I wish I could keep up with this!
But
It is the holiday season, and the holidays are no time to exercise restraint.
Cheers.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Life sans car involves a lot of walking. While I was living with my friends, I walked to and from the gym, grocery store, mall, wherever - all my errands were easily accessible. I always wore a backpack so I could have an umbrella on hand (very necessary) and acquire things along the way. I'm also one of those environmental types who feels a lot better about themselves by not using disposable grocery bags. Every time I was at the grocery store and stuffing all my things into my backpack, the self-checkout would beep at me and someone would have to come over and verify that I wasn't stealing. It was always the same man, and I was always semi-embarrassed that I had the same problem every day and couldn't be organized enough to stop the machine from beeping. Me and Mr. Safeway had yet to have a real conversation, but we were definitely on familiar terms.
I haven't been back to that grocery store in awhile because I moved, but I was there today picking up aluminum foil for this dia del accion de gracias - I like the Spanish version, it sounds more active than the English word - and Mr. Safeway was there as well. He was standing very near to me, most likely anticipating some kind of issue, when I heard him say "Ma salaama, habibi," to another man, and then he replied with "inshallah." I got so excited I forgot to think after that. This is the first time I have heard and understood Arabic in a completely natural setting. And in my local grocery store?! How unexpected! What he said wasn't terribly complicated, in fact most people who have traveled to a Middle Eastern country would be able to understand, but it was still incredibly rewarding to be there, to understand, to get feedback on months of studying the language.
The literal translation of what Mr. Safeway said is "Peace be with you, my dear," and "God-willing." These are very common terms of endearment, similar to "Have a good day," and "I hope that what you said actually happens." After I heard him speak, I asked him where he was from (Egypt) and told him I was taking Arabic classes. He pounced on that one! Offered to help me, give me dictionaries, it was . . . amazing. Moments like this - when you find someone who is different than you, been through different things, lived in different places, sees your world with different eyes, and you find a way to connect anyway - are what define "humanity" for me.
I haven't been back to that grocery store in awhile because I moved, but I was there today picking up aluminum foil for this dia del accion de gracias - I like the Spanish version, it sounds more active than the English word - and Mr. Safeway was there as well. He was standing very near to me, most likely anticipating some kind of issue, when I heard him say "Ma salaama, habibi," to another man, and then he replied with "inshallah." I got so excited I forgot to think after that. This is the first time I have heard and understood Arabic in a completely natural setting. And in my local grocery store?! How unexpected! What he said wasn't terribly complicated, in fact most people who have traveled to a Middle Eastern country would be able to understand, but it was still incredibly rewarding to be there, to understand, to get feedback on months of studying the language.
The literal translation of what Mr. Safeway said is "Peace be with you, my dear," and "God-willing." These are very common terms of endearment, similar to "Have a good day," and "I hope that what you said actually happens." After I heard him speak, I asked him where he was from (Egypt) and told him I was taking Arabic classes. He pounced on that one! Offered to help me, give me dictionaries, it was . . . amazing. Moments like this - when you find someone who is different than you, been through different things, lived in different places, sees your world with different eyes, and you find a way to connect anyway - are what define "humanity" for me.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
There is a certain organization with whom I would really like a job, and although I am fairly certain they do not want to give me one, I don't let minor details like that deter me from going for it. This organization hosts events on a regular basis, but the majority of them are on the evenings I have language classes, so I have not been able to attend them recently. Finally one opened up on an evening I was free, so god almighty, I was going. I got off work later than intended, and then needed to catch a bus from Fremont to Queen Anne. There is no convenient way to do this, and it was my first time making that journey. I had tried to be careful with the planning, but I missed the bus written on my route. I sort of knew where I was going... and my personality on adrenaline has waning amounts of patience. I hopped on the next bus bound for downtown, chatted up the bus driver, and made a Plan B. I easily found the stop with the buses headed for Queen Anne, but I knew one was going to be better than the other. A bus pulled up, I asked the bus driver if he could take me where I wanted to go, and his only reply was that there were two buses going up Queen Anne, and I missed the first, so I better get on this one. That was good enough for me, vamanos!
I pulled out my iPhone and GPS'ed while I was on the bus - it kind of felt like gambling, in the sense that maybe I would get lucky enough to get dropped off in front of my destination, but also maybe not. A few unexpected turns on the map kept the excitement of that going, until I realized I was on the not-as-convenient-route, and I had also ridden past the best point to get off. Luckily it was not raining that night, but it was still very dark, very wet, and very full of leaves. My little ballet flats were no match for the treacherous sidewalks of Queen Anne.
I continued to GPS as I was walking, and the next street to cross over to Queen Anne Ave was not so close. However, I did see some stairs. These stairs, I recognized. Over the summer some friends I decided to do an "urban hike" we read about in a magazine. One of the ones featured was a "workout" hike including as many sets of stairs in Queen Anne as possible. These stairs were EXACTLY the ones in the photo. I decided a little sweat never hurt anyone, so I went for it. I was slightly scared because it was pretty dark, but I figured Queen Anne is a nice neighborhood, and if I kept moving really quickly I would probably be okay. I made it to the top a little sweaty and out of breath, but satisfied. I was now very close to the wine and chocolate tasting, although a little late. I was still moving quickly, GPS in hand, when I finally got my comeuppance for enough rash decisions. I tripped at high speed, iPhone flying into the dark (my greatest of all fears being realized), backpack full of Spanish and Arabic textbooks jostling over my head, and landed on my hands and one knee. I had ripped my leggings, skinned my knee, and both my palms were oozing fat droplets of dark red blood. Oh my, was I embarrassed. I was also 1.5 blocks from the chocolate shop - could I really give up now? My iPhone still functioned. So did I.
I rolled my legwarmers - I will be the first person in 20 years to say thank goodness for legwarmers - over the leggings to at least cover the tatteredness, and went semi-full-speed ahead. I walked in late, frazzled, bleeding, and in hopes of a job. Good plan. The man who worked there was so polished and polite, my embarrassment escalated. He was very friendly though, and got me a first aid kit, and after I was done disinfecting he caught me up with the chocolate discussion and tastings. When it came time to mingle, I was still so frazzled I couldn't really approach anyone, and as a result only creepy older men talked to me, so the job networking was not so much happening.
In the end, I did manage to talk to enough people, including the couple who owned the shop, to still be the last one to leave. The owner asked me to take all the rest of the samples, so I headed out with a bag full of artisan chocolate. My next bus driver had to wait for me to run and catch the bus, and I ended up giving him half my bag of chocolate - mostly because I didn't want to take that much chocolate home anyway, but also to be a friend.
My satisfaction from this experience comes not from the fact that I ended up with a new job, or because I made a lot of valuable connections (neither of these happened), or because I ended up with a ridiculous amount of expensive chocolate. It is because I never gave up. It would have been so easy to go straight home after work, especially since I didn't know the bus route, and the majority of the time I take a new route, I end up in some state of disarray, be it rain, ending up at the terminal, or a skinned knee. It would have been so easy to turn around at any point in my trip - getting on the wrong bus, falling over, while creepy man was giving me his business card. But I was still the last one there.
I pulled out my iPhone and GPS'ed while I was on the bus - it kind of felt like gambling, in the sense that maybe I would get lucky enough to get dropped off in front of my destination, but also maybe not. A few unexpected turns on the map kept the excitement of that going, until I realized I was on the not-as-convenient-route, and I had also ridden past the best point to get off. Luckily it was not raining that night, but it was still very dark, very wet, and very full of leaves. My little ballet flats were no match for the treacherous sidewalks of Queen Anne.
I continued to GPS as I was walking, and the next street to cross over to Queen Anne Ave was not so close. However, I did see some stairs. These stairs, I recognized. Over the summer some friends I decided to do an "urban hike" we read about in a magazine. One of the ones featured was a "workout" hike including as many sets of stairs in Queen Anne as possible. These stairs were EXACTLY the ones in the photo. I decided a little sweat never hurt anyone, so I went for it. I was slightly scared because it was pretty dark, but I figured Queen Anne is a nice neighborhood, and if I kept moving really quickly I would probably be okay. I made it to the top a little sweaty and out of breath, but satisfied. I was now very close to the wine and chocolate tasting, although a little late. I was still moving quickly, GPS in hand, when I finally got my comeuppance for enough rash decisions. I tripped at high speed, iPhone flying into the dark (my greatest of all fears being realized), backpack full of Spanish and Arabic textbooks jostling over my head, and landed on my hands and one knee. I had ripped my leggings, skinned my knee, and both my palms were oozing fat droplets of dark red blood. Oh my, was I embarrassed. I was also 1.5 blocks from the chocolate shop - could I really give up now? My iPhone still functioned. So did I.
