which alas extends to the signage. At many places, I couldn't decipher what exactly the name of the shop was. Looking in the window helped sometimes, but not always. I did go into a paper store that was beautiful. I popped into one "luxury items" (scarves and necklaces) shop. I gave all the boutiques a miss. (Neither to my taste nor my budget.) Somehow I managed to walk past all the bakeries and the chocolate shop without being lured in. (Having extended the Christmas bingeing for the whole three weeks that I was in Perth, I thought I would take a little break from sweets while I was in Melbourne, at least for one day.)

So along I walked on my sugarless way when I saw people sitting on very colorful seats outside a shop. The name of the shop was displayed as just a jumble of colorful letters, so that didn't help me in figuring out what they sold. I looked through the window into the shop, and I swear to god my brain was still decoding "Oh, it's a gelateria" when my feet had already turned into the store. I had absolutely nothing to do with it! But since I was already in there, I did get some gelato... one scoop of sesame, which was fantastic, and one of spiced chocolate, which actually had a bit of a kick to it.

Back at the Nunnery, I pored through all of the tourist information that I had collected, sad to see that I would be missing various cool looking events (like the Victorian Hot Rod Show, which is a week after I leave... your guess is as good as mine as to what a Victorian hot rod is!), but I was THRILLED to see that the Metropolitan Opera (in New York) HD broadcasts were going on here (not live, clearly), and I would be able to see Tommy's wigs for Thais! I nipped right off to the theater, shelled out insane amounts of money (actually cheaper than it costs at home, but still four times the cost of a normal movie ticket), explained to the guy behind me in line that when the box office sign read "Thais opera" it meant that the movie was the opera Thais, and in I went. The time difference for once was working in my favor, and I called mom and dad during the first intermission (yes, the movie had intermissions, just like the real opera) and happily told them where I was. (Kind of like the time that I was in Vienna and I called home from a subway station at 3 a.m. to tell them that I was spending the night in line on the sidewalk to buy standing room tickets to see Placido Domingo sing in Carmen at opening night of the Statsoper.)

Once the opera ended (the wigs were indeed fantastic, as I knew they would be... and the singing was pretty good too), my cousin came and collected me. I haven't seen her in AGES, so it's been nice to catch up with her, see her husband again (the first time I got to be a bridesmaid, at the old age of 15. Loved that periwinkle dress), and meet her kids.

My friend in Perth unhappily told me that Perth, unlike Melbourne, had removed all of its old architecture. I hadn't really registered this until I got here and started to walk around. Melbourne really is lovely. It is in the state of Victoria, so therefor everything is referred to as Victorian, but much actually is from that period. Sometimes it feels like I am walking around parts of St. Louis (which also had its heyday at the turn of the last century). Melbourne is small and totally walkable. I did cave today and take the tram, but that's because I had to get home for my cousin's child's third birthday party. (There was cake. Enough said.) I've walked around neighborhoods, through downtown, to museums and through parks. It is all great. Many of the museums and public buildings seem to have been built in the last 10 years, and the architecture is what I would call "funky". And graffiti seems to be an art form here. I've really enjoyed everything... and I haven't even frequented the restaurants, for which Melbourne is famous.

I'll try to put up some photos that I've taken from around town. (But I'm on mac, which is being a bit confusing to me. "User-friendly" my @$$.)

Australian Food

2009-01-13T15:29:00.000-08:00

I don't know if there is a particular food which is supposed to be quintessentially Australian, but if there is, I haven't found it. I have, however, eaten a few things here which I do not think I am likely to be offered again in the near future. (Some of them, I would even accept if I were offered them again!)

I have eaten kangaroo. It seems to be kind of like deer here. Wild, and a bit of a nuisance, so hunters (farmers) remove them and have some nice lean meat. It was pretty tasty.

I have eaten emu. Also wild. There used to be emu farms, but apparently not anymore. I had my emu in the form of a meat pie. While it was better than the nasty Scottish thing I ate in October, I've decided that meat pies aren't really my thing.

I have eaten bread and butter from a cafe for $3.60AU (that's about $2.40 US). That was for two slices of bread. Not toasted, and the butter was on the table. That's $1.20 US a slice. That would be what, about $25 a loaf? (Needless to say, not the cheapest country, even with the good exchange rate.)

I have eaten a Milky Way bar that was really a Three Musketeers bar (just nougat and chocolate). I have eaten a Mars bar that was a Milky Way (above with caramel layer). I have sampled a collection of local chocolate bars (for purely scientific reasons, of course) to see how they compare and contrast with those from home.

I have eaten Sticky Date Pudding. This is where my blog has served me well, for my Perth hostess read about the Scottish Sticky Toffee Pudding, and how absolutely delighted I was with it (I think ecstatic might be a better word), and decided that she had a recipe that was pretty similar. And it was. And it was delicious. And I was happy. (And she now clearly ranks as The Hostess with the Mostess!)

I have eaten pink grapefruit gelato. (Yeah, that was FORCED down my throat.)

Not sure what I'll eat today, but apparently I have to dress for the occasion. My Aunt (really my mother's cousin, but whatever) is taking me out to dinner and asked if I had a skirt and nice blouse with me. Yes, I have a skirt. I can fake the blouse (I have a fairly respectable sweater, and the restaurant has AC, which is good, since it is due to be 102 here today). But she looked a bit scornfully at my Chacos. Well, it's them or hiking boots! (Although in this country, wearing shoes into restaurants appears to be optional.)

Bon appetit for me!

Trip through SW Australia

2009-01-11T23:12:00.000-08:00

Cate and John (and two year old, Josh) very kindly took me on a trip through SW Australia, so I could get a flavor for more than just Perth and the beach. (There is more to Australia than the beach??) We headed south from Perth, via lunch at Cate's family's cattle farm. (We would call it a ranch, but here it's a farm. See post about lack of a common language...) It was hot, dry, and with LOTS of flies. (I don't like the flies here.) From there we headed further south to Permberton, a piddly little town in the middle of karri forrests (a sort of eucalyptus, which is also called gum trees, of which there are apparently 750 different species). We stayed in a fishing lodge, which were lucky was still standing, as it was due to be burned to the ground a few months ago. (The person who was staying in the lodge at the time complained, and they kindly didn't burn it down around him.) We wandered out to the Gloucester tree, which was a 61 meter tall fire lookout. Although the two year old was ready to go up, I was the nominated tree climber. It was indeed quite beautiful from the top, but I have to admit I was a bit shaky a couple of times on the climb. But I was WAY better than the poor dad who was being forced to climb the tree with his kids whom I passed on my way down. He was huffing and puffing, not looking up and not looking down, and holding on for dear life. Clearly not happy.

