Whoops! I ran off and forgot to tell you. Disculpame, por favor. I went ahead and started using WordPress and didn't notify you fine folks. Better late than never, right? You can find me at www.shambulating.wordpress.com. All the sass, and a cleaner look. Could you ask for anything more? Soon, I'll be migrating all of the content from this site over there, but for now, I still have all of my Guatemala content up there. I'll never leave you without the Shambulations you love.
¡Buen provecho!
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Disaster Squared
What a tragic past few days. I feel horrible right now. Physically, I'm fine as far as I can tell (although, let's face it, I'm surrounded by large hills and major volcanoes, so there could be a landslide at any moment). But, I'm so very sad about everything that's going on around me. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt such a sense of tragedy. Guatemala has no resources. Zip. Zero. Zilch. Then a major eruption of Pacaya volcano on Thursday night coated the city in ash, shutting down the airport and costing valuable tourism dollars. The whole city shut down, including schools. The president declared a state of emergency for 15 days. But that's nothing. Three people lost their lives. Almost 1,000 homes were lost in the eruption and about 2,000 people were displaced. Reports from Guatemala City said that parts were buried under up to 5 inches of ash.
I have to admit, with all measure of embarrassment, I was a little amused and amazed when this happened. I had JUST arrived and a volcano was erupting? Are you kidding me?! A volcano erupted and the project was closed and I could’t work with the kids. It all just seemed so ridiculous. Of course, it’s horrible to laugh at something like this. Perhaps that was my way of dealing with what otherwise would have been a major freak out. I gave up my apartment, my unemployment check, my whole world to come down here. Was everything gone in an instant?
Then the world really fell apart. Pacaya wasn’t even done with the major eruption when tropical storm Agatha hit in full force on Saturday morning. Guatemala’s infrastructure is extremely precarious. Roads are in poor shape. Houses in rural areas are often made of nothing more than tin erected on a hillside, with floors of dirt. Many of Guatemala City’s poorest neighborhoods have houses of the same. Most of the people evacuated from Pacaya are in makeshift shelters.
Entire communities are being swept off of hillsides. Already 74 people have died in Guatemala alone (9 more in El Salvador and 2 in Honduras). The ground is so beyond saturated that there's nowhere for the rain to go. And, yet, it's getting stronger by the minute. One entire neighborhood in the capital was obliterated by a mudslide yesterday; 4 were confirmed dead and another 11 missing. They couldn't even continue searching for them because the power was out at nightfall.
That’s not the worst of it. Guate (Guatemala City) lies in a fairly deep valley. From what we’ve heard here in Antigua, some areas of Guate are under water chest-deep. Not only was up to 30 inches of rain unleashed on some areas, but that rainwater was all funneled down into the city, where drainage systems were clogged with ash. In Guate, a sinkhole the size of a building opened up. An entire intersection literally just collapsed. A highway bridge into the city was swept away by floodwaters. Parts of roads have been carried off into the ether or buried under landslides. Entire communities are without power, and will be so for at least several days. The storm has delayed the reopening of La Aurora airport through at least Tuesday. Even if there were supplies coming in, with roads out, it will be incredibly difficult to get supplies to the hardest hit areas.
This all only a minor inconvenience for me, especially when compared to what some people are suffering as a result of the compounded fury of nature. I just can't stop thinking about all of our families sitting in their homes with tin sides and a dirt floor and wonder how they can possibly make it through. Hopefully we will be able to get back to work with our youth and families soon. The volunteer bus can’t travel yet because of the roads, but they will try to open tomorrow and see if there are enough staff and volunteers who can make it from the city to keep the program running. My project is in the very north of the city. This provides a big measure of relief, as at least they weren’t impacted much by the ash. From what I’ve heard, our families and youth are okay, but it seems so incredible to me that this could be true. A combined total of almost 80,000 people were displaced because of these disasters, probably thousands more than would have been affected if they had happened separately. In an area with so few resources already, I can’t imagine what it will look like to put the pieces together again.
As I’ve said, Guatemala is already strapped for resources. This is going to dearly cost the tourism industry here, as you can’t vacation in a country that is currently impassable. The effects of Pacaya and Agatha are also estimated to have serious effects on the coffee crop, which is Guatemala’s chief export. The lack of reliable technology and the loss of infrastructure over the past few days means there is no reliable estimate of that that loss will look like. Not only will Guatemala have to spend a fortune cleaning up, rebuilding and tending to those who are displaced, it has sustained a serious loss of revenue.
My heart aches for Guatemala. If you can find a silver lining in all of this, I’m just grateful I can be here to lend whatever support I can to cleaning up and moving on from all of this mess.
I have to admit, with all measure of embarrassment, I was a little amused and amazed when this happened. I had JUST arrived and a volcano was erupting? Are you kidding me?! A volcano erupted and the project was closed and I could’t work with the kids. It all just seemed so ridiculous. Of course, it’s horrible to laugh at something like this. Perhaps that was my way of dealing with what otherwise would have been a major freak out. I gave up my apartment, my unemployment check, my whole world to come down here. Was everything gone in an instant?
Then the world really fell apart. Pacaya wasn’t even done with the major eruption when tropical storm Agatha hit in full force on Saturday morning. Guatemala’s infrastructure is extremely precarious. Roads are in poor shape. Houses in rural areas are often made of nothing more than tin erected on a hillside, with floors of dirt. Many of Guatemala City’s poorest neighborhoods have houses of the same. Most of the people evacuated from Pacaya are in makeshift shelters.
Entire communities are being swept off of hillsides. Already 74 people have died in Guatemala alone (9 more in El Salvador and 2 in Honduras). The ground is so beyond saturated that there's nowhere for the rain to go. And, yet, it's getting stronger by the minute. One entire neighborhood in the capital was obliterated by a mudslide yesterday; 4 were confirmed dead and another 11 missing. They couldn't even continue searching for them because the power was out at nightfall.
That’s not the worst of it. Guate (Guatemala City) lies in a fairly deep valley. From what we’ve heard here in Antigua, some areas of Guate are under water chest-deep. Not only was up to 30 inches of rain unleashed on some areas, but that rainwater was all funneled down into the city, where drainage systems were clogged with ash. In Guate, a sinkhole the size of a building opened up. An entire intersection literally just collapsed. A highway bridge into the city was swept away by floodwaters. Parts of roads have been carried off into the ether or buried under landslides. Entire communities are without power, and will be so for at least several days. The storm has delayed the reopening of La Aurora airport through at least Tuesday. Even if there were supplies coming in, with roads out, it will be incredibly difficult to get supplies to the hardest hit areas.