I rolled my legwarmers - I will be the first person in 20 years to say thank goodness for legwarmers - over the leggings to at least cover the tatteredness, and went semi-full-speed ahead. I walked in late, frazzled, bleeding, and in hopes of a job. Good plan. The man who worked there was so polished and polite, my embarrassment escalated. He was very friendly though, and got me a first aid kit, and after I was done disinfecting he caught me up with the chocolate discussion and tastings. When it came time to mingle, I was still so frazzled I couldn't really approach anyone, and as a result only creepy older men talked to me, so the job networking was not so much happening.
In the end, I did manage to talk to enough people, including the couple who owned the shop, to still be the last one to leave. The owner asked me to take all the rest of the samples, so I headed out with a bag full of artisan chocolate. My next bus driver had to wait for me to run and catch the bus, and I ended up giving him half my bag of chocolate - mostly because I didn't want to take that much chocolate home anyway, but also to be a friend.
My satisfaction from this experience comes not from the fact that I ended up with a new job, or because I made a lot of valuable connections (neither of these happened), or because I ended up with a ridiculous amount of expensive chocolate. It is because I never gave up. It would have been so easy to go straight home after work, especially since I didn't know the bus route, and the majority of the time I take a new route, I end up in some state of disarray, be it rain, ending up at the terminal, or a skinned knee. It would have been so easy to turn around at any point in my trip - getting on the wrong bus, falling over, while creepy man was giving me his business card. But I was still the last one there.
Ok, time to write again. I was inspired by precisely four things, and since I attended a blogging networking event last week, I am more or less obligated to continue writing. The strongest inspiration is that somehow, (and completely ironically, given that English was by far my worst subject during my years of formal education), I have gotten other writing opportunities because of this blog. The second is that recently I met two lovely ladies who appear to have a genuine zest for life, and spectacular blogs. I'm following both of them, so check our their blogs if you have some extra time. The third reason is that I suppose you could define my current method of income as "sales," and I don't like it. I'm much better at it than I expected, but I don't enjoy it. I don't want to convince anyone to buy anything - I much prefer the idea of living with fewer things. From my personal experience, level of income and number of material possessions are not even remotely correlated with personal happiness. So to help persuade someone that life will be better with said object or experience, is a lie. Time to get back to things I genuinely like doing. And finally, there was a woman on the bus this morning carrying her frozen turkey. I know the big feastival is three days away, but carrying that thing on the bus shows true dedication. How could I not share with everyone this woman's commitment to the cause? I stared at that turkey the whole ride from downtown to Fremont. Riding the bus continues to entertain me - it is being part of a community, and being anonymous at the same time. Alright, I meant to write more, but was distracted by Gchat...what else is new!
Happy holiday travels,
And bring mittens if you intend to carry a turkey any farther than Grocery Store -> Car or Car -> House. Unless you want the Fard staring at you and your fowl for an uncomfortably long amount of time.
Happy holiday travels,
And bring mittens if you intend to carry a turkey any farther than Grocery Store -> Car or Car -> House. Unless you want the Fard staring at you and your fowl for an uncomfortably long amount of time.
Friday, November 20, 2009
I am currently taking a break from blogging, for a couple reasons - the first being that I got really busy and have several things in my life that are requiring a lot of energy (all good things...!) and also because I want to transition this blog to more of a "present-tense," so I think a break will make that easier, rather than attempting to transition in just a few days. In the meantime, I just started writing for Seattle Picks, so you can get a little taste of The Fard there!
Illa likka,
Illa likka,
Monday, October 26, 2009
This is probably going to appear very shallow, but remember, it's all relative. And that's my point anyway.
As this disgustingly gloomy day comes to a close, I remember not so fondly how dark Seattle can be all through the winter. The sun shines rarely enough to cause quite a vitamin D deficiency, and on days it does shine, the temperature is low enough to tempt one to stay inside. Thus a number of my photographs before I moved to California involve two delightfully lightly colored Farowich girls and friends. Now everyone is a little older and a little more vain. Nearly every single one of my friends goes tanning. My friends in Seattle go tanning. My friends in New York go tanning. My friends in San Diego go tanning. My Asian friends in both Seattle and San Diego go tanning, too. The general consensus is that people just look better with a "healthy glow."
Fast forward to face wash shopping in China. . . every single bottle includes whitening and bleaching agents. The same goes for body lotions and sunscreens, pretty much anything you might find yourself massaging into your skin. For those of us with already fair skin and trying to make the most of a deep Greek bronze, face wash shopping became a very time intensive activity. NJ needed a steady supply of sunscreen and could not find any. The tiny bottle I brought from home was gone in two days. The face wash we found, but the sunscreen was impossible. For a product that is already supposed to keep your skin from getting darker, why wouldn't you want a bleaching agent in it?! BG knew the Chinese character for white, the lucky man. Furthermore, when we were at West Lake for the first time, the sun was shining pretty brightly, and all the Chinese were carrying parasols and huddling under trees. Blue sky is somewhat of a rarity in China, so this looked slightly preposterous to me, but BG pointed out that it was very typical Chinese. And talking to my Korean friend CK, she told me that she knows girls who have cosmetic surgeries to enhance a light complexion.
The Chinese girls who worked in the office with me at school were shocked by how dark my skin was when I arrived after being in Greece. They were almost apologetic, as if I had gotten so dark by accident. Of course I knew that a lot of physical attributes are deemed beautiful by culture and society, but it was never so obvious as now. So much effort being into the changing of skin color, and different cultures are going in different directions! Kind of seems like nonsense. In lieu of this, I going to try to avoid running with the lemmings and visiting the tanning salon this year. Not sure that I will make it, peer pressure and vitamin D deficiency might do me in, but here goes.
As this disgustingly gloomy day comes to a close, I remember not so fondly how dark Seattle can be all through the winter. The sun shines rarely enough to cause quite a vitamin D deficiency, and on days it does shine, the temperature is low enough to tempt one to stay inside. Thus a number of my photographs before I moved to California involve two delightfully lightly colored Farowich girls and friends. Now everyone is a little older and a little more vain. Nearly every single one of my friends goes tanning. My friends in Seattle go tanning. My friends in New York go tanning. My friends in San Diego go tanning. My Asian friends in both Seattle and San Diego go tanning, too. The general consensus is that people just look better with a "healthy glow."
Fast forward to face wash shopping in China. . . every single bottle includes whitening and bleaching agents. The same goes for body lotions and sunscreens, pretty much anything you might find yourself massaging into your skin. For those of us with already fair skin and trying to make the most of a deep Greek bronze, face wash shopping became a very time intensive activity. NJ needed a steady supply of sunscreen and could not find any. The tiny bottle I brought from home was gone in two days. The face wash we found, but the sunscreen was impossible. For a product that is already supposed to keep your skin from getting darker, why wouldn't you want a bleaching agent in it?! BG knew the Chinese character for white, the lucky man. Furthermore, when we were at West Lake for the first time, the sun was shining pretty brightly, and all the Chinese were carrying parasols and huddling under trees. Blue sky is somewhat of a rarity in China, so this looked slightly preposterous to me, but BG pointed out that it was very typical Chinese. And talking to my Korean friend CK, she told me that she knows girls who have cosmetic surgeries to enhance a light complexion.
Protective parasols and dangerous blue sky
The Chinese girls who worked in the office with me at school were shocked by how dark my skin was when I arrived after being in Greece. They were almost apologetic, as if I had gotten so dark by accident. Of course I knew that a lot of physical attributes are deemed beautiful by culture and society, but it was never so obvious as now. So much effort being into the changing of skin color, and different cultures are going in different directions! Kind of seems like nonsense. In lieu of this, I going to try to avoid running with the lemmings and visiting the tanning salon this year. Not sure that I will make it, peer pressure and vitamin D deficiency might do me in, but here goes.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
First I am going to share something light-hearted and funny, and then I will confess why I like talking to strangers (the sound effects here are of my mother panicking).
In Spanish class last week, my teacher, who is from Barcelona, asked us about the phrase "to be as happy as a clam." Basically she said it was ridiculous, and please do not ever try to say "estoy feliz como un almaje" while in Spain, if you would like to retain your dignity for the night. She asked us how clams could be happy... and no one is sure. One woman thought it was because they formed a sort of smiley face, and I had always thought it was because clams were content to sit in the sand and wait for a destiny of chowder. The version of this saying in Spain is "aburrirse como una ostra." To be as bored as an oyster. That one I can understand; if I was an oyster, I would indeed be bored, while the thought of waiting to become center stage at Ivar's doesn't quite do it for me. All in all though, I'm not in the habit of comparing my emotions to that of a shellfish!
Speaking of Spanish, it's different in Argentina. They use the vos form, which I never figured out even though I was there for a month. There is also a heavy Italian influence on the language there, so some common words like calle and pollo are pronounced differently. More or less, if you've been studying Spain Spanish or Latin American Spanish, you're going to have issues in Argentina. The other thing you can have a lot of issues with is trying to maintain an already rocky relationship via Skype with six hours time difference. Bueno suerte. And if you figure it out, let me know because I couldn't do it. Two weeks into my four-week trip to Buenos Aires, I was newly single and keeping things together fairly well considering the decision was mostly not mine. I also suggest avoiding the Skype break-up... it is really not sufficient in any way, shape, or form. Either way, it happened, and I am here flexing my heart muscles to show off my acquired strength.
