Brit's Next Chapter

Meet me online

2011-07-13T03:38:00.002+10:00

Okay, it's been quite some time since I've updated this and while I've got plenty of things to talk about relating to Australia; today I want to talk about Skype. Skype is the single most useful program when living abroad. Here are all the things I wouldn't have been able to do without it over the past few years:

Attend my sister's college graduation

Meet my best friend's baby

Show up for Girls Night

See my family on Xmas

Provide medical advice for a friend.

"It's not a Tu-mah!!"

Damage impressionable young minds by

distracting their teacher during class

Warp another young mind by making a

1 year old think all computers and televisions

should talk to him directly

Attend my best friend's baby shower

Sit in the hospital waiting room

with the rest of my family during

my Aunt's surgery

Now, If only we could work on this time zone thing. It's getting mighty

hard to look presentable at 4am!!

I'll Take One...

2011-02-23T23:43:00.001+11:00

I may have over done it with all the free pamphlets and maps. Just a little.

(and yes, David Hasselhoff is on one of them!)

This one is my favourite. "Love Bugs" a trouble shooting guide to STDs.

I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but that's not

lady bugs you've got down there!

A Wrinkle In Time

2011-02-21T22:42:00.000+11:00

Aussie Packing Playlist

2011-02-09T12:55:00.000+11:00

Breathe Me -------------------------------------------------------- Sia
The Show --------------------------------------------------------- Lenka
Torn ---------------------------------------------------------------- Natalie Imbruglia
New Sensation --------------------------------------------------- INXS
Who Wouldn't Want To Be Me --------------------------------- Keith Urban
Can't Get You Out of My Head -------------------------------- Kylie Minogue
Tomorrow -------------------------------------------------------- Silverchair
Down Under ------------------------------------------------------ Men At Work
Physical ---------------------------------------------------------- Olivia Newton-John
Stayin' Alive ------------------------------------------------------ Bee Gees
Thunderstruck --------------------------------------------------- AC/DC
All The Lovers --------------------------------------------------- Kylie Minogue
Clap Your Hands ------------------------------------------------ Sia

Sia is my favourite, so I bookended my playlist with her.

Oh, and I'm officially spelling the Aussie way now; hence the "u".

I've Been Sleeping Around

2011-01-06T17:43:00.000+11:00

Since October 2008, I've been sleeping around.

I've slept on planes and trains, on boats and in busses, on sticky floors, couches, air-mattresses, no-mattresses, Thai bungalows, African huts, Korean dorm rooms, hostel bunks, fancy hotels, love motels, roach motels, and B&Bs. I've slept out in the sticks in Asia, the suburbs in Canada, the bush in South Africa, and the cul-de-saq where I grew up.

Last night, for the first time in over 27 months, I slept in my own bed.

I finally caved in and went digging through storage to get it.

Let's pause to reflect on the gloriousness of the moment...

... ... ...

You never really feel like you're home until you're sleeping in your own bed.

Ahhh, it's good to FINALLY be home!

..too bad I won't be sleeping here for long...

Update

2010-07-29T11:55:00.000+10:00

Okay, so I haven't really kept up the blog lately. I apologize.

Here is a little video that I made to recap my last year... my 28th.

Here's hoping 29 will be just as great!

After leaving Korea I spent about 6 weeks backpacking Asia...

Korea, (new years in Japan,) China, Hong Kong, Singapore, Vietnam, Cambodia and Thailand

Here are a couple of my favorite videos from this past year in Korea (I lived alone and far away from my friends... I had a lot of free time during the week!) :)

I Think I'm Turning Japanese!

2010-02-08T14:32:00.000+11:00

For New Years I needed, well, something New. Korea is no longer foreign. It's home. I needed to feel the unfamiliar again.

So I took a quick trip to Japan.

I was supposed to be at work. All the Koreans were on vacation but us dirty foreigners are required to sit at school and look busy all day. They were nice enough to send someone everyday to have me sign an attendance sheet. So, other than a few random administrative people, my school was a ghost town.

So I had to choose. Stay at school and get paid to take a nap OR turn off my cell phone, don't show up at all, hop a ferry to Japan for a long weekend and get thoroughly bitched out and have my pay docked when I got back. Hmmm, follow the rules or go on a little adventure. I choose (and always will) the latter!

So three friends and I set sail for Japan! Having heard rumors of how expensive Japan can be, we decided to not travel far and stay relatively close to Korea. So we arrived in Fukoka and ventured off to Hiroshima.

It was amazing how totally and utterly lost I was in Japan. In Korea, even though I have no idea what is happening around me, I can't speak and hardly understand the language, it's a familiar inability to communicate. In Japan, it was starting over. All the little things were complicated again, like not knowing what a taxi is called or what hand gesture you use to hail one.... and none of us knew which side of the car to get in... never thought about the Japanese driving on the left!!

I only know a few words in Japanese: kon'nichiwa (hello) and domo arigato (thank you very much). The latter of which I could neither hear nor say without immediately making little robot arms and mumbling "... Mr. Roboto" under my breath!! It was definitely instant culture shock when we got to Japan... and it was fantastic!!

Hiroshima is a beautiful city, almost poetically so. It was such a (literal) breath of fresh air to be in such a clean, modern city, with wide roads and nice buildings... then you'd remember why Hiroshima is so new and the horror and atrocities responsible for it's new young appearance made your heart ache. You (as an American) almost felt compelled to walk around an apologize to everyone you saw.

Most places were closed on New Years so we spent New Years Day bonding. And how else do you bond with your friends other than strip down naked in public and spend several hours outside in the frigid weather, lounging in hot springs. None of us are particularly modest girls... but there was that first awkward moment when standing in the locker room in your underwear where you decide to count to 3 and everyone strips together and everyone just hurry up and look so we don't have to feel weird anymore. Though, you quickly forget you (and the hundred other women) are naked and we just had a blast at the bath house!!

We then ventured down to Miyajima which was by far the best part of the trip. I wish we had known what an amazing little island it was so we could have spent more time there. Miyajima is famous for it's Torri Gate especially during high tide when it appears to be floating on water. Of course, it was low tide when we were there. Though it was actually really incredible to be able to walk up to the gate (if you are willing to get muddy and seaweedy).

Then there was the food!!! Oh, Japan! How happy you made my taste buds! I had forgotten how delicious food could taste! It was amazing! Unlike my current culinary conundrum, there is more than one flavor in Japan.... there were thousands! Every meal made me giddy with delight!

It didn't take long to get on an "I hate Korea" kick. I loved everything about Japan! The food, the cleanliness and order, the sleeping arrangements (both countries sleep on the floor, but Koreans sleep on a flat blanket and the Japanese lay out a futon and a duvet!), the people (the Japanese were so cool! Overall Koreans are pretty vanilla. Everyone has the same haircut, their natural color or dyed a slightly brownish color, clothes are frumpy and dull, and self expression is non-existent. The Japanese are awesome. Everyone has crazy dyed hair, punk clothes, and a personal style that is solely Japanese. It's far more fashion forward and self expressive than anything I've seen in the States.) I loved everything about Japan.

I was around Architecture again! Oh creativity and expression... I've missed you! Every building was unique and definitively Japanese, both old and new. Modern Japanese architecture is personally my favorite aesthetic. Korean architecture is, well honestly, non-existent. They have lots and lots of temples, but they are all the same. If you've seen one, you've pretty much seen them all. Modern architecture in Korea consists of condo buildings... Always rectangular, always windows on one side only, always painted tan or off-white... now repeat 10 million times!

We finished our trip with a quick late night visit to Hiroshima Castle then a train ride back to Fukoka to catch our ferry.

My Korea hating quickly went away while buying the train ticket. A one hour train ride on the bullet train costs roughly $100. For that much money, you can take Korea's high speed train from the northern to southern tip of the country... TWICE and still have enough money left over for lunch and a cab ride back to your apartment! They weren't kidding when they said Japan was expensive! Sheesh! Now I remember why I picked Korea in the first place... because it's cheaper than Japan!

We got to Fukoka at midnight and had 7 hours to kill before our ferry back to Korea. We wandered the streets for a solid 3 hours, found a 24 place to eat and loitered there for a good 2 and a half and finally decided to just go to the ferry terminal. Too bad it was still closed and in an isolated part of town. Nothing tops off a great vacation like napping in sub-freezing temperatures, like a homeless person, in front of a public building.

And my school never did notice I didn't show up to work, so I got paid to go to Japan!!

Who's On Hana?

2010-01-26T16:10:00.001+11:00

Here is why Korea is confusing:

BB: When is the last day of class?
Koreans: Dec. 23
BB: That's the last day??
K: Yes.
BB: When does the new school year start?
K: March 1
BB: March? Same as last year.
K: Yes
BB: So last class Dec 23, next class March 1???
K: Yes.
BB: And I have camps in Jan ?
K: Yes
BB: and nothing in Feb?
K: No
BB: What is in Feb?
K: class
BB: huh?
K: classes in Feb
BB: more camps?
K: no, real school
BB: last day dec 23?
K: yes
BB: frist day march 1?
K: Yes
BB: sooooo.... no class in feb?
K: No.
..... AAAAHHHHH I give up!!!

It's like Abbot and Costello except in broken Engrishee!!!

I Would Have Missed It...

2009-12-23T17:55:00.000+11:00

When I'm traveling I always want the window seat. I can sleep anywhere but rarely do I sleep in cars, buses or trains.

One reason I love to travel is because I want to see everything. The main attractions, the back roads, the big cities, the small farms, the good, the bad and the ugly. I never want to sleep when traveling because I feel like I'll miss something. That as soon as my eyes are closed, something breathtaking will slip by me and an opportunity to see something amazing will be lost forever. Rarely has this ever really been the case.

Until Korea.

It was March or April of this year and I was going to Gyeongju (about 45 min from my town) to visit Lindsey and Jeff. I had only been on the train a few minutes and was in my comfy window seat position: ipod on, seat reclined, foot rest up (Korean trains are incredibly comfortable) and elbow against the window, bracing my head as I stared aimlessly at the passing scenery, which was finally starting to change from brown to green. Then, out of no where, I saw it. Just for a second. A giant golden Buddha statue, towering over the tree tops, sparkled in the spring light like a giant golden beacon. Then just as quickly as I saw it, it disappeared.

What the??? What was that? Where are we?

I think we are still close to my town! I could have missed it!!!!

For months and months I've been meaning to find that temple. Not really knowing what to search for, I finally googled: Giant golden Buddha Yeongcheon and an article about "Manbulsa" came up. I searched for Manbulsa and found their website. A few weeks ago I finally made it to this temple. (It only took me until December!) Warwick came with me.

We went in the late afternoon so by the time we made it to the top of the hill, where the Amitabha Buddha or Big Buddha was, the sun was setting on him in the most beautiful way. The Amitabha is over 30 meters tall which is almost 10 stories high! Even in the pictures it loses its enormity since the scale is lost unless you are standing directly under it.

Me in front of Amitabha Buddha. The scale is somewhat lost in this picture. When next to it, I am

shorter than the stone wall in the background!!!!

Inside the main temple

Nirvana Buddha

Warwick getting some sunset pictures

the graveyard and tombstones at the temple

A Rose By Any Other Name...

2009-12-02T04:03:00.001+11:00

Yesterday, Kim Dong-Uk informed me that our last day of school is 3 weeks away. While I couldn't be more thrilled, I am starting to get sentimental. I'm actually going to really miss these kids.

As I looked around my classrooms today I saw so many familiar little faces... but very few familiar names!

With 45% of Koreans having the last name of "Kim" "Lee" or "Park", and just about every kid has "Min, Ming, or Yeong" somewhere in their name. So, trying to remember 800 little Kim Yeong-Su, Park Min-Jung, Lee Ming-Na, Kim Min-Ju, Park Yeong-Jin, Park Min-Na, Lee Yeong-Ju, and every other possible combination was clearly impossible from day one.

My elementary school students never made English names of their own and even if they had, with 800 different kids a week, I'd still hardly recognize most of them.

There are a select handful of students that stand out, for various reasons, and I took it upon myself to give them nicknames... though, only in my head. Here are a few of my favorites:

Lollipop 1 and 2: See previous post.

CLICK HERE

Pringles: She fed me Pringles and chocolate for an entire hour on the way to our field trip in April. Girl sure knows how to win the teacher's affection!

Jazz Hands: Flamboyant chubby kid who loves to sing and is the only one to ever volunteer to act anything out. I love him.

Sunshine & Kirsten: Sunshine purely because she is one of those kids that lights up your day and Kirsten, for no reason in particular, she reminds me

of a cousin of mine.

Jesus: Probably one of the top 5 most annoying kids

on the planet. Every time I'm around him all that goes through my head is "Jesus.... kill me now!!!" This kid has the uncanny ability to yell "Teacher teacher teacher teacher" for 40 minutes straight while jumping in his chair, crawling under desks, or running in circles. And he just happens to be the smartest kid I teach. He also lives in my building and recites my address in English every time I pass by him... weirdo.

Pixie: She's half the weight and a head shorter than

every other student her age, so is her little sister. She has the squeakiest little voice and she is absolutely beautiful. She looks like she belongs in a fairy tale.

Shit for brains: This name has nothing to do with his intelligence but rather this incident:

CLICK HERE

Ms. President: Every kid in her class had their picture on the wall and under it was written what they want to be when they grow up. All the girls said "I want to be a Pop-star or mother." All the boys said, "I want to be a Pop-star or Soccer player"... except for her. She said, "I WILL be President."

We Represent...

2009-12-02T03:55:00.000+11:00

So, there are two little boys in one of my fourth grade classes that I've affectionately nicknamed, "the lollipop guild" though no real resemblance to the Wizard of Oz characters.

They get their nickname from their overall appearance. They look like two little lollipops. Enormous heads, plus a bushel of thick back hair, on little bodies that are no more than 1/2 the width of those domes of theirs. And they are both about a foot shorter than any other student in class.

If that was it I would just call them lollipops. But they come as a team, hence the guild. They are attached at the hip. Always together. Actually, a little too together. Always sitting on each others laps, giving each other back rubs, they sit next to each other and usually have their arms around each other as they work, and sometimes they are practically dry humping each other.

Seeing these two boys interact each week has made me aware of and intensely frustrated by part of my American heritage and culture that apparently has been ingrained into my psyche:

I immediately think these boys are gay.

But, they don't have "gay" here in Korea.

I remember the Iranian president, Ahmadinejad, once saying they don't have gay people in Iran. I remember thinking, "what a jackass". Well Korea is also one of those "there are no gay people here" countries. At first I was immensely annoyed by the blatant disregard and omittance of gay individuals here. Though, now, my feelings toward their head-in-the-sand approach to homosexuality has changed somewhat.

When I was teaching at an all boys middle school I very quickly noticed, on the very first day, that the boys were incredibly affectionate with each other. Though, they were also constantly punching, kicking, tackling each other, I'd also see them resting their heads on a friends shoulder if they were tired, arms wrapped around each other to brace themselves on the bus, and rubbing a friends shoulders after judo class. It didn't take long to realize that even though this "no gays in Korea" mentality has a plethora of negative consequences, there was one very good outcome: No homophobia. None.

In America, we make concrete gender lines from birth. Actually, we make them pre-natal. You are born as a pink or a blue. Little boys wear blue clothes and play with trucks and guns. If a boy puts on something pink, or god forbid, picks up a doll, he is immediately stamped as "gay". Fathers try their damnedest to prevent anyone from thinking their boy might grow up to be gay and will try to make them Über masculine. "Boys don't cry" "don't be a sissy" "Shake it off" etc is pummeled into little boy brains. Toddlers that can barely string together a cohesive sentence know what is culturally acceptable based on their gender. Go to a 3 year-old's birthday party and give out pink and blue party favors, if the only favor left is a pink one, do you think that little boy isn't going to break down in tears???

I'm about as for gay rights as they come. I don't care what your sexuality is and honestly I don't want to hear about your sex life no matter what your preference, whether you're gay, straight, bi, transsexual, a-sexual, or into extra-terrestrials. I don't care.

Now that I've been here 9 months I think back to when I got here and how I thought Korea really needed to reevaluate it's attitude towards homosexuality. Now I'm starting to think that it's me, and my entire American culture, who needs to reevaluate the thinking process behind what is actually normal affectionate human interaction... though, seriously kid, stop dry humping your friend's leg!

I Feel Like Shit Too, Kid!

2009-11-05T17:18:00.000+11:00

Yesterday, it was time for my after school class and in walks my most frustrating student. He was early.

He's really not a bad kid (some of them really are) he's just legitimately hyperactive. His mind and his body are all over the place. (For the first 15 min of class he stabbed 3 rocks with scissors. Though, he gave me the rocks as a gift after class.)

This kid just has a fire in his eyes, you can see that he's actually a pretty good student, if you can just reel him in... which is easier said than done when you don't speak his language. He and I have come a long way lately. We are finally used to each other and I'm starting to see a lot of progress... anyway...

He walks in and instead of immediately muttering obscenities at him (no need to do it under my breath here, he can't understand me) I instead decide to greet him.

Brit: "Hello, how are you?"
Kid: ...???... (blank stare, I swear I can hear crickets)
Brit: (I try again. 37 weeks of the same thing... he should know this by now) "How... are... you? Happy? (I point to my big cheesy grin) Sad? (now I pretend to cry) Angry?" (I start growling at him and shaking my head)
Kid: (he starts stomping and flailing his arms while growling and shaking his head wildly)
Brit: "You're angry?"
Kid: (Jumps up and down nodding)
Brit: "Why?"
Kid: (Wraps his arms around his stomach and bends over moaning)
Brit: "You are sick?" (Makes sense, everyone is out with some flu or cold)
Kid: (Again jumps up and down while nodding)
Brit: "Oh, that's too bad. (a vocabulary phrase he should know) You have a stomach ache? " ( I point to my stomach)
Kid: "No, teacher...." he actually says and takes the marker out of my hand and starts to draw on the marker board.

I'm intrigued and stand there while he draws his ailment on the board only to burst out into laughter when I realize he drew a big pile of crap!!!

Brit: (still laughing) "Oh, no!"
Kid: (laughing while holding his stomach and moaning in agony) "Oooh no, teacher...."

We both stood there laughing while the rest of the class showed up. He was actually really good in class... once he stopped stabbing those rocks.

I'll Plan Ahead

2009-10-23T20:37:00.000+11:00

...So that the next time, when I meet a guy in a bar, and he asks me out for coffee the next day, the only clean clothes I have won't be a t-shirt that says,

"Cheap and cute but you get what you pay for."

Hmm....

Well, he should consider it fair warning!

Global Shopping Spree

2009-10-21T11:41:00.000+11:00

In a conversation with my sister last night, I was reminded of just how different we truly are.

The topic of "china" entered the conversation. My mind immediately envisioned strapping on my backpack and trekking The Great Wall, hopping on and off crowded trains and sampling the unique culture and food

She was thinking more along the lines of picking up a laser scanner and trekking through Macy's trying to dodge the crowds while searching for the perfect pattern of Wedgwood on which to serve food.

Fashion Sense-less

2009-10-20T15:25:00.000+11:00

I have received several comments from coworkers on how "cute" I look today. This makes me giggle. Mostly because to me, I look ridiculous!

I am no fashionista, most will attest to that, particularly my sister who has, on several occasions, literally pulled me back into the house while saying, "I'm not letting you leave the house looking like that!!"

On a good day, I'm a plain Jane, jeans and a t-shirt and I'm good to go.

During my vacation in America this past summer, I bought lots of clothes including several "Korean looking" dresses. Ah, what does "Korean looking" mean? In a nutshell it means ridiculous.

Here is a little input into the Korean world of fashion:

Men: pretty much in sync with what is going on in the US (sans anything in the hiphop or rap realm).

Women:
-It's a little bit 1st grade (Hello Kitty or Mickey Mouse is completely acceptable to have on your socks, purse, jeans,... anything)
-It's a little bit early 1990's (lots of busy floral patterns, floppy neck bows, lots of ruffles and frills, and all things bedazzled)
-It's a little bit "Little House On The Prairie"... Cleavage is a no-no (probably because there isn't any here!) so necklines rarely go past the collarbone and usually don't even go past the throat. They also keep their arms covered almost all the time. So from neck to wrist they are covered in trance inducing ruffly floral patterns... just add a bonnet and Young-jin could totally be Laura Ingles! Come to think of it, she derived her English name "Anne" from the book "Anne of Green Gables" which is pretty damn accurate. Well, if Young-jin is Laura Ingles then Min-jung is definitely Nelly Olsen!

and lastly...