This all only a minor inconvenience for me, especially when compared to what some people are suffering as a result of the compounded fury of nature. I just can't stop thinking about all of our families sitting in their homes with tin sides and a dirt floor and wonder how they can possibly make it through. Hopefully we will be able to get back to work with our youth and families soon. The volunteer bus can’t travel yet because of the roads, but they will try to open tomorrow and see if there are enough staff and volunteers who can make it from the city to keep the program running. My project is in the very north of the city. This provides a big measure of relief, as at least they weren’t impacted much by the ash. From what I’ve heard, our families and youth are okay, but it seems so incredible to me that this could be true. A combined total of almost 80,000 people were displaced because of these disasters, probably thousands more than would have been affected if they had happened separately. In an area with so few resources already, I can’t imagine what it will look like to put the pieces together again.
As I’ve said, Guatemala is already strapped for resources. This is going to dearly cost the tourism industry here, as you can’t vacation in a country that is currently impassable. The effects of Pacaya and Agatha are also estimated to have serious effects on the coffee crop, which is Guatemala’s chief export. The lack of reliable technology and the loss of infrastructure over the past few days means there is no reliable estimate of that that loss will look like. Not only will Guatemala have to spend a fortune cleaning up, rebuilding and tending to those who are displaced, it has sustained a serious loss of revenue.
My heart aches for Guatemala. If you can find a silver lining in all of this, I’m just grateful I can be here to lend whatever support I can to cleaning up and moving on from all of this mess.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Found but Not Lost
My head is reeling, but in the best way possible. Info is being crammed into my head left and right; I’m stuffing it into all my little cerebral squirrel pouches for safekeeping. I’m starting to get a feel for the program, poco a poco, although I’m still pretty lost on the overall structure of Camino Seguro. When my poor little brain can’t take anymore, I break for some quality coloring time. Those Star Presentation buttons won’t make themselves. Gah, I love that coloring is an acceptably productive use of time.
I miraculously already feel like I’m learning my way around here. I’ve already covered the three most important things in life: wine, yoga and 2-for-1 sushi. Falafel (we’ll call her an alternate) was also found. I’ve located a famous bakery nary 3 blocks from my house, to boot. I’ll be spending many a Sunday morning selecting from a myriad of gourmet doughy concoctions (for a mere Q5!) and swindling the barista into giving me a discount on coffee with my dizzyingly delightful Spanish. Watchate!
After 3 days, I ran into someone I know on the street in Antigua. It took me 3 years to do that in San Francisco. On Friday, we had a volunteer happy hour, and I ran into one of the Camino staff on the way. I won’t say it didn’t make me feel good to be one of the cool happy hour kids. The evening was delightful – we played darts and went salsa dancing – and I felt really lucky to have a chance to connect socially with the other volunteers right away. I’ve run into someone I know on the street every day since Friday. It’s extremely comforting to have this – both that I’m starting to meet people, and that other folks are milling about. I wasn’t nervous at all about coming to Guatemala in terms of my safety. I know the risks, know a lot of great tactics for taking care of myself and had made peace with the fact that I’ll probably have some minor run-in at some point. I mean, who doesn’t get robbed in Guatemala? Just don’t schlep everything with you, give them what little you have on you and walk away relatively unscathed. No big deal. But, I received some pretty dire warnings my first day or two here which really put a scare into me. That’s being quelched now that I’m learning my way around and seeing people out and about. Not many things bug me more than fear mongers; I do NOT want to be that person.
On Friday we had an excursion with about 200 mothers of Camino Seguro youth. The sports team planned a variety of activities and games for them, including kickball and trivia. My favorite was the Alf piñata. Least favorite: scary clown piñata. I was stationed all day at aerobics with a Camino teacher who will forever after be known in my head only as Ricardo Simmons. Not only is he a spritely little aerobics-guru-cum-sports-teacher-for-underprivileged-youth, he’s also a cage fighter. Yes, a real, live, MMA, no holds barred cage fighter. I can’t wait to go watch a fight. This is about the last thing I ever thought I’d be interested in. But, dude, I’m in Guatemala. What the hell?
The mothers were absolutely ridiculous on Friday. They were so ready to let loose because they have no opportunity to do so in daily life, struggling to put food on the table, raising a family and often doing so with no patner. It surprised me how much they threw caution to the wind; I thought they would be too shy. I guess it’s cultural™. One thing is for sure: what happens at Camino, stays at Camino. I’ll just say my jaw dropped more than a few times.
Sunday was phenomenal. I met up with 8 or so volunteers and a few others for a game of ultimate frisbee. One of the guys is a motorcycle tour guide. Love it. We played for a few hours. Now the existence of a whole lot of muscle groups is glaringly obvious. I’m sure watching me walk the past 2 days has provided more than a couple of chuckles. Clearly, getting in shape is in order. I’d say take it with the proper grain of salt that we’re the self-proclaimed Guatemalan National Ultimate Frisbee Team, but it’s probably pretty accurate. Ang and Nate, the Canadian couple who play, actually are semi-pros. Nate has traveled far and wide for ultimate championships, a fact proven by his frisbee proudly labeled Maple Plain, MN. Afterward, we went for rooftop Argentine barbecue and Gallo beer (the only Guatemalan brew) at a nearby hostel. A table of Minnesotans sat behind me. What is the world telling me?!
I miraculously already feel like I’m learning my way around here. I’ve already covered the three most important things in life: wine, yoga and 2-for-1 sushi. Falafel (we’ll call her an alternate) was also found. I’ve located a famous bakery nary 3 blocks from my house, to boot. I’ll be spending many a Sunday morning selecting from a myriad of gourmet doughy concoctions (for a mere Q5!) and swindling the barista into giving me a discount on coffee with my dizzyingly delightful Spanish. Watchate!
After 3 days, I ran into someone I know on the street in Antigua. It took me 3 years to do that in San Francisco. On Friday, we had a volunteer happy hour, and I ran into one of the Camino staff on the way. I won’t say it didn’t make me feel good to be one of the cool happy hour kids. The evening was delightful – we played darts and went salsa dancing – and I felt really lucky to have a chance to connect socially with the other volunteers right away. I’ve run into someone I know on the street every day since Friday. It’s extremely comforting to have this – both that I’m starting to meet people, and that other folks are milling about. I wasn’t nervous at all about coming to Guatemala in terms of my safety. I know the risks, know a lot of great tactics for taking care of myself and had made peace with the fact that I’ll probably have some minor run-in at some point. I mean, who doesn’t get robbed in Guatemala? Just don’t schlep everything with you, give them what little you have on you and walk away relatively unscathed. No big deal. But, I received some pretty dire warnings my first day or two here which really put a scare into me. That’s being quelched now that I’m learning my way around and seeing people out and about. Not many things bug me more than fear mongers; I do NOT want to be that person.