By the end of the trip, I was exhausted from trying and failing to speak Spanish everywhere we went. Trying to think every single one of your thoughts in a foreign language, conjugate your verbs, roll your r's, or try to find something in the store you can point to, is hard work. On top of that, RW and I had stayed past the end of our class and rented an apartment in Palermo, but she left for the States two days before me. I know two days sounds like it should be nothing, but that was the most intense feeling of loneliness I have ever been through. No American friends left. No idea what the boyfriend was doing. Way too tired to explore and talk to people (hugely as a result of the first two).
A few weeks ago, I was at the International District bus station, and a small Asian woman came up to me with questions about her bus. It took me forever to figure out that she needed to get on the train to Tukwila, but she was so happy that I was patient, listened, and looked at the map with her. From the experience I just mentioned, I know I would be equally happy to be in her shoes. It's just nice to have someone to talk to sometimes.
Sidenote: Do not trust the South American mail system. Both RW and I arrived in BsAs with boyfriends, and immediately decided to send postcards to them, our roommates, and our families, covered with "I miss you!'s" Both RW and I left Argentina single. We were there in January. The postcards arrived in April. Que verguenza.
In Spanish class last week, my teacher, who is from Barcelona, asked us about the phrase "to be as happy as a clam." Basically she said it was ridiculous, and please do not ever try to say "estoy feliz como un almaje" while in Spain, if you would like to retain your dignity for the night. She asked us how clams could be happy... and no one is sure. One woman thought it was because they formed a sort of smiley face, and I had always thought it was because clams were content to sit in the sand and wait for a destiny of chowder. The version of this saying in Spain is "aburrirse como una ostra." To be as bored as an oyster. That one I can understand; if I was an oyster, I would indeed be bored, while the thought of waiting to become center stage at Ivar's doesn't quite do it for me. All in all though, I'm not in the habit of comparing my emotions to that of a shellfish!
Speaking of Spanish, it's different in Argentina. They use the vos form, which I never figured out even though I was there for a month. There is also a heavy Italian influence on the language there, so some common words like calle and pollo are pronounced differently. More or less, if you've been studying Spain Spanish or Latin American Spanish, you're going to have issues in Argentina. The other thing you can have a lot of issues with is trying to maintain an already rocky relationship via Skype with six hours time difference. Bueno suerte. And if you figure it out, let me know because I couldn't do it. Two weeks into my four-week trip to Buenos Aires, I was newly single and keeping things together fairly well considering the decision was mostly not mine. I also suggest avoiding the Skype break-up... it is really not sufficient in any way, shape, or form. Either way, it happened, and I am here flexing my heart muscles to show off my acquired strength.
By the end of the trip, I was exhausted from trying and failing to speak Spanish everywhere we went. Trying to think every single one of your thoughts in a foreign language, conjugate your verbs, roll your r's, or try to find something in the store you can point to, is hard work. On top of that, RW and I had stayed past the end of our class and rented an apartment in Palermo, but she left for the States two days before me. I know two days sounds like it should be nothing, but that was the most intense feeling of loneliness I have ever been through. No American friends left. No idea what the boyfriend was doing. Way too tired to explore and talk to people (hugely as a result of the first two).
A few weeks ago, I was at the International District bus station, and a small Asian woman came up to me with questions about her bus. It took me forever to figure out that she needed to get on the train to Tukwila, but she was so happy that I was patient, listened, and looked at the map with her. From the experience I just mentioned, I know I would be equally happy to be in her shoes. It's just nice to have someone to talk to sometimes.
Sidenote: Do not trust the South American mail system. Both RW and I arrived in BsAs with boyfriends, and immediately decided to send postcards to them, our roommates, and our families, covered with "I miss you!'s" Both RW and I left Argentina single. We were there in January. The postcards arrived in April. Que verguenza.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
I would like to think that I am the type of person who can be out in public and mind my own business, but, I am not. I was reading TIME magazine over someone's shoulder on the bus last week, and the name of the article was "Is Yemen the next Afghanistan? Why Yemen is becoming a haven for Al-Qaeda" (or something really close to that, I was trying not to be too obvious about sharing the magazine). Ironically I was on the way to my Arabic class and my teacher is Yemeni. Khalid's stories of Yemen are the reasons I originally started to pay attention to what is going on in Yemen and how it is presented.
KM and I used to joke about traveling to Yemen, because, well, mostly because we like traveling and laughing. When Khalid talked about Yemen in class, he made it sound really amazing. He said all the people were incredibly friendly and asked all kinds of personal questions, too personal by American standards. I think that was the part that got me the most, because I think talking to people from other countries is fascinating. I also like the idea of going to Yemen because rarely do you hear about people traveling there, so I figure it would be quite a cultural experience. Lastly, there was an episode of Friends where Chandler is trying to break up with Janice, so he tells her he is going to Yemen. She follows him to the airport so I believe he has to actually get on a plane and yells "Oh my god, I'm going to Yemen!" in a typical panicking Chandler voice. Anyway, I always found that funny and it was doubly funny when I thought about KM and myself going to Yemen as well.
When news of the kidnappings in Yemen broke last spring, travel reports went crazy. Each one of them said Yemen was too dangerous to travel in. At first I was fairly confident that the media was exaggerating the situation, and it would still be fine to travel there. After all, there is crime in every city. Weeks passed and more and more people warned against going there. KM and I decided that Yemen 2010 should be postponed indefinitely. As the TIME magazine article indicates, it is probably not the safest choice right now.
But my friend DG is currently living in Yemen for a few months... and I have looked at her photos... and spoken with her several times... and on the whole everything is lovely there.
*This does not mean I think it is wise to disregard travel and safety warnings. It is always important to do your research!
KM and I used to joke about traveling to Yemen, because, well, mostly because we like traveling and laughing. When Khalid talked about Yemen in class, he made it sound really amazing. He said all the people were incredibly friendly and asked all kinds of personal questions, too personal by American standards. I think that was the part that got me the most, because I think talking to people from other countries is fascinating. I also like the idea of going to Yemen because rarely do you hear about people traveling there, so I figure it would be quite a cultural experience. Lastly, there was an episode of Friends where Chandler is trying to break up with Janice, so he tells her he is going to Yemen. She follows him to the airport so I believe he has to actually get on a plane and yells "Oh my god, I'm going to Yemen!" in a typical panicking Chandler voice. Anyway, I always found that funny and it was doubly funny when I thought about KM and myself going to Yemen as well.
When news of the kidnappings in Yemen broke last spring, travel reports went crazy. Each one of them said Yemen was too dangerous to travel in. At first I was fairly confident that the media was exaggerating the situation, and it would still be fine to travel there. After all, there is crime in every city. Weeks passed and more and more people warned against going there. KM and I decided that Yemen 2010 should be postponed indefinitely. As the TIME magazine article indicates, it is probably not the safest choice right now.
But my friend DG is currently living in Yemen for a few months... and I have looked at her photos... and spoken with her several times... and on the whole everything is lovely there.
*This does not mean I think it is wise to disregard travel and safety warnings. It is always important to do your research!
Thursday, October 15, 2009
For me, traveling isn't an option. I love it so much, everything about it, that I can't stand the thought of not being able to travel. When I was working in China and evaluating my own personal budget, it became unavoidably clear what a luxury the entire American lifestyle is - not that I am complaining, I recognize the good fortune and enjoy it. The Chinese entrepreneurs who make lunch for the equivalent of 80 US cents can't possibly afford to do the things we can do here.
Which is why I am fully interested in and supportive of this new alliance between Global Partnerships, PATH, and Pro Mujer: Seattle Times article. Combining the efforts of a microfinance institution with a global health organization and another supporting Latin American women brings some powerful resources to the table. I am very interested to see what happens from here on out. Hopefully a lot of people will experience a noticeable increase in quality of life! Other than that, I would actually prefer not to write about it, but just share that this is happening.
Which is why I am fully interested in and supportive of this new alliance between Global Partnerships, PATH, and Pro Mujer: Seattle Times article. Combining the efforts of a microfinance institution with a global health organization and another supporting Latin American women brings some powerful resources to the table. I am very interested to see what happens from here on out. Hopefully a lot of people will experience a noticeable increase in quality of life! Other than that, I would actually prefer not to write about it, but just share that this is happening.
Monday, October 12, 2009
During my senior year of college I managed to convince the University of San Diego that it would be worth their while to sponsor me on a week-long trip to Costa Rica and Panama to examine their tourism infrastructure as research for my senior thesis. Not sure how I pulled that off but I do remember spending several hours chasing a paper trail all over campus. Anyway, this lucky strike let me skip a week of school in April to travel whirlwind style and alone to Costa Rica and Panama.
