My Meaningful Meandering

Moving Forward

2011-09-12T14:31:00.005+06:00

In order to get a grasp on my new life, I set some short term goals: setting up my classroom, moving to my new place, finally unpacking my bags, attending yoga classes, and socializing with new friends.

Well, I accomplished all my goals and then some.

My classroom is organized and decorated.  I also set a schedule and finally began working with students.  Connecting with the kids energizes me, and they are the reason I love my job! If I can love my job, then the rest should fall into place, right? Although my role as an ESL specialist is still undergoing revision, I am now finding more opportunities to contribute my expertise and feel validated professionally. School is thankfully on an upswing.

The new flat feels good and meets my needs for now.  I have finally unpacked my suitcases, organized my things, and established daily routines.  Although a bit lacking in windows (I have one), the space is quiet and provides a needed respite from the chaos outside.  I am calling it "cocoon-y." If I can't control the big things in my life, at least I can create a bit of normalcy and feel safe in my little home.

After a long hiatus, I have come back to yoga. This is significant on many levels. Physically, I am rebuilding muscles and flexibility. Mentally, I am focused on caring for my body inside and out.  Emotionally, I am acknowledging the correlations among poses, feelings they release, and challenges they symbolize in life. Spiritually, my heart is open and connected to a higher power. And socially, I am spending time with supportive and likeminded people.

The greatest gift of living abroad is the friendships that are built in the absence of family. Amazingly, I have already found caring, generous and well-grounded people with whom to share my life.  I am slowly filling the empty spaces caused by leaving behind people and places.  However, filling is not replacing, and those people are truly cherished and places deeply missed. It just means that my heart is a little bigger and the world a little smaller.

The homesickness, the urge to go back to Jordan, and the shock of, “What in the world have I just done with my life?” all come and go in waves. The inverses are moments of amazement that this is truly my life, the thought that I must move forward and never backward, and that my experience in Vietnam is a journey with an end that I cannot anticipate (and will be a better person for regardless of the outcome).

Homebase & Homesick

2011-08-31T21:35:00.003+06:00

So I went to bed feeling resolved. When I awoke, I called my real estate agent to confirm that I would take the small serviced apartment I saw in District 1 that was walking distance to school, my good friend, and a nice yoga studio. The clincher was that it only required a one-month deposit and was a three-month lease. I was trading size and my amazing view for proximity and flexibility. The extra bedroom had meant that I’d finally “made it” and eagerly awaited visitors. But in truth, it would only be occupied for 1% of my time in Saigon and I don’t need to prove myself to anyone. Furthermore, the indoor space I wanted for hosting dinners and house parties is not needed (evidenced by the lack of ovens in all kitchens and abundance of free food delivery). Restaurants, takeaway, bars and nights on the town prevail. And the outdoor space that I thought would need to counteract the traffic, noise and crowds of the downtown is still available anytime I want to hop on a xe om (motorbike taxi) and visit my friends in D7. I need more time to let go of the life I loved in Jordan and reframe my thinking to enjoy how things happen here.

That also goes for my partner, colleagues and dear friends in Jordan, all of whom I miss immensely. Knowing that they have regrouped and are having great fun (as they should) makes me feel as if I’m missing out. As I go through the challenges of adjusting to a new country, I keep wishing I could call them or curl up on their couches to talk. Leaving my partner has been especially difficult. I am intensely homesickness; however, home for me is not the US, home is where I have flourished for the last two years. I am fighting the fantasy of returning to Jordan. What would I return to? I was ready to move on from my job. Many friends have or will soon move away, and those who stay will adjust to my absence. The barriers in my romantic relationship will still be there. I always knew that leaving that life behind would be hard, but that realization hasn’t helped much in midst of the emotional aftermath. The expat life has provided so many blessings that I would not change for the world, but it has also been filled with tough choices and painful farewells.

Decision-Making Anxiety

2011-08-24T22:44:00.002+06:00

Thankfully, my colleagues at my new school have all been amazing. We have bonded quickly and I did not hesitate to reach out when I realized my living situation was not the best. I was comforted by encouraging words and opportunities to socialize. No one had actually seen my beautiful apartment, but when my close friend from Jordan (who coincidentally now lives in Saigon) finally stopped over, she was impressed. I was bolstered and we decided to venture out into the neighborhood to explore the street food. She has been in Vietnam for 6 months already and lives in a back alley guesthouse, so not much can get by her. But she confirmed the presence of a “ripping off the tourist” cloud that I had suspected was hanging over me. Additionally, I am always up for a culinary adventure, but the street food options were past my tolerance for exotic. Lack of cleanliness, intense smells and mysterious innards floating in my soup. Not a comfy café in sight. After a bit of fun, we made our way back to my apartment, and the tears sprang out again.