On Friday we had an excursion with about 200 mothers of Camino Seguro youth. The sports team planned a variety of activities and games for them, including kickball and trivia. My favorite was the Alf piñata. Least favorite: scary clown piñata. I was stationed all day at aerobics with a Camino teacher who will forever after be known in my head only as Ricardo Simmons. Not only is he a spritely little aerobics-guru-cum-sports-teacher-for-underprivileged-youth, he’s also a cage fighter. Yes, a real, live, MMA, no holds barred cage fighter. I can’t wait to go watch a fight. This is about the last thing I ever thought I’d be interested in. But, dude, I’m in Guatemala. What the hell?
The mothers were absolutely ridiculous on Friday. They were so ready to let loose because they have no opportunity to do so in daily life, struggling to put food on the table, raising a family and often doing so with no patner. It surprised me how much they threw caution to the wind; I thought they would be too shy. I guess it’s cultural™. One thing is for sure: what happens at Camino, stays at Camino. I’ll just say my jaw dropped more than a few times.
Sunday was phenomenal. I met up with 8 or so volunteers and a few others for a game of ultimate frisbee. One of the guys is a motorcycle tour guide. Love it. We played for a few hours. Now the existence of a whole lot of muscle groups is glaringly obvious. I’m sure watching me walk the past 2 days has provided more than a couple of chuckles. Clearly, getting in shape is in order. I’d say take it with the proper grain of salt that we’re the self-proclaimed Guatemalan National Ultimate Frisbee Team, but it’s probably pretty accurate. Ang and Nate, the Canadian couple who play, actually are semi-pros. Nate has traveled far and wide for ultimate championships, a fact proven by his frisbee proudly labeled Maple Plain, MN. Afterward, we went for rooftop Argentine barbecue and Gallo beer (the only Guatemalan brew) at a nearby hostel. A table of Minnesotans sat behind me. What is the world telling me?!
Thursday, May 20, 2010
What a Waste
I saw the garbage dump today. It was a seething, teeming mass of garbage trucks, bulldozers, people, dogs and vultures. It was perhaps the most starkly depressing thing I have ever seen. People grab onto the trucks to claim the right to the 500 tons of garbage that are added every day. They walk along side it, almost looking like pallbearers. When the trucks dump their load, the people immediately descend upon it to stake their claim to anything that can be recycled for money, used in the home or eaten. It is not uncommon for the guajeros to eat days old meat they find, after re-cooking it over fires made from burning trash. Spontaneous fires erupt from the methane gas pouring from the dump. Garbage trucks often sink under their own weight after heavy rains, particularly dangerous because of the two subterranean rivers that run underneath the dump. The edges are filled with tent cities made of materials scavenged in the dump, housing an estimated 10% of those working in the dump. A family scavenging the dump may make Q10-15 per day, which is $1.23-1.84. Guajeros must register and pay a fee to work in the dump; those who can’t afford it sneak in on a path along the northwest side. Along the northeast side is a cemetery. Families must pay Q250 per year to keep their gravesite. If a family can’t pay, their relatives’ bodies are exhumed and thrown over the cliff into the mounds of garbage below.
These remains are added to the guajeros that die from being crushed under garbage trucks or buried under trash avalanches. There is no real way to know how many are lost, especially because many are unregistered. Death isn’t the only threat of work in the dump. Severed limbs are not altogether uncommon. People contract HIV and other diseases from medical waste. It is easy to fall in the uneven mounds and get breaks and sprains. Inevitable cuts caused from sharp edges are easily infected. Life is not just difficult when you’re in extreme poverty. Each day is a literal struggle to survive.
So, this is why I’m so upset about how we approach our possessions in the U.S. People just throw things away without a care. If you decide you don’t like something anymore, you just throw it away. It doesn’t matter if it’s still functional. Why are we so wasteful? It’s not just Guatemala City’s dump that’s filling so fast. We’re living far beyond our means as a planet. We have a floating garbage mass in the Pacific twice the size of Texas to prove it. I heard a number of times in regards to my preparation for Guatemala, “Don’t bring stuff. Just toss it and you can replace it for cheap when you get down there.” Just throw something perfectly good away so I can replace it when I go work to get people out of the garbage dump?! You’ve got to be out of your mind.
These are the exact mechanisms and processes that help keep people poor. Instead of being so gluttonous and wasteful, think of how much that wealth could potentially be redistributed if we would just really use what we have. Now, I’m not naive enough to think that money and goods would automatically be redistributed to poorer places if Westerners didn’t buy in to this culture of consumption. What I am saying is that there is a huge potential there.
What if every time you thought about buying something you didn’t need, you could send it to someone who did need it instead? Remember that sweater you bought on sale last year and has been hanging in your closet ever since? I won’t lie, when I left the U.S., I found several shirts with the tags still on them that I had purchased years before. Why were they still around? Why did I get them in the first place? The truth is, I got them to impress somebody. What if instead of falling into the trappings of keeping up with the Joneses, we focused our energy on making sure everyone at least had what they need? What would a world like that look like? I bet it would be a much happier place than the world we live in now. Crime would go down. Preventable diseases would diminish. Instead of worrying about where the next meal is coming from or how to keep a roof over one’s head, people could spend time with the neighbors. Or, better yet, energy could be focused on even more ways to improve one’s community.
That’s a world I want to live in. Sadly, I’m not sure if we have the heart to do it. We like our trappings too much.
These remains are added to the guajeros that die from being crushed under garbage trucks or buried under trash avalanches. There is no real way to know how many are lost, especially because many are unregistered. Death isn’t the only threat of work in the dump. Severed limbs are not altogether uncommon. People contract HIV and other diseases from medical waste. It is easy to fall in the uneven mounds and get breaks and sprains. Inevitable cuts caused from sharp edges are easily infected. Life is not just difficult when you’re in extreme poverty. Each day is a literal struggle to survive.
So, this is why I’m so upset about how we approach our possessions in the U.S. People just throw things away without a care. If you decide you don’t like something anymore, you just throw it away. It doesn’t matter if it’s still functional. Why are we so wasteful? It’s not just Guatemala City’s dump that’s filling so fast. We’re living far beyond our means as a planet. We have a floating garbage mass in the Pacific twice the size of Texas to prove it. I heard a number of times in regards to my preparation for Guatemala, “Don’t bring stuff. Just toss it and you can replace it for cheap when you get down there.” Just throw something perfectly good away so I can replace it when I go work to get people out of the garbage dump?! You’ve got to be out of your mind.
These are the exact mechanisms and processes that help keep people poor. Instead of being so gluttonous and wasteful, think of how much that wealth could potentially be redistributed if we would just really use what we have. Now, I’m not naive enough to think that money and goods would automatically be redistributed to poorer places if Westerners didn’t buy in to this culture of consumption. What I am saying is that there is a huge potential there.