The experience of actually climbing the tree myself and being above all the others made the renowned Tree Top Walk a bit of a disappointment. It was neat, but a wheelchair accessible ramp 40 meters up doesn't quite compare. (Although there were people on those swaying and bouncing metal bridges who were clearly not happy to be there.) Further down the road we walked through giant tingle trees. Yes, through them. Among them, and through ones that were insanely large and hollowed out by fire.

The next day was the wine, cheese, and chocolate tour. Most of the vineyards seem to have a sideline going so that mom and dad can feel okay dragging their kids from winery to winery. At the first vineyard (which also sold homemade cheese, fudge, and ice cream) there was a couple who had been in the day before, and in the interim he had proposed to her. They told the woman behind the counter all about it, and, after she handed them their case of wine, she looked at me and asked "Isn't romance wonderful?" Hell if I would know! (Not that I am likely to be proposed to anytime soon, but I think I am much less a top-of-the-mountain-champagne-in-backpack kind of girl than I am the at-the-dryer-folding-laundry proposition. (Yes, that is how my cousin was proposed to.) Of course, I'm also perfectly happy just to buy myself a nice ring and not have to deal with the strings attached!)

From there we went to a little petting zoo. I think the proprietors' intention was that we would pay the $12 entrance fee (each) and go outside to pet the animals. I decided that staying in the gift shop and petting the stuffed animals for free was more in tune with my budget. I actually totally fell in love (no engagement rings), and, had I been ridiculously wealthy, I would have paid $220 for a teddy bear which had alpaca fur. Oh my goodness, I have never felt anything so soft. So I pet and pet and pet that. (I'm not too much of a tactile person or anything.)

Next stop, winery/puzzle shop. That place just pissed me off, for all of the puzzles were those cursed rope things that I can never do. They did have some incredible smelling jasmine out front, though, so it wasn't a total loss.

We had lunch at yet another gorgeous white sands beach (on the Southern Ocean,

which everyone else on the planet apparently calls just more of the Indian Ocean). My favorite of these beaches was Conspicuous Beach. Obviously I was drawn there by the name, but the place was actually quite stunning.

Last stop was a meadery. No monks in sight (although the place was called Bartholomew, which has a monkly ring to it). I was not wise in the ways of mead, so had to ask. It seems to be any alcoholic beverage made from honey. I tried two ports and a wine. Not bad. Not as good as the honey ice cream, though...

From there we drove for hours and hours to a place called Margaret River, which is the cutesy tourist town in the heart of wine country. (Nothing like Portsmouth or any New England cutesy tourist town, alas.) We had dinner watching the sun set over the Indian Ocean (the real one this time, for we were back on the west coach), and watching one idiotic surfer staying out until dark in shark infested waters. ("Probably just some local fisherman out for a pleasure cruise at night ... through eel infested waters." Name that movie.)

Then it was back to the beach house in Mandurah for a little laundry doing (which, in this 'dry heat' dried on the line in no time), then to Perth, then to Melbourne!

Divided by a common language

2009-01-11T22:32:00.000-08:00

Some famous person (whose name I should probably remember, and could quite easily look up, but I don't feel like it) said something to the effect that England and America are two countries divided by a common language. That may well be true. But if so, then what the hell is Australia????

Previously I mentioned finding a bogun with whom to go hooning. Some of you I am sure got a little excited by this prospect (not having any idea of what it was, exactly). Well, don't. First of all, a bogun most likely has never uttered the phrase "with whom". I don't know if there is an exact translation for bogun beyond (the terribly un-PC) white trash. Boguns would be very at home in Hampton Beach. 'Nuff said (to NH folks). Hoons (a noun, also used as the verb, to hoon) appears to be folks who like to drag race (a big overlap with boguns, I believe) or the act of drag racing and doing donuts and just generally screwing around with one's car. (Which, if you are a bogun, is most likely a mettalic lime green ute-- that half car, half truck thing.)

Now, bringing England back into the picture, I don't think I ever wrote about the fact that I apparently was quite ill when I was in England. Whenever I met or walked by someone I knew, they asked me if I was all right. It took me about a week of being a bit concerned that I was looking pallid (which I probably was, as all the blood had left my extremities and was desperately trying to keep my vital organs warm in that freezing climate) before I realized that it was simply their greeting, their version of our "How're you doing?" or, even better, " 'Sup?". In Australia they have changed this again, and they inquire as to how I am going. What? What do you mean, "How am I going?"? By car? By foot? By you? Of course, upon reflection, "How are you doing?" is just as inane, and "'sup" is just ridiculous, but at least I know the appropriate responses. ("Fine, thanks" and "Nommuch... 'Sup wid chu?") At the hostel the other day the Aussie guy in reception asked how I was going, and I responded, "I am going well... If that makes any sense."

My favorite thing to do while driving around SW Australia (when not busy wondering at YET ANOTHER lime green vehicle) was to look at the names of roads and places. I like playing Scrabble quite a bit, and sometimes am even good at it, but there are times when my tray of tiles looks a bit daunting, and I ask if manjimup might not be a word. Or boodjidup. Or wonthaggi. The answer is yes, but they are proper nouns, so they don't count. Here are a few more of my favorite place names. (Bonus points to anyone who can actually rearrange any of them into something that looks like a real word.) Yalgorup, Nannup, Myalgelup, Gnarabup, Tjukayilta, Boyanup. (And, in case you are wondering, I think that these are all Aboriginal names.)

An apology

2009-01-11T22:26:00.001-08:00

To my devoted fans (mostly my father, who likes to tell me how long it has been since my last blog post),

I am sorry to have been so delinquent in putting posts up recently, but I was taken on a lovely trip through SW Australia, where Internet was a bit sparse, but the gum trees (and flies) were plentiful. When I got back to Perth I had only a few hours before my next departure, which I filled with checking email (only 23... not bad for 5 days away) and eating strawberries from the garden. (A girl has to have her priorities, you know.) I will attempt to make it up to you now by inundating you with posts.