I was homesick, lonely (no internet at the apartment yet meant no email or skype), overwhelmed by my last minute job-change, and feeling like I couldn’t make a confident decision about what to eat let alone where to live. She talked me through the thought that had been sneaking into my brain since the moment I moved in, and we hashed out a plan for backing out of the lease. I sent the text to my real estate agent the next morning and waited for a reply. The biggest question was how much money I would I lose. His first response after breaking the news to the landlady was that it didn’t go well, so I decided to meet with her myself. Via her extremely responsible teenage daughter, I was able to communicate my need to be closer to my school and other expats. She did not hesitate to offer me back the full deposit and prorated rent (less the realtor's cut). She was worried about me being so far from my family and just wanted me to be happy. There were no hard feelings and we hugged good night when she left. I'll take motherly love wherever I can find it :-)

The next day, my agent took me around to a range of housing options in several districts, each having pluses and minuses. District 1 was close to nice restaurants, hotels, gyms, yoga studios and school, but it was also crowded, loud and apartments were tiny and expensive. The building on the edge of District 5 where several colleagues resided was much closer to school, but the apartments were lesser quality and equal in price to my current place. I just couldn’t swallow breaking a lease and losing money to move within the same district to a place that I didn’t really like. District 7 had some quite nice places in a concrete jungle complex for the same price. Although quieter and closer to the rest of my colleagues, I kept balking at moving so far away from downtown and tacking on another ten minutes to my motorbike commute. I should mention that all of these places wanted a two-month deposit, plus two months’ rent, plus a year lease. I had been blessed once by an amazing landlady, but the chance of finding another, were I to repeat my “wrong” choice, was very slim. After talking it over with my friend, we decided that District 7 was the best fit for me due to proximity to friends, open space, and presence of expat-friendly restaurants and stores.

From Jordan to Vietnam

2011-08-21T15:43:00.001+06:00

The last two weeks have been a rollercoaster of contradictions. Excitement and dread. Relief and regret. Sheer ambivalence at every turn. The three foundational needs for re-establishing my life include: my job, where I will live and who I will spend time with. In each of these, I have had extreme highs and lows since I arrived in Vietnam.

Let’s start with my job. Well, this is the driving force that brought me literally to the other side of the world. I have taught in various capacities on and off for several years. After completing my Master’s degree in International Education and teaching elementary school language arts in Jordan for the last two years, I know I have found the best career for myself. I left Amman feeling confident in my abilities and eager to grow as an educator. Arriving in Vietnam, I feel as if I am a first year teacher all over again. And in fact I almost was when my position was changed last minute from ESOL to Grade 3 classroom. Gulp. Be with the kids all day? Plan for all content areas? I’ve always flirted with the idea of making this switch, but when it was thrust at my unexpectedly, I hadn’t had time to mentally prepare and was freaking out internally. As is my way, I jumped right in setting up the classroom, meeting with the other third grade teachers, and planning as much as I could. But I still felt like I was spinning wheels.

This is also when my housing anxiety kicked in. The school financed my stay in a very clean yet windowless hotel room downtown for just one week. The whole lot of new teachers was scrambling to find accommodations at the same time and it seemed I was one step behind. Half of them decided on one building walking distance to the school but further from Western familiarities, and the other half chose a highrise complex in a leafy suburb about 20 minutes by motorbike from school. I wavered on both locations because my mind was still stuck on my charming, spacious apartment in Jordan for half the price. These were box-like with tacky and/or low quality furniture. The bathrooms in most were blah and I couldn’t imagine snuggling up to watch a movie on any of the couches. So I went online and found some listings I liked in a building in the same district as my school. I fell in love with the apartment as soon as I walked in the door. Simple and high quality furniture, neutral tones, two bedrooms and two bathrooms, and high up with an amazing view. After losing out on other apartments, I jumped on this one. No one was going to beat me to it!

I handed over millions of Vietnamese Dong and moved in the next day. As soon as I signed the lease and the landlady and real estate agent left, the tears poured out. What had I just done? I was all alone in middle of District 5. Yes, it was in the same district as my school, but still a ten minute ride on the back of a motorbike. Certainly not walkable. And I learned very quickly that I was the only expat in the twenty block radius of Chinatown. I have absolutely nothing against Chinese people—and actually one of the reasons I felt at ease signing this lease was because the landlady was so unbelievably nice—but the isolation was intense. I had to haggle hard with motorbike taxis and then get jostled around in dense traffic for twenty minutes anytime I wanted to go somewhere expat-friendly, and when I wanted to come back, no one knew where it was. The route quickly became familiar, but I soon began dreading it. Inside the apartment, I loved the peacefulness, amazing view and super-comfortable bed, but as soon as I stepped outside, the chaos swept over me.

Higher Powers & Making Plans

2010-08-10T15:47:00.005+06:00

My summer started with a huge rush as my entire family arrived in Jordan for a two week adventure throughout the Levant. We drove up and down Jordan doing ever touristy or untouristy (and thus even cooler) thing I could think of. We flew to Lebanon and drove to Syria. I was determined for them to love this crazy desert as much as I do. Therefore, I even (gasp) planned in advanced so that my elaborate itinerary would not balance in the hands of people who did or did not fee like doing their jobs on those particular days. Well, guess what. Tons of things fell apart, like the van I had booked months in advance, the caters that flaked out (two different ones), and my Syrian visa that never came (even though I submitted everything well in advance).

This is the lesson that I have learned and relearned throughout my time in the Middle East: your fate is God's will (inshallah is the magic word). On one hand, it has been a tremendous release to ease my grip on the Western technique of obsessive-compulsive micromanagement. Things often don't work out the way you hope. Life goes on. But on the other hand, people in this region often take this to mean that they don't have to do anything (i.e. their jobs) to make sure plans/reservations/deposits are respected. Consequently, everyone is constantly yelling at each other that they need something NOW and that they are MORE important than everyone else. They will fight tooth and nail to get EXACTLY what they want. And then if it doesn't work out, then it was God's will. So living here has also shortened my already fairly short fuse. Everything from making sure my water is delivered on time to ensuring that my monthly paycheck is accurate to renting a car for the agreed time and price are always exercises in how firm, pushy and demanding I can be.