-It's a little bit "potato sack meets street walker". Most of the clothes are shapeless sacks. Over sized, unflattering, and overpriced! (Not to mention mistranslated!) Though, I am a little bit envious of not being able to partake in this aspect of their fashion. Most single Korean women in their 20's are so damn thin that they can get away with wearing a burlap sack and still look smoking hot... and they do. Well, a floral ruffly burlap sack anyway.

And what these women lack in cleavage, they make up for in legs. And they work it!! Hard! In the US, the length of their skirts coupled with the height of their heels translates directly to hooker! Skirts so short I'm pretty sure they have to coordinate their bikini waxing with their outfits! And again, I'm envious. Not only because I don't have the legs to pull it off, but because I have a skirt handicap... it's called an ass!

Western women can't wear skirts that short. The extra volume from our butt causes our skirts to rise a few inches in the back. The more ass you have, the more it rides up in the back. So our skirts have to be long enough in the front to keep our cheeks covered in the back. Not the case with Korean women since the vast majority have no butts. Their legs go from toes to torso with not so much as the slightest bump of a bum to get in the way.

So today I wore one of my "Korean looking" dresses to work. It's a short, somewhat shapeless sleeveless dress. It has a checkered, almost plaid pattern with a big floppy collar and big blue buttons. It's navy, red, and tan and I wore black tights and a brown long sleeve shirt under it. (matching or even coordinating isn't something anyone here bothers to do so why should I?).

I was too damn lazy to wash my hair this morning so I took a few barrettes and clipped it all to the top of my head in a very "Sunday morning walk of shame" type of manner. Though my coworkers like when I wear my hair up because it shows off the "shape" of my head. Apparently to Koreans, I have a very desirable head shape.

So yeah, lots of compliments on how I look today. They say, "cute"... I say, "10 year old clown the morning after a 3 day meth bender".

But whatever, cultural difference I guess!

What Am I Doing?

2009-10-19T17:04:00.000+11:00

Kim Dong Uk: What am I doing? What is this called?
(as he quickly bends and releases his middle finger using his thumb)
Britne: Flick.
KDU: Flick? So, I'm Flick-ing?
Britne: Yes, that is a flick, so you are flicking.
KDU: Okay.

Britne: ???

...later that day...

KDU: Okay class, lets play the memory game with a partner. Say your vocabulary words and take turns adding more words.... Oh, if your partner forgets a word, please flick them in the forehead.

hahaha! Oh, Korea! God love ya!

Oh So Sad...

2009-10-07T22:46:00.000+11:00

Why?

Because today I wore socks to work.

There is a direct correlation between my happiness and amount of airflow accessible to my little toes.

Today was also the first day since May where I didn't have a single bead of sweat drip down my back. And this is not a good thing. I love the heat. It makes me feel alive. What I don't like is the frigid mind numbing winters that Korea has... and I can feel it in the air, it's almost here! I've hardly been able to enjoy fall (which is typically my favorite season) because with every big breezy gust of wind, I can't help but think that a few weeks from now, those big gusts are going to knock the wind out of me and have me shivering in my office praying for someone to turn on the heat.

Oh well... c'est la vie. There is nothing I can do about it.

Oh, but to rub salt in my already foot stifled day, I had to give another teacher seminar today. It was the second day of my third series of seminars. Out of the ten or so participants only 3 ever bothered to speak, at all. One of the mute ones did eventually speak. He only said one sentence... "You look very tired."

Great. Thanks. That's the polite way of saying "you look like shit." And I got 10 hours of sleep last night. Go figure!

Britne's Semi-Annual Sale

2009-10-06T17:08:00.000+11:00

Okay, well I'm not really selling anything... except for maybe sunshine and happiness!

Because today is that day.

That day that happens about twice a year.

The day when I wake up rested and happy. The other 363 days I wake up groggy. It doesn't matter how much sleep I get; 6 hours, 8 hours, 12 hours, it makes no difference. Last night I went to bed at 3am and woke up perky and ready to go at 7:30am!

This is what it must feel like to be a morning person. I envy them. Life would be so much better if there were more days like today.

Today all my classes were great. Whether that was a change in the students or a change in me, I don't know. I played more with the kids, we had fun and joked around. I had lots of giggly conversations with my co-teachers.

I want to become a morning person. I am usually energetic and happy, it just doesn't happen until much later in the day. Then no one is around and my positive vibes are wasted.

How can I be a morning person? Is there some night-owls anonymous that I can take? Any voo-doo rituals? I'll shave my head and chant jibberish at a shrine to David Hasselhoff if that's what it takes!

Any ideas? Anyone?

Those Bastards!

2009-10-04T00:01:00.000+10:00

I have exciting news! I can read!!!

...sorta.

I went to Daegu today. When I walked by the movie

theater I decided to check out what was playing so I

started to play my usual game of: Match the crazy

Korean characters. It's sort of like mixing an ink blot

test with the memory game. I give names to the

Korean letters I see on the marquee then try to match

them to the movie posters.

For example:

ㄹ would be "snake"

있 would be "winking face with mustache"

옷 would be "vitruvian man"

ㅈ would be "decapitated vitruvian man"

etc...

So I started to play using the word "바스터즈"

but then I stopped. I thought, "No, Britne. C'mon,

you can do this. Sound it out."

So I gave it a shot.

buh.

buh-ah.

buh-ah-shh-eh.

buh-ah-shh-eh-tuh-eo-...

b-a-sh-et-eo...

baseteo...

baster...

bastard... Bastard... BASTARD!

It's Inglorious Basterds!

I did it! I read it in Korean!!! So I preceded to do

my butt wiggling little happy dance in the middle

of a crowd of Koreans while I muttered "Bastard!

Bastard! Bastard! Whoo hoo!"

Too bad though, it was in the "Coming Soon" section.

Oh well, maybe next time!

Look At That Dome!!

2009-09-29T14:08:00.001+10:00

Okay, I'll admit it. Today I was just being lazy.

I didn't want to get up this morning so I just rolled out of bed, threw my hair in a ponytail, picked my jeans up off the floor, grabbed a carrot for lunch (yeah, sad huh?) and ran right out the door.

So I was sitting around my office, chatting with a few ladies, eating apples with toothpicks... like ya do... and in their conversation I heard one of them mutter "Buh-rit-tuh-ne... blah blah blah".

I look up from my apple-on-a-stick and give them the "I know you are talking about me, so spill it..." look.

They giggle for a second and say, "You changey your hair. It is very beautiful today."

I was perplexed by this statement because all I could think was... you mean this greasy mess I call a ponytail?... and as that thought was crossing my mind, one of the women says, "Your brain shape changey."

Hmmmm. Interesting. Very possibly true. I mean, your brain is a muscle right? Mine has been getting a lot of exercise lately from constant Sudoku puzzles. And when I exercise my ass muscles, my ass shape definitely changes.... so maybe this applies to my brain too!!

Damn, I have the tightest brain in Yeongcheon!

"Wouldn't It Be Loverly"

2009-09-28T12:41:00.000+10:00

Before moving to Korea, I had only seen one Audrey Hepburn movie.

When I moved to Charlotte I didn't have TV and I only owned 3 or 4 dvds, so I'd walk to the library and check out their classic movies and "Roman Holiday" happened to be in their selection.

But thanks to Korea's Donga Network and someone's obsession with Audrey Hepburn in the late night programming department, I have now seen the following:

"Roman Holiday"
"Funny Face"
"Sabrina"
"Breakfast at Tiffany's"
"My Fair Lady"

There seems to be a recurrent theme in most of these movies. She starts off with long hair and at some point cuts her long trusses and becomes beautiful and adored by all. It really says something about how strikingly beautiful you are when a pixie haircut enhances your looks!

Unfortunately, I find most of the characters she plays in these movies obnoxious and annoying however, I'm absolutely enamoured with Audrey Hepburn herself. I guess that speaks volumes about how adorably likeable she was and why she remains one of the most popular actresses of all time.

Though I must say, I really love "Roman Holiday" and "Sabrina".....

and I'm sure will see them 50 more times before I leave Korea.

Time For A Change

2009-09-27T20:34:00.000+10:00

Things that I do now, that I never did before Korea:

squeegee the floor after every shower
roll up my pants before going into a bathroom
duck when turning on a bathroom sink
only eat the inside of grapes and leave behind little purple grape carcases
contemplate my options at toilet paper vending machines
hear the difference between "Hyundai" and "Haeundae"
refer to kimchi as "pretty good"
drink aloe juice, and like it.
use words like "pagey" "changey" and "lunchy"
get annoyed if I have to pay more than 2200 won ($2.20) for a taxi
consider "hello kitty" socks + flip flops acceptable business footwear
Push when I want to Pull, Pull when I would Push, Lift when I want to Lower, Twist when I would Close... every instinct is opposite here!
Alpha-numeric Sudoku. I've become a sudoku wizard! 9x9 puzzles with just numbers no longer cut it. I've moved on to 16x16 with letters and numbers. It's definitely a challenge. They should keep me busy for the next month or so... after that, no idea how I'll entertain myself at work.

so many options... what to choose, what to choose?

You Snooze, You Lose!

2009-09-23T13:12:00.000+10:00

My two adorable co-teachers Young-jin (Anne) and Dong-uk (Will)...

Anne was exausted and having a hard time staying awake. She asked Will for help

They decided to play Kai, Bai, Boe (Korean version of rock, paper, scissors) except, the loser of each game gets whacked in the head with the big plastic mallet!

It's actually a pretty effective method for waking someone up!

... and what an awesome shirt you have there, Will! Who could have possibly given you such a great shirt???

Vacations: Some Are More Fun Than Others

2009-09-23T12:47:00.000+10:00

In one of my 6th grade classrooms the kids have painted pictures of :

"What did you do on your summer vacation?"

I wasn't there when these were painted so I can't be 100% sure as to what the images are, but I can make some pretty good guesses: I went to the beach, I picked apples, I chased dragonflies, etc.

Except for the one on the top row, second from the right...

..."I was caught crossing the border to the North, thrown into a POW camp and forced to do hard labor" ????

Hmmm... had no idea Lara Ling and Euna Lee were in my 6th grade class!

2 Reasons Why I Love Swine Flu

2009-09-23T12:35:00.000+10:00

Soap and paper towels!!!

It just so happens that Koreans are paranoid, actually, downright petrified of H1N1. So much so that they've even gone so far as to, dare I say it, install soap and paper towels in the bathrooms!!!

I have been here 7 months now. Last month the soap and paper towels showed up in my school. I've kept soap and hand sanitizer at my desk for months but have managed to stay constantly sick while living here. All of a sudden, I've gone an entire month without a cold!! And the only thing that changed, is they taught the kids (and co-teachers) to wash their hands!

so I ask you this...
Swine flu and Britne's health: Coincidence or divine intervention?

It's Bedtime

2009-09-15T23:52:00.000+10:00

Got ready for bed, did a little painting to wind myself down, caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I walked by...

"WTF?!?!" I thought.

Ahhhh... totally forgot I painted that on when I was talking to my mom on skype!

Hmmm, hope that comes off easily. Probably should have thought about that before giving myself the mustache.

Now, where's my red wig... ?

Only In Korea...

2009-09-09T23:04:00.000+10:00

do students, when playing an alphabet game dealing with animal names, come up with "dinosaur" and "ox" when we get to the letters "D" and "O"...

But when the category changes to food and the letters "D" and "O" come up again, they all start screaming, "DOG" and "OCTOPUS!!!"

Bleh!

I Got Lucky...

2009-09-08T23:06:00.000+10:00

There is this one little girl in one of my 4th grade classes that comes up to me every single week and badgers me with questions in Korean. She eventually gets frustrated at my lack of understanding and wanders off. So last week she came up to me and asked the following question in Korean:

Her: 한국말 하실 줄 아세요? (hangukmal hasil jul aseyo?) Do you speak Korean?

Me: No.

She gives up after this first question, gives a big huff as she shrugs her shoulders and begins to turn to walk away. Mid turn she stops, swings her body back toward me with her mouth hanging open. "Teacher!!" she squealed with a kind of WTF look on her face.

Busted.

She obviously caught me in a little bit of a lie. I couldn't really answer no to that question if it wasn't at least a little bit of bluff.

She grabbed a friend of hers and told her that I understood Korean. She then holds up one finger and tells me, in Korean, to count in Korean. So I begin...

Il, Ee, Sahm, Sa, Oh...

They started jumping up and down and squealing (in Korean) "She speaks Korean!!" I gave them a smirky little grin and walked away...

... "Whew," I thought, "that was lucky. I only know how to say 'I do/ don't speak Korean and my numbers!! Glad she didn't pick up a pencil and say, 'What's this'!!!"

Show Some Love For Lovena

2009-09-07T15:01:00.001+10:00

Things that won't be the same now that my grandma is gone:

Christmases or any gift giving occasion. Lovena had a knack for finding the most utterly pointless, and ridiculously hilarious presents. Ex: Cool Whip spatula, blush applicator with pump (shot makeup at your face!), pregnant barbie doll (just what every 10 year old wants!... glad mom made me keep that one!)
Car Dealerships. They loved her. Every year grandma wanted a new car. She always wanted them bigger and faster than the previous one. But not too big. In 2000 she walked into a dealership looking for a new grandma-ish car and walked out with an Oldsmobile Allero, complete with upgraded sports package with rims, spoiler, and sunroof. When I went to see her 3 weeks ago she wanted to trade in her current Toyota Yaris. She thought it made her look fat!!! Seriously, because the car slopes down towards the front, she assumed people would think it was her that was weighing it down! Haha!!
Infomercials. Let's face it, we've all been up at 4am and thought, "ya know, I could use a new mop that changes light bulbs and can even julienne fries!" But Lovena never thought it, she always bought it!! And if you were lucky and her purchase came with a "buy now and get the 2nd one free!" ... you were definitely getting it for your birthday! ... and I still use the swivel sweeper! (when I'm in the US)
Cardboard boxes. Not only excellent for sending things, moving your stuff or a toy for toddlers... these useful little contraptions were perfect for blocking out sunlight and keeping those pesky neighbors from seeing in!! Just add clothespin and voila!
Yardwork. Many hours picking up apples in the backyard and even walking down the street and trimming the neighbors hedges! (in all fairness, they were blocking her view of the intersection!)

She had her own quirky way of doing things.... and it's all those little quirks that will sorely be missed.

No Method To My Madness

2009-09-01T16:46:00.000+10:00

I don't get me.

I am not a neat-freak. No doubt about that. I've been home over 2 weeks and have yet to unpack my bags. I've just been digging through an open suitcase tossing items left and right until I find what I'm looking for.

When I get home in the evenings, everything just gets dropped at the door. My shoes, my purse, my pants usually get thrown against some distant wall, I've even forgotten the groceries at the door many times. Or, if I'm in an especially tidy mood, I'll just put the entire bag of groceries in the fridge. Bread, milk, canned goods... whatever. I'll deal with it later.

I just keep kicking things to the side to make a little path for me to walk. Though, now I'm out of room and my crap is impeding the flow of traffic on my path. Translation: I keep tripping over my own crap!

Today was my first day back at my elementary school. No classes to teach just yet. Today we just cleaned our office and classroom. After we were finished sweeping, dusting, etc my co-teachers went back to our office to pretend to be busy. I stayed in the classroom obsessively straightening the desks and chairs. Because, God forbid, things not be in a perfect line or at 90 degree angles!!

And I'm always like that. Everyday, every class. My kids still stare at me with a blank stare every morning when I ask, "How are you today?" But they definitely know what I'm saying when I point to them and say, "push in your chair." After class I walk around making sure all the chairs are pushed in equally. No one chair can be sticking out more than the others.

I never lose my keys. Ever. There is a specific place that they live and they never leave it. I can do nothing before my keys are in their designated spot. But my phone, wallet, purse, hell... even my pants, not telling where they are at any given moment.

I recently lost my pants. My pants!!! How in gods name, when you only have 3 pair to begin with, do you lose a pair of pants in a 600 square foot apartment? I tore the place apart looking for them. Only to find them folded in the closet. What little gnome snuck in and folded my pants?

I routinely find the remote in the fridge, makeup in the microwave, and Anastasia gave me crap about an empty pizza box I was too lazy to take down to the trash so I threw it in the fridge... where it lived for the next 5 months!

So how... how on earth can I be on both extremes of the tidiness spectrum? Being on one I can see, but both?

No wonder I don't bother with dating. Why waste time looking for someone who "gets you" when you yourself don't "get you." I've been living in this little head of mine for 28 years, and the stuff going on up there gets more ridiculous by the day!!!

Well, it's 4:30, time for me to leave school and head home.

Now, where the hell did I put my purse? ...

Beer..er English.. er Fitness-Pong

2009-08-27T13:26:00.000+10:00

Since they took my middle school away from me, I decided to spend the last day just having fun with my students.

Taught them a few fitness words: Push-ups, Sit-ups, Jumping Jacks, Hula Hoop... etc.

I used the American, frat house favorite, Beer-Pong as a template for my game!

Over The Hill

2009-08-24T12:33:00.000+10:00

Just this week I hit my 6 month mark here.

On this wild little journey I call Korea, I'm standing at the apex of the hill. Half the journey ahead of me, half of it already behind.

The first 6 months were tough. Getting up the hill is always harder than going down.

Now I have friends, now I know my co-teachers, I know how to get around without having to think about it, my taste buds have finally been singed to the point where I don't break a sweat with every bite of kimchi!!

It's going too fast!!!

I want it all to slow down! I realized when I was back in America just how much I am going to miss this wacky little land. Now I'm starting to get sentimental at the little things and all the things I'll never see again.

I'll never see Buddha's birthday again, or the cherry blossoms, or the yellow dust, or strawberries, the grapes will be gone soon too, and Oh god... summer is almost over, there will never been a green Korea for me again!!!

And I'm definitely not ready to start saying goodbye to people in 6 months! I'm just starting to get to know them all.... and to rub salt in my wounds, today was my first day back at middle school. They informed me that schedules had changed and I won't be coming back to them anymore. I'll just stay all week at my elementary school.

I literally had to fight back tears! That school keeps me sane!! I can't stand having to say goodbye to these kids, they make me so happy. I'm going to miss my boys. They light up my days and we have so much fun. I had finally figured out my rhythm and had so many fun things planned. I was going to be a much better teacher this semester. Now it ended before it began.

I had freedom at this school. Just me and my boys, no co-teachers. No curriculum. No books. Just whatever I threw at them. My elementary school is the polar opposite. Strict curriculum, always going word for word by the book, constantly being scrutinized by co-teachers in class who sometimes let me do little more than be a human tape recorder.

This sucks!!!

Eh, you know the saying: When life hands you lemons... get out the friggin' salt and tequila, it's time for some shots!!!

Uhg, on second thought, after last weekends buckets-o-tequila.... I think I'm done for a while.

"Happiness Is A Warm Puppy"

2009-08-19T16:34:00.000+10:00

On Sunday evening I was on the subway in Seoul and a man was peddling cell phones accessories. I noticed the bag he was carrying and, in English, it said, "Happiness is a warm puppy."

This immediately got me thinking.

Let's do a little math, shall we?

If: Happiness is a warm puppy
Then: A = B

And according to Mallory's co-worker, Mr. Yoon, "Eating time is happy time" where Eating time is C

If: we assume Happy Time is equivalent to Happiness

Then: Eating time is Happiness
So: C = A

then....

we apply the Transitive Property of Equality ( if A=B and B=C then A=C)

and since we already established that B = C and inversely C = B

then: Eating time is a warm puppy

now...

factor in the given: Korean people eat dog meat

then: C = B (Eating time is a warm puppy) could very well be a true statement!!!

now...

factor in the variable that many Koreans believe dog meat increases male virility and stamina

then: Eating time is bow chicka wow wow ????

In conlusion: I shouldn't think so hard after a 20+ hour flight!!!!!!