What if every time you thought about buying something you didn’t need, you could send it to someone who did need it instead? Remember that sweater you bought on sale last year and has been hanging in your closet ever since? I won’t lie, when I left the U.S., I found several shirts with the tags still on them that I had purchased years before. Why were they still around? Why did I get them in the first place? The truth is, I got them to impress somebody. What if instead of falling into the trappings of keeping up with the Joneses, we focused our energy on making sure everyone at least had what they need? What would a world like that look like? I bet it would be a much happier place than the world we live in now. Crime would go down. Preventable diseases would diminish. Instead of worrying about where the next meal is coming from or how to keep a roof over one’s head, people could spend time with the neighbors. Or, better yet, energy could be focused on even more ways to improve one’s community.
That’s a world I want to live in. Sadly, I’m not sure if we have the heart to do it. We like our trappings too much.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Raising Funds, Raising Spirits
I get writer’s block. Badly. I say (in my estimation) pretty brilliant and meaningful things in my head all the time. But, when it comes to writing them down, I freeze. What if nobody likes what I have to say? Worse – what if people think I’m a moron? People can be judgy. I don’t like to be judged, unless your judgment is that I’m awesome. I figure going to Guatemala is as opportune a time as any to turn over a new leaf, so I’m going to try my darnedest to get over that mind block. I hope you like what I have to say. I hope you think I’m cute and clever. I hope my stories speak to you, or, at the very least, you find my musings amusing. But, you know what? It’s okay if you don’t. This time, it’s about me. So, here I go.
I’m spending the next year volunteering in Guatemala with an organization called Safe Passage. I’ll be overseeing the English program for youth and their families who make a living scavenging the Guatemala City garbage dump. It’s going to be hugely rewarding, and ridiculously trying. You get to hear about all the boons and busts along the way. Lucky you.
Since I’ve been out of work for so long (8 months!), and Safe Passage can’t pay my expenses to get to Guatemala, I’ve been fundraising to get here. It was really difficult for me to take the step to do this, since I’ve always been a do-it-yourself-er. I’m so glad I took the necessary step to ask for help – this has been one of the most inspiring and rewarding experiences I’ve ever had! I’m not talking about it being financially rewarding, although it’s been that, too (you guys are generous!). It has been emotionally rewarding to the highest degree. I sent out a plea, and the deluge of encouragement and support I received in response has simply blown my mind. Let me give you a few examples. Let me disclose that I’m not disclosing names. Like any upstanding repository for your money, I value your privacy.
Here are a few select quotes I’ve received from various friends and family over the past few weeks.
“You’re so fabulous. I’m so excited for and proud of you.”
“A lot of people don’t have it in them to do something like this. You’re making a big sacrifice and giving up a lot to go do good work.”
“You have the courage to follow your dreams. That’s really inspiring.”
“You have music in your heart. You deserve the best.”
I have never really seen myself as a risk-taker. I don’t put myself on the line very readily. I get a harebrained idea to go trek around northern Thailand or move to California, but I do it with an organization that I know well in a very controlled and calculated way. I’m still going to Guatemala through a well-established organization, but, come on, that’s just good sense in an area that can be a bit dangerous. I’m pretty much doing this one by the seat of my pants. I didn’t realize how big it was until I had people reflect it back at me (but of course, I only gave myself 2 weeks to gather up my life and skedaddle, so I haven’t exactly had time to ruminate on it). What I’m doing really is super ridiculous. I had an amazing apartment in San Francisco that I loved with a fabulous roommate that has become one of my closest friends. I have a phenomenal group of friends who inspire me to be great while still making me laugh and giving me the freedom to be silly and have fun. And I left everything I’ve worked so hard to build up in the blink of an eye.
It really is courageous to leave everyone and everything you know and love. Of course I haven’t had a job in San Francisco, but I still have built a really wonderful life there. I have amazing friends, not to mention my karaoke spots, my yoga studio, my grocery store, my restaurant, my insert noun here (like Mad Libs!). It’s hard leaving the comforts of home to go somewhere new, especially for so long. It’s even harder when you have to speak another language, which is entirely exhausting to do all the time. Of course, that is, unless you’re fluent, which I plan to be by the end of this thing. It’s also hard when you’re used to coming and going as you please. No longer will I have the freedom to just walk wherever, whenever or even do something so simple as carry a bag. Until I get used to how things work and what draws the wrong kind of attention, I will have to live in a very conservative way. It’s not necessarily bad, it’s just going to take a lot of getting used to. I’m going to miss walking to and fro at all hours. I’m going to miss wearing a pair of shoes because they’re cute and go with my outfit, and not because they look purposely shabby and allow for a quick getaway.
Now, let’s talk about the money. A friend’s ex-boyfriend gave several hundred dollars. Just like that. I’ve never even met him. Personally, I don’t think that that donation was for me exactly, but I’m happy to be the recipient. A good friend of mine is in school living on a shoestring budget of student loans and somehow still gave me $10. That $10 donation was by far the biggest one I received, because I knew it meant that he gave something up. Maybe it was a celebratory drink after finishing finals. Perhaps it was an art show he’d been looking forward to. Whatever it was, he made a sacrifice – a real sacrifice – so that I could go to Guatemala. People believe in what I’m doing that much. It’s both really humbling and incredibly inspiring to know that my friends and family have put that much stock in me. I just hope I can deliver.
Thanks for believing in me.
I’m spending the next year volunteering in Guatemala with an organization called Safe Passage. I’ll be overseeing the English program for youth and their families who make a living scavenging the Guatemala City garbage dump. It’s going to be hugely rewarding, and ridiculously trying. You get to hear about all the boons and busts along the way. Lucky you.
Since I’ve been out of work for so long (8 months!), and Safe Passage can’t pay my expenses to get to Guatemala, I’ve been fundraising to get here. It was really difficult for me to take the step to do this, since I’ve always been a do-it-yourself-er. I’m so glad I took the necessary step to ask for help – this has been one of the most inspiring and rewarding experiences I’ve ever had! I’m not talking about it being financially rewarding, although it’s been that, too (you guys are generous!). It has been emotionally rewarding to the highest degree. I sent out a plea, and the deluge of encouragement and support I received in response has simply blown my mind. Let me give you a few examples. Let me disclose that I’m not disclosing names. Like any upstanding repository for your money, I value your privacy.
Here are a few select quotes I’ve received from various friends and family over the past few weeks.
“You’re so fabulous. I’m so excited for and proud of you.”
“A lot of people don’t have it in them to do something like this. You’re making a big sacrifice and giving up a lot to go do good work.”
“You have the courage to follow your dreams. That’s really inspiring.”
“You have music in your heart. You deserve the best.”