My first stop was Manuel Antonio National Park and Playa Espadilla Sur. It was pure paradise: empty beaches, iridescent sunsets, toucans, and ocean water as warm as bath water. Perfect and pleasant would be an understatement. Like a good college student, I opted to take the local buses between San Jose and Manuel Antonio. It's about four hours overland travel, so not a big deal. At four dollars each way, it is also highly economical compared to the 45 minute flight. The bus ride to the beach was a breeze (minus the part where I left my bag on the bus and had to chase it down on its return route) and buying the ticket went smoothly, as well, even after several warnings about the grittiness of the Coca-Cola ticket station.
It was a dark, stormy night on my bus ride back. Ok, that was a little melodramatic. The day was nice and sunny, literally just another day in paradise. The buses give assigned seats, and I ended up next to a British man reading the same book as me. That made conversation very easy for the first three hours of the bus ride. As it started to get dark around six pm, it did indeed start to rain and storm. And then the bus broke down. I had NO idea what would happen next. Everyone was speaking Spanish, and an awful lot of men were arguing, grumbling, and poking at the bus engine. One of the fun parts about being in a different country is that you don't know how the system works, but when you have an overnight bus to Panama to catch, it is much more convenient to understand how the system works. So I didn't know if they intended to fix the bus, and get us to San Jose that night, wait for another bus to come pick us up, or just sit and continue to fuss. I also didn't know how long any of the above might end up taking. GC was supposed to pick me up at the bus station and we were going to have dinner together before I got on the bus to Panama, and I did manage to borrow someone's cell phone and tell her what happened, and that I would call her when I had a better plan. John, my British seat mate, asked me if I wanted to hitchhike. All my life I have been told that hitchhiking is a bad idea. It was so deeply ingrained me that ordinarily I would not have even thought twice about it. But in this case, my other option was to sit on a bus, in the rain, without a friend, not able to speak Spanish well enough - was this a better choice? Hell, no!
John and I hitched a ride to the airport, and we did have to pay for it, but everything turned out fine. The driver let us borrow his cell phone to call our friends and the whole thing was smooth and simple. I had to wait at the airport for a little while and definitely got some strange looks but I still managed to have dinner with GC and catch my bus to Panama.
My favorite part about this experience is how obviously it broke down preset ideas I had. Right afterwards I had this entirely new faith in humanity (ahh, naivety at its finest) but still it was incredibly refreshing. To do something I was deathly afraid of, and then everything turned out alright, gave me this intense feeling of being alive. It also opens the door to flexibility in a lot of other world views...
My first stop was Manuel Antonio National Park and Playa Espadilla Sur. It was pure paradise: empty beaches, iridescent sunsets, toucans, and ocean water as warm as bath water. Perfect and pleasant would be an understatement. Like a good college student, I opted to take the local buses between San Jose and Manuel Antonio. It's about four hours overland travel, so not a big deal. At four dollars each way, it is also highly economical compared to the 45 minute flight. The bus ride to the beach was a breeze (minus the part where I left my bag on the bus and had to chase it down on its return route) and buying the ticket went smoothly, as well, even after several warnings about the grittiness of the Coca-Cola ticket station.
It was a dark, stormy night on my bus ride back. Ok, that was a little melodramatic. The day was nice and sunny, literally just another day in paradise. The buses give assigned seats, and I ended up next to a British man reading the same book as me. That made conversation very easy for the first three hours of the bus ride. As it started to get dark around six pm, it did indeed start to rain and storm. And then the bus broke down. I had NO idea what would happen next. Everyone was speaking Spanish, and an awful lot of men were arguing, grumbling, and poking at the bus engine. One of the fun parts about being in a different country is that you don't know how the system works, but when you have an overnight bus to Panama to catch, it is much more convenient to understand how the system works. So I didn't know if they intended to fix the bus, and get us to San Jose that night, wait for another bus to come pick us up, or just sit and continue to fuss. I also didn't know how long any of the above might end up taking. GC was supposed to pick me up at the bus station and we were going to have dinner together before I got on the bus to Panama, and I did manage to borrow someone's cell phone and tell her what happened, and that I would call her when I had a better plan. John, my British seat mate, asked me if I wanted to hitchhike. All my life I have been told that hitchhiking is a bad idea. It was so deeply ingrained me that ordinarily I would not have even thought twice about it. But in this case, my other option was to sit on a bus, in the rain, without a friend, not able to speak Spanish well enough - was this a better choice? Hell, no!
John and I hitched a ride to the airport, and we did have to pay for it, but everything turned out fine. The driver let us borrow his cell phone to call our friends and the whole thing was smooth and simple. I had to wait at the airport for a little while and definitely got some strange looks but I still managed to have dinner with GC and catch my bus to Panama.
My favorite part about this experience is how obviously it broke down preset ideas I had. Right afterwards I had this entirely new faith in humanity (ahh, naivety at its finest) but still it was incredibly refreshing. To do something I was deathly afraid of, and then everything turned out alright, gave me this intense feeling of being alive. It also opens the door to flexibility in a lot of other world views...
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Finished the book; it was an excellent read. While Chris' life and mine have been completely different, there is a fundamental connection - multiple times throughout the book, Chris mentions 'saying yes to life,' and that 'something will always work out.' Funny how many different ways that can manifest itself.
Another funny thing...a friend eating Indian food for the first time: do you tell them which hand is for which activity, or let them go? Good luck MC. Definite test of friendship!
Another funny thing...a friend eating Indian food for the first time: do you tell them which hand is for which activity, or let them go? Good luck MC. Definite test of friendship!
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Blog-break! Chris O'Dell just released her book, Miss O'Dell, today, and I am going to help promote it. I have to read it first, though. Here is a link to a review, and the following are my thoughts so far: This book perfectly captures the energy and magic of youth, when you feel like anything is possible. Chris O'Dell is the perfect example of really living your life and seizing every opportunity, of 'throw[ing] caution to the wind,' as Mark Twain would say. And given her repertoire of acquaintances, from the exceptionally close and friendly to the merely brushing shoulders with, this woman just might be the Goddess Divine. Buenos noches, my loves, it is time for a bedtime story.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Friday, October 2, 2009
Sorry for the formatting issues on this post - copying and pasting that mumtaz at the beginning caused unforeseen difficulties.
Upon discussing this word, mumtaz ( الممتاز, this is actually the definite, pronounced al-mumtaz, my
Upon discussing this word, mumtaz ( الممتاز, this is actually the definite, pronounced al-mumtaz, my
Google Translator skills have a case of the Fridays), with my friend MC, I mentioned that it was
captivating. He said it was merely pleasant. Allow me to explain why this word is so excellent -
dare I say, pun intended?
I was first introduced to the mumtaz upon somewhat successfully reciting the entire Arabic alphabet. I say 'somewhat' because I am fairly confident that I will never master the letter that gives the 'kh' sound. There is a lot more throaty gurgling involved in my attempt to use that letter and I still don't get it right. Thus, I have never actually addressed my Arabic teacher by name and have no intentions of ever doing so. Usually I attempt to use his name as often as possible in email so that it will not be noticed that I have yet to say Khalid out loud, aside from between peels of laughter with KM, discussing our camel investment business, and the passions of a Bedouin romance, riding camels into the sunset. Perhaps you can understand why we laugh so hard. Anyway, this delightful man with a twinkle in his Arab eyes
congratulates our vocal attacks on the most beautiful desert language with a quiet, yet enthusiastic
mumtaz. It feels good. After the stress of trying to put together a sentence for the first time and everyone
is watching you, that mumtaz is the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. That Arab twinkle is the icing
on the cake. Like MC said, the word also just sounds pleasant, it just rolls off the tongue.
The other connection with this word is the fact that it is the name of the empress the Taj Mahal was built
for. Her full name was Mumtaz Mahal, wife of Shah Jahan (Lord of the World). Taj was the nickname of Mumtaz. This building is the greatest monument to love on the entire planet. And yes, that puts stars in my eyes. The very much shortened version of the story is that Shah Jahan was so in love with Mumtaz
that he did not leave her at during his required military travels, and did not pay any attention to his other
wives, as was customary of emperors during that time. Mumtaz bore him 14 children, though only 7
survived. She died as a result of the fourteenth pregnancy at the age of 38 years, requesting that Shah
Jahan "build for [her] a mausoleum which would be unique, extremely beautiful, the like of which is not
on earth." Directly quoted from her eulogy, by Shah Jahan, "She always had the glory of distinction and
honor of pre-eminence of the felicity of constant company and companionship and fortune of closeness
and intimacy with His Majesty. The friendship and concord between them had reached such an extent
the like of which has never been known between a husband and wife from among the classes of
sovereigns, or the rest of the people and this was not merely out of carnal desire but high virtues and
pleasing habits, outward and inward goodness, and physical and spiritual compatibility on both sides had
been the cause of great love and affection and abundant affinity and familiarity." After her death, Shah
Jahan let all of his responsibilities slide, and accomplished nothing else in his lifetime aside from the
building of the Taj Mahal.