It's exhausting. I constantly strive to balance between detailed planning that inevitably falls through and lazy arrogance that culminates in making last minute demands. So the goal is to prepare as much as I can within reason, expect the worse, and when it doesn't work out, be firm and stand up for myself. Because no matter whose fault it was that things didn't work out, God is still watching.

At the End of the Rainbow

2010-07-25T13:30:00.002+06:00

Adaptation

Acceptance of legitimacy of another reality. Satisfying personal relationships with host nationals. Language competence. Thorough understanding and enjoyment and adoption of some of its ways. Ability to cope with stress.

The insane bureaucracy. The treatment of women. The lack of consideration for others in public spaces. Sleazy teenage boys. Scheming taxi drivers. I have a ways to go before I can fully accept these as a valid reality. Maybe I never will. Coping with stress is a case-by-case situation. I handle it better now than I ever did in the U.S. I hardly drink alcohol anymore and opt for yoga as a coping mechanism instead. Monthly trips to the spa and salon alongside more care in my wardrobe have made me feel better about myself and allowed me to blend in a bit more with the Jordanian women (who never leave the house without a fully accessorized outfit, blown out hair and full make-up). I have positive relationships with my coworkers (expats and locals) and stop to say hi to people on the street. I don't know if it is linguistically possible for me to become fluent in Arabic, but my English is now seasoned with Arabic slang and conversation fillers (yalla, yani, bas, halas, habibti)

Things I enjoy and have adapted in terms of Jordanian/Palestinian culture center primarily around food (no surprise there!). I prefer labneh and falafel for breakfast, I eat my biggest meal in the afternoon, I drink tea at least three times a day (with heaps of sugar), I feel like a sinner if I don't serve tea to anyone who enters my house, and I smoke argileh like it's going out of style. The only non-food custom that I can think of is that I kiss everyone I know hello and good-bye (once on the left, two on the right).Living as an expat is total-body experience. My weight, my emotions and my mindset all fluctuate regularly as I move through these stages of culture shock in jolts and out of order. But as long as I keep sight of the bigger picture and don't get too stuck in the moment, the highs and lows seem to balance each other out. The challenges, life lessons, daily routines, simple joys and amazing relationships I have found along the way make it all worthwhile.

One Day at a Time

2010-06-19T14:51:00.003+06:00

Gradual Adjustment

Crisis passes and the visitor begins to understand more of the customs and subtle cultural clues. Language skills increase. Humor returns. The culture seems more familiar and the visitor feels more comfortable and less isolated in it.

There are glimmers of hope. Culture shock absolutely correlates to emotional stress in daily life. On good days, I love Amman. On bad days, I hate it. I don't see myself as a "visitor" anymore. I live here. I don't really have a home to go back to, and I've invested a lot of time and money into my newest (third) flat. I have found supportive female spaces and look to all the strong women (expat AND local) for inspiration. I appreciate all the men in my life that show me how wrong stereotypes can be. My Arabic skills are slowly improving. I walk around my neighborhood and try to imagine how it will look through the wide eyes of my family members who are coming in a week and have never been to the Middle East. I have my grocer, my tailor, my hairdresser, my shuwarma guy, my regular server at my regular restaurant. I have my favorite street cat, my favorite building, my favorite flowers, my favorite city views.

Bring on the Drama…

2010-06-17T14:48:00.004+06:00

Culture Shock

Focus shifts to differences that suddenly seem to be everywhere and are blown out of proportion. Sense of humor replaced by irritations, hostility, anxiety, disorientation, and vulnerability. Symptoms of culture shock may include the following: excessive amounts of sleep, compulsive eating and/or drinking, exaggerated cleanliness, physical ailments, marital/familial problems, stereotyping, chauvinism, fits of weeping, homesickness, boredom.

Culture shock bashed me over the head, threw me against a wall and left me for dead the moment I returned from Christmas vacation. After being in the U.S. for ten days, I had missed my friends and life in Amman and was looking forward to returning for a New Year's Eve celebration. Flight complications, lost luggage, arriving to an empty house, a fizzled party and a detached significant other all sent me into a tailspin. A small disagreement between my boyfriend and I escalated into an break-up, I became confrontational at school about the fact that I had yet to receive my residency and work permit, and I felt extremely homesick for everything American.

My friends supported me fantastically through the break-up by listening to my relentless psycho-analysis as I sucked on argileh hoses and stared at my coffee. My jetlag became torture and I barely slept for two weeks. I was never hungry. I got three ear infections in two months. I stayed in my room unless my friends dragged me out to go to a party or a bar. And when I did venture out, I realized how awful the lurid stares from the men on the streets really were. The thought of abandoning ship that had flashed in my mind when I first arrived in Amman was flickering again.

This stage comes and goes and correlates strongly to the emotional effects of other events in my life. The support of my friends during the break-up gave me a strong sense of kinship and belonging that I have treasured ever since. And I realized that my job was fulfilling, despite the bureaucratic nightmares and lack of organization, and that with or without a boyfriend, I wanted to stay. Since hearts know no logic, he and I soon reunited and I am continuously overwhelmed by the support and stability that exist now between us.

Yet despite deep friendships and a wonderful partner, I have become a royal brat in many ways. The hassling, whistles, lewd comments and lack of respect from so many men on a regular basis have pushed me over the edge. I yell back, I refuse to step aside and I gripe about it to anyone who will listen. This is the one place I am just so stuck. Well, actually, two other negativity-traps include the something-for-nothing mentality and the let-me-see-how-much-I-can-screw-the-foreigner game, which also have twisted me into an obstinate, finger-wagging, very angry bitch.