Australia

2009-01-03T20:10:00.000-08:00

It is soooooooo nice to be in Australia, where I can settle in and be a normal human being. This morning I did a little yoga, walked to the store, harvested some tomatoes and peppers-- called capsicum (?!) here--from the great garden, and made some lunch. (Sorely missing the NYTimes Sunday puzzle, but that's okay, because the last time I had one it was really, really hard. Much harder than normal for someone of my great intellect. Obviously I am out of shape mentally as well as physically.) All of the Aussies that I have met (mostly related to Cate and John, or close friends of theirs) have been really great. But there are a few quirks to life Down Under.

I mentioned that I was at the beach last week. Going to the beach at home is a lovely, relaxing experience. Here it is a near-death experience in many, many ways. First of all there's the water. My ocean is welcoming (if a wee bit on the cold side), with gentle waves rolling in. This ocean pretty much wants to eat you. The waves pound into the shore and grab all the sand from under your feet, trying to take it-- and you-- back out with it. I'm somewhat wise in the ways of undertows and currents, so I was prepared for that. I was also not terribly surprised when, inching my way out into the hungry waters, the sand suddenly dropped away. (I figured there was a reason that huge waves were crashing only about ten feet from shore.) Okay, so now I'm in the water. No one has mentioned anything about jellyfish, so I'm not concerned about that. But the news the previous week was completely filled with the story of a 50 year old man who was 'taken' by a shark not too many kilometers north of where I was standing. Hmmm.... sharks. I don't see many big nets floating out between me and the ocean. But there were lots of other people between me and the vast expanse, and they look pretty tasty, so I think I'm safe. (But I'm keeping my feet on the sand-- as long as the waves don't suck it away.)

The second death threat that you need to overcome at the beach is skin cancer. I wrote earlier that all sunscreen here (NOT suntan lotion, thank you very much) is 30+. These people are serious about not tanning and not getting skin cancer. Having not used any sun screen for probably the first 14 years of my life (and then moving onto nice oil, SPF 4), I am a bit wary all of a sudden. I look at the various freckles and moles I have on my body and wonder if they've always been there, and if they have gotten any bigger since I've been hovering around the equator. (One day in Thailand I walked around without ANY sunscreen on. I'm definitely a goner now!) So it was with a sudden panic the other night that I did see a small brown spot on my arm that definitely had NOT been there before. It was pale brown, slightly raised, and a bit smaller than a lentil. Before running to the phonebook to find the number for a dermatologist, I thought I would see if perhaps it wasn't really part of me. No big surprise, it came right off. Chocolate, of course. (Not sure how I let any get past my mouth, but that is a different issue.)

The last part of the beach experience which makes it slightly less than a day at the beach would be the flies (which, alas, are not restricted to just at the beach). These lovely little creatures are apparently quite starved of water in this desert country, so seek to get it wherever they can. Unfortunately that means that they like to dive bomb my mouth, nose, and eyes. Ick, is all I have to say about that. Guess I'll have to bring out the DEET again, alas. (Speaking of which, the mozzies in this country, while unseen by me, are something fierce! I haven't had a mosquito bite which itched in about 15 years, but MAN, am I itchy now! I look like my poor British cousins who come over and get accused of having chicken pox because they are covered in red welts. Luckily my welts are located just on my feet... right underneath my sandal straps, of course. Can't wait to meet the sand flies in New Zealand.)

As to other Down Under oddities, I'm afraid I can't say anything about the water flushing down the toilet being different here, because I can't actually remember which way it goes at home. Guess I don't spend enough time staring into the toilet bowl. I can tell you, though, that I spent about a month south of the equator (in Kenya and now here) staring at the stars at night, trying to get my bearing. There's Orion, but he's upside down. There's that W thing that I don't know the name of. No sign of any dippers, big or little, and where the hell is the North Star? Yes, it took me a MONTH to figure out that there ISN'T a North Star because I am in the Southern Hemisphere.

Like I said, I'm out of shape mentally. Or it could just be the heat. The other day it was 42 C. I was asked by someone at home if it is a "dry heat". Who cares? It is flippin' HOT is what it is! (But yes, it is a dry heat. 42 C equals 107 F, but I could still breathe. Unlike home, I didn't feel I needed gills.)

I'll tell you about the language later. Now I need to go find a bogan boyfriend whom I can go hooning with. (Totally G rated, but illegal.....)

Pictures

2008-12-31T21:56:00.000-08:00

For what it's worth, I have finally managed to get some photos of Thailand up (Kenya will come eventually), so, if you wish, you can go back and look at them. I have put them in vaguely appropriate spots in my posts, but now I'm not actually sure how I feel about mixing images with my writing. Will the photos detract from the prose?

Oh, dear god, am I actually become a writer (and a snobbish, purist one at that!)??

Luckily, I am sure that you have already read all of the posts (a couple of times), and that this glance back with images will just codify things for you.

Happy New Year!

The Beach

2008-12-29T21:42:00.000-08:00

On Boxing Day (which has nothing to do with pugilism), aka Dec. 26th for all non-Brits, Cate and her family brought me down to their beach house in Mandurah, about an hour south of Perth. (Yes, just about everyone in Australia lives near the coast, but apparently not everything is a beach house.) Her extended in-law family is here as well. I spend my days reading books, going for walks by the beach, riding a bike up the shore (which is on the wrong side here, so when I said I was going to ride south today, I actually went north), and eating. Eating, eating, eating. I now know what it must be like for people who visit us in NH. Lots of time to do whatever you want as the family buzzes around you, and meals served about every three hours. Life is hard.

John (Cate's husband) took me fishing the other night. We headed out into the nearby estuary and caught a bunch of tailor (known as bluefish at home). Man, fishing is dead easy. John puts the icky bait on, I throw the line in, reel in a fish, John takes it off and sets me up again. Then John fillets all the fish and cooks them and I eat. Look at me, I'm a fisherman!

Last night he took me (and his sisters and nieces) out crabbing. That involves going out at dusk, walking in knee deep water next to the boat (he actually had the boat TIED to him, and was towing it around) with a basket on a stick to grab the crabs. These are not the nice little crabs I grew up torturing in NH. These are big suckers with claws that stick way out to the side when they get mad (like when you come at them with a basket). And you are walking around in the mud (which sometimes sucks down as you step) and seaweed, and they are all around. Periodically you hear "BASTARD" as someone has their ankles nipped. I was good for about five minutes, and then happily passed my basket back and clambered back into the boat with the kids.