Sadness, it is not my photo.
I fully realize that this is still somewhat of a fairy tale, but it's REAL.
And thus, I am captivated by mumtaz because of all these things I attach to it.
However, in response to further questioning from MC about my feelings for this word, I will NOT be bearing fourteen children in her honor.
However, in response to further questioning from MC about my feelings for this word, I will NOT be bearing fourteen children in her honor.
I am currently reading A Teardrop on the Cheek of Time: The Story of the Taj Mahal, by Diana and Michael
Preston. I had to have it imported from London, so let me know if you would like to read it. It is actually
very factual and involves more emperor feuds than lovey-dovey romance.
A few things I forgot to mention about why August 11-18 were, umm, the unspeakables: China does not accept credit cards. Maybe in Beijing, Shanghai, and Hong Kong, but outside of that, it's all cash. So when you are out of money, you are donezo. Like I said, getting to the airport is neither cheap nor easy. I will be forever grateful to AH and DH for ensuring my safe arrival at Pu Dong International. As far as the actual purchase of a flight, the majority of airlines will not even sell you a ticket three days out. Just being able to purchase a ticket at three times its normal value is a blessing. As far as anxiety goes, when you know you need a whole new plan, you have nothing to do all day, are not sure if you are going to get paid for the last month and a half of work, crossing your fingers that the electricity will not get turned off, and are literally watching the building you live in come down in pieces, it is a little difficult to sleep. So much to do, and no way to get it done.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
So, the official "Why I Am Not in China Anymore" story. All the details so that hopefully I will never have to spend a lot of time retelling this story, because frankly, it wears me out. This is not a story about life being wondrous, but of something else, something I would prefer not to attach words to.
Abstract: It is possible to learn more about yourself in three days than in 23 years. ... earlier I spent time thinking about what I would write here, hoping I could be somewhat clever, and now that push comes to shove, I cannot find the motivation to be anything more than direct and accurate...
The weekend of August 8 and 9, 2009 was ROUGH. Granted, I am on the sensitive side, but I would put this in the top ten most unpleasant weekends of my life. The details are irrelevant, but it should be known that Monday, August 10 was an uphill climb for me. Miley Cyrus could sing proudly in my honor. August 11 I skipped dinner at the school and went out with two of the Chinese teachers. We went to Pacman's, aptly named for the circle with a wedge cut out on the restaurant's sign. While I was worrying about my stomachache from too much hot sauce, the rest of the teachers were called into a last minute meeting. While I was walking back to the school, NJ called me and asked if we could hang out later. He is very diligent about preparing for class and going to bed on time, so I was pretty worried. When I got to his room, there was no beating around the bush. The school was out of money, the students were going home in the next couple days, we could stay for another week and a half if we needed, but things were over. As it turned out, the students went home two days later. The A/C was turned off three days later, and I was sleeping on the top floor in a hot and humid country. This was more miserable than it sounds, especially when you can't sleep from anxiety. Although we were originally promised housing for another week and a half, this changed to five days after the announcement. Approximately five minutes after the students left, movers came and began to disassemble the building. Books, furniture, pianos, mattresses, everything was on its way out the door. None of the Chinese employees were told the school was shutting down until Thursday; I was told this is because they walk away from their jobs instantaneously. That is indeed what happened; our laundry was left hanging on the lines. Every breath of vitality had been sucked out of the building. It is impossible to understand desolate until attempting to live through it.
No one was paid on time at the previous paid period, and it took more than a week for the Chinese administrative staff to receive their paychecks, so everyone was apprehensive about the salary situation now. Sure enough, everyone received only about 2/3 of what had been earned, and given the cost of future transition arrangements, this is a bitter point. No flight reimbursements as the contract promised. Ugh, I am really trying to think about this in a positive light and the only feeling I can muster is exhaustion.
So, I can't really explain this with any sort of organization, it is really all a jumble. I was in a country where I did know how to say more than hello. Barely anyone in China speaks English, so getting around and getting the things you need is a constant challenge. Getting to the airport from where I was involves a taxi ride to the train station, a train ride, a long roundabout walk to the bus station, a long distance bus ride, and then upon arrival at the airport, you must spend the night because it is too late to catch a flight that day. Not to mention that the flow of people in China is based upon pushing, so if you are carrying more than a backpack, this is a highly inconvenient trip. What I am trying to prove is that you do not want to get stuck in China by yourself and far away from the airport. That would be worth a tear or two. I was definitely going to need a plan fast, no intentions of waffling around China. When faced with this decision and only a matter of days to figure it out, it is very easy to see exactly what you want out of life and to acknowledge exactly what you are capable of.
Yes, I came running home. Well, not running. I didn't immediately decide to come home. I could have stayed in China; I had already decided to give living there my best effort. But China really is crowded, polluted, and dirty. It was an awesome challenge and a fascinating place to live. My life in the States is just better. I have so many wonderful friends, I could not think of a good reason to intentionally choose to be far away from them once again.
This was reinforced by today's misfortunes when I ended up riding the bus all the way to the terminal and missing my Spanish and Arabic classes. The bus terminal is right next to Safeco field, and my dad was scoring the game. Lucky for me he got me in to the stadium and I watched the Mariner's for awhile before getting a ride home. That is the kind of favor that means more to me than any kind of excitement from international travel (not that I want to give that up anytime soon!!).
Abstract: It is possible to learn more about yourself in three days than in 23 years. ... earlier I spent time thinking about what I would write here, hoping I could be somewhat clever, and now that push comes to shove, I cannot find the motivation to be anything more than direct and accurate...
The weekend of August 8 and 9, 2009 was ROUGH. Granted, I am on the sensitive side, but I would put this in the top ten most unpleasant weekends of my life. The details are irrelevant, but it should be known that Monday, August 10 was an uphill climb for me. Miley Cyrus could sing proudly in my honor. August 11 I skipped dinner at the school and went out with two of the Chinese teachers. We went to Pacman's, aptly named for the circle with a wedge cut out on the restaurant's sign. While I was worrying about my stomachache from too much hot sauce, the rest of the teachers were called into a last minute meeting. While I was walking back to the school, NJ called me and asked if we could hang out later. He is very diligent about preparing for class and going to bed on time, so I was pretty worried. When I got to his room, there was no beating around the bush. The school was out of money, the students were going home in the next couple days, we could stay for another week and a half if we needed, but things were over. As it turned out, the students went home two days later. The A/C was turned off three days later, and I was sleeping on the top floor in a hot and humid country. This was more miserable than it sounds, especially when you can't sleep from anxiety. Although we were originally promised housing for another week and a half, this changed to five days after the announcement. Approximately five minutes after the students left, movers came and began to disassemble the building. Books, furniture, pianos, mattresses, everything was on its way out the door. None of the Chinese employees were told the school was shutting down until Thursday; I was told this is because they walk away from their jobs instantaneously. That is indeed what happened; our laundry was left hanging on the lines. Every breath of vitality had been sucked out of the building. It is impossible to understand desolate until attempting to live through it.
No one was paid on time at the previous paid period, and it took more than a week for the Chinese administrative staff to receive their paychecks, so everyone was apprehensive about the salary situation now. Sure enough, everyone received only about 2/3 of what had been earned, and given the cost of future transition arrangements, this is a bitter point. No flight reimbursements as the contract promised. Ugh, I am really trying to think about this in a positive light and the only feeling I can muster is exhaustion.
So, I can't really explain this with any sort of organization, it is really all a jumble. I was in a country where I did know how to say more than hello. Barely anyone in China speaks English, so getting around and getting the things you need is a constant challenge. Getting to the airport from where I was involves a taxi ride to the train station, a train ride, a long roundabout walk to the bus station, a long distance bus ride, and then upon arrival at the airport, you must spend the night because it is too late to catch a flight that day. Not to mention that the flow of people in China is based upon pushing, so if you are carrying more than a backpack, this is a highly inconvenient trip. What I am trying to prove is that you do not want to get stuck in China by yourself and far away from the airport. That would be worth a tear or two. I was definitely going to need a plan fast, no intentions of waffling around China. When faced with this decision and only a matter of days to figure it out, it is very easy to see exactly what you want out of life and to acknowledge exactly what you are capable of.
Yes, I came running home. Well, not running. I didn't immediately decide to come home. I could have stayed in China; I had already decided to give living there my best effort. But China really is crowded, polluted, and dirty. It was an awesome challenge and a fascinating place to live. My life in the States is just better. I have so many wonderful friends, I could not think of a good reason to intentionally choose to be far away from them once again.
This was reinforced by today's misfortunes when I ended up riding the bus all the way to the terminal and missing my Spanish and Arabic classes. The bus terminal is right next to Safeco field, and my dad was scoring the game. Lucky for me he got me in to the stadium and I watched the Mariner's for awhile before getting a ride home. That is the kind of favor that means more to me than any kind of excitement from international travel (not that I want to give that up anytime soon!!).