I've always considered myself open-minded and easy-going, and for the first five months I honestly was. But I have developed a very stubborn and angry alter-ego. Sometimes it's good and sometimes it's bad. In the U.S. I never used to complain about customer service or demand respect when people were taking advantage of me. Now this is a regular occurrence. Good for me. But I also expect the worse from men I don't know and yell aggressively when I feel someone has wronged me. Shame on me. I am stuck in stereotypes and it's intellectually and personally maddening. That is the antithesis of who I strive to be.

The Highs and Lows of Living Abroad

2010-06-16T04:47:00.009+06:00

I've read from several sources, including my graduate school textbooks, about the stages of culture shock that someone living abroad will pass through. Yet no matter how much you read up on something, when you're entirely in the moment, textbooks don't mean diddly. Having lived in Amman for over ten months now (wow!), let me explain what this "culture shock" means in my daily life.

I've listed the stages below and will pace out my commentary since I have a lot to say!

Stages of Culture Shock
Initial Euphoria
Culture Shock
Gradual Adjustment
Adaptation

Initial Euphoria...yippeeee

Excitement, high (perhaps too high) expectations and energy, positive mindset. Everything new is intriguing. Focus is on similarities between home culture and new culture.

Well, my airport debacle upon arrival quickly squashed any initial euphoria and I was pretty cranky and skeptical the first few days. As I began making friends and venturing out into the city on my own, however, I did notice that I was a much friendlier and more outgoing version of myself than I had been in DC. I had a great attitude about my new school and kept thinking how much better it was than teaching in the U.S. Less students, more freedom with the curriculum and tons of planning time. I even thought two hour staff meetings entirely in Arabic were a good way to force me to learn the language.

I moved flats and entered a new social circle in the fall, so I think my euphoria was prolonged. Also, I began a romantic relationship that made each day an exciting adventure and distracted me from the more challenging parts of my life. Heck, Ramadan even seemed romantic at the time!

An All-Girls School in Amman

2010-05-22T16:56:00.002+06:00

My students are called Dina, Sarah, Zein and Nour. They are beautiful girls with full chestnut curls and large almond eyes. Most are Jordanian, although within this majority, many identify as Palestinian. Although born and raised in Jordan, the Palestinian-Jordanians must carry different passports than those with Jordanian bloodlines. Those recently from Palestine are generally refugees from the Gaza bombardment. Those not from Palestine are Iraqi refugees, although several students are from Iran and Sri Lanka. All have seen oppression, violence and discrimination in ways that most Americans of our generations have not and hopefully will never know. They write about relating to Anne Frank because they also hid in basements during bombings. They ask me why Americans hate them so much. And yet they also know each word to every Miley Cyrus and Taylor Swift song.

They call me "Miss," and whine it as, "Miiiiiiisssssss," whenever I assign homework or administer an exam. They love to chat with me and with each other and cannot make themselves stop even when they know they should. It drives me crazy, but on the scale of classroom management issues, I can hardly complain. They stay seated (usually), do their work (usually), and never challenge me in threatening or shocking ways. They are much more disciplined about academics than their counterparts in the U.S. Most girls study their English lessons after school every day and come with questions the next. They check well in advance about topics that might be on exams and they often turn in work early. Moreover, they bring unassigned presentations to class and beg to present to their peers. Considering that I must cram in an astonishing amount of curriculum and test the girls monthly, I sadly don't often have much time to let them.

We are coming to the end of the year and they will be moving across campus to the secondary building next year. They are growing so fast physically and emotionally. They look like little women now and not like overgrown kids, and their writings show that they have a lot on their minds. At the beginning of the year, they were terrified to write, but now they proudly present me with poems and essays that they have written in their free time. I'm flattered that they trust me with their thoughts and feelings. I remember the traumas of being twelve years old and in the sixth grade and I thank God that these girls are in such a nurturing and protected environment.

They wear ugly uniforms, are not allowed to wear make-up and must tie back their long hair into plain ponytails. Dating is so far into the realm of "absolutely not" that they focus on the normal friendship dramas of their age and willingly participate in their frequent family gatherings. They beg me to be helpers as I set up the classroom or carry stacks of books to the teachers' lounge. And they are so generous with hugs. I love that I can pat them on their heads or wipe their tears without fear of repercussion, where in the U.S. teachers literally cannot touch the children for fear of a lawsuit. Here, the parents really do respect and trust us as teachers. We communicate freely and never critically. They know we love their girls and will do everything possible to keep them safe, educate them and help them grow into the strong women that surround us at our school as administrators, teachers, and teenage students.

From My Bedroom Window

2010-05-07T17:11:00.004+06:00

Twin pines

Divided by iron and time.

Upright, steadfast,

Knowing.

Pillars of proof

that Mother Earth

And Father Faith

Had an interconnected plan.

Watching over the world

As humans, like tiny ants,

Tunnel the soil around their roots

And build barricades

Between their branches.

Of the same seed,

Yet taught from first sprout

That this branch or that

Makes them indubitably different;

Learning as seedlings that it is God's Will

That they must gaze at each other

Skeptically

From a distance.

Yet tiny threads still connect them

From underneath

And the same sun shines on them

From above.

They sway uncertain,

Rocking for comfort,

As breezes whisper reminders

That their underlings separate them

Artificially

And disobey

The true Laws of Life.