I did finally get into the water (not just crabbing) yesterday when we all went to the beach. The water was lovely, the waves huge, and oh, right over there is a dolphin. Seriously. I boogie-boarded for a bit (for the first time in about 15 years, I think), caught one really good wave body surfing, I spent the afternoon trying to get sand out of my nether regions.

Aussie's are funny about the sun. I imagined them as all having brown, leathery skin, and all worshipping the sun (getting my information from such movies as Strictly Ballroom and Sexy Beast), but no. SPF 30+ suncream for all here, and if you have a bit of a tan, you get scowled at by your relatives. I guess in countries where sun is a constant rather than a luxury, they are a bit more careful about their skin. (In Thailand, they advertise "whitening" cream, whereas at home we have tanning cream.)

One last note before I get booted off the computer (for my hour is up here at the library)... There are cockatoos and parrots who just fly around wild here. They are lovely to see, but their birdsong is not terribly melodic. Somewhat similar to a three year old enthusiastically (and loudly) imitating a crow's caw. Not my favorite.

(By the way, I have yet to be offered any shrimp from the barbie yet. They don't have "shrimp" here anyway, they have prawns.)

Cooking abroad

2008-12-29T21:27:00.000-08:00

There are many challenges to traveling, I find. You have to figure out what coin is what. You have to decipher what it is people are saying (even if they are supposedly speaking in English). You have to try to not get run over by people who perpetually drive on the wrong side of the road. But I think my biggest challenge thus far has been attempting to cook abroad. (And not just because I have almost to experience with cooking at home. I can cook, I just choose not to if anyone else is around to do so.)

There is a candy recipe that I make every Christmas. Since it apparently was that time of year, I thought I should make it. It involves graham crackers, butter, brown sugar, and Hershey bars. Easy peasy. Except that graham crackers, normal brown sugar, and Hershey bars don't exist Down Under. Nor do measurements such as "one cup".

So I bought some biscuits that looked as plain as I could find. I thought that extra molassesy brown sugar would probably be fine. I decided that half of 500g of butter looked like two sticks.

But then there was the chocolate issue. I will be the first to admit, I am a chocolate snob. I wouldn't eat a Hershey bar if you paid me (well, maybe if you paid me in GOOD chocolate). But there is something about a Hershey bar that just makes this candy perfect (probably the fact that that is the way I've always had that candy, therefore it is the 'right' way). Not knowing what any of the chocolate here tasted like, I bought three different sorts (varying prices) to experiment with. Two of them, as my father would say, were "actively nasty". So I put those on the batches I would give away. These strangers wouldn't know that the candy wasn't right! The batch that most closely resembled the sugary goodness that I know and love (and gorge myself on annually) stayed at home with me.

It being summer here (blessed summer!), and my hosts having a lovely little vegetable patch out back, I have been eating fresh strawberries right from the garden. My mother has a wonderful Swedish Cream recipe that I have loved forever, so I thought I would make that as a treat for everyone. Again, a dead easy recipe, this one involving heavy cream, sour cream, sugar, and gelatin. My friend bought me the necessary ingredients, but got "Thickened" cream instead of heavy... like the British double cream, which I ADORE, but it just wasn't quite right. Needed more sour cream. Not bad, but not right. Oh well.

Luckily, guacamole is hard to get wrong, so at least I am happy with that.

December 25th

2008-12-29T21:24:00.001-08:00

The calendar tells me that recently it was December 25th. That used to be Christmas in my world. This year it wasn't. I mean sure, there were people and presents and food and little Santas around, but there was also a pool and air conditioning and suntan lotion. And there wasn't my family or stockings hung by the fire with care or the smell of pine trees and mulled wine. Therefore it wasn't Christmas. Good thing, because I would have been sad if I missed it....

Exorcism needed

2008-12-24T00:02:00.000-08:00

Lest there be any doubt that I have been possessed by someone or something this year (for I would never travel the world alone), here is incontrovertible proof: I just went to the mall... on Christmas Eve.

OZ

2008-12-21T16:30:00.000-08:00

I flew over the rainbow yesterday, and was so happy to land in Australia. It was a bit rough going at first... I dutifully set my watch alarm for 3:30 am (!) so that I could catch the 4 am shuttle to the airport, as Thai Airways said I need to be there three hours before my flight. I shoved my earplugs in, put a pillow over my head, and went to bed at 8:30. Usually, when I have to wake up early, I sleep very lightly and check my watch constantly. Apparently, I was quite relaxed, for I slept quite soundly until... 4:24. I checked my watch, saw the time, and a deep and disbelieving, "Nooooooooooooooooo..." came out of my mouth as I dashed to the bathroom. I caught the 5 am shuttle, and waited behind one other person in line at the airport, and had an hour to spare still. (THREE hours ahead? What were they thinking??) I walked around trying to see if I could spent my last 16 Baht (about 40 cents) on anything, but no. So I left it for some child to find and be excited about.

The flight was fine, although I think the cabin air or altitude or something got to me. Not only did I watch Beverly Hills Chihuahua, but I actually got teary at parts. Good god, what have come to?? (The second movie, Bottle Shock, was much better. All about wine. But, to my credit, Placido Domingo--or his voice-- was in the first movie, so I can at least pretend in some weird way that it was cultured, although he didn't sing.)

My friend Cate's husband (whom I've never met, and who had no idea what I looked like... just like all the other people I've imposed myself upon this year) collected me from the airport, holding a little piece of paper with my name on it. Hell, I would have gone home with anyone, but was pleased to find him.

I arrived at their house in the middle of a little backyard party that Cate was giving (it was the first day of summer here, remember). Ah, I was in my element! I threw my bags in my room, donned an apron, and started making guacamole. Life was good again.

(Right now I am listening to a sound that I never thought I would be so happy to hear: the deep rumble and squeaky breaks of a garbage truck. Ah, infrastructure, you are a glorious thing.)

I am very much looking forward to three weeks of living a relatively normal life, breathing clean air, not fearing that every mosquito carries some horrible disease, and perhaps even going to the beach (every day). They may talk a bit funny down here, but life is grand in OZ.

One last day

2008-12-19T22:40:00.000-08:00

Today is my last day in Thailand, and I am counting my Baht, weighing how much I need to eat vs get another massage. (At these prices, I think I can do both.)

Last night I took the overnight train from Chiang Mai to Bangkok. It wasn't first class Kenyan service, but it wasn't bad. I was tucked up in the upper berth/cocoon, and actually slept. Mind you, all my dreams involved me being on a train, but that is fair.