Home Sweet Home

2009-08-17T16:41:00.000+10:00

A brief synopsis of my vacation in the States:

Birthday burgers with the Bucklew clan, all 15 of us
making Vietnamese food with my best bud and sis
shopping shopping shopping, since I only brought one pair of pants and one shirt home
Ben's 30th birthday
running around Raleigh trying to see all my friends and not getting enough time with any of them
Getting to meet and rub on my favorite baby bump in the world!
Teaching old church ladies about getting lei'd
20 hour kamikaze drive to WV with my sis for only a few hours of visiting
Showing Jen and Bec the kind of 'shit' Korean kids learn
Buying G'ma slutty hot pants
Stealing a kiss from an old friend
Meeting the newest and bluest (eyed) member of the Franzese clan
Meeting the mini-Mercer man
Wally world to buy all the swag for my Korean peeps
and Food. Glorious, vast, copious amounts of fattening, delicious, tear inducing, gut gorging fooooooood!!!!

Korean Men Wear Manties!

2009-07-26T14:11:00.000+10:00

Korean men wear manties! All of them!

The "boxers vs. briefs" debate ceases to exist here. There are no boxers or briefs, unless you count the above picture as a brief. Men here prefer bikini underwear which come in a variety of prints: Butterflies (like above) leopard, zebra, red silk, etc.

Now, I have no problem with men having a little fun and going a little wacky with the undergarments, hell, I think it's entertaining. However, it's just one more thing that bugs me here. In my "I miss sex" post earlier this month, I touched on how men are overtly cute here... and I don't mean that in a good way.

If I've learned nothing else about myself while living in Korea, I have learned this: I like masculine men. There I said it. I like a guy who is a little rough around the edges, one who actually has 5 o'clock shadow by the end of the day, someone who actually gets dirty from time to time and whose arm muscles are actually bigger than mine.

And even as adorable as I find my co-teacher, Dong-Uk, he is just that... adorable. Anytime I try to have a conversation with him he spends half the time covering his face, giggling in embarrassment, over the most mundane topics. And it's not just him. It's a cultural thing. Most Koreans are culturally shy. Even my "outgoing" coworkers who hit on me on a regular basis end up giggling and literally running away when I talk to them. I miss confidence. I miss that cockiness that for some reasons Americans just seem to be born with.

Men really play up to the cultural cuteness here. There is one commercial that I see 100 times a day that drives me crazy. The male actor, while pitching his product, is playing coy. Similar to the way you know when a woman is flirting... batting his eyelashes, tilting his head back, finger in his mouth, then covers his mouth as he giggles and collapses his shoulders downward. This commercial makes me want to scream, "Man up, damnit!!"

This totally confuses me. I've never been into jocks, or jarheads, or meatheads or any kind of macho tough guy before. But a few weeks ago, at Mud-fest, it might as well have been called Meat-fest! There were foreign men everywhere. Big ones, towering over me, with big man muscles and you could feel the testosterone in the air. My girlfriends and I were like kids in a candy store!!!

On my first day teaching at my middle school I was asked to stand up in front of the faculty and introduce myself. Afterwards, they had a few questions for me.

#1: Q: Are you married?
A: No.
#2: Q: How do you feel about dating Korean men?
A: Uuuuhhhh.....

At the time, that was an accurate answer. I was indifferent. Neither for nor against the idea. Now I'm sorry to say that I'm not really interested.

Unless... you are talking about my hunky hunky Korean crush (me and about every other female in Asia) Lee Byung Hun. Mmmmmm. (Go check out the new G.I. Joe movie to get a taste of the manliest man in Korea! God love him!)

No Boobs? No Butt? No Problem!

2009-07-26T13:50:00.000+10:00

After spending most of this month in transit, either crashing on friends' floors or staying in Korean motels, that are little more than an empty room with a few blankets in the corner, I have discovered the evolutionary reason as to why Korean women have very little when it comes to boobs, butts, and hips... Sleeping.

As a society that sleeps primarily on the floor, with little or no padding under them, having curvy woman parts is an absolute handicap. Having any one of the aforementioned girly bits is quite a hinderance but having all three is complete torture!

If you lay on your back your butt prevents you from laying flat causing you to get a kink in your spine, you can roll over to your side but your hip is going to take all the pressure and dig into the floor and good luck trying to breathe when lying on your stomach with all the pressure on your chest!

Though, after sleeping on the floor for the vast majority of July, I am starting to get used to it. One of the places where I often sleep, and is one of the most comfortable, is on Anastasia's floor... Though she thinks the comfort level of her floor has more to do with my level of intoxication when I'm staying over rather than the actual feeling of her floor.

... hmmm. Very possible.

Korean motel room on Ulleungdo Island

I Miss Sex!

2009-07-19T23:11:00.000+10:00

In America, sex sells.

In Korea, that's not the case. Cute sells.

Every commercial, tv show, and K-pop band is pumped full of doe-eyed, innocent looking, brightly dressed, giggling personalities.

Case in point: Girls Generation. A huge K-pop band here.

When I arrived here in Korea, their smash-hit "Gee" was playing from every store and restaurant, not to mention every kid's ipod. The song was unavoidable.... and tranquilizing due to the fact that is song is so damn catchy it almost makes you catatonic.

However, I was blown away when I saw the video for "Gee". First, the sheer number of them... there are 9! Secondly, there isn't an ounce of flesh, or smidge of silicone that can be seen in the video.

The closest American girl group counterpart that I could come up with is the Pussycat Dolls. Even the name oozes with sex. Not to mention they are bursting with enhanced girly bits, their songs are about removing their clothes, and watching a video is basically like being in a strip club in your own living room.

And damn I miss that!

I'm so tired of being killed with cuteness! Every commercial, every show, every time... cute cute cute! I'm around 800 little kiddies a week, I get all the cute I can handle then!

I miss the raunchiness of American tv. I miss things being overtly sexual and downright inappropriate just for the shock value. I miss sex!!

What's even more annoying is that even men play up to the cute factor here in Korea. It's nauseating and somewhat disturbing....

...Oh, but I'll save that blog for another day.

Cha-Cha-Changes...

2009-07-17T16:26:00.001+10:00

Something odd is going on here.

I keep noticing myself doing odd little things.

Like today for instance, at lunch I was eating my soup ( I've already been suckered back into eating Korean lunches) and I looked down and noticed my left hand was participating! Who invited her to the party?!?

I'm using my spoon with my right hand (as usual) but notice my left hand picking up hunks of (unidentified) meat with chopsticks and placing it on my spoon! Wow, when did I learn that trick? Hmmm... congratulations lefty, you are purely decorative no more!

And in the same meal I noticed another freaky phenomenon! I took one bite of my soup and thought it was too bland... so I scooped spoonful after spoonful of hot red pepper paste into my bowl!

WTF? Me and spicy? No way man. Never saw that one coming!

I've also developed a Korean attitude towards elevators. Normally, I would get in, push the floor button and wait for the door to close. Koreans and incredibly impatient. They get in, hit the floor button, and immediately and repeatedly hit the 'door close' button.

I've noticed that now when I get in the elevator I push the "12" button then start jamming my finger on those two little arrows that point towards each other, even though there is only a 2 second difference between pushing it and just waiting for the door to close.

And living out in the sticks has made me lose all my patients for traffic. I was in Daegu last week and was sitting in traffic in a cab for just a few min and wanted to pull my hair out!

How am I going to readjust to being back home??? I'm actually getting nervous about going home. That feels odd. I wasn't neverous to come here but I have serious butterflies about going back.

Hmmm... but it will be nice to drive a car again!

26, 27, 28...

2009-07-07T23:09:00.000+10:00

Once again, the first week of July is upon us and my twenties are rapidly approaching their end.

Thus far, my twenties have been spent finding myself.

... and damn it, I've looked everywhere!!! Where the hell am I already?!?

This year I find myself in Korea... next year.... anyone's guess. Maybe I'll throw another dart at a globe, seems to be working so far!

Kill 'Em With Kindness... Or Candy, Which Ever Is Easier!

2009-07-07T16:29:00.000+10:00

Today is my birthday!

I'm not a big birthday person. Never really have been. Generally my birthday comes and goes and I don't alert many people to the occasion.

Today in my 4th grade class a girl was brave enough to approach me before we started.

"Hello, how are you today Bituhne" she said.
"I'm very good, thanks. And you...?"
"I'm happy." she replied.
"Do you know what today is?" I said.

She looked at me with a blank stare and mouth wide open. I knew what she was thinking... "oh crap... we haven't rehearsed this. She's talking to me and I don't know what she's saying..."

"Do you know what today, Seven/ Seven, is?" I said again.
Still just staring at me, she looks even more confused now.

"It's my birthday." I said.
"Bituhne burrsday?!?" she squealed! Partly delighted that she understood me and partly because I would share that information with her. "OOOh, happy burrsday!"
She ran over and whispered to some of her friends. They all perked up and started pointing and whispering.

"Do you like cake?" The little girl said.
"Yes, I like cake"
"Do you like... uuuummm... gifts?" she said.
"Yes, I like cake and gifts."

Then it was time for class to start. Those little girls smiled at me all class like I had shared a special secret with them. It was very cute!

After class, those little girls came into my office, giggling nervously, during the break.

"Bittuuhne.... Happy Burrsday!" and they pulled out a little cake (a gift!) that was made out of clay. It's decorated with clay carrots and kiwi (I think). It actually made my day (thus far anyway!)

Then at lunch (which this week I officially stopped eating in the cafeteria!!) there was a package on my desk! From my grandma, aunts, cousins, parents... Filled with all kinds of fattening treats and goodies! So much for eating right!

There was no way I could eat all those goodies on my own and still fit into my pants, so I decided to take them to my after school class.

I loathe my after school class! I teach it on my own and the students run a muck. They own me. It's out of control, they run out of the class, crawl around on the floor. I refuse to beat them or even yell at them and they know this so there is a total disregard for everything I try to do. I dread going to that class... and to make it better, it used to be once a week, now it's twice! Yippie!

They really don't deserve the candy, but I needed to share it with someone. I always offer stuff to my co-teachers and they take it but sometimes they eat it and sometimes they don't. Which makes me giggle because now you know how I feel having gooey rice and bean cakes shoved in my face all the time.

Some of those little girls in my 4th grade class are in my after school class so when I walked in today the whole class of 9 year old monsters broke into the English rendition of "Happy Birthday To You!" Apparently it's one of the only songs they know in English! I was actually touched. One little girl scribbled something in Korean on the board. I had no idea what it said, but judging from the topic of conversation, I pointed to it and said, "Happy Birthday".

All the kids mouths dropped open and they all started squealing.

I guessed right! From my limited Korean vocabulary I could understand them saying "oooh, she reads Korean!" They are always amazed and delighted when I say things in Korean.

The kids were up to their normal antics: fighting, cell phone video games, hiding under desks, umbrella jousting, etc. Then I pulled out the chocolate cadbury eggs and the box of Mike and Ike's.

"Do you want candy?" I said pointing to the boxes.
"Yyyyyyeessssss! Give me candy!!!!" they started screaming.
I wrote the time class was over on the board and explained, in more hand gestures than words, that if you listen to me, you get candy when class is over. If not.... NO CANDY! They shut right up! This class exhausts me and it's the last week of after school classes this semester, so I've given up and resorted to only playing hangman. I've started writing phrases on a piece of paper and let them run the game (so at least I feel like one or two students will be doing something constuctive.)

They were as good as gold today! No one spoke out of turn, no one ran away, there was no blood on the floor... nothing! I'm not one for bribes, but next semester.... I'm bribing these monsters with candy every week!!!

And the day just kept getting better! I went to dinner with Marica (a fellow North Carolinian, Charlotte actually) and we stuffed ourselves full of bulgogi and galbi (sliced beef and marinated pork)

After dinner we were just sitting there, on the floor, talking and a man came up to us and picked our bill up off the table. "This .... I will pay" he said. Marica and I were confused. "Why?" we asked. "Because I'm Korean" he said.

Fair enough!

I don't think he realized we had ordered at least 4 servings of meat! Oh well! Then when I made it home, the little old man security guard stopped me at the elevator. He came running out of his little security closet and muttered something at me and handed me a box.

Inside the box was a cake and a note that said, "Happy Birthday Britne! Always Thank You, Min-Jung, Dong-Uk, Young-Jin" awwww. My co-teachers came by with a cake when I wasn't here!

I threw myself a little birthday party and had some cake!

It was a great day!

Bike Ride

2009-07-06T21:48:00.000+10:00

Okay, I know it's a little shaky... but you try holding a camera while riding a bike down bumpy Korean roads!

I started and ended at my apartment. It usually takes about an hour or so... but I did some serious editing!

Nice Knockers!

2009-06-22T23:55:00.000+10:00

Goal #2

By the time I leave, I want to be able to wear Korean lingerie. They have the cutest little frilly lingerie and unfortunately, nothing comes bigger than an A cup.

I can do it!

Daily Life in Korea

2009-06-22T17:33:00.000+10:00

Here is my routine..

5:30am- wake up. Hit snooze. Repeat.

6:45am- snooze is now broken... disassemble battery from alarm clock while still asleep.

7:15am- wake up in a panic wondering why my alarm never went off. Turn on water heater.

7:20am- jump into the shower.

7:35am- squeegy the puddles from the floor into the floor drain

7:40am- get ready for school

8:15am- shove a scoop of peanut butter down my throat (try to convince myself that it's actually a decent breakfast)

8:20am- run out the door. Curse at the elevator for taking so long. Power walk to school.

8:33am- Arrive at school. Only 3 minutes late, hell, that's practically on time!

9:00am- Start classes. Repeat the words: Hi, Hello, Hello, Hi, Hi, Hi, Bye, Hello, Hello, Hi, Hello, about a million times. Sing the damn ABC song just as many times.

12:20pm- Lunch. Push rice around my plate with chopsticks. Try to hide octopus and squid in my soup bowl so no one notices I didn't eat anything.

1:20pm- back to class. Repeat the following phrases over and over: No, I don't speak Korean...Yes, I live at Chong Ho too... No, I don't remember my phone number. (because that's what I need... 4th graders texting me all night long.)

2:20pm- After school classes. Try my damnedest to wrangle these kids who would rather be anywhere but here. Give up and play hangman until their hearts content.

3:30pm- Sit at my desk. Stare aimlessly at the clock. Write silly little blogs and check facebook 350 times.

4:30pm- Walk home. Wave to the people leaning out the hospital windows smoking cigarettes. Stop by the little market and pick up a few veggies and something to drink.

4:50pm- Wash my hands repeatedly. Damn germy little vermon! Must not get sick again!!!

5:00pm- Head out to the trails... running, biking, anything to clear my head.

6:30pm- Come home and shower. Forget that I opened the corridor window earlier and now all my neighbors can see me naked. Hmmm... rig up some contraption so I can keep the window open without people seeing in.

7:00pm- Paint, watch tv, think about what to eat for dinner.

8:00pm- Cook dinner. Usually involving chicken, onions, greenpeppers and garlic (those are the veggies my little market sells!)

10:30pm- Get on Skype and talk to my mom and sis... and anyone else that drops by my mom's house!

11:00pm- Watch episode after episode of CSI.... catch Man vs. Wild if I'm super lucky!

2:00am- Curse at myself for being a tv junkie and force myself to go to bed!

Repeat 5x a week...

except on Wednesdays. That involves me taking a bus 30 min outside town and repeating the phrase "No punching, fighting, kicking, hitting...."

Koreanized: If You Can't Beat 'Em, Join 'Em!

2009-06-22T16:55:00.001+10:00

Today I was proud of myself.

At lunch, I managed to bone and skin a piece of fish, using chopsticks - with one hand! Even Koreans sometimes use two hands when trying to eat fish (one chopstick in each hand pulling the meat from the bones.) Even more impressive was the perfect little fish skeleton that was left on my tray.

I wish I had brought my camera to lunch.

Last week I had dinner with some Korean teachers from another school and the Head of the Yeongcheon Education Office.

The head guy, Mr. Hwang, looks across the tiny little table we are sitting at and says, "Buck-lew, you have become Koreanized." Mr. Hwang is the only person in Korea who knows my last name, let alone calls me by it.

The reason I have become "Koreanized" to

Mr. Hwang is because while loading up my lettuce wrap with barbecued pork, he saw me throw in a few CLOVES of garlic. Koreans eat garlic like it's a vegetable that stands alone, not like it's a spice like the way we westerners use it. I love garlic, the only thing that prevents me from eating more of it at home is that it makes you smell like garlic.

Everyone here smells like garlic... so screw it! Bring on the funk!

Teacher's Pet? or... Teacher Gets Pet?

2009-06-16T17:27:00.000+10:00

Well, it took 4 months.

My 4th grade girls finally discovered my hair today.

I teach after school classes on Mondays and Tuesdays. Today we played "Go Fish". Two weeks ago I taught them animal names. Last week we made animal cards that they drew themselves. This week I taught them how to play "Go Fish". They picked it up immediately, and to my delight, they loved it!

Unfortunately, the classroom we are usually in was locked. So I found a big round table in some random knook and we played there. As each kid finished their hand, they would go around the table and help other students. After a while I started to notice all the girls were behind me. Then I noticed 4 little pairs of hands "accidentally" pulling strands of my hair. Then it became 8 little hands feeling big chunks of my hair, and within moments it was fully on beauty parlor!

The little girls would run their palms over my hair and go, "Ooooohhhohhh" at the texture. I'm not a big fan of being rubbed or touched by strangers. (It happens to me an awful lot here)... but, people messing with my hair, well that I'm not going to stop! And they aren't exactly strangers. They are my students, and some of them I almost recognize when i pass them in the halls!

So knock yourselves out ladies, go nuts! And while your at it, whose going to rub teacher's feet?

Korean Compliments

2009-06-16T13:53:00.000+10:00

Though always indirect, I always find Kim Dong Uk's compliments to be genuine and sincere.

KDU: Britne, do you have a date tonight?
BB: What? Um, no. Why?
KDU: Because of the way you look.
BB: Are you saying I look nice today?
KDU: Yes. (then covers his blushing face and walks away)

Another good example of a Kim Dong Uk compliment:

KDU: (Staring at me from across the desk) Your eyes got bigger.
BB: What?
KDU: Your eyes, they are bigger than before.
BB: Are you trying to say that I've lost weight?
KDU: Yes.

I really like this, slightly lost in translation, method of giving someone a compliment. It's not overdone, it's not embellished, it is what it is. They could be misconstrued as backhanded compliments.... but I don't see them that way. I like the brutal honestly of it because at least I know they aren't bullshit.

Transgendered Fruit

2009-06-11T17:24:00.001+10:00

I want tomatoes to go back into the veggie category!

I know, I know... they are technically a fruit. Yes, they were born a fruit but they identify with vegetables so much better. They are tart, not sugary sweet, and they should never be on top of your ice cream or other desserts, so therefore they are a veggie!

Koreans love tomatoes. They are included in every social gathering. They'll present you with plates of watermelon, apples, pineapple, oranges and cherry tomatoes. Don't get me wrong, I love tomatoes, I put them on everything (sans dessert) but I'm tired of being force fed plateful after plateful of cherry tomatoes!

Shop Till You Drop-Kick Someone!

2009-06-10T23:57:00.000+10:00

I hate shopping in Korea.

That's not such a bad thing though. It has kept me from spending very much money.

Korea must have a very low unemployment rate... when you are in a store, every rack of clothes has a sales associate waiting for you.

Even in the US, I'm the kind person who likes to be left alone when I'm shopping. I appreciate when they ask if I need anything, but once I've said no thanks it drives me nuts when they hover. So being in a store, where every 5 feet another person is standing over my shoulder as I browse, drives me crazy. If you look at something longer than just a fleeting glance, they will yank it off the rack and present it to you in a very, The Price is Right, kind of spokesmodel way.

I hate it.

What's even more annoying is when I do find something I like. I take my potential purchase to the fitting room lady, and then this is always the next scenario:

Lady looks at me,

Lady looks at the dress,

Lady looks at me,

Lady looks at the dress,

Lady looks at me,

Lady flips the dress inside out searching for the tags...