Recent Trips

2009-10-09T21:40:00.009+07:00

Thanks to Eid, which marks the end of Ramadan, I recently had a weeklong vacation from school. Since the school where I teach is technically Christian, we have a split weekend work schedule. This means that we have Friday off for Muslims and Sunday off for Christians...and therefore we work on Saturdays. There are pluses and minuses for this schedule, and I try to look at the bright side of things (I work for four straight days instead of five, I have two days each week that feel like Fridays). But the major minus is that I can never take weekend trips since I only have one day off at a time. So Eid vacation was really my first opportunity to explore my new country.

I decided to split up the week into several small trips that combined relaxation and exploration. First, a large group of us took a road trip north for a jam-packed day of seeing ruins. Major highlights included: Roman ruins in Jerash, Islamic castle in Ajloun, and Roman ruins and a view of the Sea of Galilee in Um Qais. Each stop was unique and the depth of history within Jordan is spectacular.

Next, we went to the Dead Sea for a day of relaxation and playing in the mud. We paid to use the pool and have beach access at the Movenpick, and although the 40JD fee was steep, it was totally worth it!

And finally, I decided to explore beyond Jordan and crossed the border into Syria for a quick weekend in the old city of Damascus.

Whirlwind September

2009-10-02T20:02:00.008+07:00

Semptember was a crazy month filled with school commitments, meeting new friends, and getting to know the ins and outs of Amman and beyond.

First, thoughts on previous posts, and then a brief update of what's been going on.

Reflections on Previous Posts
Now that I've gotten used to the sensory overload that is Amman, some things that really stood out in the beginning have become ordinary parts of my day. I want to start by adding/augmenting my post on beauty. I said, "It is incredibly taboo for women to show their hair in public according to Islam." Ok, this is technically true, but many Muslim women do show their hair in public. Hijab is normal and no hijab is normal. Although the vast majority of Muslim women in the traditional neighborhood where I live do cover (e.g., long overcoat, head scarf, sometime even burkas and gloves), once you pass into west Amman, or "the other side of the wadi (valley)" as I like to say, who chooses to cover and how she chooses to do so is much more individual. Additionally, while outsiders cannot see into salons for females, they are everywhere and easily identified by the fashion posters plastered across the windows. I go all the time! This is probably a shock to those of you used to my slacker beauty ways in the U.S., but I've discovered that a little personal pampering can do wonders for self-confidence, the bonding with girl friends is so fun, and I think it's great that many of the Arab women I've met take such good care of themselves (and manage families and jobs simultaneously).

The status of Pacific Islanders in Amman is still something I struggle with. This controversy is quite similar to the one in the U.S. about the status of lower class Latino immigrants. On one hand, these workers make small wages for demanding work and are not always treated well (and sometimes quite terribly). But on the other hand, they have chosen to come here and perform this work because it earns more money than they can make in their home countries. So transnationalism and the global economy prevail--the money these workers earn barely makes ends meet in an expensive city, what little they can save is sent directly to their home countries, their home country economy now depends on this money, and the host country economy now depends on their labor. So the cycle continues. I think creating safeguards for fair wages and human rights should be a huge priority of the 21st century as we attempt to comprehend and regulate the forces of a completely globalized economy. The compromise many people (including myself) make here are to tip service workers well (e.g., the women who do such an awesome job at the salon) and treat those who work in our homes with kindness and respect (e.g., the woman who cleans my house, when I can afford her!).

What's Been Going On
In brief, I love my school. My coworkers are so warm, dedicated and supportive. Our principal maintains an careful balance for meeting the needs of students, parents and teachers. This is not easy to do, but it's so integral to a successful school. And my students are just lovely. For both personal and academic reasons, I am finding a great deal of value in separated schooling for girls and boys. I will expand on this in a later post, because it is certainly a controversial topic.

I have met wonderful locals and expats. The family from whom I rent my flat is incredibly gracious and always helps when I have questions or need assistance. I am becoming a regular at my corner ducan (store)--the owners are so patient with my elementary Arabic! And I've discovered an unspoken expat code of ethics in Amman. We welcome newcomers warmly, extend any assistance we can provide, and maintain open invitations to meet for coffee or a bite to eat. I've also met locals who have studied abroad or work for international companies that travel in our circles and adhere to the same code. Several acquaintances have grown into true friendships and my social life is quite fruitful.

Mid-Spetember marked the end of Ramadan and lengthy Eid vacation. My school generously provided a full week off, so I was able to explore Jordan extensively and have time to relax. I will post pictures shortly!

Cave/Grotto...Potato/Potahto

2009-08-30T16:14:00.004+07:00

View when standing at front door. This is perhaps my dining room? I want to start the tour by saying that these pictures were taken after my cleaning lady scrubbed this little place for SEVEN HOURS (I helped and fed her...so I witnessed her miracles).

The kitchen and bathroom are side by side, which is convenient since I don't have a bathroom sink. The plus side is that I have to keep my dishes washed or I'll have nowhere to wash my face!

Close-up of my cute little stove and ancient frig. I have no storage or counterspace, though, so cooking is a bit of a challenge.

Also wanted to show my toilet/shower combo. They are literally on top of one another. And yes, I have to keep my toilet paper in the shower caddy because it gets wet anywhere else.

My bedroom/sitting room. It's actually a good size, but the window with the white curtain is my only source of outside light. There used to be a gaudy green curtain there, but I changed it to white to at least let a little sunlight in. We did a window test, so I'm pretty sure the neighbors can't see in! The window above the tv (which doesn't work) just passes through to my dining area (which is a very dark and narrow space). There is usually a dark green carpet down, but my cleaning lady scrubbed it by hand and it's drying outside. It closes the room in a lot, but the tile is kindda cold, so I will put it back down.