I have never really seen myself as a risk-taker. I don’t put myself on the line very readily. I get a harebrained idea to go trek around northern Thailand or move to California, but I do it with an organization that I know well in a very controlled and calculated way. I’m still going to Guatemala through a well-established organization, but, come on, that’s just good sense in an area that can be a bit dangerous. I’m pretty much doing this one by the seat of my pants. I didn’t realize how big it was until I had people reflect it back at me (but of course, I only gave myself 2 weeks to gather up my life and skedaddle, so I haven’t exactly had time to ruminate on it). What I’m doing really is super ridiculous. I had an amazing apartment in San Francisco that I loved with a fabulous roommate that has become one of my closest friends. I have a phenomenal group of friends who inspire me to be great while still making me laugh and giving me the freedom to be silly and have fun. And I left everything I’ve worked so hard to build up in the blink of an eye.
It really is courageous to leave everyone and everything you know and love. Of course I haven’t had a job in San Francisco, but I still have built a really wonderful life there. I have amazing friends, not to mention my karaoke spots, my yoga studio, my grocery store, my restaurant, my insert noun here (like Mad Libs!). It’s hard leaving the comforts of home to go somewhere new, especially for so long. It’s even harder when you have to speak another language, which is entirely exhausting to do all the time. Of course, that is, unless you’re fluent, which I plan to be by the end of this thing. It’s also hard when you’re used to coming and going as you please. No longer will I have the freedom to just walk wherever, whenever or even do something so simple as carry a bag. Until I get used to how things work and what draws the wrong kind of attention, I will have to live in a very conservative way. It’s not necessarily bad, it’s just going to take a lot of getting used to. I’m going to miss walking to and fro at all hours. I’m going to miss wearing a pair of shoes because they’re cute and go with my outfit, and not because they look purposely shabby and allow for a quick getaway.
Now, let’s talk about the money. A friend’s ex-boyfriend gave several hundred dollars. Just like that. I’ve never even met him. Personally, I don’t think that that donation was for me exactly, but I’m happy to be the recipient. A good friend of mine is in school living on a shoestring budget of student loans and somehow still gave me $10. That $10 donation was by far the biggest one I received, because I knew it meant that he gave something up. Maybe it was a celebratory drink after finishing finals. Perhaps it was an art show he’d been looking forward to. Whatever it was, he made a sacrifice – a real sacrifice – so that I could go to Guatemala. People believe in what I’m doing that much. It’s both really humbling and incredibly inspiring to know that my friends and family have put that much stock in me. I just hope I can deliver.
Thanks for believing in me.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
New City, Same Host
Three weeks after the fact, this absolutely unbelievable story must finally come out. You can't make this stuff up.
So, Friday morning I jumped on the early train to Naples - but not before nearly forgetting my camera charger and battery at Maria's. I had to sprint back to reclaim them. I thought I'd see her again! The train ride was a dream world mix of ancient aqueducts and fresh graffiti. After being here, I can understand why that is an Italian word.
Naples is certainly not for the feeble. Stray dogs in the train station, trash piled in the streets, Camorra-types everywhere. I was a bit trepidatious to strike out too far on my own. Unsurprisingly, the Archaeological Museum was beckoning to me. I spent about 6 divine hours there pouring through every detail, and two of the major exhibits were closed: the Farnese collection and the Gladiator exhibit. But, I was welcomed by artifacts from Herculaneum and Pompeii at almost every turn, and the excitement and adrenaline kept building to finally be on Vesuvio. Afterward, I took a stroll up around one of the hilltops and got some wonderful views of Vesuvio, the Bay of Napoli and Capri.
Finally, it was time to meet Pasquale. He and I had been emailing each other daily for a month and had Skyped as well. He was so much fun and I couldn't wait to meet him, hang out and see the city. He met me at the train station with a big hug and kiss...on the neck. Fishy. I was really tipped off when, walking into his apartment, I entered the consummate bachelor pad, complete with dim red and blue lighting, chrome and leather furniture and, oh yes, mood music. Very fishy. Unfortunately, it was almost 9 p.m. in one of the more dangerous cities in the world. I figured trying my luck against Pasquale was a safer bet than against the city. I tried to keep the conversation light and flowing as he asked me if I knew what "spritzer" was. "Probably not your version, Pasquale, what's in it?" Instead of answering, he pulled out prosecco, some other liqueur and wine glasses and began mixing. He also put ice cubes down the front of my shirt. About 18 minutes after we'd met. "Oh, this is really not going to turn out okay, is it?" I admonished myself. We took the beverages out on the patio, where I again attempted benign conversation. "Tell me more about your photography?" "How long have you lived in this apartment?" "What's your favorite thing about Napoli?" He wasn't having it, and kept pointing out his speedo and insisting I'd love to see him in it. No, grazie. I finally herded him into making dinner, thinking this was a good diversion to the innuendo. No such luck. As he was tossing a handful of cheese in the sauce, he also tossed caution to the wind, grabbed me and tried to plant one on me. I almost tossed my cookies. We ate a very awkward dinner (with some delightfully curly noodles - they looked like strands of Shirley Temple's hair!) and I informed him I would be going to bed. He invited me to join him in his bed (because, somehow, he still hadn't gotten the point). I told him I would be sleeping alone, and then explained to him in no uncertain terms that I was there for friendship and tourism, nothing more.
In the morning, I was awoken by a flash of color as Pasquale jumped into my bed...in his underpants. They were brightly colored stripes like a circus performer, only I really did NOT want to know what was under the big top. Instead of being in a 3-ring circus, I was more accurately in the third ring of hell. He tried relentlessly to kiss me. Literally shoving him off, I pressed "Can we just go to Vesuvio, please?" Pasquale and I were to go to a party for his friend that night. I informed him I would be inviting Maria, who just happened to be in Napoli from Roma visiting her family. I hoped if things didn't improve, I could leave with her. Luckily, Maria readily took me up on the invitation.
So, Pasquale and I packed up and left for Vesuvio. It was MARVELOUS! Unfortunately, it was a bit hazy, so I didn't get the best view of the bay and islands. But the crater was impressive, and I watched the seismologists hundreds of feet down checking all the systems, hoping to myself it didn't mean the warning systems were not working. There's no escape when you're perched at the rim. I again had the false hope that Vesuvio would be a nice diversion from Pasquale's advances. Diversions generally work, but not with this crafty character. The WHOLE time climbing Vesuvio, he kept trying to hold my hand and kiss me, even trying to kiss my neck with small children around. I felt like I was swatting at flies all day long. If only I had had a turtle shell to suck myself up into, but I'm sure he would have tried to break through this defense as well. He's human version of the dog you can't get to stop humping your leg.