Chiang Mai was okay. The first day I was there I was not terribly happy. I walked around town with a horrible scowl on my face and a headache developing. I think that my body had just maxed out on the amount of carbon monoxide it could take. I tried breathing as little as I could, so as not to inhale all the exhaust, but that didn't work terribly well. I have a new understanding-- no envy-- for those people who walk around with surgical masks on. So I didn't do too much sightseeing that day.

Day 2 in Chiang Mai was better. It started off at the Women's Prison. No, nothing you need to worry about. They have a little spa at the prison so the women can earn some money for when they are released. So I had a foot massage from a Thai felon. Who knew what adventures this year would bring! From there I wandered into the shopping district and went a little crazy (or so it felt at the time). I was actually feeling giddy at one point (could have been too much CO again) with the crazy low prices of silk. But, remembering that I am not actually EARNING any money this year (and in fact probably rapidly LOSING it, although I haven't seen a newspaper in a while), I tried to curb myself.

As this is my last day here, I will share with you some random impressions that I have about various things. No particular order (and possibly not much sense) to them:

The Thais have a thing about feet. You can't point your feet at anyone, and you need to take your shoes off when you enter a house. This is actually understandable, given how absolutely dirty and disgusting shoes (and feet, because everyone wears sandals) get in this country. But here's the thing... pointing your toes at someone is right out, but it is perfectly acceptable to hock a big loogie on the ground, and today I actually had someone blow snot on the sidewalk in front of me.

As to food, I have eaten some very strange things since I've been here, and I think it is better that I do not actually have any idea what they were. (The other night, when my meal was getting cold and particularly gelatinous, I wondered aloud, "Is this squid?") Once you know what your meal is supposed to be, you have certain expectations. For instance, when eating chocolate chip ice cream (as a special treat for having walked to the train station rather than taking a tuk tuk, and therefore not adding any more CO to the city), you might expect there NOT to be a frozen whole kernel of corn in your ice cream. (No, I didn't eat it. I chucked it over my shoulder onto the ground for the rat that was scurrying about the place.)

Granted, in the States various appliances have odd names, but I saw a toaster the other day that said "Love King" on the side.

I was walking through a particularly large and crazy intersection today (the same one that the bus sat at for 18 minutes last week), and noted that there were policemen standing on the sidewalks waving traffic on, always following the traffic signals. Now which is easier to see... a little man four lanes away, or a brightly illuminated light up in the air? Thai tax dollars at work, I guess.

Part way through a nine hour bus ride, we stopped for lunch. With six hours to go, and no bathroom on the bus, I hoped that my strong stomach remained as such. (It did.)

When you are on a long distance bus journey here, the ticket checker changes about every half hour, and therefore needs to check everyone's tickets again, despite the fact that he (or she) is the only new person on the bus.

Many Thais have, quite sharply, called out to me, "You!" to let me know I need to pay, or roll over, or pick up my meal. It sounds rude, but then I realize that they are making the effort to speak in my language, and all I can say in theirs is "Hello" and "Thank you" (and sometimes I get them mixed up), so I am thankful. (Khawp khun kha. Which for the first week I kept mispronouncing as crap khun kha.)

I have come to realize that I like cities where I am self-sufficient. If I can walk to and from the train or bus station, then I am MUCH happier (and have a better sense of orientation) than if I have to take a taxi of some sort. (Thusly, I walked for an hour and a half from the train station in Bangkok this morning, big pack attached. I will, however, take the shuttle to the airport at 4:00 tomorrow morning. Groan.)

I think that's it for this country/continent. Off to Australia tomorrow, to relax with someone I know, UNPACK, and find out what Christmas is like Down Under. (And, hopefully, to upload about a zillion pictures!)

Trekking

2008-12-17T05:20:00.000-08:00

As soon as I got to the guest house in Chiang Rai the other day, possibly before I even checked into my room, I asked about doing a trek. All I wanted was to get out into nature for a few days. The owner had a friend who ran a trekking company, and he appeared five minutes later and signed me up for a trek the next morning. So at 10 am yesterday, I was ready to hit the trails.

There were two other people on my trek: a couple of guys (probably late 20s) from the Czech Republic. (They had enough English that we could talk a bit, although they did do a lot of nodding and smiling.) The first stop on the trek was a longboat ride up the Mae Kok (which, alas, is not pronounced 'my cock') River. There were some other people on this boat ride, and one woman asked me if I was going to the village. I thought for a moment and told her I honestly had no idea WHERE I was headed. I was just going, and hoping for the best.

The boat deposited us at an Elephant Camp, where a small herd of elephants were all saddled up waiting to take people for little rides. This is not something I would have chosen to do, but apparently I had already paid for it, so off I went for my 20 minute ride. It was pretty bumpy. Not much else I can say about it, except that at one point we seemed to be stuck in an elephant traffic jam. I think the elephant in front got distracted by some bananas or something. After the ride the guide told us we had and hour to explore the village. "Village" in this case translates to "series of shops selling trinkets and shawls to tourists".

From there we headed into the jungle. It was nice to be out walking through the bamboo forest... until we started to go uphill. Those nice quads I'd developed over the last 4 years of ballet are officially gone, as are all the other muscles I had, and any cardio stamina. I am, I think, becoming an old lady. Sigh.....

We spent the night with the Lahu Hill Tribe in their village. We hiked all the way up there (garbage strewn all around the path, which was quite distressing to me... guess they don't know about Pack In, Pack Out), and of course there's a road that they all drive their motorcycles up. I walked around a bit (and saw a child's dirty bottom being wiped with sticks), and noted that every house had a solar panel. (Yeah! Although it ran out at about 8 pm.) We stayed in a bamboo house. All the houses were made from bamboo. All bamboo. The main beams are small logs from some tree, and the roof is grass, but everything else is bamboo. And not thick bamboo. You can see through the walls and floor (which was a bit bouncy in parts). I believe the livestock (cattle, pigs, chickens, and loads of dogs, which I assume are pets put possibly not) live underneath the house. Anyone who tries to tell me that a rooster crows with the rising sun has obviously not slept with only a 1/4 inch thick piece of bamboo between him and said rooster.

This morning we set off into the jungle again. At one point the path forked and we went to the left. A few minutes later the guide stopped, thought, did some math, and said we would go back to the other path, because the one we were on would take four hours and the other three. So back we went. The other path got a bit small at one point, and guide stopped to rifle around in his backpack. I assumed he was looking for a map. Silly me. He was getting out his knife so he could bushwhack. What had been a small path turned to no path, and we bushwhacked our way up the side of a mountain. For some reason the words "A three hour tour... a three hour tour" kept going through my head. Eventually we did find the path at the top (which I was quite pleased about, because it was very steep going up, and I would not have liked to bushwhack DOWN!).