Uhhhg. So frustrating and such a blow to your ego! I'm always thinking, "I know I'm twice the size of the emaciated little people that usually shop here, but I swear that dress is the right size!" Luckily, I've yet to be proven wrong. The clothes always fit and it does make me feel good that I can actually fit into these itty bitty Korean sizes.

But I hate shopping here!

The worst moments are the best memories

2009-05-25T12:51:00.001+10:00

Sometimes when I think back on my life, it plays like a movie in my head, not like my own life.

The places I've been, the people I've met, the things I've done - all chance events haphazardly occurring throughout my life, with no clear rhyme or reason.

It all goes by in the flash on an instant. I desperately try to slow it all down, and to some degree I've been able to. When I travel, I remember more of my life. I can't name 5 things I did in my last 6 months in the US, but I can recall how I've spent every weekend and most weekdays of my time here. My philosophy is: If I remember more of my life, then I've lived more of my life.

But sometimes I get so wrapped up in the now that I forget to savor the insignificant moments. I have to make a conscious effort to step back and let all my senses take over, to absorb everything around me: the good, the bad, the incredible, the uncomfortable, all of them. Even the worst situations eventually become the most vivid scenes in my mental movie.

One of my fondest memories of my time in Mali was the night i was incredibly ill. The heat was sweltering, the humidity thick, sweat was pouring off my face, I was hovering over a nyegen so weak I could hardly stand, while cockroaches crawled all over my feet... At the time, I was in hell. But I got through it and could even laugh about it the next morning and now, I can't believe how lucky I was just to be there. I remember every moment, every feeling from that night.

I try to remind myself of that here in Korea.

After work I've been hiking through the mountains of Yeongcheon, trying to release some pent up frustration. Instead of just blazing through the trails as fast as possible, which was my original goal, I've been veering off the path and exploring old tombs that overlook the city, reminding myself to just breathe it all in... Feel the sun, remember how the flowers smell, listen to the sounds of Korea.... it will all be over so fast.

... someday I'll miss all this.

Funky Fish Food

2009-05-21T13:06:00.001+10:00

About two weeks ago I went to Gumi, about an hour west of my town, to have a much needed girls night out!

We started at a little coffee/ ice cream shop/ spa. The spa part of it was called "Dr. Fish". It's just a small tub in the back of the shop with a bunch of fish in it. You sit on the side of the tub and stick your feet in the water and the fish will eat the dead skin off your feet!!

Of course... we all had to try it!! And OH MY GOD did it tickle!!!!! I'm freakishly ticklish anyway, so I could hardly sit there without wiggling and giggling.

After Dr. Fish we went to a local Hookah bar and indulged in wine and cheese, tobacco and girl talk! It was fantastic!!

"W-O-W"... it's fun being out with the girls! I love the cheesiness of Korea! Wait.... that's just me being cheesy in Korea. My mistake! Then around midnight we wandered to a Norebang bar (Karaoke in Japan) and we belted out tunes from the cheesiest pop songs we could think of!

Norebang is not for the faint at heart, or the weak... particularly the tambourining! Especially if you've been drinking heavily. I've had bruises for two weeks! Ouch!

I believe this was Journey's "Open Arms" and the one below was probably something like the Spice Girls. Who knows!

We left Norebang around 3am and went to some local Expat bars. I finally made it back to Anastasia's apartment (wearing shoes I'd never seen before! Don't know who they belonged to) around 5:30 am. I had to be up and at least pretending to be sober by 8am to attend my sister's college graduation... via webcam! Yes, my family sat through the whole ceremony with an open laptop just so I could watch!

It was a great weekend! I can't wait to do it again!

Stop and smell the Roses

2009-05-20T09:39:00.000+10:00

It's one of those things I always assumed I did, but now that they are everywhere I've noticed that I actually do it... I stop, everytime, and smell the roses.

It's one of those little things that's nice to discover about yourself.

No matter where I'm going, what I'm doing or how late I am; when I see a pretty rose, I stop and breathe it in.

While I'm in Korea

2009-05-19T15:37:00.000+10:00

Goal #1:

Get Healthy.

Mind - Body - and Spirit.

Hmmm, I think all three are easier said than done... but I'm trying.

Today was a great day

2009-05-03T21:01:00.001+10:00

I really needed today.

Though the frustrations of culture shock are finally weaning, I still end up with a lot of pent up frustration in my day to day life. However, today was a breath of fresh air. Literally.

Will and I decided to go hiking today. He took me to Eunhaesa Temple, on the outskirts of Yeongcheon. It's a holiday weekend and the parking lot was full when we got there. Will didn't want to look for a parking spot, so in a move that was straight out of the Britne playbook, he drove up to the gate and told the guard he had an appointment with a monk, and in we drove.

We parked next to Eunhaesa Temple. It's a large and famous temple here in Korea. We bypassed the temple and started heading up the mountain. Will wanted to take me to an obscure little temple deep in the mountains. It's a place he used to go when he was younger. We hiked the 3.5k up to the temple (whose name I can't remember.)

It was so nice to be in the mountains. I'm a mountains girl, always have been. I'll choose a day lost in the mountains over a day at the beach every time. Being in the woods was strangely familiar: the feeling, the smells, the sounds; it was just like being back home. It was a perfect day today, sunny and warm, but you could feel the damp coolness of the forest as you climbed up. It smelled like Appalachia with comforting scents of Pine trees and Azalea blossoms. It was such a calming and peaceful walk, listening to mountain streams and birds chirping.

I was a little worried about not being able to keep up. I haven't gone hiking in a long time and I'm really out of shape. But not to worry, Will's a smoker. I had no problem keeping up with him!

The air seemed clean today. Maybe it was because I was deep in the mountains. Maybe it was just a freak day. Either way, I couldn't get enough. I sucked in as much air as I could. I couldn't breathe deep enough. I just wanted to stand there and breathe all day.

It was a long, steep hike to the small temple, and I was dripping with sweat by the time we got to the top... and it felt great! I love the heat. I love the feeling of being drenched in sweat, I associate that feeling with a lot of good memories... mostly of traveling.

Will showed me around the temple. It was a tiny little temple at the top of the mountain. It was quiet and peaceful it was very.... buddhist. Will took me to Buddha to pray. We took off our shoes and entered the main temple building.

We grabbed two mats and put them on the floor. Will showed me how to pray. Bowing, kneeling on the floor, and then standing back up... repeated 3 times. Afterwards we sat there in silence. It was so peaceful. Only the two of us, sitting under the alter fixated on the golden Buddha, sweat pouring off of my skin while I sat in that hot little room that was filled with the sweet smell of incense. I wanted to sit there all day.

It's madness I tell you!!!

2009-04-28T16:08:00.000+10:00

I can't decide who is better behaved...

American students or Korean students?

I have to say, on an individual basis, Korean kids are hands down better students. You don't have the problem children with severe or even minor behavior problems. Out of the 800 students I see a week, I have maybe 3 or 4 that are a pain... and they mostly just want attention.

Oh, but when it comes to the group dynamic... holy crap, Korean kids are nuts! The students run a muck! The school is just plain chaotic. It's like trying to teach a herd of cattle! Most of the time you are just trying to keep from getting trampled!

There are always clusters of kids just running down the hallways, unsupervised, and the teachers don't seem to mind. Kids are punching each other, dragging their friends down the halls... it's madness I tell you!

Tid bits

2009-04-14T19:11:00.000+10:00

-I could get used to kids bowing at me. Makes me feel special. Actually, I am special here.

-There are still a handful of little girls that will come up to me after class just to stare at my eyes. It's weird and sweet all at the same time.

-I will never master the Korean way of eating. Chopsticks I can do, but using a spoon for my soup in my right hand while twirling wet noodles with chopsticks in my left.... no. I don't have that kind of coordination. My left hand is merely decorative.

-When I'm feeling a little rebellious, I walk around my apartment with shoes on!

-Who knew there were so many Jehovah's Witnesses in Korea??? If I leave the protection of my apartment or school, I am immediately pounced on! Grocery store, train station, walking down the street... everywhere. Basically if someone comes up to you and actually speaks English... They are a Jehovah's Witness. Though they give you gifts sometimes! They gave me Jesus toilet paper! How thoughtful... and practical!

-I've lived here 2 months now. I still haven't taken the trash out. At least not all of it. It's complicated here. There are 30,000 ways to separate your trash and I've yet to figure all of them out!

-My fourth grade students think I'm saying "Fuck you" when I say "Vacuum" they start to giggle and they all flick me off!!!

-If son saeng nim (teacher) likes you, I'll cheat so you can win at bingo... But shhhhh, don't tell!

-Every time I travel I make a mental list of children I would someday like to adopt.

As far as babies go, there are none in the entire world cuter than African baby boys. With their shiny bald heads and their infectious chubby cheeked grins.

But when it comes to toddlers, hands down Asian (Korean specifically) little girls. Their round porcelain faces and their jet black little pigtails that bop around as they play are mesmerizing. There is a sweetness to the little girls here, and the older ones and hell adults too, that is unparalleled.

I've come close to asking women if I can have their kids. I see them giggling and playing around town or in my elevator and I just want to keep them. Though, It's probably considered rude to ask to take someone's child... okay, it's probably more creepy and freakish than rude, but you have no idea how cute these kids are! Thank goodness Korea doesn't allow singles to adopt, because if they did, I would, without a doubt, spend the money I'm saving this year on bringing one back to the US.

This is my new BFF in Y'cheon. She wandered up to me at a festival and held out her hand and said, "Hi." My students won't even do that and this little girl was about 2 years old! We "talked" for a few minutes... mostly repeating the word "hi"... then when I got my camera out she immediately stopped and struck a pose! (I think she was trying to give the, ever popular in Korea, peace sign... but got confused and gave me the "L.... loser" sign)

After I took the picture she walked up to me and gestured at my camera. I turned it back on and showed her the picture, she nodded at it in approval and then skipped away. Her mom and I laughing the whole time. How cute is she!?

Yackity Yack.... Don't talk back!

2009-04-08T17:12:00.000+10:00

I had to discipline my first student today. Well, sort of.

I do find the whole situation sort of hypocritical and amusing. I was a pain in the ass as a student and a child for that matter. Disobeying, being obnoxious, and talking back were sort of my forte as a kid. I was even paddled by my second grade teacher and it's actually a fond memory of mine from elementary school. So to be in the position of disciplinarian feels slightly ironic to me...

In the last, and worst, class of my middle school day, a student refused to do any work, no matter how hard I tried to get him to participate. This happens with several students so after doing my best I finally went to help another student who was calling for me.

Later I noticed that the student who refused to participate was being loud and showing his paper to the students around him. I looked at his worksheet and there was a very obvious phallic drawing. He didn't even try to hide it. I took the paper away from him and he kept giving me a hard time.

My middle school co-teachers no longer come to class with me. They just let me fly solo and teach class on my own. I prefer this and honestly, I think the kids are easier to deal with because they have to pay attention when there is no one to translate for them. The only drawback is, since I am alone, I have to maintain constant control. A lot of the time my classes teeter on the brink of chaos so I have to do my damnedest to maintain control. If these kids ever realize how easy it is to take control over me, I'm screwed!

So, even though what this kid did, I hardly consider bad, I couldn't just let him slide. I told him to stand up. Then I pointed to the back of class and told him to go. He said, and shook his head, "no". We went back and forth a few times, my expression and voice getting louder with each subsequent time. I wanted to just let it go. Other kids were calling for me and I could have easily walked away again but that would have put me in a very vulnerable place and I'd never get this kid to do what I said ever again. So I kept on him.

Finally, I took him by the arm, without being aggressive, just assertive, to guide him to the back of class. He jerked his arm away. I tried again with the same result only now he turned his back to me. In my mind I was thinking "GGGrrrr you little ass! You are not going to win this game! You have no idea how stubborn I am and now you're going down!"

I put my hands on his shoulders and turned him towards the back and marched him to the back of class. There is a small little alcove that is about 4" off the ground. I tried to make him stand in the alcove but he absolutely wouldn't budge. I figured this was a losing battle so as long as he stands in the back, that's good enough. I went back to helping the other students.

A few minutes later I noticed him messing with the computers in the back of the room. I walked over to him with a scowl on my face, one hand on my hip and the other pointing to the alcove. I stomped my foot while I pointed. He refused. I asked him if I should get Humphrey (my co-teacher). He just looked away. I took his arm again. He pulled it away. I tried again. Still no luck. At this point a few students in the back of the room were trying to coax him to just get into the alcove. I tried to lead him by the arm again and this time he shoved my arm towards me pushing me with it. Ah crap. Now he's in for it.

I walked to one of the students who was trying to convince him to listen to me. I told the student, "go to the teacher's room. Get Humphrey." He looked at me with a puzzled expression at first, not understanding what I was saying, then his eyes got big. All their eyes got big. The obnoxious student got into the alcove. I was tempted to just let it go, but now that other students saw what was going on, I had to follow through.

Humphrey is my co-teacher. Every day, multiple times a day, he comes to me and says, "If you have problems with students, come get me. Any problems, get me." I've seen him in the hallways disciplining students. Actually, he's the only person I've ever seen disciplining them.

Humphrey came into class and escorted the student out. And that was that. Class continued as normal... except more quietly. After class I went to my office and the unruly student was on his hands and knees in the middle of the office. (it's a common punishment here. I'm not really sure why.) I went to my desk and the other teachers hovered over the student and shoved him towards my desk while whispering in his ear.

Tears began streaming out of his eyes and the boy, who only comes up to my chin and is about 12 years old, muttered in broken English, "Bbbbiiiitnne, I sorry." I felt horrible. I'm sure the kid was whipped when taken from class, and I'm sure he was going to get it at home as well. Another teacher was wiping the tears from his cheeks as he recited his apology.

Though, I'm pretty sure the tears were due to embarrassment, not punishment, but either way... I doubt I'll have trouble with him again. At least, I hope not.

A picture I snuck of Humphrey with a different

student during my first week.

Bleh, Bleh, double Bleh!

2009-03-25T17:35:00.000+11:00

The following is a venting session...

I dread when people offer me food. They think they are being so nice, and actually they are, sharing their food with me.

Unfortunately... most of their food repulses me. I don't want it. I don't even want to look at it. I really don't want to be where I can even smell it and I certainly don't want my taste buds anywhere near it!

Then everyone I walk by at work has to be so generous and insist I have a piece of octopus, or neon green sticky rice ball, or god knows what else.

***Case in point, just as I'm sitting here typing this, my coworker walks up and hands me a little glass bottle. He hands it to me and says, "This is a Korean drink. It tastes a little terrible but it's good for health." He was right (at least on one point) It was terrible. Tastes a little like drinking Worcestershire sauce. ***

The "good for health" thing is starting to annoy me. It's sort of a Korean cop out. Any Korean custom that is unpleasant is immediately explained as being "good for health". I'm calling BS on most of them. I'm sure some have to be good for you. But, for example, sleeping on the floor is said to be good for women's health. How?

Koreans traditionally sleep on the floor but it's not uncommon for them to have beds. However, they make the mattresses reminiscent of sleeping on the floor.... so hard as a rock. This is not good for my health. Soft bed, hard bed... I don't see how any one is more or less good for you if it's not your preference. Personally sleeping on, what feels like, an ironing board makes it difficult for me to sleep. I wake up constantly. So essentially, for a month now, I haven't slept. That is NOT good for my health!! I'm exhausted! My coworkers tell me I look tired all the time. It's because, damnit, I AM!!!

Oh, but that's neither here nor there. This is supposed to be a food based bitch session.

Korean food can have it's pleasant moments. I've been to some good traditional restaurants. But most of the food I'm eating is public school cafeteria food. The first few weeks I had no problem and actually looked forward to lunch. I liked trying everything. But then just as I hit the one month mark something dawned on me... I'm not trying stuff anymore, now I just have to eat this stuff for my meals... everyday.

I'm not a big seafood fan. For two reasons... taste and texture. So choking down octopus tentacles (suction cups and all) and fire hot squid everyday sorta takes the joy out of lunch. Not to mention I'm trying to maneuver these tasty treats into my mouth with stainless steel chopsticks all while wearing a white collared shirt! Tricky!

Though, I have been complimented many times on my master chopstick abilities! (Thanks Mrs. Spence!) Some of my coworkers get teased that I work the chopsticks better than they do. Though I think the lack of chopstick skills is a western stereotype here in Korea... they are shocked that any foreigner can use them. I don't see why it's so shocking. There is at least one Chinese food place in every strip mall in America, how is there anyone left that doesn't know how to use them?

But I just don't get Korean food in this century. I get why it is this way from a historical standpoint. Until about 50 years ago (post Korean war) Korea was in the 3rd world. You ate what you had. So okay, I get why you started to ferment cabbage in vinegar and slathering it in hot pepper paste... because you had to. I get why you ate so many anchovies and pickled eggs and octopus and what have you. But now Korea has a huge global economy. They are far technologically superior to the US. Koreans are into gadgets and high fashion. Money is abundant. So why the hell can't you update the menu? Just a little.

Though my bitching is in vain. There are plenty of pizza and fried chicken joints in SoKo. They are everywhere. So I guess I can suck it up and choke down a traditional lunch and grease it up for dinner.... though that brings me to another thought. If you want to make a fortune, start pushing diet pills/ exercise gimmicks in SoKo. South Koreans are obsessed with their weight. Korean women are starting to suffer the same rates of eating disorders as the US. But after my first week of school I wondered why, in a country where I have yet to see a fat adult, are there so many chubby little kids?

It's because I am witnessing the first generation of Korean kids brought up on junk food. They love pizza and corn dogs and spaghetti and potato chips. So for you entrepreneurs out there.... give it 10-15 years when these chubby kids are chubby adults and sell them ab lounges. You will make a fortune!

I myself need to start looking into an ab lounge or something. I keep wanting to go run but it's either too damn frigid outside or there is such a thick layer of shit in the air that I feel it will do me more damage than good to run in it. I was losing a little bit of weight until the "Great chicken debacle" of March '09.

Ah, what is that you say? That was the first day I caved in and went to get greasy food. I went to one of the many fried chicken places. I walked in and pointed to the chicken and held up two fingers. The man behind the counter nodded. The pieces looked pretty small so I shook my head "no" and then held up 3 fingers. Again, he nodded. I pointed to the calculator on the counter and he typed in a price. 2500W (or about $2.50) I thought that was inexpensive but about right. Food is cheap here. A few minutes later he gestures to me that it's ready. He hands me 3 BOXES of chicken. Each with 6 or 7 pieces in it. Crap!!! Then I realize he left out a zero on the calculator. He meant 25000W ($25) Crap Crap Crap!!! Now I not only am going to bust out of my pants, but I busted my budget too! Oh well. That was weeks ago... I still have chicken in the freezer that I'm trying to get through.

That's one lesson learned. Chicken is sold by the box, not by the piece. Got it!

(The image above is from my first dinner with coworkers. Young-jin prefers to draw pictures when she can't think of a translation (which I appreciate) I believe this image is the international symbol for squid!)

The Company Kimchi

2009-02-28T23:17:00.000+11:00

Beware: Random stream-of-consciousness blogging ahead. Though, I guess all blogging is that way.

I've been in Korea about 10 days now; 7 of which were all but sequestered at a university with 500 other new teachers. During this orientation they pretty much beat the phrase "Korea is dynamic" into our brains. What is meant by Korea is dynamic is, "Korea can be a pain in the ass, it's unpredictable and everything happens at the last minute, so learn to adapt."

So far, this is true. In 36 hours I start teaching. What grades? How many students? (my estimate is between 800-1000 kids) Where is my other school? What days do I go there? How do I get there? None of these have been answered and I doubt they will be until the moment they occur.

I'm currently living in a Korean motel.

I was told they would have an apartment for me when I got to my town. The first thing they told me when I showed up was, "we didn't get you a house yet." Ah, so dynamic. They told me I was going to stay with a 25 year old female teacher for a few days, but she didn't want me to stay with her, so I ended up in this hotel instead. Which is fine by me. Though, Anne (the teacher's English name) is actually really nice and was just too shy to have me stay with her.

I am determined to learn my co-teachers/ friends real names and not their English names, Will (Dong-Uk) and Anne (Young-Jin).