After Vesuvio, we grabbed some pizza (the REALLY real kind!) near Spaccanapoli. Pasquale asked if I wanted to go where President Clinton had given his patronage. "Ugh, I don't want to go where all the Americans go!" I retorted. After pizza, we sat on the rocks on the beach next to Castel del'Ovo - I picked a separate rock so he couldn't try anything untoward. On the walk back to the car, he was completely quiet and walked about 2 feet away from me. Good in the sense that my space wasn't being invaded, bad in the sense that he was now acting pissy. So, I took a chance on asking him what was wrong. I mean, he WAS my host, so didn't I have the obligation to try to smooth things over a little? In the car he finally whined, "When you kiss me it's...it's like you're doing me a favor!" News flash, homie, I'm NOT kissing you! I'm trying to KEEP YOU from kissing ME! I suddenly found myself enveloped in a quasi-breakup talk with someone I'd known for 15 hours. Again, let me give it to you straight, Pasquale. I am not here for that. Period. Then he told me I was being irrational. I still have no clue what that meant. When we arrived at his apartment, he went to his parents' house (yes, bachelor boy lives in the same building as mommy and daddy) so I could have time to "cool off." Umm, Mr. Hot to Trot, you're the one who really needs to "cool down." Handsy. I'm just trying to enjoy the end of my vacation. So, I did what any savvy gal would do when they've had more than enough, grabbed his phone and called Maria to pick me up. She was there in the flashest of flashes. Saved, and I didn't even have to see Pasquale again, although I did pull my best spy moves sneaking down the stairs when I heard him coming! The "Dear John" letter I left was fun to write. "Dear Pasquale, You suck. I'm out."
Really, though, I have to thank Pasquale, because this all worked out in my favor. Maria, as I've stated, is an absolute gem, and I was so happy to spend more time with her (I knew that wouldn't be it!). We drove to her family's incredible Mediterranean villa in Trecase (Three Houses, because it's the smallest town in the region at 10,000 people [Maili Tatu, anyone?]), which overlooks the bay and has a veritable cornucopia of oranges, lemons, grapes and figs in the back. Her parents immediately took me under their wing, and are the sweetest people in the world. Even her aunt was telling me to, "Say hello to Barack Obama." Mrs. Marino seemed to delight in serving me a myriad of culinary creations (including my first octopus!) and kept the wine flowing readily. It's not possible to get your fill of Lacryma Cristi, especially when it's bottled by the neighbor down the street, but for a few days I had as much as my heart desired. By the end of my stay, she had become my Italian mother, and invited me back anytime.
The night she picked me up, Maria took me to Sorrento with her friend Carmine. But, not before a classic Maria and Shannon Misadventure: we got pulled over by the military police and were detained for about a half hour. Sorrento has some breathtaking views of the bay, and is an adorable little town. While sipping more wine, Maria and Carmine did solve one mystery for me. Apparently, it's a well-known "fact" around here that American and Northern European women come here for one reason only. Yeah, thanks to whoever gave us that reputation. Really, I appreciate it. Made my vacation.
The next morning Carmine picked me up and took me for a (free!) private tour of Pompeii (he's a tourist guide). I couldn't believe that he would give up his day off to schlep around a hopeless travelin' gal. He defended himself by claiming it as a way to make up for "Pasquale the Raper" (Maria came up with that gem). As an anthropologist, this was by far one of the highlights of my trip. Carmine ascertained that I must be part Pompeiian high-society, since all the upper-echelon folks were very light-skinned. Funny. I tended to agree with him, though, after being informed that the ancient city had 4 water springs and 87 wine bars. My kind of place!
That afternoon, Maria gave me a little crash course in Italian politics. Berlusconi is like the combination of the worst of G Dubya and Clinton - used his buddies (read: Mafia and Camorra) to ensure he won the election, using his power to line the pockets of his friends with complete disregard to the greater good of his country and people, plus sex scandals! Sounds like a winner to me. Then, we headed to the beach to soak in the last rays. I worked on my tan (who's Pompeiian royalty now? Not me!) and swam in the Mediterranean for the first time in my life. I couldn't believe how salty it was. Maria and I soaked up so many rays, in fact, that we missed the last elevator back up to the street on the cliffs above! There is no other way off the beach. We were informed of this by the president of the local kayak society, who graciously offered us a ride out (a group of them were congregated on the beach, so we had no idea the elevator was closed with so many people around). I wish we had taken him up on his offer, but we intercepted a hotel employee and begged a ride up.
Maria and I grabbed a local lemon dessert to bring back for the family, and went to savor my last dinner in Italy. Mrs. Marino insisted on sending home two bottles of Lacryma Cristi (red and white) AND a bottle of homemade limoncello. I was floored (just as I'll be after drinking it all), and could barely squeak out the words to thank her. I was so overwhelmed by the outpouring of generosity by Maria and her family, I had absolutely no words to express what I was feeling to them. Maria took me in for four days in Roma, and then answered my desperate plea and hosted me for two more days. Plus, her family took me in no questions asked, made me feel like a part of the family and sent me home with gifts. How can you respond to kindness like that? The only answer is by paying it forward.
There's a lot I could say about my time in Europe. To simplify, I was able to get some distance and perspective, and figured out a lot. Much of this was loooong overdue. But, happily, I'm finally really in a place where I know I can pay it all forward. It's always a bit sad to go home from vacation, but I'm not dreading it. Instead, I'm ready to go home and take my life by the horns.
So, Friday morning I jumped on the early train to Naples - but not before nearly forgetting my camera charger and battery at Maria's. I had to sprint back to reclaim them. I thought I'd see her again! The train ride was a dream world mix of ancient aqueducts and fresh graffiti. After being here, I can understand why that is an Italian word.
Naples is certainly not for the feeble. Stray dogs in the train station, trash piled in the streets, Camorra-types everywhere. I was a bit trepidatious to strike out too far on my own. Unsurprisingly, the Archaeological Museum was beckoning to me. I spent about 6 divine hours there pouring through every detail, and two of the major exhibits were closed: the Farnese collection and the Gladiator exhibit. But, I was welcomed by artifacts from Herculaneum and Pompeii at almost every turn, and the excitement and adrenaline kept building to finally be on Vesuvio. Afterward, I took a stroll up around one of the hilltops and got some wonderful views of Vesuvio, the Bay of Napoli and Capri.