And I just wanted to close the tour with aquick glimpse of the fantastic fabric of the chair and loveseat that I decided to cover. This place was a dark green disaster, but I think I've made it livable for the time being.

The rent is so cheap and I am getting attached to my surroundings, but the lack of sunlight in here and the bathroom situation might be the deal-breakers. I've put word on the street that I'm looking, so we'll see what happens....

Beauty Schooled

2009-08-29T04:15:00.007+07:00

I had to move flats unexpectedly last week and am still waiting for the landlady to set up internet in my new flat. Consequently, the blog has moved to the back burner and my addiction to this form of technology overall has been severely tested. Also, when I am able to pick up a slow internet connection at school, I need to be doing things like getting ready for students to come on Monday, rather than updating my blog or chatting online. But now I have so much to share! Let’s see if it is physically possible for me to write concisely (unlikely).

Well, I indulged in a girly spa day last week, which provided a fascinating peek into the culture of beauty in Jordan. Appointments are not needed due to the gazillion beauty salons throughout the city. However, you have to look for them carefully because they are often hidden down side alleys and windows are always covered. Learning to read Arabic always helps, too ;-)

It is incredibly taboo for women to show their hair in public according to Islam, so slipping into the salon with my girl friend was even more intimate than in the U.S. Filipinos comprise the vast majority of the service employees in Jordan, so I was not surprised that my nail technician was Filipina. It was a mixed sentiment for me, considering I have very close to Filipino friends in the U.S. In one sense I felt incredibly guilty, but in another sense I was relieved to interact with someone who felt familiar to me. The woman doing my nails, who I will call Mary, loved my extremely limited Tagalog vocabulary and ability to discuss which region of the country she is from (turned out to be Mindanao in the south). Perhaps it is the anthropologist in me, but we were soon divulging about our families, relationships, and experiences as outsiders in the country. She was so friendly and practically invited me to her house for dinner when I inquired about Filipino restaurants and where to buy pork in Amman. My friend and I eagerly noted her tips and decided we would explore Little Manila later that evening. In the meantime, I sipped Arabic coffee, observed me surrounding, and chatted with Mary and the other nail technicians.

While observing the goings-on around me, I noticed that many of the women (and teenagers) entering the salon were accompanied by female friends and/or family and almost all wore hijab (hair coverings) of high quality fabric, loose designer coats, and oversized sunglasses. I feel so disconnected from these women when I see them on the streets or bump into them in crowded stores, so watching them peel off their barriers and reveal their fashionable clothes and styled hair reminded me how similar we really are. It was also nice to feel as though I finally fit in and didn’t stand out as a half-naked sinner (due to loose-fitting short sleeved shirts and exposed hair). I had a conversation with a female American teacher at my school married to a fairly traditional Arab who explained that the beauty salon is one of the few places some women can go without being escorted by a male family member. And although she can go by herself, she is questioned incessantly by her mother-in-law about where she is going and when she will be back. I mention this not in condescension, because I do not believe it is my right to judge the way things are simply done within some families (although certainly not all), but I am baffled when I meet intellectually engaging women who live with this one aspect in their lives that I cannot relate to.

Unfortunately, the intimacy among the nail technicians and women getting their nails done was broken when I went downstairs to get my hair cut by male hair stylists. Having been in the country for two weeks, I have already built a wall of apprehension between myself and men, so it really was awkward to have two of them touching me. Moreover, I felt annoyed that they had to be the revered people in the salon. I’m sure the language barrier also added to the disconnect. I accept full blame for that since I am in an Arab country and can hardly speak the language (working on that!). And also in their defense, the male stylists were professional, appropriately friendly, and provided me with a quick yet precise trim and thorough blow dry for 20JD ($28USD). My highlights are in major need of touching-up, so I may be back for that soon. And although their hair is often covered, I have discovered that many women here are sporting the same blonde highlights as me, so I will be in good hands :-)

Also, I learned that there is a tiny salon in my neighborhood (that I fondly call the “barrio”) where I can get a blowout (which involves getting your hair washed and blow dried super-straight, for those of you not in the know) for 4JD (usually $20+USD in the U.S.), so I may be indulging in that regularly since the hard water and dry air is turning my tresses into a giant mess of stringy frizz. And my one last beauty confession is that I now apply ample black eyeliner and mascara every morning. I have yet to meet a woman that does not do this….so I am jumping on the bandwagon!

Desert Gardens

2009-08-15T23:53:00.007+07:00

Two days ago, Anne and I spent the morning watching movies and snacking on hummos, falafel, and taboon bread--which is basically a giant, extra thin pita that is bought piping hot from the local baker, who folds it several times into a big pile of carbohydrate yumminess. We had left her front door open to catch a breeze; however, the local children interpreted this as an invitation to enter when we were only halfway through Kite Runner. Unable to resist their eagerness, we let them pull us into daylight for play. Deciding that a "sprucing up" of Anne's garden was in order, we dressed the children in old t-shirts, distributed shovels, and started digging. Unfortunately, I had to leave in midst of mudpie-making and mystery plantings, but Anne reported later that the children were so helpful that they cleaned the courtyard afterward, swept her floors, AND did her dishes! Not only are they adorable, but incredibly helpful :-)

What was actually planted and whether it will really grow remains to be seen....