Monday, September 28, 2009
Today is almost sacrilegious for me. The only thing that keeps it from being entirely sacrilegious is the fact that I am not religious. Word on the street is that today is The Last Sunny Day. It is hurting to think about it this much. Supposedly tomorrow we must all welcome the rain like the faithful Seattleites we are (or supposed to be - my personal fidelity to Seattle has been terrible) and embrace the second-best of Seattle's two seasons. Despite my devoted sun-worshipping, I do not hate the rain that much. This is entirely unrelated to the fact that I grew up in Seattle; in fact, it is quite the opposite. I used to loathe the rain. Luckily life stuck me in a few spots where I had no choice but to literally soak up the situation. My fondness for these memories always makes me hope that something just as good will happen every time I hear the rain again. The following are in chronological order....
The first night of spring break my freshman year of college, a group of us went to Mexico for the night and were riding the trolley home when it began to rain. I don't remember what time it was, but it was definitely somewhere past 3 AM. Mexico will wear you out, and we were oh so tired. I had a huge crush on a boy from my philosophy class, and much to my delight he had been dancing with me all night. Once the trolley dropped us off he continued the chivalry and walked me back to my dorm room. Because it was spring break the campus was deserted, and there we were, making out in the rain. I felt spontaneity and the pounding of my heart in every vein I had. This did turn out to be the height of this romance, but, it was pretty nice while it lasted.
Last May, my dad and I went to Maui for five days to visit my aunt and uncle. We were using my companion fares with Alaska Airlines, who had just released non-stops between Seattle and Kahului (a good example of life being beautiful), so we weren't paying attention to seasonality. We also rented a Jeep Wrangler, because we planned to do the Road to Hana, and that drive absolutely deserves an open-air vehicle. First night out on the beach we walked fairly far from where we parked to see my aunt's preferred snorkeling spot. On the way back, it started to POUR. We left the jeep with the top off because yeah, we're cool and casual island people. Except my dad has a lot of man-toys (to me 'man-toys' is synonymous with 'non-water-proof') and most of the time he puts them away carefully, but sometimes not, so when the rain came down, the blood pressure went up. We were soaked by the time we got back to the jeep, and my aunt dropped her Maui Jim's in a giant puddle, but we were all still laughing. We couldn't get the top back on the jeep there in the parking lot because there are far too many pieces for novice Jeep drivers so we drove back in the rain. Alhumdillalah that my aunt and uncle live walking distance from the beach. All of the man-toys came out safe and sound.
The entire time JS and I were in the Greek Islands, I think we saw a total of three clouds. And they must have been tiny because I don't remember a single one of the three of them. Our last day in Athens started out sunny and summery so we both rolled out our least-wrinkly sundresses and headed to the Acropolis. While we were in the museum, people kept talking about how the day was supposed to turn into thunderstorms. Oh, goody. The clouds started to roll in thick and heavy, so we darted out of the museum and attempted to climb the Acropolis. Approximately three minutes (maybe one for every cloud in the islands?) after we entered the site, it started to rain. I was skeptical about continuing, I have always had this feeling that climbing to high, isolated locations in the middle of a thunderstorm is a bad idea, but JS convinced me that we were only there once, there was no way we could get hit by lightning, and that the rain wasn't that intense. We kept climbing. Ten more minutes up, there were some scary cracks of thunder and a whole lot more rain. I had just bought my first digital SLR right before the trip and was carrying it with me. No desire whatsoever to let that thing get damaged. I was wearing my nice sunglasses and had opted not to bring the case because I didn't have extra room in my purse and the weather had been so immaculate until now. Finally, I was wearing Havaiana's flip flops. Although they are ridiculously comfortable in dry weather, they're just rubber, so they stand low and pathetic versus wet weather. This was the point where I reached my limit of having a good time and I ran down that hillside as fast as I possibly could. Given the flip flops, that really wasn't that fast. JS decided to see the top, so I went inside the museum. I went on the balcony and decided maybe I could get a photo of lightning hitting the Acropolis because several bolts had already struck. What ended up happening was that I stood in front of the museum with my camera sitting on my nose for 45 minutes and a lot of shots of the Acropolis with gray skies sans lightning bolts. Below is my 'lightning shot.' Meanwhile, I continued to wear my sunglasses because I had nowhere else to put them, and I was worried my dress would bleed its blue die onto my bra because it had done that before, so I continuously looked down my own top to check on the steadfastness of my bra. For the record, I prefer to call myself a traveler, not a tourist.
My last favorite memory in the rain involves China, white pants, another round of beggar's chicken, and convenience store brewskis.
Two weeks ago GG and I went to Whidbey Island for the day and observed that "You know you're from Seattle when you can appreciate different shades of gray," and furthermore, can say this out loud without biting your tongue.
The first night of spring break my freshman year of college, a group of us went to Mexico for the night and were riding the trolley home when it began to rain. I don't remember what time it was, but it was definitely somewhere past 3 AM. Mexico will wear you out, and we were oh so tired. I had a huge crush on a boy from my philosophy class, and much to my delight he had been dancing with me all night. Once the trolley dropped us off he continued the chivalry and walked me back to my dorm room. Because it was spring break the campus was deserted, and there we were, making out in the rain. I felt spontaneity and the pounding of my heart in every vein I had. This did turn out to be the height of this romance, but, it was pretty nice while it lasted.
Last May, my dad and I went to Maui for five days to visit my aunt and uncle. We were using my companion fares with Alaska Airlines, who had just released non-stops between Seattle and Kahului (a good example of life being beautiful), so we weren't paying attention to seasonality. We also rented a Jeep Wrangler, because we planned to do the Road to Hana, and that drive absolutely deserves an open-air vehicle. First night out on the beach we walked fairly far from where we parked to see my aunt's preferred snorkeling spot. On the way back, it started to POUR. We left the jeep with the top off because yeah, we're cool and casual island people. Except my dad has a lot of man-toys (to me 'man-toys' is synonymous with 'non-water-proof') and most of the time he puts them away carefully, but sometimes not, so when the rain came down, the blood pressure went up. We were soaked by the time we got back to the jeep, and my aunt dropped her Maui Jim's in a giant puddle, but we were all still laughing. We couldn't get the top back on the jeep there in the parking lot because there are far too many pieces for novice Jeep drivers so we drove back in the rain. Alhumdillalah that my aunt and uncle live walking distance from the beach. All of the man-toys came out safe and sound.
The entire time JS and I were in the Greek Islands, I think we saw a total of three clouds. And they must have been tiny because I don't remember a single one of the three of them. Our last day in Athens started out sunny and summery so we both rolled out our least-wrinkly sundresses and headed to the Acropolis. While we were in the museum, people kept talking about how the day was supposed to turn into thunderstorms. Oh, goody. The clouds started to roll in thick and heavy, so we darted out of the museum and attempted to climb the Acropolis. Approximately three minutes (maybe one for every cloud in the islands?) after we entered the site, it started to rain. I was skeptical about continuing, I have always had this feeling that climbing to high, isolated locations in the middle of a thunderstorm is a bad idea, but JS convinced me that we were only there once, there was no way we could get hit by lightning, and that the rain wasn't that intense. We kept climbing. Ten more minutes up, there were some scary cracks of thunder and a whole lot more rain. I had just bought my first digital SLR right before the trip and was carrying it with me. No desire whatsoever to let that thing get damaged. I was wearing my nice sunglasses and had opted not to bring the case because I didn't have extra room in my purse and the weather had been so immaculate until now. Finally, I was wearing Havaiana's flip flops. Although they are ridiculously comfortable in dry weather, they're just rubber, so they stand low and pathetic versus wet weather. This was the point where I reached my limit of having a good time and I ran down that hillside as fast as I possibly could. Given the flip flops, that really wasn't that fast. JS decided to see the top, so I went inside the museum. I went on the balcony and decided maybe I could get a photo of lightning hitting the Acropolis because several bolts had already struck. What ended up happening was that I stood in front of the museum with my camera sitting on my nose for 45 minutes and a lot of shots of the Acropolis with gray skies sans lightning bolts. Below is my 'lightning shot.' Meanwhile, I continued to wear my sunglasses because I had nowhere else to put them, and I was worried my dress would bleed its blue die onto my bra because it had done that before, so I continuously looked down my own top to check on the steadfastness of my bra. For the record, I prefer to call myself a traveler, not a tourist.
My last favorite memory in the rain involves China, white pants, another round of beggar's chicken, and convenience store brewskis.
Two weeks ago GG and I went to Whidbey Island for the day and observed that "You know you're from Seattle when you can appreciate different shades of gray," and furthermore, can say this out loud without biting your tongue.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Karaoke is the greatest paradox of my life so far. It is the one activity where the worse you do, the more praise you get! Anyone who picks a slow song with lots of hard-to-hit notes, and then goes for those notes, easily brings small teardrops of boredom and disappointment to everyone in the karaoke joint. We all came for that festival of colorful singers with arms flapping all over the place that give karaoke its good name. Karaoke is also the one activity where a complete loss of inhibitions is embraced. Not only is it important to put in your best effort missing as many notes as possible and invent some new dance moves that will hopefully be retired that same night, but the sappier the song you pick the better. This is not the time to put on your gameface and pretend you are a level-headed, composed adult. Every other moment in your life calls for that. If you're hurtin' something awful, let everyone know! We want to hear that knife twisting in your back, the sharpness of being lonely. Plus, these are the songs we all secretly love, but aren't really appropriate for publicness.