We stopped at a lovely waterfall for lunch, walked through another hill tribe, and eventually ended up at a hot spring. I'd never been to a hot spring before, but it sounded nice. It looked nice too. But it certainly did not smell nice. There was a little sign for the "boiling egg bath" (a gimmick for the tourists that they could cook eggs in this water). I thought that was terribly appropriate, because that is exactly what this sulphur spring smelled like. I was good for about 5 minutes in the water. (For me water is meant to be cooling, not cooking!) Then the guide said we weren't being picked up until 5 (at this point it was about 3). Ugh.

The driver did not actually pick us up until 6:30. In the interim the guide bought some hideously noxious stuff that he called local whiskey. I probably could have managed the rice based alcohol, but the stuff looked like Kool Aid, and I think they might have actually mixed some nasty, sugary, hot pink stuff in with it. Oh, it was awful. I was actually considering washing it down with some of the Czech's slibovisk (or whatever it was called... plum based booze). But I really had about had it, and was absolutely willing the driver to appear, when three self-proclaimed hippies arrived and started promptly offering us pot, and then rolling themselves some joints. That is SOOOOOOOO not my thing! Thank goodness, just as they were lighting up, the driver appeared, and I made a mad dash for the van.

The ride home had me chuckling, for there was a DVD playing. I saw the last half hour of Live Free or Die Hard, dubbed into Thai. I don't think you've really lived until you've seen Kevin Smith speaking Thai. Loved it!

Trekking was good, the long, hot shower was good, and I'm sure my bed this evening will be good too. Tomorrow I'm off to Chiang Mai (which I hear is just like Bangkok, so I'm not holding my breath about it... or maybe I will be because of all the exhaust).

(Just a few more days until Australia!!!!)

Traveling Alone

2008-12-15T05:57:00.000-08:00

When I tell people that I am traveling alone this year their responses fall into one of two categories: The "You're so BRAVE" category, and the "You'll meet LOADS of people and find folks to travel with" category. To both, I say that is a load of bosh.

Traveling is easy when people go ridiculously out of their way to make sure you have what you need and know where you are going, even if you are pantomiming to each other. I have yet to go hungry or have to sleep on the street. (I also have yet to let the Lonely Planet guide to Thailand out of my sweaty grip.)

As to finding traveling companions, I have this to say. If you are reading this blog, chances are good that we are friends (although who knows how great my following has become!). But, if you think about the formation of that friendship, I would hazard a guess that we did not become what one would call "fast friends" (with the possible exception of my best friend's wife, but if we hadn't become fast friends, one of the two of us would have been one male shorter in our lives, so it worked out beautifully that I instantly adored her). I take quite a while to decide if I like someone or not. Actually, that is a big fat lie. I decide about 15 seconds after someone opens their mouth if I DON'T like them (so if we have not met yet, but you are thinking we might one day, you might want to seriously think about your opening sentence). But to become friends with a person I need quite a while. (Mind you, once you are in, you're in.)

I have been in Thailand for a week or so now, and I can conclusively say that I have met no one I care to speak with again. I thought that perhaps this was my fault, that I wasn't being outgoing enough, that perhaps I give off a certain "Don't mess with me... or even talk to me" vibe. So with that in mind, when I arrived here (where AM I??? Chiang Rai, I think) this evening and saw that there was a little courtyard and bar, I went outside and ordered myself a drink (alas, no Smirnoff Ice here, so I had to make due with a Bacardi Breezer), and forced myself to chat with the older man who was sitting out there (turned out to be German, so I tried out some LucieDeutsch on him, but, not surprisingly, we quickly switched to English). Later an older American man joined us. I nodded and smiled and held my breath as they puffed away on cigarettes and cigars, and had a fake smile plastered on my face as they both talked about how they liked to smoke a joint every day, and oh, I could buy some tomorrow if I wanted when I'm trekking in the hills. All the while I am thinking this, "How can I quickly and politely extract myself from this hellacious conversation and go to my room to read my book?"

So I don't think it's me. I am, of course, perfect. It's all the other travellers. The young guy in Bangkok talking about meeting the massage lady after work (midnight) and spending the night out drinking... The guy my age talking about how many machetes he has bought in various countries... And now the older pot smokers. Obviously the problem is that single men travelling in Thailand are all here for questionable (to me) reasons. Where are my people??? The people I would like, of course, are sitting in THEIR rooms reading books.

I have to say that meeting different people every night is feeling like two weeks of first dates. And honestly, I'm not that big a fan of dating....

Central Thailand

2008-12-13T23:13:00.000-08:00

Here I am, somewhere in central Thailand. Sukhothai, I think. It is Sunday, and I am spending it the way one (who, much to her father's chagrin, does not go to church... but I would be hard-pressed to find one around here anyway) should spend a Sunday... having a lovely big breakfast, and then being completely idle. I picked up The Sex Lives of Cannibals (recommended by a friend when he found I'd be going to Fiji) yesterday, and have spent the day reading (and loving!) it... when I'm not napping.

But to recap the last couple of days...

I believe I forgot to recount the facial that I had when I was still in Bangkok. Yes, another $6 well spent. I've only ever had one facial before (a gift from a parent who was a dermatologist), and it was a mini facial, so I don't really know how these things work. In Thailand, apparently, it involves rubbing lots and lots of lotion onto your face for a long, long time. Not bad. That wiped off, some orange, I believe, was smeared around. (Not orange goop, an actual orange wedge, leaving bits of pulp all over.) After that, something came dribbling onto my forehead which felt like honey. As that got smeared around, I smelled that it was indeed honey. A few steps later, cucumber slices were placed all over my face. At this point I was getting actively hungry, and wondered if they weren't working in conjunction with a nearby restaurant to get people to go!