When we got to Yeongcheon (sounds like Young-chawn) we were all greeted by our main co-teacher holding up a sign with our name on it. Our co-teacher is our go-to person for the rest of the year, from setting up utilities, rides to the grocery store, and contract disputes, whatever. I was expecting a young female teacher. I saw my name being help up by a young, male, and very cute Korean guy dressed to the nines. With him was a very serious looking middle aged woman also wearing her professional attire. She is my vice principal. Will, my co-teacher, speaks English well and introduced me to the VP. She didn't utter a word to me for the next hour or so during a welcome ceremony.

On the way to Will's car after the ceremony the VP pulled out her phone and called someone. Will nudges me and says she's talking to the principal. Teasing, I said, "oh, is she telling him she wants to trade me for a different teacher?" He replied, "oh no, she Looooovvvesss you!" which I totally wasn't expecting. Then Will and I got into his car (the VP had her own) and as I was about to shut the door, the VP leans into the car, right over me and goes, "He's really really handsome isn't he!?!"

Great, the VP is trying to play matchmaker!

Though, It's not like I had to be told he was good looking! Will, Anne, and I went out to dinner at a posh restaurant and I sat across from both of them. They kept whispering and Anne would giggle. I asked why they were staring at me and Will said matter-of-factly, "You have blue eyes." Anne giggled while covering her mouth. I guess neither of them had ever stared directly into blue eyes before.

They both stared at me through dinner. I can handle that. I got used to that in Africa. I don't take offense to it. After dinner it was harder to ignore because I had nothing to distract myself with. Anne stares at me indirectly where Will makes no attempt to disguise the fact that his gaze if fixated directly on my face. It is intense. Imagine the person sitting 3 feet away from you just staring directly into your eyes during an entire meal!

Bored with the awkward silence after dinner, I said, "you're still staring at me." Will just grinned and said, "You look like a Barbie Doll."

The three of us, and another woman, had lunch at a traditional Korean restaurant for lunch today. Again, I sat across from Anne and Will. Will being directly across from me, spent the entire time staring so intensely at me that it felt like he was drilling a hole into my head. From now on, I'm sitting next to Will at meals not across from him.

Traditional Korean restaurants are going to take time getting used to. The food was delicious but the facilities are a little tricky for the average American. You sit on the ground, legs crossed, at a table that is only a few inches above the floor. That isn't a problem. The problem arises when it's time to leave and you can't figure out how to walk with two numb legs!! The best case scenario is that you end up with a pimp walk and have to sort of limp and drag one leg on your way out! But I guess if they are staring at you regardless, why not look like an idiot on top of that!

Koreans make fun of my height.

Damnit, Damnit, Damnit, Damnit!!!! I can't win. Anywhere. That's it... next time, I'm moving to a Pygmy village.

We went to my future apartment yesterday to check it out. It was in need of some TLC but overall not bad. It's about 4 times larger than what I expected so I can't complain. There was no furniture in it and they asked if I wanted a bed. (They asked because Koreans typically sleep on the floor) I said that I would prefer a bed. My principal asked how tall I was because he needed to order it (apparently they come in sizes) and I told Will and he translated. Then they all laughed. Crap.

My principal is a Korean version of my grandpa.

When I met my principal I immediately was reminded of my Pap. My principal speaks basically no English. I sit is his palatial office with Will and he gives me juice and talks at me for a half hour or so while Will just nods his head. Based solely on vibes, he seemed like an iron-fisted authority figure with a soft side. And again, this is based on nothing but gibberish and a feeling. At one point today I was sitting around with Will waiting to go somewhere when the principal left the room. Will leans in and says, "my boss is very strict. But he is also a very kind man." He hit the nail on the head and confirmed my vibe.

Though, all I ever really knew of my Pap was the soft side, I heard stories from his time as a principal. I imagine my Pap was like this principal of mine. Someone all the teachers respect but there is the ever-present undercurrent of fear.

Pizza party at my place!

The day we got to our new homes my friends and I decided it was time we plan a reunion! Somehow, my 3 friends and I all ended up within an hour of each other. I'm in the middle. So we have decided to meet up at my apartment this weekend (hopefully I'll have one by then even though I'm supposed to move in tomorrow.)

Already, I spend an hour on the phone with them every night laughing about stupid stuff that keeps happening. I have no idea how to tell them where I live or how they can get here, but we'll deal with that hurdle when we need to.

So far I have been able to identify 3 western stores in my city. An Office Depot, a 7-11 and a Dominos Pizza. The latter being very close to my apartment. Though, just because the logo looks the same, doesn't mean the product is the same. Koreans prefer potatoes, corn, and squid as pizza toppings. Bleh. But regardless, they are all coming in for a pizza party/ sleepover this weekend.

Maybe we'll just order a cheese pizza! If they even have cheese!

No one should be surprised...

2009-01-25T12:54:00.000+11:00

For months now I've been trying to figure out where my life should go from here. I made that pretty obvious when I wasn't actually in Charlotte last summer, but had hopped a flight to Dubai without telling anyone.

Dubai confirmed to me that I needed a change, a big one. No matter where I was in the US, I never really felt like myself, but the moment I stepped off the plane in Dubai and felt the salty Arabian air hit my face, it all melted away. I was me again.

When I got back I started looking into Architecture jobs all over the world: London, Copenhagen, Sydney, Dubai (obviously)... but I wasn't really excited about the prospect of "same shit different country" ... So I decided to take a blind leap and go for change... BIG change.

The current economic crisis gives me the perfect excuse to deviate from my norm. Unlike last time, I don't have to leave a "good job" to pursue my new intrests, since I have no job in the first place!

So, without further ado.... I'm moving to KOREA. (yes, South. I'm not completely crazy and I really don't think Kim Jong Il would let me in his country anyway!) I'll be teaching English to cute little Korean kids.

And I'm moving soon. About 3 weeks to be exact.The embassy called me Wednesday and by Thursday they had Fed-ex'd my contract to me. I've been accepted into a program through the Korean government to teach in public schools. I'm not sure of the specific village/town/city yet but I do know the Province "Gyeongbuk-do" It's a pretty big province so I could be anywhere on the the East Coast to center of So.Ko. (towards the Japan side). It's all kind of relative though, Korea is only the size of Tennessee.

Needless to say, my family is kinda irked. But they aren't exactly shocked either. I have to be in Seoul by Feb. 19th. It's a 24 hour flight so I might be leaving on the 18th or 17th. I have a week or so of orientation then I'll be sent to my village/town/city.

I'm kind of freaking out. Which is an odd feeling for me, since I usually have no problem jumping into things head first. I think my jaded heart is scared because of what happened last time. I've never fully recovered from the heartbreak of coming back from Mali, I'm just terrified of what will happen to my heart if it happens again... but I have to stop thinking of that. That will just drive me nuts. It's time I shake it off and just go with an open heart and open mind and hope for the best.

I'm sorry for breaking the news to most of you this way. I've been really guarded with this secret. I didn't want to say much until I was certain I would go... I'm certain now. Unfortunately, I didn't realize I'd be leaving so soon. And again, I'm trying to avoid a big scene like last time. I want to just pack my bags and be gone. I won't do that, but it's tempting.

It's a disease...

2008-08-28T03:26:00.000+10:00

There is serious disease out there and it seems as though I'm the latest victim of this little known of affliction.

Wanderlust.

Simply put, wanderlust is a strong, innate desire to rove or an ache to travel about.

It's symptoms are similar to a drug addiction, once you've experienced Wanderlust, you can't get enough. No matter how brief, cheap or small your latest hit was, now that the taste is back on your palette, you must get another fix. You search for a way to get it. You fantasize about it, yearn for it, uproot your life for the chance to experience it just one more time.

Trying to kick your addiction and join the "real world" is almost too much to bear. The thought of never getting another taste, the realization that all your experiences could now just be part of your past.

The past tense is one of the scariest realities for a Wanderlust sufferer. Wanderers spend their lives in the future; dreaming of the places they going to go, the people that they will meet, the things they may someday experience.

My lust is too strong. I have to find a way to wander again.

Hmmmm...

2008-07-13T11:25:00.001+10:00

So, I was just rereading some old posts. I read the first one I posted on this blog. It was just about 2 years ago when I came back from Mali. The first part of that post is as follows:

No apartment
No job
No car
No plan

Well now, it seems I find myself in a similar situation, only with a few amendments:

Yes apartment ( rent $)
No job ( no $)
Yes car ( insurance $, gas $$$)
No plan

This seems to be a cyclical situation I keep getting myself into. Part of me is a little worried about it, but obviously, not that worried or I would have tried to get a new job by now. My last day of work was May 1st.

There is a little voice that I keep hearing (which could be part of a much bigger problem! haha) that keeps saying, "Just hold out a little longer... be patient and a solution will present itself." So for now. I'm just waiting. We'll see how much longer that can last!

That time of year again...

2008-07-13T11:00:00.001+10:00

Another year comes...

... another year goes...

...and a cupcake goes up in flames!

27 and 1 to grow on!

Good timing? Good Luck?

2008-06-25T13:11:00.000+10:00

Glad I quit my job on a whim and ran off to Dubai!!!

I found out today that THIS happened the day I left for Dubai.

This was the parking deck at my firm. I parked in that exact area on the second floor... every single day!

That was lucky!

This is an apology to the ladies

2008-06-03T12:16:00.000+10:00

I am not a romantic. Not even close. I never will be. I officially realized this when I went to see Sex and the City this past weekend.

I liked the movie. Just not in the same way as everyone around me. When the movie was over, it seemed like everyone was wiping the tears from their eyes, including the people I came to see the movie with. I could hear women talking as we left the theater, about how many times they cried. Not only could I not figure out what parts of the movie were tear worthy, I didn't find any part of the movie the least bit sad. It was romantic. And it makes me cringe.

Anytime a bunch of girls are watching Sex and the City there is inevitable talk of 'Which character are you?' We've all gotten the junk emails and quizzes posing this same question.

There are two answers to that question: either Carrie, the quirky romantic, or Charlotte, the hopeless romantic. No one ever answers Samantha, cuz let's face it, no one wants to be the whore. And even less common an answer is Miranda, the frumpy, bitter, anti-relationship, unromantic realist. I have recently realized, no matter how much I wish I could be a girly girl and want a fairytale ending... I don't. I'm a Miranda.

Later this weekend, my mom and I went and saw another chick flick. In this one a man gets up and starts to serenade his soon to be bride. I had to fight the urge to regurgitate my popcorn and try to keep my eyes from rolling into the back of my head as all the other patrons of the movie made a collective, "awwwww" sound.

The ironic part is that somehow I seem to be a magnet for sappy guys (the most recent one being the only exception) The poor saps don't know what they're getting themselves into. They are so proud of themselves when they bust out the poetry or break out their best cliche one-liners, only to have me laugh in their face and stomp all over their little man egos, while I grab the remote and turn on the tv as I chuckle away.

So, I'm sorry to all the ladies out their who are stuck with insensitive assholes. They were probably genuinely sweet and romantic guys at one time. Then someone like me got ahold of them and shit all over their romantic little gestures and they were never heard from again.

Oops.

Dixie chick

2007-12-16T10:16:00.000+11:00

I've been going through my photo albums looking for pictures of Dixie. I started to get upset when I realized there were no pics of her anywhere. I know there are some photos of us at my moms house, but I really wanted to find some in the scrapbooks I made of high school and college. There were none.

Then, as I started looking through the photos, even though she wasn't in them, almost every picture I looked at had a memory I associated with Dixie. For every prom, cotillion, bridesmaid, and formal photo, several hours were spent with Dixie joking around about boyfriends and prom parties and just goofing off in general. In the pictures from architecture school where I chopped all my hair off, I remember Dix being so excited I wanted to do something different and convincing me to add red highlights, even though they turned out pink.

I met Dixie when I was 13. That was 13 years ago. I grew up with Dixie as a friend. And as weird as it seems, she was always a constant. She never seemed to age. I went from little girl to adult in the past 13 years while Dixie stayed the same in my eyes. She was always young, beautiful, and fun. The same way she'll stay in my mind for eternity.

This past week, as I've been trying to come to terms with Dixie's death and the circumstances surrounding it, I've gotten some sentiments from family and friends that have been consoling...

Even though I've never been religious, my sister's Bible verse gave solace to us both: Psalm 34:18 "The lord is near to the brokenhearted And saves those who are crushed in spirit"

When talking to Ann Marie, I couldn't understand why someone who had the most caring and giving soul of anyone I've ever known could end her own life. AnnM said that for someone to be able to give so much love, empathy,and compassion to everyone else and have such a huge heart, it was that big heart that could so deeply feel hurt and pain. It was her natural nurturing that made her feel so much sorrow and grief when it wasn't returned to her.

A friend of my mom's said that Dixie died from heart problems. She had a broken heart that never got fixed.

Now there are so many of us that are brokenhearted by the loss of such a beautiful person, inside and out. I just hope that someday Luke and James know what an amazing person their mother truly was.

How Time Can Fly

2007-08-30T04:40:00.000+10:00

A year ago today, I woke up happy, in my hut, in Madina, Mali, eager to get to know my new surroundings and begin my new life. By the end of the day, I was sobbing in the back of a Peace Corps vehicle watching my new life disappear.

How quickly things can change.

How quickly a year goes by.

How quickly I forget how it felt to be there, how it smelled, how exciting it was, how exhausting it was, how difficult it was, how easy it was.

How quickly it all ended.

Mmmmm... ribs.

2007-08-23T06:55:00.000+10:00

Who knew this was even possible?

So for the past few months, I've been living with one of my upper ribs out of whack. FUN! Who doesn't like a little stabbing chest pain in their day to day life?

As I get older, freakier and freakier things keep happening. When I asked my grandma what was happening to me she replied, "you're getting old!"

Damn!

No one wants to hear that from their grandma!!!

Another year older...

2007-07-15T08:00:00.000+10:00

It was a weird birthday. I took some time off after the 4th and went to Wv to visit family and hang out with my parents.

On the morning of my birthday I went to the driving range to hit golf balls with my dad. It was a perfect day... bright and sunny, no clouds, 75 degrees and a slight breeze in the air.

My dad points to the 13th hole of the golf course and says, " you see that pond next to the green?"

"Yeah," I replied.

"I want you to spread half my ashed in that pond when I die," he said.

"Uhhhhhhhh... alright" was about all I could come up with.

After we got back to the cabin some of my mom's friends came up to visit. We spent the afternoon sitting on the mountain-side at the ski resort listening to the symphony. While we were killing time waiting for the symphony to start, my dad pulls me aside and points to one of the ski slopes.

"Do you know what slope that is up here?" he asks.

"Uh, I think so... is it the Meadows?" I answered.

"Yep... Do you see that little cluster of 3 trees at the top of it?" he said.

"Uh huh..."

"I want you to spread the other half of my ashes in between those 3 trees when I'm dead." he said.

What a weird thing to keep bringing up! At least that will be a memory that sticks with me for a while.

So, Britne... what did you do on your 26th b-day? Go out with friends? Get crazy?
Nope I sat on a mountain-side, listening to a symphony play the Indiana Jones theme song, while my dad showed me all the places he wants his ashes spread! Weird!

On an altogether different note: I've been a smitten kitten lately.

For about 2.5 months now I've been skipping around my office (and everywhere else) like a little schoolgirl... or like a damn fool, which ever you prefer.

It came to my attention the other day that in the past 2.5 months, I haven't really listened to my ipod at all during work. I use it to distract me while I'm working and I guess I've been distracted enough to not realize I wasn't listening to anything.

The other day, I decided to pull the ipod out of my purse and get some work done. I put it on the "Most frequently played" playlist. As it played all the songs I listened to the most this past winter I realized something... I was in a very dark place this winter.

That came as no surprise. I knew I was in a pretty bad funk/ depression this past year. What came as the surprise is that I'm not anymore! I didn't feel all those dreary feelings while listening to my ipod.

This spring and summer have been great so far... thanks in so small part to the new fella! So thanks, Fella... you've brightened up my year!

So, so far 26 started out weird... but I'm weird... I like weird... weird is good... I'm looking forward to more weirdness!!!

Bittersweet Bike

2007-05-02T11:52:00.000+10:00

I've been wanting to get a bike for quite some time now. I got a used one on ebay and it came in the mail today. I've been getting so pumped about riding my bike to work. When the box arrived today I dragged it down the hall and into my apartment and ripped it open.

The bike was in several pieces. Not to worry, I thought. I had the same type of bike in the Peace Corps and that one came in a million pieces and I managed to put it together. I sat on my floor, on top of the cardboard box it came in, and started to assemble my bike.

As I'm sitting there, hands covered in grease trying to remember how I attached the breaks to the front wheel 9 months ago, I thought to myself, Damn I wish Justin were here to help me do this again. Justin was a Peace Corps Volunteer in Mali. He had been there almost 2 years and was a skilled "bike guy"and they had him come to help us with the mechanics of putting these contraptions together. He helped all of us clueless people put our bikes together and was very helpful.

Then I had a sad realization; Justin died 8 months ago. Just a few days after I came home from Mali. I barely knew Justin. The few hours he spent helping me with my bike was our only encounter. It didn't keep me from getting pretty bummed today. Most of my memories of Mali are bittersweet, happiness mixed with sadness. And now, as I struggle to rebuild my bike, I find myself grieving for someone I barely knew and it makes me miss my PC friends more than ever. Some are coming back to the States to visit this summer though... and I can't wait!

The Real Charlotte's Web

2007-05-01T13:14:00.000+10:00

In general, bugs don’t bother me. They annoy me but I’m not afraid of them, worst case scenario, I will jerk my hand or foot back quickly if I think one is crawling on me.

In Mali, I had 5-10 large African cockroaches crawling in my hut every night. I ignored them for the most part. Now that I’m living in Charlotte I have a, more or less, roach free existence. It’s beginning to be bug season now and I live in a 120 year old, load bearing masonry building (meaning lots of cracks and crevasses for critters to get in).

So, I didn’t find it too shocking to see a cockroach crawling up the wall in my bedroom the other night. They might not bother me, but I’m not in Africa anymore so I don’t really want them crawling around me while I sleep. I went to do what most of us do when we see a big bug; I tried to whack it with a shoe. Unfortunately, he saw me coming and scurried up the wall. Damn! It was at this very moment that I realized the pitfalls of having 16 foot ceilings… they inhibit proper bug whacking. I’m a towering 5’ tall and have maybe an additional 12” when my arm is extended and this little bugger was high tailing it up my gigantic wall, far out of my reach.

My bedroom is practically one giant window. The window itself is about 8’ wide and 12’ high. The window is located on an exposed brick wall. At some point in the past 120 years the brick had been painted and had recently been sandblasted so some red brick is exposed through the off-white paint. This irregular coloring made it extremely difficult to find the roach when he wasn’t moving. The window starts a few feet off the floor and goes just about to the wooden ceiling. Right where the wall and ceiling intersect there is a hole. A brick is missing and just a dark void remains. My little roach buddy was taking his time making his way to this cockroach haven.

I rolled my bed (the frame has wheels and I have concrete floors… lots of fun when you are bored and like to bed-surf… right Jessie?) to the other side of the room and jumped up with my shoe and swatted again. Still out of reach. I ran into the living room and grabbed a chair and threw it on the bed and climbed up… Damn, still not tall enough! My little buddy was getting higher up the wall. I remembered the weird xmas present my mom gave me; a bucket of dishtowels, chewing gum and roach spray. (I don’t know why… weird gift giving is genetic in my family. I’m looking forward to doing it myself and am well on my way actually)

I grabbed the spray and climbed on my rickety tower and sprayed up the wall. Still not enough!! Damn, damn, damn!!! He was almost to the hole. Defeated, I put the chair away and scooted my bed back to its original position. I stood there, feeling very small and thinking that my sleep would be haunted by the creepy crawly feeling of a cockroach crawling around me. I looked up at the window and watched as my roach nemesis crawled into the dark hole. Right before I turned to walk away, the roach came running out of the hole. He was booking it as fast as he could. As I watched with puzzlement a HUGE spider came running out of the hole after the cockroach. The roach was trapped. The spider was behind him and a 12’ freefall was in front. He chose to jump. He landed directly at my feet and I was waiting with my roach spray. He’s dead now. I watched as the spider slowly crawled backwards into the hole. Thanks Spidey!!! Too bad though… he’s dead now too.