On a slightly similar note (not really), the next day, we took a trek out to the fruit and veggie souq (market) in the outskirts of Amman. I was skeptical when the taxi dropped us at a dillapidated warehouse alongside a dusty, industrial highway. However, upon entering, my senses were flooded with heaps of vibrant, aromatic produce and cheerful chatter of daily goings-on. Vendors smiled when I pointed questioningly to miniature purple plums or ample nectarines the color of sunsets, and reached into secret stashes to reveal their most succulent offerings. Exercising restraint, I only bought a handful of plums, four nectarines, and a bushel of arugula....for a grand total of about $3USD.

And my kitchen now smells scrumptious!

The Hood

2009-08-12T19:08:00.003+07:00

I live up there, on the roof! Check out the art deco circles and lines on the railings. Love it.

This is our little side street, which just got a street sign a few months ago. So it is best identified by the nearby mosque and corner market.

Anne lives down here--below the family who owns our flats. She's got a great sitting area and garden. I will be moving next door to her very soon. My flat will sit sort of behind this staircase, though, so it's pretty dark. Awesome neighbors, interactions with locals (which is often hard to have), and very cheap rent are tempting. We'll see how I like "the cave" and what else I can find before I make any major decisions.

Finding Rainbow Street

2009-08-12T03:37:00.004+07:00

Written two nights ago….slowly getting caught up!

The setting is almost perfect. I am sitting in an urban chic rooftop café sipping coffee and looking out at a cityscape hillside sprinkled with lights. After an intensely hot desert day and a beautifully dusty sunset, the night air is fresh with a gentle breeze and scents of jasmine and sweet tobacco. The décor consists of square wooden tables and black metal chairs. The main building is an ancient structure of traditional tan stone; however the rooftop terrace is committedly modern with rows of red drum lights hanging from the industrial, open-air covering and large graphic prints in bright colors on the walls of the neighboring structures.

Trendy Ammonites gather around me in groups sharing snacks and nargileh (water pipes with fruit-flavored tobacco). Modernity extends beyond décor to include the mix of men and women intermingling. On the opposite hilltop, women sit on dusty stoops behind full burkhas. Here, most women’s hair hangs straight and arms are defiantly bare; nonetheless, some compromise with long-sleeved stylish tops and designer scarves around their heads. Men wear the standard uniform of acid-wash jeans and skin-tight t-shirts. Although they wear this elsewhere in the city, here they are a little more polished and understated; and considering that this is an “alternative” hangout (relatively speaking), their hair gel and cologne have also been toned down. I do feel a bit out of place as one of very few Americans, the only woman sitting alone, and the most underdressed woman. But I feel a lot better here than I did an hour ago wandering through the traditional downtown at dusk as I attempted to find my way up to Jebel Amman, where this café is located.

Prior to leaving my apartment, I scuttled around all afternoon because I'd stayed up way too late chatting online with my sister then slept all morning. Let me interject that my sleep was continuously interrupted with calls to prayer, blaring car horns, crying babies, and carnival music from the gasman’s truck--and while earplugs helped, I’ve learned my lesson about attempting to sleep in late. Also, the eyeshade I scored on my transatlantic flight eased the intensity of the sunlight sneaking in through my gaudy blue curtains, but I left the windows open for a breeze and the rustling fabric and play of shadows around the room finally forced me awake. Once my internal clock adjusts and school starts, these antics won’t be able to continue. But the fact that I am having coffee at 9pm suggests that they may happen once more tonight. But back to my scuttling.

I ended up microwaving my tea this morning after deciding that I might blow up the apartment if I attempted to turn on the gas for the stove. Likewise, I took a quick, lukewarm rinse-off rather than a leisurely hot shower because I couldn’t figure out how to work the hot water switch and water scarcity is a huge problem here that long and leisurely is bad practice. Since it was 86 degrees Farenheit (or 30 Celsius, which I’m attempting to learn!) and I am staying in a concrete building that lacks air conditioning and sits on top of a hill that gets direct sunlight all day long, the cool shower was not unwelcome. Afterward, I played on the internet again to remedy my homesickness and enable my avoidance behavior. Finally, hunger kicked in and I knew I had to tackle my first day in the city alone.

I chose to wear jeans and a loose short sleeved top because it was hot and I didn’t think I would be in the downtown area for more than a few blocks. Moreover, I think being shamed into jeans in 86 degree weather is punishment enough. But I did regret the decision for about an hour in the early evening. I got completely turned around as I wound down staircases alongside my neighborhood hillside, which dispersed me onto a busy thoroughfare where I risked my life multiple times and walked a half-mile out of my way in an attempt to safely cross 8 lanes of traffic. (This is not abnormal in Amman, even for locals). I also had to cut across to a park outside a mosque, which was a bit unnerving. I have decided to play the same here that I played in Mexico, where I win if the men can’t catch my eye or get me to acknowledge them. I accomplish this by imagining I am encapsulated in an armor that deflects sleazy comments and lurid staring. It’s a strange to feel like showing hair and revealing elbows in public equated a tube top and miniskirt in church. But even with my armor and bravery, I decided after about fifteen minutes that I was over the game and it was time for a taxi.

I jumped into the first taxi that stopped and quickly realized that he wasn’t using a meter (as they’re supposed to) and thus would have to use my best negotiating skills. I talked him down from 5JD to 1.5JD per the advice from my friend Anne that a taxi to anywhere in Amman should never cost more than three or four JD and I knew Jebel Amman wasn’t that far. My rookie mistake was not ensuring that I had sufficient change, but I lucked out with a driver who told me repeatedly that he loved America and appreciated my limited Arabic vocabulary. So he actually got out of the taxi to make change for me when we arrived in a very safe and well-lit 1st Circle. From there, I strolled down Rainbow Street, the main drag through Jebel Amman, and turned right onto Sharia Oma bin al-Khattab, a tree-lined side street flanked by gorgeous mansions and posh cafes. And here I am.