Back to the north... After I wrote my last post, I wandered around Phitsanulok for a while. I had decided to check out the Night Market down by the river, then stop in at an actual restaurant (which would be my first, not including the ones that my aunt's friends took me to), and for dessert (!) go to the little establishment which was called "It's a Cake", which looked awfully good. I'm not sure what I was expecting from the Night Market exactly. I suppose a Farmer's Market at night. Well, it was really just a strip of shops that were open from 5 pm to 3 am. I wandered a bit, and when a little woman said "Thai Massage??" to me, I acquiesced. It cost 100 Baht. For those who haven't figured out the exchange rate yet, that would be three dollars. For an hour long massage. Sure, I was basically lying on a mat on the sidewalk. Yes, at one point her runny nose did drip a bit on my wrist. And no, she didn't stop watching TV the whole time (but those where her Stories, so how could I expect her to not follow them??). But three dollars is three dollars, and it was good.

I checked out a restaurant or two, and then was drawn back to the street vendors by the almost intoxicating aroma of sweet corn. Oh, sweet, sweet corn (not like the horrid maize that they have in Kenya). And some Pad Thai that was fantastic. But rest assured, I did go to It's a Cake, and purchased a slice of chocolate almond something. Those of you who know me well (which most of you ought to by now, having had this lovely little glimpse into my psyche) will not be at all surprised to read that as I walked up the stairs to my room with this treasure, I did, out loud, proclaim my love for it. (And yes, I went back there for some apple crumble for breakfast the next day before heading off.)

From Phitsanulok I took an hour-long bus ride to here, Sukhothai. I had already decided that I would spent two nights here, because there were so many things to do and see in the area. I checked in to this nice little guest house, which has a restaurant, a computer, nice rooms, and a nice garden, and decided that I didn't need to see any of those things at all. I would just relax until I didn't feel like relaxing any more. (Hard to imagine that I would need to relax, given all the stress that is NOT in my life right now, but I had, for some inexplicable reason, had a dream about writing progress reports (!!!!) the night before, but even in my dream I was completely unworried that others had already had their reports checked and returned, and I hadn't even started writing mine. In fact, I couldn't really think of my kids' names...) By the way, on the back of the menu here are photos of all the people who work at the guest house, along with their names and titles. My favorite is the "Manager of Textile Purification." I don't know if that is done tongue in cheek, or if it is a translation issue. Either way, it makes me happy.

I did eventually motivate a bit yesterday, and I got the bus (loose term) down to the Old City of Sukhothai (which used to be the capital of Thailand, or the region, or province or something... I've read it a zillion times in the guide book, but obviously not cared enough to internalize it), which is now a bunch of ruins. I have to say, I did very much enjoy walking around it. I didn't walk far, for I was not on a quest to see all the ruins (there are LOTS spread over a large area). I just enjoyed the fact that it was tranquil there. I could actually hear birds and insects, and for just a moment, I could hear no cars or motorcycles in the background. It was lovely. (There had been one moment previously on my trip when I was walking around Bangkok when the lights had changed or something, and there suddenly wasn't a drone of traffic next to me. I hadn't realized how loud it was until then. The constant ringing in my ears in bed at night should have been a hint, though.) I sat on some ruins and just listened and watched. There was a group of birds near by... egrets, or herons, or possibly dodos (I'm not so good with bird identification), and I watched them. In walking around the ruins, though, I did feel like I ought to have had binoculars attached to me, and I should have been hunting for monkeys. (For any Earthwatchers reading this, there was loads of TI, but not a monkey in sight to ING the RF.) It was all very pleasant, except for the gnats which perpetually flew right into my eyes.

I caught the bus back home (almost dying from exhaust inhalation... I still don't feel like I've had a clean breath of air for a while), and did a little straw poll of the vehicles we passed on the other side of the road, for I noticed there were many trucks. In my ever so official sampling of 25 autos, the truck to car ratio was 4 to 1. But the motorcycle to auto ratio was 2:1. Translation: It's loud here.

Tomorrow I head for the hills. I probably should go rest up before the big journey...

NOT Bangkok

2008-12-12T02:18:00.000-08:00

I flew the coop yesterday, and boarded a train out of Bangkok. I went a couple hours north to Lop Buri, a sweet little town filled with ruins of old temples (and monkeys). I wandered around a bit, so happy to have some relative peace and quiet. Yes, at one point last night I finally focused on the fact that the music I could hear wafting in my window was actually Christmas carols. There is something inherently WRONG (in my opinion) about hearing Frosty the Snowman in Thailand.

The hotel last night was great... I had a bathroom en suite, AND a TV. When I turned it on and heard American voices, I literally did a little dance and sang "It's in English! It's in English!" My joy quickly dissipated when the picture came on and I discovered that it was Fox News... the morning show at that! I managed about three minutes, and then I couldn't stomach it anymore. No TV is WAY better than that TV!

Today I took the train further north to a large town called Phitsanulok (I think). I settled myself into a corner room with a king sized bed (for $6 a night), and then started wandering around town. After finding Thai Airways to confirm my flight to Australia, I headed to a folk museum. (It has some long name like General Somebody's Thai Folk Museum.) It sold itself as a museum of tools and daily objects. Sounded right up my alley. I smiled the whole time I was in there. I giggled when I saw the display of various mouse traps. (NOT like ours at all.) I enjoyed the fish and porcupine traps. I started wondering if I couldn't volunteer my services to retranslate all of their English signs into slightly more fluent English. Just when I thought the museum couldn't get any better, I came across a display showing how to castrate a bull. I had to copy down Step 6 so I could share it with you.

"The specialist turns the fork of sticks [which have the testes between them] at the top of the ham. After that uses the hammer hit at the testicles until was broken."

Guys, broken out in a sweat yet? Ladies, trying to figure out exactly how it was done?

More later, I'm sure...

Ready to leave Bangkok!

2008-12-10T05:16:00.000-08:00

I'm hitting the tracks tomorrow and heading north out of Bangkok. The shine is gone, and the seamy underbelly of the city is showing itself, and I've never been particularly fond of seaminess. But, besides being pretty revolted by all the white tourist men I see wining and dining Thai women, I had a fairly decent day. I needed to get my train ticket for tomorrow, so got on a bus to the train station. I noticed that the red lights seemed to be ridiculously long, so when the bus was caught at one I started to time it on my watch. At six minutes, I thought it was funny. At 10 minutes I was baffled. At 14 minutes the locals started to get antsy. At 16 minutes the locals started to get off! At EIGHTEEN MINUTES at a continuously red light (the cross traffic having had four or five turns) the bus driver gave up and drove through it. Seriously.... 18 minutes! Obviously something was wrong with that traffic light.