What I find most ironic about karaoke is that people are consistently embarrassed to sing. Everyone exercised freedom of choice in coming to this unpretentious bar serving stiff wells and beer in cans. You choose to come, you have one shining moment in your week to lose your inhibitions guilt-free, and you decided to maintain that overrated thing called dignity. In China, karaoke is called KTV. The major difference is that you rent a small room and thus end up with only the people you came with. Is this less embarrassing, or more? No strangers to give you namesake strange looks... just your friends that will be with you tomorrow to remind you of every nuance of your creative dancing. Personally I prefer the more social American method. Many a best friend I have made over the chorus of 'Sweet Caroline.'
KTV has also brought me the closest I will ever get to living my own episode of The Real World. My last night out in China, five of us went for KTV. Two bottles of Absolut, five strangers about to part ways, and unlimited karaoke until six o'clock in the morning.
What I find most ironic about karaoke is that people are consistently embarrassed to sing. Everyone exercised freedom of choice in coming to this unpretentious bar serving stiff wells and beer in cans. You choose to come, you have one shining moment in your week to lose your inhibitions guilt-free, and you decided to maintain that overrated thing called dignity. In China, karaoke is called KTV. The major difference is that you rent a small room and thus end up with only the people you came with. Is this less embarrassing, or more? No strangers to give you namesake strange looks... just your friends that will be with you tomorrow to remind you of every nuance of your creative dancing. Personally I prefer the more social American method. Many a best friend I have made over the chorus of 'Sweet Caroline.'
KTV has also brought me the closest I will ever get to living my own episode of The Real World. My last night out in China, five of us went for KTV. Two bottles of Absolut, five strangers about to part ways, and unlimited karaoke until six o'clock in the morning.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
I am officially on a 50-year-plan now. Goals are important. Today I went to lunch with my mother, my uncle, and two family friends who are about to depart on a cruise to Japan, and in the spring they are going on a 32-day trip through several different countries in Asia. During this discussion it was announced that it is cheaper to cruise full-time than live in a nursing home. Traditionally I have been against the idea of cruises, because they don't let people really get to know one area. You get off in the tourist section of the port, shop around, do a tour, and get back on the boat. But....life is about having a good time. Being on a cruise ship sounds infinitely better than a nursing home, and I would rather just see the tourist market of a town than stay at home. I fully intend to end up on one of these boats, playing bridge with my white-haired compadres.
Sparkling moment of the day: I was working my dreadful job at the gym in order to rid myself of the last-minute one way plane ticket from Shanghai to Seattle. One of the members always responds to the 'how are you doing?' question by saying he is 'unbelievable.' In my revelry of boredom I asked him if anything special happened today. He really and truly responded by saying that he got out of bed, he made it through the day, and now he is here working out. He said all this with a smile and a light-hearted tone; he genuinely meant it. When I smiled back at him I felt completely refreshed.
Fortunes from the Palomino:
"The problem with people who have no vices is that you can be fairly sure they're going to have some pretty annoying virtues." Elizabeth Taylor
"The world will always welcome lovers." As Time Goes By
Sparkling moment of the day: I was working my dreadful job at the gym in order to rid myself of the last-minute one way plane ticket from Shanghai to Seattle. One of the members always responds to the 'how are you doing?' question by saying he is 'unbelievable.' In my revelry of boredom I asked him if anything special happened today. He really and truly responded by saying that he got out of bed, he made it through the day, and now he is here working out. He said all this with a smile and a light-hearted tone; he genuinely meant it. When I smiled back at him I felt completely refreshed.
Fortunes from the Palomino:
"The problem with people who have no vices is that you can be fairly sure they're going to have some pretty annoying virtues." Elizabeth Taylor
"The world will always welcome lovers." As Time Goes By
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Chinese women will wear prom shoes anywhere - walking on cobblestones, to the grocery store, to the Great Wall of China. They adorn themselves with Hello Kitty and rhinestones, wear teeny tiny shorts to complement their high heels, and love mixing prints and patterns. This isn't news. Personally, I became more interested in the fashion taste of the Chinese men.
While shopping for my motorbike, I debated between the bubblegum pink one and a slightly less feminine blue and white one. Despite the fact that I was shopping with three other men, I had majority support. ET and ZT said go for the pink, although NJ was a little more practical about it. I decided it would be inappropriate to buy any form of pink transportation in the States, so I might as well take this opportunity in China. I already stood out having blond hair, might as well encompass the whole experience with a pink bike. I named it Malibu Barbie's Dream Bike, and it was proof that you can buy happiness.
Later we were discussing the ridiculousness of my purchase and NJ reminded me that it might be harder to sell a pink bike than a blue one. I acknowledged this, and BG pointed out how many Chinese men ride pink bikes. Most adults in China ride bikes when they cannot afford cars, so if a pink bike is what you find available, that's what you ride. It is certainly faster than a traditional manual bicycle. What BG also pointed out was that men riding pink bikes is similar to men and their clothing. The phrase BG used, and I have yet to learn any non-English equivalents for this, is "they just don't give a fuck!" And the best part is, it is absolutely true. There is no rhyme or reason to what Chinese men wear, no patterns to detect whatsoever. Since that discussion, I have vowed to forever model the attitudes of Chinese men and their fashion sense. Wink, wink.
While shopping for my motorbike, I debated between the bubblegum pink one and a slightly less feminine blue and white one. Despite the fact that I was shopping with three other men, I had majority support. ET and ZT said go for the pink, although NJ was a little more practical about it. I decided it would be inappropriate to buy any form of pink transportation in the States, so I might as well take this opportunity in China. I already stood out having blond hair, might as well encompass the whole experience with a pink bike. I named it Malibu Barbie's Dream Bike, and it was proof that you can buy happiness.
Later we were discussing the ridiculousness of my purchase and NJ reminded me that it might be harder to sell a pink bike than a blue one. I acknowledged this, and BG pointed out how many Chinese men ride pink bikes. Most adults in China ride bikes when they cannot afford cars, so if a pink bike is what you find available, that's what you ride. It is certainly faster than a traditional manual bicycle. What BG also pointed out was that men riding pink bikes is similar to men and their clothing. The phrase BG used, and I have yet to learn any non-English equivalents for this, is "they just don't give a fuck!" And the best part is, it is absolutely true. There is no rhyme or reason to what Chinese men wear, no patterns to detect whatsoever. Since that discussion, I have vowed to forever model the attitudes of Chinese men and their fashion sense. Wink, wink.
Obviously before I left for China I bought Lonely Planet China. Obviously I read the part about Hangzhou multiple times. That section was actually fairly small, since China is an enormous country and the spines of Lonely Planet books are only so strong. I think it is a secret joke of Lonely Planet, 'haha, you are brave enough to come to China without a guide, we'll give you a brief outline of the bus system, find your own entertainment!' Back to the point: LP did suggest a street food called beggar's chicken that is apparently the quintessential street meat. Think rolled tacos to San Diego, hot dogs with cream cheese to Seattle. That's how beggar's chicken was mentioned.
So, the first time we went to West Lake in Hangzhou, there were three of us strolling along the waterfront. There is a lot of waterfront at West Lake, which is a good thing because there are a lot of tourists. West Lake really is very beautiful. An ancient saying goes something along these lines, 'there is heaven, and there is Suzhou and Hangzhou.' This is also an excellent hyperbole. Nevertheless, the water is tranquil if you don't look too close, the lily pads and lotus flowers are very lovely, there are some delightful pagodas sprinkled here and there, and if it is a clear day, the sun sets over a range of mountains on the other side of the like. Plenty of restaurants, bars, and shops line the street if you can dodge the parasol carrying Chinese and cross the street. This street is called Hubin Lu, and there is a plethora of things to do here. Do not be fooled by the lack of attention LP gave Hangzhou.
Back to the first trip to West Lake. NJ, BG, and I were walking, and walking, because that's the best activity when you don't know your way around, don't speak Chinese, and pretty much haven't figured out what else to do. During all this walking you might see a confident Chinese hombre posing for a postcard-esque photo with his shirt rolled up half-way and holding on to his belly. He did not have a six-pack. You also might see a large group of people ogling and taking photos of a misplaced squirrel in a tree. I digress again. While we were walking, BG suggested we get some beggar's chicken at the tourist market when we got there. NJ loves trying local food; he was deadset against eating any Western food the whole time I was there. He is now in Beijing so I doubt this lasted. The point is that he was very excited about trying the best of the best local food. We continued walking and after discussing a few other things more than once, beggar's chicken came up again. Very casually mentioned still, nicely worked into the conversation you might say.