Finally, it was time to meet Pasquale. He and I had been emailing each other daily for a month and had Skyped as well. He was so much fun and I couldn't wait to meet him, hang out and see the city. He met me at the train station with a big hug and kiss...on the neck. Fishy. I was really tipped off when, walking into his apartment, I entered the consummate bachelor pad, complete with dim red and blue lighting, chrome and leather furniture and, oh yes, mood music. Very fishy. Unfortunately, it was almost 9 p.m. in one of the more dangerous cities in the world. I figured trying my luck against Pasquale was a safer bet than against the city. I tried to keep the conversation light and flowing as he asked me if I knew what "spritzer" was. "Probably not your version, Pasquale, what's in it?" Instead of answering, he pulled out prosecco, some other liqueur and wine glasses and began mixing. He also put ice cubes down the front of my shirt. About 18 minutes after we'd met. "Oh, this is really not going to turn out okay, is it?" I admonished myself. We took the beverages out on the patio, where I again attempted benign conversation. "Tell me more about your photography?" "How long have you lived in this apartment?" "What's your favorite thing about Napoli?" He wasn't having it, and kept pointing out his speedo and insisting I'd love to see him in it. No, grazie. I finally herded him into making dinner, thinking this was a good diversion to the innuendo. No such luck. As he was tossing a handful of cheese in the sauce, he also tossed caution to the wind, grabbed me and tried to plant one on me. I almost tossed my cookies. We ate a very awkward dinner (with some delightfully curly noodles - they looked like strands of Shirley Temple's hair!) and I informed him I would be going to bed. He invited me to join him in his bed (because, somehow, he still hadn't gotten the point). I told him I would be sleeping alone, and then explained to him in no uncertain terms that I was there for friendship and tourism, nothing more.
In the morning, I was awoken by a flash of color as Pasquale jumped into my bed...in his underpants. They were brightly colored stripes like a circus performer, only I really did NOT want to know what was under the big top. Instead of being in a 3-ring circus, I was more accurately in the third ring of hell. He tried relentlessly to kiss me. Literally shoving him off, I pressed "Can we just go to Vesuvio, please?" Pasquale and I were to go to a party for his friend that night. I informed him I would be inviting Maria, who just happened to be in Napoli from Roma visiting her family. I hoped if things didn't improve, I could leave with her. Luckily, Maria readily took me up on the invitation.
So, Pasquale and I packed up and left for Vesuvio. It was MARVELOUS! Unfortunately, it was a bit hazy, so I didn't get the best view of the bay and islands. But the crater was impressive, and I watched the seismologists hundreds of feet down checking all the systems, hoping to myself it didn't mean the warning systems were not working. There's no escape when you're perched at the rim. I again had the false hope that Vesuvio would be a nice diversion from Pasquale's advances. Diversions generally work, but not with this crafty character. The WHOLE time climbing Vesuvio, he kept trying to hold my hand and kiss me, even trying to kiss my neck with small children around. I felt like I was swatting at flies all day long. If only I had had a turtle shell to suck myself up into, but I'm sure he would have tried to break through this defense as well. He's human version of the dog you can't get to stop humping your leg.
After Vesuvio, we grabbed some pizza (the REALLY real kind!) near Spaccanapoli. Pasquale asked if I wanted to go where President Clinton had given his patronage. "Ugh, I don't want to go where all the Americans go!" I retorted. After pizza, we sat on the rocks on the beach next to Castel del'Ovo - I picked a separate rock so he couldn't try anything untoward. On the walk back to the car, he was completely quiet and walked about 2 feet away from me. Good in the sense that my space wasn't being invaded, bad in the sense that he was now acting pissy. So, I took a chance on asking him what was wrong. I mean, he WAS my host, so didn't I have the obligation to try to smooth things over a little? In the car he finally whined, "When you kiss me it's...it's like you're doing me a favor!" News flash, homie, I'm NOT kissing you! I'm trying to KEEP YOU from kissing ME! I suddenly found myself enveloped in a quasi-breakup talk with someone I'd known for 15 hours. Again, let me give it to you straight, Pasquale. I am not here for that. Period. Then he told me I was being irrational. I still have no clue what that meant. When we arrived at his apartment, he went to his parents' house (yes, bachelor boy lives in the same building as mommy and daddy) so I could have time to "cool off." Umm, Mr. Hot to Trot, you're the one who really needs to "cool down." Handsy. I'm just trying to enjoy the end of my vacation. So, I did what any savvy gal would do when they've had more than enough, grabbed his phone and called Maria to pick me up. She was there in the flashest of flashes. Saved, and I didn't even have to see Pasquale again, although I did pull my best spy moves sneaking down the stairs when I heard him coming! The "Dear John" letter I left was fun to write. "Dear Pasquale, You suck. I'm out."
Really, though, I have to thank Pasquale, because this all worked out in my favor. Maria, as I've stated, is an absolute gem, and I was so happy to spend more time with her (I knew that wouldn't be it!). We drove to her family's incredible Mediterranean villa in Trecase (Three Houses, because it's the smallest town in the region at 10,000 people [Maili Tatu, anyone?]), which overlooks the bay and has a veritable cornucopia of oranges, lemons, grapes and figs in the back. Her parents immediately took me under their wing, and are the sweetest people in the world. Even her aunt was telling me to, "Say hello to Barack Obama." Mrs. Marino seemed to delight in serving me a myriad of culinary creations (including my first octopus!) and kept the wine flowing readily. It's not possible to get your fill of Lacryma Cristi, especially when it's bottled by the neighbor down the street, but for a few days I had as much as my heart desired. By the end of my stay, she had become my Italian mother, and invited me back anytime.
The night she picked me up, Maria took me to Sorrento with her friend Carmine. But, not before a classic Maria and Shannon Misadventure: we got pulled over by the military police and were detained for about a half hour. Sorrento has some breathtaking views of the bay, and is an adorable little town. While sipping more wine, Maria and Carmine did solve one mystery for me. Apparently, it's a well-known "fact" around here that American and Northern European women come here for one reason only. Yeah, thanks to whoever gave us that reputation. Really, I appreciate it. Made my vacation.
The next morning Carmine picked me up and took me for a (free!) private tour of Pompeii (he's a tourist guide). I couldn't believe that he would give up his day off to schlep around a hopeless travelin' gal. He defended himself by claiming it as a way to make up for "Pasquale the Raper" (Maria came up with that gem). As an anthropologist, this was by far one of the highlights of my trip. Carmine ascertained that I must be part Pompeiian high-society, since all the upper-echelon folks were very light-skinned. Funny. I tended to agree with him, though, after being informed that the ancient city had 4 water springs and 87 wine bars. My kind of place!
That afternoon, Maria gave me a little crash course in Italian politics. Berlusconi is like the combination of the worst of G Dubya and Clinton - used his buddies (read: Mafia and Camorra) to ensure he won the election, using his power to line the pockets of his friends with complete disregard to the greater good of his country and people, plus sex scandals! Sounds like a winner to me. Then, we headed to the beach to soak in the last rays. I worked on my tan (who's Pompeiian royalty now? Not me!) and swam in the Mediterranean for the first time in my life. I couldn't believe how salty it was. Maria and I soaked up so many rays, in fact, that we missed the last elevator back up to the street on the cliffs above! There is no other way off the beach. We were informed of this by the president of the local kayak society, who graciously offered us a ride out (a group of them were congregated on the beach, so we had no idea the elevator was closed with so many people around). I wish we had taken him up on his offer, but we intercepted a hotel employee and begged a ride up.
