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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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...

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!

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.

The Oxford English Dictionary Word of the Day is chin, verb: To press chin to chin. ....? I would be highly amused to see this used in a legitimate sentence.

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

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.

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.

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!!).