Monday, March 12, 2012

the perfect day

I'm talking about the kind of day that from beginning to end, you just feel sated.  Things go right.  Food tastes good.  The company is great and there is something done or seen that is extra extra ordinary.  But above all, you don't realize how extra special the whole day is until it's all over and done with and looking back, you wouldn't change a thing!  That's the kind of day this was!

The place:  The town of Ancud in Chiloe Chile
The day: February 10th, 2011
The extra extra ordinary thing?  Penguins!

It started, as all extra extra ordinary days start....sweet!


We found a small European tourist friendly cafe that sold a special local nut and potato cake...these particular types of nut and potato being very rare and difficult to find anywhere else on the mainland of Chile, much less the world!

Then, we caught a small public bus that took us along the coast and dropped us in the middle of nowhere...or rather somewhere!


PENGUIN LAND!!!!!

We walked the mysterious 2 kilometres up and down hills over looking the ocean on one side and rolling cow pastures on the other, all the time with me skipping/running/tripping along the dusty small road in anticipation to see one of the cutest animals on the planet!

view to the right!











view to the left!




















After signing in at a small eco tourist office, we meandered onto a small 12 person boat with a bunch of other tourists, which whizzed us along to the small rocky islands filled with penguin love!












After all of the penguin awesomeness...we got a bit hungry, so we went ahead and bought a $4 king crab from a fisherman on the beach!  Even in Santiago, this treat usually costs around $50 or more!





















We decided to hitch hike home and lucky for us, right as we began leaving the isolated penguin beach, a very nice couple stopped to pick us up and drove us back to the town of Ancud.

We walked the small towns streets hand in hand, stopping for some pints of Kuntsmann beer and a heaping basket of more special local spud french fries.  We then spent the evening sitting around a bon fire with fellow campers up on the side of a cliff drinking spiced warm red wine and talking about the day, listening/singing old songs, laughing at jokes and staring up into the sky at stars that seemed bigger and brighter than usual.

Like I said, a day like this can't be planned, it just happens!
I'll never forget it!

Friday, March 9, 2012

remembering Africa

Recently, I began reading the Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver based on a recommendation from a coworker...I haven't been able to finish it from frutration and a bit of anger.   Just today I heard this piece done on a Hearing Voices episode called "Home from Africa" based on the culture shock and experiences of a young women working in the peace corps.  I have to admit, it's hard for me to hear these stories in the way they are told, but I'm glad to hear them all the same.

Although very different experiences than what I experienced in Africa...these run ins with stories of places/problems/crazy culture shock moments bring back shadows of memories...I don't know if I wanted to forget, but I find it slightly difficult to remember.

Throughout all of the traveling my husband and I did over the past couple of years, one thing we agreed on returning home was respecting the memories we had of our time in places with dignity.   We were careful in what pictures we took of people not to intrude on someone's personal space or disrespect them or hurt their feelings inapropriately in photos...this photo is one of just a few that we took of people at all.

A market in Zambia

I didn't do much writing during our time in Africa, mainly due to losing our power cord for our laptop shortly after leaving South Africa (the first leg of our journey) and even though the days were filled with long bus rides and lots of waiting, the feeling of wanting to jot down what was running through my mind at the time just wasn't there....thoughts were there, just so numerous and so fast, it was like watching them fly by as I stared out the window at a world that seemed like a dream.

Being in Africa is a beautiful, spiritual, life changing experience and some of the people and places and foods we were privileged to meet, explore and try there changed our lives.  I think about random things from Africa often at odd moments, but in slightly embarrassing ways for myself that I tend not to share out loud.

When I give away clothes, I wonder if they will find there way to Africa....it wasn't unusual to see a Packers or Vikings t-shirt worn by someone on a street corner or being sold at a market.

When I look into my pantry at all the different options of flour I seem to be collecting, I remember the aisle upon aisle of the different brands and sizes of finely ground corn meal sold for pap/nsima/nshima/ugali....and nothing else....and feel a bit gluttonous with my stash of powders.



When I buy a tomato or an avacado at the grocery store and remember the texture, smell and flavor of a freshly purchased tomato from a local African market...ripe, delicious...real!