Ode to Africa...(bug bite, fattening footwear, mosh pits and more!)

2007-01-21T13:08:00.000+11:00

Bug bites: Now that I've been home over 4 months (damn time flies) you'd think that all the bug bites I accumulated while in Africa would be gone... but oh no... not mine! Luckily all my bug bites are in, Ahem, unseen areas. Because at some point, in my sleep-deprived, malnourished, mephloquine haze logic, I thought that because my skirts were mid-calf length, that's as far up as I needed to spray with bugspray. I mean, how on earth would a flying insect be able to breach the fortress that is my long flowy skirt!? Well, with skin as sensitive as mine, maybe it was a good thing that I didn't experiment with what would happen if I sprayed a concentrated amount of Deet in the general direction of my...

Speaking of sensitive skin, my henna scar is almost gone. My "angry scar" so accurately referred to by Michele, has lost it's puffiness and the redness is almost completely gone. Most of the time you can't see it at all. Except for when I'm hot. If I'm on the treadmill, in a hot shower (ahhh), or even shakin' it on a dance floor, it comes back in all it's angry glory!! It's a very odd phenomenon! The PC gave me the paperwork to have doctor look at/treat it. But I'm not going to use it... I like my scar! Whenever my blood gets pumping I get a funky little reminder of Mali and I like it... now if I could just get the hair on my arm to fade back to blonde.

Bars: In Sanankoroba, my homestay village of about 7000 people, my fellow homestay volunteers and I were pretty much busy all day, everyday except Sunday afternoons. That was "study time" aka hang out, speak English, and do anything but study time. There wasn't much to do in S'town but there was one bar. And by bar I mean a large concrete building with a few chairs and a guy who sold alcohol. Hey, We didn't care, it was alcohol for god's sake! Mali is a predominantly Muslim country so alcohol was pretty hard to find. The neighboring homestay villages quickly heard of our little oasis and would bike in on Sunday afternoons and hang out as long as possible.

I loved our time at the bar. We would all just sit around and play cards, compare intestinal parasite horror stories, take turns fanning each other so we could pretend we were in air conditioning, drink really terrible beer, or the worst wine you've ever had. I usually went for the wine. For 700 CFA ($1.40) you could get a 40 oz(ish) warm Kastel beer or an entire bottle of wine. The thrifty girl that I am always went for the wine... and that stuff was like moonshine. I would usually split a bottle with someone and that was enough to make the bike ride home a little more adventurous than it already was.

My FAVORITE memory of the bar came on my third visit or so. I knew there was something odd about this bar the first time we went but everything in Mali was so new and so different that I didn't really pay much attention. They had murals painted on the inside walls. Not many places were painted so I actually thought it was nice to have some scenery. The paintings were of Malian women in non-traditional Malian clothes. The clothes were almost American looking which I thought was kind of cool... just shorts and and tank top, stuff we are used to wearing. Then the next time I was there a Malian woman was at the bar. Now it is pretty taboo for women to be seen in such places, hell, in a Muslim country it's taboo for men to be in a bar. We could sort of get away with it because everyone knew we were foreign and non-Muslim. This woman was... well... kinda scary. For a Malian woman, she was very unkempt. Her hair was big and frizzy and she was wearing shorts and a tank top and just hanging around inside. I thought, "well that's pretty uncommon, but whatever... where's my wine?" It wasn't until the next time when I was chasing around the bar's unofficial mascot (a little gray kitten) that I noticed the big sign painted on the wall in the hallway. The sign had a big arrow pointing down the hall and next to it was the word "Chambre" Now anyone who has taken French knows that chambre is the word for Bedroom. Now the wheels start turning!! Huh, risque images of women painted on the walls, scary women wandering around, a sign pointing to the "chambre", and what kind of place serves alcohol in a strict Muslim country anyway?!? Holy crap!!! This place is a BROTHEL!!!!

Now, do you think that stopped any of us from going? Not a chance in hell! What a beautiful memory to take away from the whole experience... Me and my new friends bonding over moonshine on Sunday afternoons at the brothel!!!! Man, I wonder what the villagers thought?... "Damn, there go those 30 peace corps kids off to the whore house again!" Classic!

Bikes: The day my bike showed up to my homestay village was one of the most exciting moments of my whole trip. It sounds stupid but I was jumping around like a maniac when that van rolled up with my shiny blue Trek (that we all built ourselves!) on top. It was a 30 minute walk from my family's house to our school every day. Now, it wasn't uphill nor was it in the snow but it was down a dusty highway in the hot African sun and you never knew what you were going to run into (literally... bull.) Those first few days were tough. Especially when we only got 2 hours for lunch. It sounds like a lot but it was 30 minutes each way, then a good 15 minutes trying to get myself to stop sweating, 15 minutes to eat, then another 30 trying to remember how to say, "Uhhh, N be taa lakoli la... Kan ben wula fe." (Uhhh, I'm going to school now... see you this evening)

The good thing about those first few bikeless days was it gave me a lot of time to get to know Amanda. She was the second person I met in the Philly airport, she ended up being my roommate at Tubaniso, and my closest neighbor at my homestay village. Amanda was my best friend. I knew Amanda was my best PC friend the day we filled out our emergency action plans. We had to draw maps of how to get to our huts, locate where a helicopter could land if need be and all kinds of other safety stuff. There was one line on the bottom of the paper that basically said... If someone in your immediate family dies and we have to show up at your hut to tell you, do you want someone in particular to be there and if so whom do you want to come? Well I put down Amanda and didn't even say anything to her about it. When it was time to turn in our paperwork I handed mine to Amanda to turn in for me. She looked at my paper and said, "you put me down?" then held up her paper, "I put you down!!" I have to admit, I got a little vaklempt. I was touched.

Amanda and I would walk to school together. It was so fun. Neither Amanda or I spoke a lick of French and we hadn't had much Bambara training yet but we knew what people were shouting at us on our walks to school. Actually people weren't shouting, little kids were. It was so cute!! They would come running as fast as they could when they saw us and they'd start shouting, "Tubabou Tubabou" which means white person or foreigner. Then you would hear these little squeaky voices shouting "Bonjou Bonjou Bonjou" and their little arms would be waving just as hard as they could!! The cutest part was that no matter what country or continent you live on or what language you speak, no little kid can pronounce that "R" sound. I can still hear those little high pitched "Bonjous" in my mind. Those kids would get so excited if you would wave back to them or touched their hand when they reached out for yours.

The day our bikes arrived was like Christmas!! Our teachers didn't bother trying to make us pay attention they just let us go nuts! All 9 of us in my homestay village hopped on our bikes and tore that school yard up! My commute was cut down to just 10 minutes each way and there was some resemblance of a breeze if you went fast enough! The weird part was, there were no "Bonjous" that day on our way home. Those same kids who were usually so excited to see us were hiding behind their mothers and standing as still as statues hoping we wouldn't notice them. "What the hell is going on?" I thought. Then we realized, of course they are afraid of us, we might as well have rode home on a spaceship, that wouldn't have been any more frightening to them. Sure, they have bikes in Mali, but old rusty beat up bikes not the matching bright blue shiny bikes like we were riding. And the helmet... oh the helmet. No one wears helmets in Mali except for Peace Corps volunteers because if we don't we will get sent home. What a sight I must have been with my clumsily large helmet and blue bike, with a cargo rack attached, and my black flowy skirt swishing back and forth to the rhythm of my constant peddling. I noticed that when I was riding around I would start humming, " Dun dun dun da da da Dun dun dun da da da" I felt like the freaking wicked witch!! Maybe that's why, on that first day with my bike, instead of being chased by little kids holding out their hands I was chased by a little boy with a big stick!!!!! It kinda freaked me out! Luckily all the kids were used to us in a day or two and the overall excitement of our presence resumed. Unfortunately all those little kids soon learned my name, Awa Samake', and they would chase me while shouting "Awa Awa Awa Awa Awa Awa Awa Awa Awa..." I have to admit... after a few weeks of the constant Awas... my own name was starting to sound like fingernails on a chalkboard.

And yes, I did consider Awa to be my own name. The "Br" sound just isn't found in Bambara and it was just impossible for any of them to say. So I was Awa, meaning "Eve". At first I loved the name but after a while it really started to annoy me, which a lot of other volunteers were feeling as well. Not only did our host families and neighborhood children call us by our Malian names, but so did our teachers and eventually fellow Peace Corps friends. It was more than once or twice that you'd say something like, "Hey um, um, ... damn, Fadiby what's your American name? Oh, that's right... hey Kyle, can I borrow a pencil?" Only one of my teachers knew my American name. That's probably only because he, Moussa, was pretty young and pretty in tune with American pop-culture and was familiar with the pronunciation of my name. Oh, but don't get me started on Moussa.... I can gush about him all day!!! Just think Taye Diggs, but well educated and multi-lingual!!! And well dressed! How Moussa was able to keep his white button down shirts so clean and crisp I'll never know! By the end of the day I was always covered in dirt! Maybe that's why my Malian family would say "I ko... I ko..." to me all the time. That meant "Go wash... Go wash!"

When we first arrived, the volunteers that had been in country for a while told us that we were going to feel like one of two things in Mali.... a Leper or a Rockstar. It didn't take long to understand that feeling. Everywhere you went people would point, stare, yell, laugh, ask for things, give you things, touch you, etc... I started to get freaked out when people I didn't know would shout "Awa Samake" and wave as I walked down the highway. I had no recollection of meeting these people but obviously they knew me. We were always being watched. You definitely are living in a fish bowl as a PCV in Mali and probably as a PCV anywhere in the world. One afternoon I was waiting for Amanda at the crossroads between our homes. There was a small dilapidated mud-brick wall under a tree near where I was supposed to meet her so I jumped at the chance to sit in the shade. As I waited I saw a familiar Tubab on an even more familiar blue bike, it was Aaron, a volunteer from Tamala, the closest homestay village to mine. Aaron got off his bike and sat down next to me. We started up the normal Peace Corps conversation, "So has food gotten any better at your place?"... "Ooh, check out this bug bite. What do you think it is?"... "What color is your poop today? Really, mine is a lovely shade of.... " As we carried on our conversation we noticed a little boy hiding behind a tree watching us. We ignored him. Then some friends of his showed up, they also hid behind the tree. Then a few more showed up and they grew more courageous as a group and came out from behind the tree. Neither Aaron nor I really even noticed. Then Aaron stopped and said, "Whoa, check it out... 1,2,3,.....9" There were 9 little kids sitting next to us on that same mud-brick wall. At home, that would have really annoyed me but in Mali it just became normal. There was always a group of people around you at all times, no matter what.

I decided If I had to choose, I didn't want to be the Leper. I wanted to be the Rockstar. So that's how I decided to deal with it. When those kids would chase me on my bike shouting "Awa Awa Awa..."I would just hold out my hand and touch as many of their outstretched little hands as I could, like I was reaching into the crowd from my stage... Unfortunately there was always one kid (usually the same one) who would grab my hand and not let go and he usually got dragged through the dirt behind my bike for 10-20 feet while I tried to undo his vice-like grip... but that was his fault, not mine (he annoyed me anyway.) As much fun as it was to be Awa the albino rockstar, I genuinely started to miss Britne. I know it sounds ridiculous but in that environment, where you've changed your looks, clothing, eating habits, bathing habits, transportation, language, culture, friends, family, pretty much everything... the one thing you do have is your name. And when that too is changed you start to go through a little bit of an identity crisis. The only time I got to be Britne was at Tubaniso (the PC training center) and our time there was brief. Although, now that I have Britne back, I'm really starting to miss Awa, especially since I know I'll probably never get to be her again.

Holy Shit Moments: For the most part, once I was in Mali, I was so busy that I didn't have the time to step back and look around and really process the things around me. But every now and then, for a fleeting moment there was overwhelming sense of "Holy Shit, I'm smack in the middle of Africa!" and I meant that in the best way possible. We'd go on bike rides through the bush to visit other Peace Corps friends. We'd stop to rest and as a group we'd have a collective "holy shit" moment. Laying outside at night staring up at the sky and seeing more stars than you ever knew existed usually sparked "holy shit" moments.

For me, the moments seemed to happen most often when at Tubaniso. The Peace Corps is pretty hardcore when it comes to rules. We all knew they were for our own good, but that didn't mean we were going to abide by them. The main rule at Tubaniso was don't go outside the compound to the main road after dark since it was the main road between Mali and Guinea and drivers rarely use headlights so it was very dangerous. On our second visit to Tubaniso we found out there was another "bar" close by. Now this one wasn't a brothel, it was just a guy who owned a fridge. And inside that fridge was a glorious golden beverage we like to call beer! So, of course, as soon as all the big wigs had gone to sleep we set out for the bar. We usually headed out in groups of 5 or 10 at a time. Usually one person would remember to bring a flashlight. So there we were, 10 eager Tubabs wandering down a dusty road, over a rickety bridge, with no lights except for one or two flashlight bulbs (and I mean NO light! Just the moon and stars illuminated the way) tripping over every speed bump and twisting your ankle in every pothole on our 20 minute hike to our favorite stomping ground. Besides the sound of small talk amongst the group, there wasn't much noise other than crickets and frogs. It was then, under a canopy of stars and a cacophony of crickets you'd see a palm tree. Big deal? Well, for some reason it was. You'd pass a palm tree in Mali every now and then but when you did see one, it was always perfect; perfectly straight, a full umbrella of palms that were perfectly spaced and the richest shade of green. They reminded me of big green 4th of July fireworks (on a stick.) Everytime I passed that palm tree on the way to the bar it got me all warm and tingly inside and then I'd always have a "holy shit" moment. Sometimes someone in the group would even verbalize it. Unfortunately, my last time at the bar we all got busted by Bokar. Bokar is one of the big wigs and he sounds about like a Malian Elmer Fudd. Bokar rolls up wearing a wife beater, while about 40 of us are sitting in fridge guy's front yard drinking and proceeds to lecture us.... "Twaineeees, it is faaww to late to be heeewe!" With a speech impediment that cute how can you get mad at him?

Peace Corps Time Travel: Who needs to invent a Flux Capacitor to travel through time when you can just join the Peace Corps? In the PC, you get to go back in time in two ways: 1) age 2) time period.

1) Age. Being in Mali was so much fun! I got to be 15 years old all over again. You hear it on almost a daily basis, "I wish I could be in high school again..." "if I could do it over again, I would" etc. Well that's exactly what you get to do in the Peace Corps. You have to follow STRICT rules. What you can/can't wear, can/can't possess, who you can't be seen with, what vehicles you can't ride in, where you can/can't go, when you have to check in, and a whole bucket full of others. Also, you have to go to school all day, everyday for the first 2 months. Except this time, you like the teachers and like learning and there are no grades and only one test and 2 chances to pass. (That was the language test... and what a frightening experience that was! The first time it was in a grass hut, with a stranger who had nothing but a chair and a tape recorder. You sat down, he pushed record and started grilling you with questions in (insert random language here). I totally felt like I was being interrogated!)

All you want to do all day is hang out with your friends, and if you get free time, you have to ride your bike over to their house/hut/whatever. We had to sneak around to drink alcohol and give money to our guy friends to buy us cigarettes (because only women who are prostitutes smoke there) Then we would hide behind the school house to smoke them and if anyone walked up, we'd drop the cigarettes behind our backs and try to play off the smoke that was coming out our noses!!! We had families who cooked and cleaned for us and always wanted to know where you were going or where you had been. There were no bills, no 9-5, none of that stuff. It was just like being in high school. And this time, I loved it!

2) Time period. At first, everything in Mali seemed so foreign but then I realized that Malian culture wasn't all that different from ours, it's just like American culture.... just 100 years ago. There is no plumbing or electricity. If you needed to "go" you went to the communal nyegen, which was a hole in the ground the size of a coffee can, in an open air space, with no roof, surrounded by 3 1/2 shoulder height (on me) walls ( 1/2 because you had to get in somewhere.) If you wanted to wash your hands, or anything else for that matter, you had to draw water up from a well or walk to the community pump (if they had one) and haul it back (on you head) in a bucket. To cook, you used a pot on a fire. To clean, you used a bucket, a washboard, home made soap (Fight Club style), and hung them anywhere you could to dry.

If you wanted to read at night or just see anything at night, you had to use a lantern. I did have a shake flashlight and a crank flashlight/radio combo. Listening to the BBC was my only way I kept my sanity at night during my homestay. I was all alone in the pitch black room, on the worlds most uncomfortable bed (a twin sized metal frame with a 1" piece of foam as a mattress), with cockroaches all over the walls, sweating my butt off inside my oh so tightly tucked in 'skeeter net. The juice in my crank radio didn't last long. But not to worry, I had a solution. I would sit on my bed, my right hand fanning myself with my fifalan (straw fan) while I held the radio with my feet and cranked it with my left hand. It was a lot of work and took some serious coordination but it was well worth it to hear English!

When you needed to buy something, you went to a Butiki (Boutique in French) which can only be compared to a general store that you see in old westerns. They sold matches, lanterns, rice, millet, roach killer (whoo hoo), superglue (???), and a handful of other necessities that you pointed to and the guy behind the counter would get for you. You bought food from a market. If you wanted to eat chicken or goat, you had to go kill one. You bought fabric that you then took to a taylor to make clothes. Families and friends would sit outside and drink tea (loaded with sugar... hell yeah!) and talk all day. If you needed to go somewhere you didn't have a car so you would walk, ride a bike, a horse (a camel in the north), or even ride on the back of a donkey cart.

Kids went to school in small masonry school houses. They sat at little wooden desks on little wooden benches. Nothing was computer generated. Anything hanging on the walls was drawn by hand. There were shutters on the windows but no glass. Kids had the summers off of school for the same reason American children originally got summers off, to help tend to the fields with their families. Everyday, when I went to school in Sanankoroba, I would go inside and look around the classroom. I could always invision my grandpa as a little boy sitting in a school house just like that one. When I was hunched over, scrubbing my laundry in a bucket, I pictured my great-grandmas doing laundry the same way. When my friends and I would stay after class and play cards on the school steps, I could see my grandma and her friends doing the same thing.

People ask you all the time why you wanted to join the Peace Corps. Volunteers give a variety of different answers but a common one that they want to get in touch with their roots. A lot of 1st generation Americans give that answer. Maybe their parents were from West Africa and they wanted to experience that culture. The LAST thing on my list of why I wanted to go to Africa was to get in touch with my roots. My roots are obvioulsy no where near Africa but that is exactly what happened. I felt like I learned more about where I came from by being in Mali than I ever have by living my life here. Ironic, isn't it?

Fattening Footwear: Meat became my enemy. Pretty much the only thing I ate in Mali was rice. I was lucky, a lot of people ate mostly millet porage called Toh. My brother Shek and I always ate together and always ate from the same bowl (right hand only!) The rice always had a sauce. My favorite was Tigedagana (peanut sause) and then there were the not so good ones, dried fish sauce, some green leaf sauce... etc. Every now and then you got a chunk of okra or tomato mixed in as well. And once in a while you got some "meat". At first, I was thrilled to see meat! I would have done anything for some protein. At first, I would also ask what it was. "Is this chicken? Fish? Beef?" I always go the same answer. "It's meat." I took that as "It's goat."

The meat novelty wore off quickly. Malians don't eat meat for the taste, they eat it for the fat content. In a country where so many are starving, the bigger and fatter you are, the better. So, the fattier the food you eat, the fatter you will become. So the best cuts of meat to them were the fattiest, most grissley, non-edible pieces. Not only that, but they didn't bother to remove bones from the meat. There's nothing like sticking a big piece of fatty goat in your mouth and then pulling out a neck bone. Mmmm mmm good!

I finally learned to just eat around the meat. When Shek wasn't looking, I would knock a piece of meat to his side of the bowl and he would eat it. Shek was a smart guy. He knew what I was doing and he didn't care, more meat for him! One night while eating dinner (it was pitch black outside when eating dinner so you had to use the moonlight to see your food) I picked up what I though was a potato out of the bowl and popped it in my mouth. Uhg!! Not a potato!! It was a gnarly piece of meat. I chewed and chewed but it was all grissle and it wasn't going anywhere. After several minutes of this my gag reflex started to kick in and I knew I had to get rid of this stuff! Swallowing it wasn't an option, it just wasn't going down. You woudln't dare try to put it back in the bowl. All the animals that usually annoyed me while eating were no where to be found and I didn't have the heart to throw it on the ground.