Upon arrival at the tourist market, we walked past all the shops with trinkets, fans, silk, roots you can use for medicinal purposes, and a Buddha with a belly rubbed clean. We got to the food market, and walked into it, becoming one large sweaty mesh with the heat and the crowds. BG pointed out the beggar's chicken, it comes wrapped in banana leaves. NJ grabbed one, they were only three kuai I believe, which is less then fifty cents. Don't hold me to that, I could be wrong. I didn't get one because I wasn't hungry. BG said he had the beggar's chicken before, and went to get something else.
We walked into McDonald's and that is what came out of the banana leaves. Everything you think you might be seeing, you are. Head, feet, gizzards, beggar's chicken promises a complete meal. This was the hardest I had laughed since my 5 brutal around-the-world flights, and it was glorious. After you are the victim of this joke, you almost want to invite all your friends to China just so you can persuade them to buy beggar's chicken and watch them peel away the banana leaves. The look exactly fits the credit card commercial that uses the priceless phrase. I did try a piece of it (breast meat!) and it tasted like...chicken.
So, the first time we went to West Lake in Hangzhou, there were three of us strolling along the waterfront. There is a lot of waterfront at West Lake, which is a good thing because there are a lot of tourists. West Lake really is very beautiful. An ancient saying goes something along these lines, 'there is heaven, and there is Suzhou and Hangzhou.' This is also an excellent hyperbole. Nevertheless, the water is tranquil if you don't look too close, the lily pads and lotus flowers are very lovely, there are some delightful pagodas sprinkled here and there, and if it is a clear day, the sun sets over a range of mountains on the other side of the like. Plenty of restaurants, bars, and shops line the street if you can dodge the parasol carrying Chinese and cross the street. This street is called Hubin Lu, and there is a plethora of things to do here. Do not be fooled by the lack of attention LP gave Hangzhou.
Back to the first trip to West Lake. NJ, BG, and I were walking, and walking, because that's the best activity when you don't know your way around, don't speak Chinese, and pretty much haven't figured out what else to do. During all this walking you might see a confident Chinese hombre posing for a postcard-esque photo with his shirt rolled up half-way and holding on to his belly. He did not have a six-pack. You also might see a large group of people ogling and taking photos of a misplaced squirrel in a tree. I digress again. While we were walking, BG suggested we get some beggar's chicken at the tourist market when we got there. NJ loves trying local food; he was deadset against eating any Western food the whole time I was there. He is now in Beijing so I doubt this lasted. The point is that he was very excited about trying the best of the best local food. We continued walking and after discussing a few other things more than once, beggar's chicken came up again. Very casually mentioned still, nicely worked into the conversation you might say.
Upon arrival at the tourist market, we walked past all the shops with trinkets, fans, silk, roots you can use for medicinal purposes, and a Buddha with a belly rubbed clean. We got to the food market, and walked into it, becoming one large sweaty mesh with the heat and the crowds. BG pointed out the beggar's chicken, it comes wrapped in banana leaves. NJ grabbed one, they were only three kuai I believe, which is less then fifty cents. Don't hold me to that, I could be wrong. I didn't get one because I wasn't hungry. BG said he had the beggar's chicken before, and went to get something else.
We walked into McDonald's and that is what came out of the banana leaves. Everything you think you might be seeing, you are. Head, feet, gizzards, beggar's chicken promises a complete meal. This was the hardest I had laughed since my 5 brutal around-the-world flights, and it was glorious. After you are the victim of this joke, you almost want to invite all your friends to China just so you can persuade them to buy beggar's chicken and watch them peel away the banana leaves. The look exactly fits the credit card commercial that uses the priceless phrase. I did try a piece of it (breast meat!) and it tasted like...chicken.
Monday, September 21, 2009
I absolutely found the most romantic spot in Bellevue, no, I think anywhere. I dare to make that bold of a statement. Running this morning on the lake-to-lake trail that parallels I-90 for awhile, I passed by two benches set on alcoves of the wooden platform bridges that cut through the Mercer Slough. One bench was directly beneath an on-ramp, and the second was just a few feet in front of it, and the ramp was low enough that you could almost high-five someone leaning out of the passenger window. I wish I had a photo to display this curious situation, but I trust your imagination can handle it: Large wooden bench in the center, freeway on-ramp in the upper left corner, pond scum in the lower right. If walls really could talk, I would love to know how many people have spent more than a passing glance on these two benches.
Bonus about running in Washington! You can stop and eat blackberries when you get tired.
Bonus about running in Washington! You can stop and eat blackberries when you get tired.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Friday, September 18, 2009
Before I left for the summer, I sold my car. Genius! I thought. I planned to be gone for over a year, the car was starting to get old and maintenance would be around a corner, and I could round up a few thousand more dollars to make my Greek odyssey and tropical asian travels that much grander. And it was easy - the first person to respond to my post offered to give me what I wanted, so voila, my car was gone. Now I am at home with an ORCA card and a very limited knowledge of the Seattle public transportation. However, no complaints in that department. Public transportation here is extraordinarily clean (I have yet to smell one bad smell either waiting for a bus or riding a bus), and timely. And it certainly makes life a little more unpredictable every time I walk out of the house.
When I first came home, I was putting my sleepy unemployment mornings to good use and reading the Seattle Times. It mentioned sunflowers ten feet tall in front of the Downtowner Hotel on 4th Street. Mmmm, I like sunflowers! Finding these was my first trip into Seattle on the bus, and it also became the first time I started looking at my hometown as a place just as interesting and full of hidden secrets as any international city. Sure, these sunflowers are a relatively simple thing, but they were pretty majestic. There is also something exciting knowing the city holds something you want to see, but not knowing exactly where it is, how to get there, or what it will be like when you get there. The trip really did remind me of trying to find Paradise Beach in Mykonos, the China Tea Museum in Hangzhou, or the horrendously long day walking around Buckingham Palace. Just because I am home does not mean the discoveries have to end.
Side note on riding the bus in King County: It has appeared that people do not like sitting next to me. I have yet to figure out if this is because some of the seats on the bus are better than others, and my neighbors switch to these coveted spots, or if it is because I have a grumpy grimace (I don't think this is the case, but I am open to possibilities), or if it is because I somehow command more than my alloted space. One time I was digging in my purse and my elbow became highly invasive to the man next to me. Except for that time, I'm not sure what's going on. Solving this is going to be next week's research activity.
When I first came home, I was putting my sleepy unemployment mornings to good use and reading the Seattle Times. It mentioned sunflowers ten feet tall in front of the Downtowner Hotel on 4th Street. Mmmm, I like sunflowers! Finding these was my first trip into Seattle on the bus, and it also became the first time I started looking at my hometown as a place just as interesting and full of hidden secrets as any international city. Sure, these sunflowers are a relatively simple thing, but they were pretty majestic. There is also something exciting knowing the city holds something you want to see, but not knowing exactly where it is, how to get there, or what it will be like when you get there. The trip really did remind me of trying to find Paradise Beach in Mykonos, the China Tea Museum in Hangzhou, or the horrendously long day walking around Buckingham Palace. Just because I am home does not mean the discoveries have to end.
Side note on riding the bus in King County: It has appeared that people do not like sitting next to me. I have yet to figure out if this is because some of the seats on the bus are better than others, and my neighbors switch to these coveted spots, or if it is because I have a grumpy grimace (I don't think this is the case, but I am open to possibilities), or if it is because I somehow command more than my alloted space. One time I was digging in my purse and my elbow became highly invasive to the man next to me. Except for that time, I'm not sure what's going on. Solving this is going to be next week's research activity.
Originally when I decided it might be interesting to write a blog, it was to chronicle my life and times in China. This would have been highly interesting, because, well, China is a gong show. More to come on that later. Unfortunately (or for my lungs, fortunately?), something suddenly came up and I came home. So, the theme of the blog has to change a little bit....it is now primarily based off of two of my favorite words and a phrase I borrowed from some ubiquitous Lonely Planet literature I read. One of my favorite hobbies is learning foreign languages because it breaks down an incredible communication barrier between any given number of parties. I have also found that some phrases are best not-transliterated, and left in their original form. My personal favorites, given my limited knowledge, are guanxi, joie de vivre, and mumtaz. Kudos if you know them all; if you don't, you probably will after spending about fifteen minutes with me. Each one of these has multiple meanings for me, so when the time comes, they are irreplaceable phrases in a conversation. The only catch is that speaking in multiple languages all at once in the United States is a confusing matter! I actually don't have the intelligence to do this, but one can dream. Thus my next phrase, a language all my own. Once again, I wish I was smart enough to come up with this, but I read it somewhere. The entire phrase goes like this: "After a bit too much sangria, you'll be speaking a language all your own." Even more appropriately describing my life. So read on for stories and tall tales from the Far East and the Eastside....in a language spoken only by me.
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