These moments trigger a certain feeling I can't quite describe, a longing for the beauty we felt and saw in our travels through South Eastern Africa and at the same time an embarrassing gratitude that I'm home again in a place where things make sense to me....where I blend in....where I feel normal and full and warm and clean with running tap water and an automatic ice maker....and that at the same time....that feels horrible.  It feels unjust to judge another culture as "not as good as mine" simply because their priorities are not my own, that I don't understand it and try to make sense of it...it's not mine to make sense of....but then again...most people in Africa will never get to experience my life in the States, whereas I have the luxury of a U.S. passport.

I'll never know what it feels like to be African.  I'll never know how it feels to grow up in a small village surrounded by family and neighbors and love....this is something we also weren't welcomed into as tourists...as an outsider, you remain outside!  It's rare to hear stories from this perspective and I wish there were more available....culture shock can be so blinding.

Saturday, February 11, 2012

Gay Pah-Ree


My first trip abroad was to France. I have mentioned it before, and I think I have also mentioned how inadequate of a packer I was back then (I have learned a few things since then). I was also totally green to the ways of the world, but in some ways, this is what gave me the gumption to take this trip in the first place. If I would have stopped and thought about what I was getting myself into, I may have faltered. But I muscled right through in my naïve, adventure-seeking way.

The reason I went was for a summer work abroad program that I had signed up for through my college. I had gone to countless interviews and to orientations where they told us things like: don’t put your hands on your laps at the dinner table because the French would assume you were playing with yourself. I had to do language proficiency and writing proficiency tests. I had to write letters to my future employer and roommate, introducing myself and thanking them for the opportunity. I still have copies of the letters. They are pretty funny.

First I flew from San Francisco to Paris. I arrived at Charles de Gaule jet lagged, disoriented and confused. The aforementioned luggage was a hindrance. I tried to get francs out of the ATM while guarding my bags and trying to remember my French phrases. Next, I had to get from the airport to the train station, which seems easy enough, but first you have to take a shuttle to terminal 3, and walk to the Metro where you go through the turnstile and then take a shuttle back to terminal 1, where you catch the bus to the train station. Have you ever been to Charles De Gaule? If not, and you have never traveled before, I would not suggest it be the FIRST international airport that you tackle. It’s kind of big. 

source
I finally found the train station, bought my ticket and sat and watched the board with the schedules and times go “tick, tick, tick” and flip all the times and track numbers and destinations over. I remember thinking over and over, “what have I gotten myself into?” Here I was in a country where I knew nobody, where I did not really know the language and where I was like a beacon, a small American girl with 4 huge suitcases, just waiting to be robbed. 

source
I wasn’t robbed. I got on the train and went two hours south to Bordeaux, my new home. Luckily (and I can’t quite remember how, as these were the days of little internet) the girl whose flat I was renting for the summer met me at the station, got me on a bus and took me to her house. Her name, in typical French fashion, was Marie Pierre. Not plain Marie, but Marie Pierre.  And of course, it was not Mehr-ie, but Mah-REEE! Pierre. She had a boyfriend with her named Khalid. Luckily, although not well, they did know a tiny bit of English. Not that I expected them to, but if you have ever taken a long flight, you know how foggy one’s head can be afterward. If you had  then ran around Paris like a chicken looking for the Gare du Nord, and then arrived somewhere new and met new people and you are feeling a little overwhelmed, you would know how nice it was to not have to remember all of your French phrases right at that moment. 
 
So, we made small talk, which was great, because that was the French I knew the best: How many brothers do you have? Where are you from? Where do you work? Thanks French 101! It was exciting, being in a new place, starting a new, although temporary life, being out on my own, an independent, French-speaking American, ready for an adventure. We got to the apartment and I got right down to business starting my adventure.

I went straight to bed.

Thank goodness for MP and Khalid. Without them, I don’t know how I would have managed that first day. Stay tuned for tales of the adventures at my new job!

Do you remember your first trip abroad? Have you ever traveled by yourself? Do you like it/hate it/don’t care either way?