Maria and I grabbed a local lemon dessert to bring back for the family, and went to savor my last dinner in Italy. Mrs. Marino insisted on sending home two bottles of Lacryma Cristi (red and white) AND a bottle of homemade limoncello. I was floored (just as I'll be after drinking it all), and could barely squeak out the words to thank her. I was so overwhelmed by the outpouring of generosity by Maria and her family, I had absolutely no words to express what I was feeling to them. Maria took me in for four days in Roma, and then answered my desperate plea and hosted me for two more days. Plus, her family took me in no questions asked, made me feel like a part of the family and sent me home with gifts. How can you respond to kindness like that? The only answer is by paying it forward.
There's a lot I could say about my time in Europe. To simplify, I was able to get some distance and perspective, and figured out a lot. Much of this was loooong overdue. But, happily, I'm finally really in a place where I know I can pay it all forward. It's always a bit sad to go home from vacation, but I'm not dreading it. Instead, I'm ready to go home and take my life by the horns.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
When in Vatican City, don't do as Jesus does.
So, train stories are always fun. This one is fun only in retrospect. I was actually scared for the first time on my trip while it was happening. I took the overnight train from Val Gardena to Roma. My cabin-mates were the Ghanaian version of the Ugly American. They were screaming and shouting and carrying on, at one point getting in a shouting match over whether midnight is night or morning. All this on a train full of people. So, you can't blame me for asking them to be quiet. Only, my spidey senses were tingling about them, what with them punching the windows of the cabin and all. So, I didn't want to get involved in discourse with them. Therefore, I pretended to be Spanish, ostensibly the one language they didn't speak, and could feign not understanding what they were saying to me (especially when one of them called me a particular curse word for wanting to sleep at 2 a.m.). I ended up having a quasi-conversation with one of them, me in Spanish, he in Italian. We ended up laughing, and then he said something about his friend (the one doing all the punching) not liking Americans.
So, I was happy when we finally arrived in Roma and I got off the train safe and sound. What was the first thing I chose to see in Roma at 7:30 a.m.? The Trevi Fountain, of course. I got to watch a half dozen men in galoshes squeegeeing it while I ate peaches from Ele. It was sublime. Then I made my way over to Vatican City (a whole other country!), and was denied access to the Basilica for having bare shoulders. Two days later when I got over it and went back, I was appalled to see Jesus in a loincloth and cherubs in less, yet I had to be almost fully mantilla-fied. Does God really care that much about my shoulders? Isn't God just happy to see me? It's been such a long time.... This is just one of many reasons I left the church. However, I felt a twist of happiness today when I saw the rainbow flag flying from a balcony only a few metres outside of the Vatican City walls. Small victories can be so sweet.
I have seen so many incredible sights here: the Colosseum, the Terme de Caracolla (the ancient bath house, with a full Olympic-sized pool), the Sistine Chapel (wowza!), the Forum, the Piazza Venezia, the changing of the guards at the parliament - I've seen almost every square inch of ancient Rome. My host Maria is wonderful. She's an anti-marriage, anime-loving, environmentalist who broke in her kitchen cooking dinner for Jordan and I. She spends her vacations volunteering with WWF, doing things like saving harbor seals in Greece. Maria is an inspiration, and makes me not only desperately miss doing international volunteering (was my last GCN trip really 3 years ago?!), but reinvigorates me. Our first night together, she took me out on the back of her moto for a sunset tour of the city (there's nothing like seeing the Colosseum and the Forum against the setting sun). We went to Trastevere, a neighborhood high on my list, for wine. I was invited to move to Egypt with our server. I turned him down.
Every trip I take abroad, I give myself license to buy something extravagant, since I make it a point not to splurge on myself at home. So, I decided, what better to do in Rome than get some gladiator sandals. After two afternoons of shopping, I hadn't found a pair that worked. They are deceptively uncomfortable - the soles are hard as a rock. Luckily, there is more than one option if I want uncomfortable Italian shoes. I ended up with a pair of suede stilettos, which are actually more comfortable than the sandals. And surprisingly business appropriate. Tutto bene!
I have also been treating myself to as much gelato and tiramisu as my body can handle. Pine nut gelato, bring it on! I've even had strawberry tiramisu. It's a good thing I've been doing so much walking. It doesn't help that the Italian boys like to give double portions to the blonde foreign girls. It also doesn't help that they're so cute I can't help but go back for more...gelato.
So, I was happy when we finally arrived in Roma and I got off the train safe and sound. What was the first thing I chose to see in Roma at 7:30 a.m.? The Trevi Fountain, of course. I got to watch a half dozen men in galoshes squeegeeing it while I ate peaches from Ele. It was sublime. Then I made my way over to Vatican City (a whole other country!), and was denied access to the Basilica for having bare shoulders. Two days later when I got over it and went back, I was appalled to see Jesus in a loincloth and cherubs in less, yet I had to be almost fully mantilla-fied. Does God really care that much about my shoulders? Isn't God just happy to see me? It's been such a long time.... This is just one of many reasons I left the church. However, I felt a twist of happiness today when I saw the rainbow flag flying from a balcony only a few metres outside of the Vatican City walls. Small victories can be so sweet.
I have seen so many incredible sights here: the Colosseum, the Terme de Caracolla (the ancient bath house, with a full Olympic-sized pool), the Sistine Chapel (wowza!), the Forum, the Piazza Venezia, the changing of the guards at the parliament - I've seen almost every square inch of ancient Rome. My host Maria is wonderful. She's an anti-marriage, anime-loving, environmentalist who broke in her kitchen cooking dinner for Jordan and I. She spends her vacations volunteering with WWF, doing things like saving harbor seals in Greece. Maria is an inspiration, and makes me not only desperately miss doing international volunteering (was my last GCN trip really 3 years ago?!), but reinvigorates me. Our first night together, she took me out on the back of her moto for a sunset tour of the city (there's nothing like seeing the Colosseum and the Forum against the setting sun). We went to Trastevere, a neighborhood high on my list, for wine. I was invited to move to Egypt with our server. I turned him down.
Every trip I take abroad, I give myself license to buy something extravagant, since I make it a point not to splurge on myself at home. So, I decided, what better to do in Rome than get some gladiator sandals. After two afternoons of shopping, I hadn't found a pair that worked. They are deceptively uncomfortable - the soles are hard as a rock. Luckily, there is more than one option if I want uncomfortable Italian shoes. I ended up with a pair of suede stilettos, which are actually more comfortable than the sandals. And surprisingly business appropriate. Tutto bene!
I have also been treating myself to as much gelato and tiramisu as my body can handle. Pine nut gelato, bring it on! I've even had strawberry tiramisu. It's a good thing I've been doing so much walking. It doesn't help that the Italian boys like to give double portions to the blonde foreign girls. It also doesn't help that they're so cute I can't help but go back for more...gelato.
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