(By the way, you should know when crossing streets in Bangkok that actually have a crosswalk AND a crossing signal, there is no warning as to when the little green walking man will suddenly turn to red and you are half way across six lanes of traffic when they start to drive. You might have 18 minutes to cross, or about two seconds. Good luck!)

This evening I had dinner with some friends of my aunt. They took me to a place on the river, and ordered all sorts of things that they thought I should try. I had Tom Yum (?) soup, square breaded sausage things (yummy!), beef slices, cashew chicken curry, and something that was either a very large shrimp or small lobster, which was fried and eaten whole... shell and all. I dutifully followed my host's lead and ate the whole damned thing. (It was fried, so it wasn't too bad. Crunchy.)

Very full now, and looking forward to heading to the guest house and packing my backpack up again. (Sigh...)

Bangkok, Day 3

2008-12-09T02:24:00.000-08:00

Today I played the proper tourist, and went from temple to museum to palace all day. It was a good day, but the Thai sentimentality in regards to their museums had me chuckling quite a bit. They don't seem to believe in culling anything! If one spear is good, 50 is better. Why have just one cannon, when we could display them all? And how many Buddhas do I need to see in the "stop fighting between relatives" pose? (Well, actually....) At the museum attached to the really big temple here (Wat Something-that-I've-already-forgotten, but it houses the Emerald Buddha), they had a display of tools that they used in the restoration of the temple. Yes, they had on display, among many other things, a saw, a hammer, and, my personal favorite, a toothbrush. Later in the day at the Elephant Museum (don't ask, for I don't know the answer), I particularly enjoyed seeing an elephant molar and "pickled while elephant leather" (translation: elephant skin in formaldehyde).

At all the temples and some of the museums I had to take my shoes off. Let me tell you, I LOVE being barefoot walking around museums. (Now if I could only find a museum where extraneous bits of clothes were optional...) Of course, once I was barefoot, I automatically started to practice my plies and releves. Luckily these museums weren't terribly popular. In fact at one little museum I was the only person there, so I had my own personal guard/shadow. I'm not sure if she was making sure I didn't touch or steal anything, or if she wanted to make sure I followed the arrows that were on the floors of every museum telling you exactly which way to flow through it!

Given my gourmet western meal yesterday, I decided that today I would eat off the streets. No, not Thai roadkill (which would likely be one of the zillion cats I've seen wandering around), but eating from street vendors. So here is what I had today:

Breakfast-- 3 bananas and half a pineapple (very delicious it was)
Lunch-- Noodle soup of some sort, which had some odd fish product things floating in it
Dessert (I happened upon a random street fair that reminded me of Taste of Missouri, but without all the crafts, just the food)-- Some square thing that looked like a little cake with candied ginger shreds atop. Well, the candied ginger turned out to be onion, so I was a bit dubious about the cake part. I also couldn't figure out how to get it out of the little tin, and she didn't give me (or I forgot to pick up) any fork or chopsticks or anything... So I dug in with my fingers, and was pleased to find that it was indeed sweet. Kind of like a very moist cakey flan sort of thing.
Snack-- I spotted something that looked like four crab rangoons on a stick, so excitedly got that. Unfortunately it turned out to be hard boiled eggs wrapped in won tons. You win some, you lose some.

There is a good likelihood that I will become quite ill later tonight, but for the moment I am feeling happily sated.

Bangkok, Day 2

2008-12-08T04:36:00.000-08:00

I spent yesterday just wandering around the area of town where I am staying, getting used to all the little alleys in the area which pass as roads. (I am sure the three people sewing leather purses together near where I'm staying started keeping count how many times I passed them after about the 5th time.)

Today I got out a bit more. Well, first I had a good old-fashioned lie-in. After getting up at 6 am every day for a month, I slept until 9:30. Yes, that would be 12 hours of sleep, as I went to bed quite early. It was a good sleep, but I can't say that the beds here are comfortable. Both in the first guest house where I had the nap yesterday, and this place, the 'mattress' really is more of a box-spring with a mattress pad atop. I am pretty sure I dreamed last night of finding a Linens 'n Things here and buying one of those foam egg crate mattress covers. (A girl can dream...)

I met my aunt's friend for lunch. There was some confusion as to whether we were meeting inside or outside the hotel which she suggested. She was sitting in the nicely air-conditioned lobby, and I was dutifully waiting for her to pull up outside. Oh well! Eventually we found each other, and off we set. She suggested giving me a little driving tour of Bangkok, which I happily accepted. She said that one needs to drive defensively in this city... Well, the OTHERS do when driving near her! She plunked herself right in the middle of two lanes, and pretty much swerved whenever a car or motorbike was anywhere near her. I had to close my eyes a couple of times, but we made it out alive. She suggested stopping at her Sports Club (The Royal Bangkok Sports Club... oldest in the city and quite colonial, even though Bangkok was never colonized) for a drink first. I accepted, even though I had not actually had anything to eat yet. Nothing like a glass of wine on the empty stomach of a girl who doesn't really drink!

The drink was fine (and I didn't fall over when leaving the table), and she took me off for a 'proper' lunch (read: not Thai... I had arugula salad, beef bourgoinnone (however you spell that) and a brownie). She was perfectly lovely, and it was nice to chat with her and find out about the mess that was going on here the last few weeks. She dropped me off at the Sky Train, so I could experience that as a route home.

From there I decided to walk back to my guest house. It was probably about two miles, which I did all on the big streets (not trusting the little streets or my map). There were a couple of streets which I had to cross (with crosswalks but no crossing signals), where I said to myself, "How the [expletive deleted] am I supposed to cross this [expletive deleted]??" Once or twice I did have to lean back so my nose didn't get clipped by a passing truck. My favorite, though, was the crosswalk which went half way across the street and then stopped. Okay, whatever!

When I got back to the guest house, I walked the 68 paces (turn right out of the door, turn right at the corner, and it's the first entrance you come across) to the massage place. Yes, I went there yesterday and I went back today. Best damn $6 a day (including tip!) that I've ever spent. I had a Thai massage yesterday, and an oil massage today, and I can now conclusively say that I prefer Thai massage. (Yes, the little woman was actually standing on me at one point, and it was awesome!) I am seriously considering moving to this country, or else smuggling Ayma (my new best friend, replacing the blind woman from my dance class who thought I was 18) into my backpack and around the world with me! (I think tomorrow I might get a facial...)

One random observation for you from my wanderings through this tourist mecca last night. There is absolutely nothing more pathetic than a balding man (buff though he may be) getting corn rows.

Until later!