My host family treated me like royalty. The Peace Corps gave them a few dollars a day to feed us and also to upgrade the meals for the entire family. Even though I had a hard time eating what they served me, I knew that it was a real honor to be given this kind of food. Besides me and Shek, no one else in the family was eating this way. I didn't have the heart to throw that meat on the ground since their own children really needed to be eating it and here I was, just tossing it aside. There are no paper products in Mali.... at all, so just tucking it inside a napkin was out of the question. Then I thought of a story my dad had told me about when he was growing up. My dad hates beets, always has, always will. When he was little his grandma would force him to eat them so he would slip them into his pockets so they would think he ate them. Unfortunately they turned his pants purple and he got caught. Ah ha! An brilliant idea. I'll just shove this meat in my pocket and the problem will be solved. Oh, shit... I'm not wearing pockets. Hmmmm.... well then, I'll just fold it into the bottom of my shirt and tuck it in a little so it doesn't fall out. So that's what I did. A big slimey hunk of fatty goat meat saturating my tshirt with goat stench. And, I couldn't just get up and leave since my routine was to hang out a while and sit with the family. If I got up right away they would think something was wrong and follow me to find out and I'd surely get caught. So there I sat for the next hour and a half with the goat meat tucked into my shirt, and of course the dog and cat showed up and kept sniffing me! Finally I was able to get up and leave and chucked the piece of goat into the dog's pin on my way back to my room. Unfortunately I couldn't do laundry for a few more days so my only pajama shirt wreaked of goat for several nights!

This same situation happened again when I was on my site visit (only hours before I left) and this time I decided not to stick the large hunk of sheep fat (that was the best meat my village could afford and sheep is FAR worse than goat) in my shirt. This time I decided that the only place I could put it was my shoes! I was wearing my chacos (sandles) so I tore the large hunk of fat in half with my teeth and slipped equal parts under each one of my heels... and kept it there for over an hour until we left to go back to my hut. And again I was followed by every animal within a 10 hut radius. But what a bittersweet memory it turned out to be, I will never forget the feeling of sheep fat squishing under my heals as I walked home on my last real night in Africa.

Coming Home: Leaving Mali turned out to be almost as much as an adventure as being there. Once the decision had been made, I was put on a bus from Bougouni to Bamako (a 3 hour drive) at around 7pm right before it started to rain. The bus back was probably the most horrible part of my entire trip. When I was leaving for my site visit, only days before, I was put on a similar bus. It was a charter-type bus, which I was thrilled about. Normal transportation is on these broken down rickety little vans. So when I saw this larger bus with real seats and a/c (god forbid they ever actually use it) I was so excited.

Then there was the trip down to Bougouni. These busses go barreling down the road at god knows what speed while the driver slaloms around the potholes. Potholes are a whole different species over in Mali. By comparison, if they have potholes, we have shot-glass holes. Not only was the bus violently swerving from side to side, but also swaying from side to side since the driver had mistaken the bus for a sports car, and if another vehicle happens to be coming towards you, well, you’re plain shit out of luck, because then it’s just a game of chicken. Just hope you are in the bigger bus (for this exact reason the P.C. had warned us to never sit in the front of a bus) Sometimes there were so many potholes, or one was just so freakishly big, that the entire road was impassable, so the driver would just ride on the sloped shoulder of the road, never bothering to slow down.

I was just thankful the trip was only 3 hours. I tried to relax but I had a vice-like death grip on the handle in front of my seat. My language professor kept trying to talk to me but all I could do was stare out the window. Why I kept staring wasn’t very logical, and I knew that at the time, but it made me feel more secure. I thought as long as I saw it coming (what was surely my eminent death) that maybe I’d be able to brace myself just in time to not die. Not likely. I kept looking at some of my Peace Corps friends that were on the bus and they looked equally as freaked as I was. I eventually chilled out a little once I used my airplane trick: Whenever I’m on a flight that is really turbulent, I just watch the flight attendants, and they are as cool as a cucumber. They never miss a beat or bat an eyelash; they just keep on getting coffee and telling you to get your bag out of the aisle. Observing their poise always gives me a sense of calm. I used the same calming technique on the bus. I was freaked out, the other first-timers were freaked, but the Malians were just going on about their business; eating a snack, feeding their baby or just carrying on conversations. Once it was over I was glad I had (what I thought was) a week before I had to do that again.

So three days later there I was, back in Bougouni, on my way to Bamako, at dusk, during the rainy season. The P.C. has a rule: under no circumstance are you allowed in a vehicle after dark. Drivers rarely use headlights and the roads are dangerous enough in broad daylight so they are very strict with that rule, unless you are leaving, then it’s “eh, just risk it… here’s your ticket.” We were maybe 10 feet down the road before we stopped to pray. Yep, the bus stops and almost everyone gets off to pray, it was pretty cool actually. Then we were finally off. There was a storm cloud looming over us and as I sat there I kept muttering, “please don’t rain, please don’t rain, please don’t rain…” then there was a “plop… drip, drip, plop, splat, splat, splat…. Whoosh!” It started to downpour. Now, I love the 80’s song “Africa” by Toto, I actually listened to it a lot while I was there, but at that very moment, I was not “bless(ing) the rains down in Af-ri-caaaa,” I was curing them! I assumed my position: death grip on the handle, actually white knuckling it (baring down so hard that I didn’t realize until later that I was clenching my jaw and ended up with the worst headache of my life), forehead planted on the widow for a better view, and gazed fixed firmly on the road ahead. I was so obsessed with watching the road that I didn’t even pay much attention to the fact that my skirt was drenched even though there were no windows open. It was somehow raining just as hard inside the bus as it was outside.

A few hours later I noticed something familiar, Sanankoroba, my homestay village. I saw the phone cabine’ my host family owned and the road to my family’s house and I said goodbye as they passed. I was sad to see them go by but it was pretty much the only thing I actually got to say goodbye to. After we passed S’town there was a sense of relief. I had gone back and forth from there to Bamako a few times and was somewhat familiar with the road ahead and knew it was in pretty good condition. About 15 minutes later, as I peered at the road up ahead, I saw a blur dart out in front of us. As the bus swerved violently to miss it, the driver lost control and we went skidding down the road. Luckily, the driver regained control of the bus and kept on going. Once we were headed in the right direction again, I looked down and realized something; I had let go. I wasn’t holding on to the handle anymore. As soon as I saw the blur in front of us, I had dropped my hands and head and actually remember thinking, “Well, it over.” I felt a brief sense of calm after that. Then I looked around the bus at the other passengers, they were up in the aisles, standing in their seats, shouting, shaking their heads back and forth… they were freaked out! Then I joined them. All I could think of from then on was, “get me off this bus… Get Me Off This Bus…GET ME OFF THIS BUS!!!”

I soon reached Bamako and after a short, slightly less freaky taxi ride to the P.C. bureau, a chauffer arrived to take me back to Tubaniso for the night. It was past midnight when I arrived and I walked straight to my hut and went to sleep, I didn’t care what the protocol was. I started to get really upset at the realization of the consequences of my decision; it’s over. It was a fleeting moment of sadness because I knew there was nothing I could do about it now, what was done was done, and I was just thrilled to be safe at Tubaniso, off that god forsaken bus and in my Peace Corps built hut with it’s metal door and lock. I flipped on the ceiling fan (Tubaniso actually had electricity) and crawled under my mosquito net for the last time and even though my head was throbbing, I got the first night (and last) of sound sleep since I had arrived 5 weeks earlier.

The next morning I awoke to a man banging on the door, telling me to pack my bags and meet him at the réfectoire. I scribbled a note to my roommates wishing them luck with their two years and unloaded everything I could onto their beds that would be pointless for me to bring back to the US (peanut butter, kitchen knives, playing cards, etc) I walked down to the réfectoire and nibbled on some bread and when the chauffer arrived we threw my bags in the van and we were off. Usually, when you leave, it takes a day or two of paperwork and quite a while to find a flight; except in my case. There just happened to be a flight leaving Bamako the morning after I made my decision so I was rushed through the whole medical and legal process. “Here, pee in this, poop in this, give us some blood and sign here…. Good Luck!” Due to the 10 vaccines, giardia, and my henna allergy, I had become very friendly with the Peace Corps doctor and nurse, Dr. Dawn and Assita, so seeing their sad faces and saying goodbye so soon was pretty rough.

Not long after the medical was over, I was taken to the airport to catch my flight to Dakar. Lucky for me, I had a 9-hour layover after my first flight, and even luckier that the first flight was 8.5 hours late. While trying to get on my flight in Bamako I learned a few things about third-world air travel: lines mean nothing, money will get you everywhere, and it can only be compared to that of a mosh-pit, if you want to get through you just have to push and shove and muscle your way to the front. (Not to mention that the airport in Bamako completely ran out of gas just a few days before I left… the entire airport!) By the time I finally boarded the plane it was nighttime and had started raining again. It was about a 2-hour flight on Senegal-Air to Dakar. As we were approaching the airport I looked out the window and saw a big storm cloud hovering right over the airport. I don’t know what it looked like from the ground, but from the air you could see lightning flashing every few seconds. It was already 2:30 am, with a slippery runway, and now a storm cloud flashing lightning all around me, I was terrified. The only thing I had to occupy my mind was the airplane safety pamphlet, which I read about 12 times, it seemed like an appropriate time anyway. We bumped around in the sky and circled Dakar for half an hour waiting for the storm to pass before we finally landed.

Trying to catch my connecting flight to JFK, I made a mad dash through customs in Dakar and was standing there looking a little dumbfounded trying to figure out where to go when a man looked at me and said (in English), “Did you come from Bamako?”
“Yeah,” I replied.
“Are you going to New York?” he then asked.
“Yeah!” I said enthusiastically. Thank god, the Peace Corps in Senegal had someone come here to help me. I, so naively, thought. The man gestures outside and I follow him. He runs outside into the parking lot, with me in hot pursuit, in one building then out another, then under a barricade then back out, then through the crowd of people outside then back inside.
“Go in here…. No, no, go in there, no, try in here…” This couldn’t be right, I thought.
I stopped him and said, “What are you doing? I need to be over there,” pointing to the check-in counter. He then grabs me by the shoulders and turns me around and points inside the airport to a security checkpoint that said “Police Formality.” In West Africa the Police are known for their corruption and will shake you down if you look like an easy target.
The man then says to me, “Do you have Senegalese money?”
“What is Senegalese money?” I asked.
“The CFA,” he replied
“Yeah, I have CFA, why?”
“You have to give my friend 15,000 CFA ($30) or you won’t be able to get through that line,” he said.
“I don’t have to give you anything. You aren’t getting any money out of me,” I snapped.
“You don’t understand,” he snapped back, “you can’t go unless you pay.”
“Do you understand this, FUCK OFF?!” I snapped as I jerked his hand off my shoulder and stopped away. I then turned around and said with a smile, “Nice try though.” He smiled back. West Africans are even nice people when they are trying to rip you off!

Frustrated and running even later now, I ran to the check in at the counter for my next flight on South African Airways. Oh thank God! A second-world airline this time, unlike the rickety old Senegal-Air plane I had just been on. I told the lady, ”I need to catch my plane to New York.”
She said, “you are too late, the door has been shut.”
“Has the plane left yet?” I asked,
She said, “no, but the door is shut so you can’t get on.”
I told her, “Well, then just open the door and let me on.”
She obviously said, “no.”
This went on for several minutes before I finally gave up. “Well, when is your next flight to JFK?” I said in a tone of desperation.
“Tomorrow night” she answered.
“Tomorrow? Oh hell no. I’m not staying here any longer. I’m not going back out into that parking lot full of vultures just waiting to rip me off. When is the next flight to America, I don’t care if it’s JFK, just anywhere in the US?”
“Tomorrow night,” she said to me in a snotty tone.
Grrrrr. I was getting pissed at this point. I waved bye-bye to my Peace Corps personality the second I stepped on that plane in Bamako. From there on out, I was in “Get Me The Hell Out Of Here” mode.
To add to my growing frustration, the ticketing agent then said, “It doesn’t matter when the next plane is. You were late, so it’s your problem, not ours.”
“My flight was 8 and a half hours late,” I protested.
“Well, you weren’t on our flight, you were on Senegal-Air, so take it up with them,” she said.
I could feel myself starting to lose it. It was now 3:30 am Thursday morning. I hadn’t bathed since Monday evening or had a real meal since that same time, a meal that consisted of a few chunks of oily potato and me stuffing sheep fat in my sandals. I took my concerns over to the Senegal-Air booth and got the run around from them and finally came back to South Africa Airlines.
I started all over again, “You need to let me on that plane.”
“I already told you,” the ticket agent snapped, “you weren’t on our airline so there is nothing we can do about it.”
“Don’t give me that crap,” I said angrily, “South Africa Airlines owns Senegal-Air so I know you can actually do something about it.” (It pays to read all those in-flight pamphlets on the plane!)

The woman shot me a look that could kill and rolled her eyes at me as she huffed, “Well, even so, I don’t have the authority to do anything so you’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”

“Well then, point to someone who actually has more authority than you do,” I said. She pointed to a man behind me and I marched over to him and demanded that he fix the situation. About an hour and a half had passed by this point and the plane still had not left and until that plane took off, I wasn’t going to give up. I got the same answers from this guy as the previous few people I had talked to, except I had thrown every shred of politeness out the window, and as ashamed as I am to admit, I was getting pretty loud and obnoxious. I eventually came to the realization that these people weren’t getting me anywhere, so I had to think of something else. But what else can you do in this situation?

I had an idea; I’d just get on the plane without a ticket. I mean, it’s a third-world country for god sake, how organized can they be? I was obviously on the brink of deliriousness at this point but it seemed like a logical idea at the time. I marched up to the “Police Formality” booth and was asked for my boarding pass. Instead, I slid my passport to the officer as I forced a smile and batted my exotic blue eyes (exotic in West Africa anyway). The officer handed my passport back to me and waved me through. Ha! 15,000 CFA my ass! I ran through the security line and threw my purse onto the x-ray machine. As I scurried through the metal detector I was asked for my boarding pass and just like before, I handed over my passport and batted my tried-and-true baby blues. They waved me through. Holy shit, this was actually working! I got to the gate (one of two in Dakar’s airport) and handed the woman my passport.
“I need to see a boarding pass,” she said.
I rummaged through my purse and pulled out some sort of receipt from my last flight that looked like a boarding pass and handed it to the woman.
“This is not a boarding pass,” she said.
“So?” I said matter-of-factly.

She motioned over to a guard and I was escorted back to the ticketing area. Damn, so close! Now, I was back where I had started and even more pissed off than ever. I marched back over to the man who had the most authority and started demanding the same things as before, except louder and with a much more serious tone. I followed the mans every move. For about 45 minutes this man had his own stalker. I could tell he was just trying to get away from me, but I wasn’t letting him out of my site! I had been at this whole charade for several hours now and was running out of steam and, on top of that, a little logic was actually starting to creep back into my brain and I decided I better not try sneaking on to any more planes. Spending the night (or longer) in a Senegalese jail didn’t seem like a very pleasant solution to my problem. Especially since NO ONE knew where I was. I hadn’t had the time to call home to tell my family I was en route to the US and I was no longer associated with the Peace Corps.

Just as I was about to give up, another woman, in the same situation I was in, heard me shouting at this guy and joined in. She was traveling with her mother, sister and daughter. Her mother was raised in West Africa but she was from New York. So, as you can imagine, the little squabble I was having got much louder once she and her family jumped in. Then someone else heard what was going on and started shouting too. Then another. And another! The next thing I knew, there were 30+ people standing around me demanding that they be let onto the plane too! I took a step back and looked at my angry little mob. Men were pumping their fists in the air, women were waving their tickets and yelling, “I paid $3000 for these tickets!”, children were, well they weren’t really doing anything besides standing there but the more the merrier. Even though the South African Air representative was holding his ground, I knew my best bet was strength in numbers. And if I had to be part of an angry mob, then I wanted to be with these West African New Yorkers! That’s about the roughest, toughest group you can have!

The man from the airline kept saying that there was nothing he could do since the plane was already on the runway. I was exhausted so I let my mob do the shouting while I just stood there an observed for a while. As I stood there, admiring the mayhem I had created, I noticed something odd; a group of white people standing in the corner wearing suits and funny hats. Had it been any other time, I might not have ever noticed them. But after over a month in Mali, you can spot a white person a mile away. I don’t mean that in any bad way whatsoever. Growing up in a melting pot, you tend to not to notice a slight variety of people. In Mali however, where they are a completely homogeneous race, you notice even the slightest variation in skin tone. I started to think. Okay, obviously these people work for the airline and there are only two airlines here, Senegal and South African. There isn’t a very large white population in Senegal so I doubt the entire flight crew would be Caucasian, but South Africa…. Oh shit, South Africa! They do have a large percentage of white people there! These people had to be the South African crew!!

In my most pissed off tone yet, I pointed across the room and shouted, “The flight crew isn’t even on the plane yet!” Everyone looked and for a brief second, no one said anything. Then all hell broke loose. The angry mob became a completely irate mob. The South African representative started running around, whispering to other employees, making phone calls, then announced that only people willing to leave behind their luggage could get on the plane (thinking this would deter people from getting on). I was first in line to get that ticket. There was one woman in our mob who was complaining that she had missed her flight to DC and someone needed to find her a flight to Washington. I looked at her and said in a very bitchy way, “Lady, shut up! They are never going to get you a flight to DC since YOU missed your flight. But if you shut your mouth you might get on this flight to New York.” She nodded and I didn’t hear another word out of her.

As the man was about to hand me my ticket he said, “You can only get on if you leave your luggage behind.”
“Funny,” I replied, “my luggage got on the plane for 4 hours ago, but I didn’t!”

I got my ticket and went back to the gate only to find out that the plane wasn’t on the runway like they had been saying. It hadn’t even finished boarding yet. Back at the medical office in Bamako, Dr. Dawn had told me that my labs showed that I was severely dehydrated and after this whole airline fiasco, I was parched! I knew about the new airline restrictions on gels and liquids (thanks to the BBC station I picked up on my radio in Sanankoroba) but I needed water. I bought a 72oz bottle of water and drank a few swigs by the time I got to the front of the boarding line. Before you could enter the plane your carryon had to be manually searched, and by searched I mean completely dumped out and rummaged through, which I was completely okay with since I was a little concerned about the security of the flight. As I stood there with my giant bottle of (banned) water, the officer dumped out my bag and out tumbled my gel toothpaste and deodorant. Back in Bamako, I had the foresight to realize that I wouldn’t be bathing for quite a while, so the least I could do was bring deodorant and toothpaste with me. I was completely willing to give up my contraband but all the officer noticed as he rummaged through my belongings was my giant wad of cash. The Peace Corps had given me far more money then I could spend in the short time I was there so I had a few hundred Euros and several thousand CFA (a few hundred dollars worth) stuffed into my purse. The officer fanned my money out in front of his face as I shoved my toothpaste and deodorant back in the purse. Great, now everyone knew I had loads of cash in my pockets. Fantastic, I thought as I finally stepped onto my flight to JFK.

I got to relax on the long flight from Dakar to New York, but I couldn’t sleep. I watched cartoons and ate some cheese (vache qui rit… how ironic) and before I knew it I could see Manhattan. Oh, how happy I was to see New York!!! Never before had the big apple seemed so calm, so clean, so easy, and so overall pleasant.

Once the plane had landed, I had about 20 minutes to get to my connecting flight to Atlanta. I don’t even know if the plane had come to a stop before I ripped my seatbelt off and headed for the door. I was the first person off that plane and was in a full out sprint to get to customs. I’ve never run that hard in my life. As I hauled-ass through the long corridors I knew I would have to slow down to get through customs as quickly as possible, odd as that is. It seemed as if luck was on my side that day, since usually customs lines are long and slow, and there were hardly any people in line at all. I picked a line at random, not necessarily the shortest one, since it’s a universally known paradox that no matter which line you pick, it turns out to be the slowest.

I quickly got to the front of the line and slid my passport to the customs agent. Another agent in an adjacent booth looked at me and asked why I didn’t get in his line, since it was shorter. I said with a flirty grin, “Because you aren’t as good looking as this guy,” which was obviously a lie since the guy asking was young and cute and this man was in no way attractive. He was at least 30 years older than me, balding, overweight, and slightly unkempt. He got a good chuckle, and probably a healthy ego boost, from my comment and just stamped my passport and told me to have a great day. I got my passport back and continued my sprint to my next flight. “Ah, success,” I thought and simultaneously as that went through my head, a man stuck his arm out and stopped me dead in my tracks.

“Do you have a connecting flight ma’am?” he asked.
“Yeah, and I’ve only got a few minutes to get there,” I panted, completely exhausted.
“I’m sorry miss but if you are coming from an international flight you have to wait for your luggage, then re-check it to your final destination.” He insisted.
“What? But I don’t have time, I have to go,” I said with a pleading tone.
In a stern voice he said, “I’m sorry ma’am but there is no way around it.”
“But I don’t even care, I don’t want the luggage, I just need to get on my flight,” I begged while trying to squirm out of his grip.
In a slightly irritated voice he replied, “Ma’am, you don’t have a choice, you have to…”
“…I don’t have any luggage,” I exclaimed! “I didn’t check any bags.”
“But, you just said that you…” he said perplexed.
“… Yeah, I forgot, I didn’t bring luggage. Just this purse,” I said with my most convincing ditzy blonde demeanor and pushed through his arm and continued my dash towards my next flight.

After taking the wrong tram and getting completely turned around in JFK, I finally made it to the Delta check in. I asked the ticket agent if I was too late and she said no, I had made it just in time. She picked up the phone and called the gate to let them know that I was already checked in. “But she’s on her way,” I heard her say. “She’s coming right now. Are you sure?” she said again. “I’m sorry ma’am. The gate agent won’t wait. He’s closing the door in 10 minutes and he said he won’t let you on.”
“You can’t be serious,” I said in complete desperation, “but I made it on time, this time.” It was useless. The woman could see in my eyes how defeated I was and that I must have had a rough time up to this point. She told me not to worry, that she could get me a later flight.
“Okay, I have a flight to Atlanta in 90 minutes and then a connecting flight to Wilmington at 1pm, do you want to book this flight?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said.
As she went to hit the key to confirm the flight she said, “Oh! The flight to Wilmington has just been cancelled. There is another flight later; I’ll book that one instead. Oh! That one’s been cancelled too!” I could feel my eyes starting to roll back into my head. I wanted to collapse right there. “Apparently, there is a hurricane making landfall on North Carolina’s coast this afternoon. A lot of flights on the east coast are being cancelled,” she informed me. “I can’t seem to find a flight connecting to Atlanta.”
“I really don’t care about Atlanta,” I said, “just get me anywhere in North Carolina it doesn’t have to be Wilmington.”
“Well, there is a flight later in the evening to Raleigh, but I can’t get a flight to Atlanta,” she said again.
I pleaded with the agent, “Lady, I don’t care if you have to fly me to Los Angeles to get me a connecting flight to NC, just get me to North Carolina!”
“Oh, I can get you a flight to Atlanta in an hour, then to Raleigh at 3pm” she said.
“Great!” I exclaimed.
“But before I can print the ticket you need to get South African Air to sign off on this voucher since we had to change your final destination,” she informed me.
“Oh shit!” Here we go again, I thought.

I made a mad dash back to the tram and several minutes later arrived at the international terminal. I somehow found the South African booth right away and asked them to sign off on my voucher. “Sure,” they replied, “but none of us have the authority to sign it, you’ll have to wait for the manager. He gets here at 3pm.”
“But my flight leaves at 10am and I need this signed,” I said.
“Sorry,” they said.

I then made the inverse of the mad dash that I had made only seconds before and got back to the Delta area. “No one is there to sign it,” I said, “they are all useless. The only one who can sign it won’t be there until 3pm.”
“But your flight is in an hour,” the woman said.
“Yeah, I realize that,” I said, “but what can I do?” The woman slyly looked over her shoulders and pulled the voucher off the countertop where no one could see it and signed it.
“No one will know,” she said.
“Oh, thank you so much,” I said with a huge sigh of relief.

I grabbed my ticket and ran to the security line. I still had my deodorant and toothpaste in my purse and a bottle of water from the airplane in my hand. I knew better than to try to get away with sneaking anything onto an airplane in New York. There was a sign at the beginning of the security line with banned products and only the water and toothpaste were explicitly restricted. I decided to take my chances with the deodorant but I really needed that toothpaste too. By this time, it was mid-morning Thursday. The last time I had had a real (kind of) meal or bath (albeit out of a bucket) was on Monday evening! As I stood in that security line, I pulled the toothpaste and toothbrush out of my purse and begin to brush my teeth while waiting in line. As I made it up to the x-ray conveyer and metal detector I spit the toothpaste into a trashcan and dropped the tube of paste and water in right after. I wiped my mouth with my arm, as I had become so accustom to doing in Mali, and strode through the security check.

My gate of departure was the first gate after the security line so I had plenty of time before my flight. I walked into the first souvenir shop and bought an “I heart NY” t-shirt. I marched straight into the bathroom and changed into my new shirt and threw away the one that I had been wearing for the past 3 days. The stench had become permanent by that point, it was useless hanging onto that shirt. The worst part was, when I was in Bamako and Dakar, my stench didn’t really bother me since there were plenty of other smelly people around, but now I was the only smelly person, and I was seriously smelly! I took a birdbath in the airport bathroom and cleaned up as best I could. I was deliriously giddy over the running water and toilets while washing up; I was elated to see them again. What a novelty they were!

I was only hours away from being home and had yet to call to tell anyone where I was. I knew I was going to completely lose it when I called home so I tried to go ahead and get as much out of my system while I was in the bathroom. I was able to squeeze out a few tears but not nearly as much as I needed. I couldn’t wait any longer. It was time to call.

I went to the nearest payphone and called home. Keep it together, for god sake, keep it together, I kept telling myself even though I knew it wasn’t going to be possible. The phone rang a few times and my mom answered.

“Mom…?” I said in a shaky voice.
“Hey Brit!” my mom said followed by a long pause. I was trying to talk but was already in hysterics and couldn’t find the way to muster up any noise, let alone speech. “How are you,” my mom asked?
“Ahhhhahhahhhhhh…..” I started sobbing. I had the phone up to my ear, my head in my other hand and my entire body was shaking.
“ARE YOU ALRIGHT?” my mom said?
“I’m (sob, sob) in (sob, sob) New (sob, sob) York. I’m coming (sob) home. My flight from (sob, sob) Atlanta gets to (sob, sob) Raleigh at 5pm. If you can’t get there (sob, sob) I’ll stay with Ben or someone,” I somehow managed to say.
“We’ll be there to get you,” my mom said.
“I have to (sob, sob) go now,” I said and that was it. I was tapped out. Running a marathon wasn’t nearly as exhausting as the trip I had just made. I had nothing left in me. I moved to my gate and found a cozy little corner to sit in. I pulled my knees into my body and curled my purse up in my arms and leaned my head against it, sitting in a, more or less, vertical fetal position. My flight to Atlanta was about 90 minutes late. At this point, I didn’t care. I was almost there.

Once I got to Atlanta my flight to Raleigh was running about 30 minutes late, but why wouldn’t it be? The flight to Raleigh was rough. Real rough. It’s such a short flight that you are only flying over the weather for a few minutes. The rest of the flight you are either taking off or landing. Flying into that kind of storm was a little more than nerve wracking. During the first half of my journey home I kept asking God to not let me die over there. In my mind I kept pleading, for my family’s sake, let me die on American soil, where they can recover and embalm my body. Don’t make them have to try to find my decomposed corpse in some African desert. So, even though that last flight was the most terrifying, I was the most relieved. Even if the plane did go down, my family knew where I was and at least they wouldn’t have to wonder what happened to me.

I made it to Raleigh in one physical piece. Emotionally I was broken down into microscopic pieces. As I came down the escalator to baggage claim, I saw my mom and dad waiting for me. Even though all I wanted to do was cry, a huge smile appeared on my face and I gave them a big hug. “Thank you for giving me two years of my life back,” my dad said to me.

My mom motioned over to the baggage claim area and I said, “Oh forgot it, there’s no chance, I’m never going to see that luggage again.” We got in the car and had to drive in the Hurricane all the way home from Raleigh to Jacksonville, over two hours. We stopped by my brother’s work so I could say hello and then my parents wanted to take a detour to Wilmington to see my sister. They hadn’t told her anything about me coming home. They really didn’t have much time to say anything to anyone. We got half way to my sister’s before we realized it was too dangerous to drive down there. My mom called Jess on her cell phone and when she answered my mom told her she had someone she wanted her to talk to and handed the phone to me.

“Hey Jess,” I said trying not to get choked up.
“What the hell,” my sister said, “What’s going on? Are you kidding with me? Is this a three-way call?”
“Jess,” I said, “I could barely figure out how to call from Africa, let alone conference call!”

My dad asked what I wanted to eat. “Taco Bell,” I exclaimed! During the 2-hour drive we didn’t pass a single Taco Bell. My dad kept asking if I wanted something else. “Nope, I want Taco Bell,” I said. We finally passed a Taco Bell when we got to Jacksonville. Due to the horrendous driving conditions, we were the only car on the road and definitely the only car at Taco Bell’s drive thru! My dad pulled up and rolled down his window, covering his face from the driving rain with his hands while shouting, “I WANT A BEAN BURRITO.” I was giddy in the back seat! A few minutes later we were in our neighborhood and it was completely flooded. We parked the car on a curb a block from our house. We all crammed our burritos down our throats and rolled up our pants and waded through the flood to our house. “Damn, I thought I was done doing this,” I yelled with a chuckle!

I got home and jumped straight in the shower then went to bed. As I lye in my bed my mind was swimming. I couldn’t believe I was home. What had just happened? How on earth did I get here? I wasn’t supposed to be here. It was nice to be home but it felt surreal. I fell asleep and was quickly awoken to make one of several bathroom trips. I now know first hand that Taco Bell is FAR worse on my GI tract than Giardia ever was. But what the hell did I care? I had a toilet!!!

On one of my trips downstairs I noticed my mom was sleeping on the couch. She sat up and said, “We’ve lost electricity and it’s too hot to sleep upstairs (I hadn’t noticed, it felt fine to me) do you need a flashlight to see where you are going?”
“Flashlight, ha!” I said, “are you kidding, I’ve got my Africa eyes on!”

Even though my life in Africa was only 1/26th as long as I thought it was going to be I still learned a lot while I was there. It’s amazing how much soul searching you can do while all alone in a hut in the middle of Africa. I came to some realizations about my life that it takes some people a lifetime to realize. One of the hardest things I learned was that I’m not nearly as strong as I thought I was. I used to think that I wasn’t afraid of anything. Now I know how small I am in the whole scheme of things. I’ve let myself down in a way that I didn’t know I was capable of and I struggle with my decision to leave every single day. I’m still mourning my loss of Mali and as the months go by it gets harder to deal with. Thoughts of Mali and the Peace Corps fill my every waking thought and not a single night has gone by that I didn’t dream I was still there. I loved Mali and all the people I met while there. In the first few days I was back I couldn’t figure out my emotions. It felt like I had broken up with someone. But that’s exactly what it is. Even though I truly loved Mali, I had to leave, I knew deep down that it wouldn’t work out in the long run and as much as it hurt, I had to say goodbye. I just wish I had been able to say goodbye to my friends and family in Mali. My family I will probably never see again, I can’t wait until the next two years go by so I can see my friends again!

N be Mali fe. N be sogo n Mali la su o su. N taara so, n ka teriya be to senna.

Sneads Ferry Safari

2006-09-28T07:56:00.000+10:00

This was the picture on the front page of my local newspaper this morning. This little guy (who was 12.5' long, 500 lbs and roughly 85 years old) was run over and killed by a car while trying to cross the road. Doesn't he know only chickens are supposed to do that?

That sucks for the gator, but I feel bad for the driver who hit him. I'm sure the car has a good bit of damage, but can you imagine how freaked out you'd be? My heart starts pumping 1,000,000 beats a minute every time I run over plastic bag that looks like it could be an animal. And you know anytime you hit something big; cat, dog, deer, whatever... your first instinct is to get out and see if it's okay. The person who hit this thing probably didn't see it either, so I'm guessing they didn't know what it was. If I ran over something that big I'd think I had hit a person (or a few people.) Can you see someone getting out of their car and running to see if someone was okay, then realizing what it really was!? "Are you Ooo-Oh Shit!!! Oh Shit! Get back in the car!!!" At that point you'd hope it was dead, otherwise you'd have one pissed off gigantic alligator on your ass!

The scary part is, this is not the only huge gator in the area. There are lots of them around here! About a year or so ago my dad was down close to our beach house in Sneads Ferry, NC (only about 30 min from here) where he was helping a friend put his boat in the water. He walked across the street to a little fresh water pond and noticed something out of the corner of his eye. It was a huge alligator sunbathing on the shore just a few feet from where he was standing. And like any sane person, my dad became infatuated with the gator and would show up at the pond and try to coax it out of the water so he could show it off to whoever he brought with him. He soon discovered that the alligator was not alone. It had 3 friends. These were no small alligators either. When I went with my dad (yes I was suckered in to going to gawk at the big reptiles too) we managed to make enough of a ruckus to attract the gators attention and the gator swam over to where we were standing. He got to about 20 feet away from me when I decided that he was close enough and it was time to get back in the car. In all honesty, we were probably so close that we were past the point of no return... If that gator had wanted to eat me, there is no way I could have gotten out of the way. I would have been a delicious snack.

It was just about the same moment, when I decided to go back to the car, that our little gator friend decided to play hide-n-seek. All of a sudden, he just disappeared under the brown murky water. That was it, I was out of there, but slowly... Very slowly. From inside the car I could see that two more alligators were swimming over to where my dad was standing. That was fine, but it was very nerve-racking to know that there was one gator hidden under the water, just by the shore, and another that could be anywhere. My dad decided he didn't want to be a reptile snack either and he joined me in the car. Luckily, we probably weren't in all that much danger because those alligators were probably pretty full. How do I know? Because as soon as we got in the car a local (shirtless) redneck rolled up in a beat-up golf cart with a beer in the cup holder, a raw chicken in one hand and a baby sitting on his lap. For a more accurate visual, picture Britney Spears with no money mixed with the Croc. Hunter (RIP) and that's about what this guy was. Pimping around with a baby in his lap and then dangling it out around alligators. Thank god he didn't chuck the wrong thing into the pond!! Mr. R Neck told us that he fed the gators on a pretty regular basis. I still can't decide if that's a good thing or bad. On the one hand, if they aren't hungry, they might not eat you. On the other hand, the better fed they are the bigger they are, and these were at least 8 feet.

I find it ironic that people keep asking me what kinds of crazy animals I saw when I was in Africa. I saw a few lizards and a praying mantis and that's it. If you want to see some real animals, go to Sneads Ferry! At the beginning of this summer my dad tried to open the front door of the beach house and just as he was reaching for the door knob, he noticed a copperhead wrapped around it. This summer I almost hit a bobcat with my car less than a block from the beach house. So, within a few blocks of nka bengebow ka kokojiso (my parents beach house... Hey, a tiny bit of bambara still remains) you can be killed by a shark, alligator, copperhead, bobcat and a bunch of other scary animals we haven't had to deal with yet!

...And on an all together different note, I am officially finished taking all malaria medications!! Yay!!! Hopefully now the insomnia, crying spells, and slight depression will start to fade away as the mefloquine and primaquine fade out of my blood steam.

...And on an even better note, I got a new job yesterday! Yay!! In just a few weeks I'll be moving to Charlotte and getting back to my regular life in a new architecture firm. I think Charlotte and I will be a good fit. In the past two years, I have lived (some more briefly than others) in the following places: Raleigh, New York, Alexandria (DC), Mali, Jacksonville, and now Charlotte. Ya know, I think I'm ready to stop trying on new cities, countries, and continents and just stick with one.... And it looks like the Queen's City it is! This isn't exactly what I had planned for my life right now, but what fun is a plan anyway? I just go where my heart tells me and my feet take me and hope everything turns out okay, and so far it has... Thank God!

Now What???

2006-09-14T14:59:00.000+10:00

Well, the Peace Corps didn't last quite as long as I had planned and now I have...

No apartment
No job
No car
No plan

When I was in Philly at the Peace Corps staging event before leaving for Mali, I saw this quote from Georgia O'Keefe written somewhere:

"I've been absolutely terrified every moment of my life -- and I've never let it keep me from doing a single thing I wanted to do."

That's as true now as ever. As disappointed as I am for not staying in Mali, I'm still proud that I went at all. I did the best I could with the circumstances I was given and that's all I could do. And honestly, the hardest part of the whole experience (as short as it was) was leaving. Never have I ever (haha... good times) felt so awful in my entire life! I did a lot of crying the day I decided to leave, and not because I wanted to go home, it was because I felt like I was disappointing everyone; myself, the Peace Corps, my new friends, and the entire village. I can't even describe the gut-wrenching emotion involved when you have to stand face to face with the members of a village and basically say, "I'm not going to help you, I'm going home now." Especially after how nice they had been and all they had to do to get you there. And it's not like you can just sneak away in the night, okay, you probably can but that's not what I did, even though the thought crossed my mind, I decided if I was going to leave I was going to have the balls to not just disappear.

Once that was all over with, I had to sit with the country director and tell her that I wasn't going to stay. That might not sound so difficult but, if you've ever met Kateri, Mali's director, you'd know how hard that is. Especially, when she's actually being sympathetic and says that out of all the people, she never expected you to ET (early terminate). Luckily, by the time I got to talk to Kateri, I was all out of tears, mostly due to dehydration but tear-free none the less.

Being back at home hasn't exactly been easy either. The first night I was back I was ecstatic. Then I woke up the next morning, not to the sounds of a rooster or donkey, and realized that the experience I had waited so long to have was already over. I don't know about anyone else but I have to prepare myself for things. When I move out of an apartment, I walk around and take one last look at everything. When I leave a job, I take pictures of my desk and save funny emails that I received. When I know there is only one more fudgecicle left, I lick every last drop of chocolate off the stick to savor the flavor. I didn't get to do that with Mali. I assumed I was going to be there a long time so I never even took my camera to my homestay village. I don't have very many pictures at all. I don't know how to contact some of the friends I made there. Some of the people that I really cared for, I never even learned their last names. I just assumed there would be plenty of time for that. Oh, how I was wrong.

Now I find myself breaking down and crying at bizarre times, like on the treadmill. I decided since I didn't really go into the Peace Corps, I was actually just at Fat Camp (yay for losing 10 pounds!!) I might as well try to keep it going by getting on the treadmill every now and then. Then, I can't seem to figure out if the wetness on my face is sweat or tears. I think it's both. At least the physical release of crying makes the working out easier and makes me run faster, so maybe that's a good thing. Although, I'm hoping the sudden outbursts are just side effects of the Mefloquine (the anti-malaria drugs I still have to take for 2 more weeks) I'm hoping that once the crazy pills are out of my system I'll get out of this funk and start feeling like myself again. I've felt like I've been in a fog for quite a while now. Here is a little snipit of the side effects of this literal crazy pill...

"...neuropsychiatric disorders have been reported such as: sensory and motor neuropathies (including paresthesia, tremor and ataxia), convulsions, agitation or restlessness, anxiety, depression, mood changes, panic attacks, forgetfulness, confusion, hallucinations, aggression, psychotic or paranoid reactions and encephalopathy. Rare cases of suicidal ideation and suicide have been reported."

I'm hoping it's just the meds and not just me. Hopefully this funk of mine will pass soon. I can't take feeling this way for too much longer. Unfortunately, tomorrow I have to start taking another anti-malarial drug for the next two weeks. So, for the next 14 or so days, I'm going to be a nut-job!!! Great. Oh well. One day at a time, I guess. At least tomorrow I'm also sending out some resumes so that gives me something to look forward to. We'll see how that goes...