Diving in Head First

2009-08-11T05:02:00.007+07:00

I'm already getting behind! The post below is from three days ago. But I am getting caught up and will practice the "less more often" method from now on.

My first full day in Amman was especially long and equally as lovely. After enjoying a leisurely morning chat with Anne as we sipped tea and munched on cereal, we set out for my grand tour of Amman. With little more than a plan to eat at the famous outdoor falafel dive, Hashem's, and get some basic shopping done for my apartment, Anne decided to throw me in the deep-end and we headed to the traditional downtown area called al-Balad, . Friday is the holy day for Islam, and mosque was just letting out, so we were swarmed by men in traditional dress who had just finished praying. After wading through makeshift prayer mats of cardboard strips strewn across the mosque courtyard, we ended up at the fruit and veggie market where men were shouting above one another in Arabic about the quality and price of the produce. Both of which I agreed were great. It was interesting to me that very few women were actually shopping. Despite the overwhelming scene and sea of men, I never felt unsafe because among the pious it is haram (forbidden) to touch a woman—although I did get accidentally bumped a few times.

From here, we admired the ancient Roman Theater over tiny cups of potent Arabic coffee from a second story, no-frills café. With my fresh eyes, it was a dump (but I loved the coffee and view). With Anne's experienced eyes, it was an expensive tourist jaunt (but she also loved the coffee and view). After paying an "expensive" 1JD ($1.25USD) for our coffees, we headed back out onto the street where we made quick stops at little local shops for power adapters for me and cheap DVDs for Anne. From there, we reached the famous Hashem's, where enormous photographs entice diners with past appearances by the queen and king. We found seating at a plastic picnic table, ordered our food and super-sweet mint tea and welcomed a friend of Anne's and her friend's coworker to the table. We munched on pita, falafel (fried chickpea bites), hummos (mashed chickpeas), and fuul (mashed white beans)—and I remembered to only eat with my right hand!

With full bellies, we then climbed Jebel Amman to the Friday market. Jebel means hill, and the further we ascended, the more fantastic the view. Much of the architecture in Amman is from the 1930s and the well-preserved neighborhood was teeming with awesome art deco houses displaying the quintessential curvatures and geometric designs. We took an unexpected detour after admiring one particular house with enormous picture windows and a blooming front garden. Anne's friend remembered that she knew the renters and we ended up chatting with them for over an hour. The group composition made for some great dialogue: American teacher (me), Australian UN worker, Italian UN worker, Dutch UN worker Canadian UN worker (there is a pattern here), and a Palestinian-American lawyer working on water negotiations in the region. The American guy decided to accompany us to the market after we enticed him with the watermelon smoothies available there.

We poked around the very upscale outdoor market where I saw Jordanian women with uncovered hair and heard English all around. Considering I will be teaching English at a private school in this neighborhood, I shouldn't have been surprised, but my apartment and the downtown area are very traditional, so I was caught a bit off-guard. As I observed the giggling groups of girls and accompanying mothers in high heels and expensive, flowing frocks, I wondered if these were my students and their parents. We wove our way through the market and found ourselves at a very swanky outdoor café called Wild Jordan, which is perched precariously on the side of Jebel Amman. Inspired by our watermelon smoothies, we decided to order their famous mint lemonade version, which was tart, refreshing, and extremely expensive (3JD / $4.25UUSD). But you get what you pay for. At the edge of the outdoor dining area there is one step down that leads to a glass railing. And on this step pillows are scattered for patrons like ourselves to lounge and enjoy the view. We happened to arrive just as the sun began to set and the evening breeze blew in.

This would have been the perfect ending to a great day, but I desperately needed food and cleaning supplies for my apartment, so we all parted ways and Anne and I caught a taxi to a different section of the city called Sweifieh. There, we strolled the blocked off streets, stopped in to check the sale rack at Zara's, had pizza in an outdoor café, and then headed down to Safeway. Zara's, pizza, and Safeway? Indeed, Amman is a fully modern city with western influences scattered throughout—including throngs of giggling teenagers chattering in high pitched English. I wasn't really sure who was going to be wearing the tube tops and miniskirt from Zara (most of the girls I saw wore long-sleeved shirts under their trendy tops and covered their hair with colorful scarves). Or why anyone would pay $4USD for Starbuck's when there is excellent Arabic coffee to be had for $1.25USD, but the chain "coffeehouse" was packed. Image is everything, I suppose.

I have to admit, the Safeway was really convenient. I felt exhausted and barely had the energy to translate which yogurt to buy or find the cheapest muesli (cereal can cost up to $10USD!). Perhaps on another day I will have the energy to barter in the fruit and veggie market or practice my Arabic at Ducan Abu Azam's (the corner store near my flat, owned not coincidentally by the father of Azam). It was after midnight by the time we exited Safeway (Jordanians like to stay up late like me!), so we collapsed in the taxi and headed home for bed.

First Impressions

2009-08-10T14:06:00.012+07:00

Here are pictures of how the apartment I am currently staying in looked immediately upon arrival. Too bad you can't see the gold trim around the toilet and sink in the picture. And the polyester curtains are hilarious. Definitely a little rough around the edges, but my mind is slowly readjusting standards. And the view is amazing! If you look closely at the nighttime skyline, you can see fireworks going off. They go off all night randomly throughout the city and add a great energy. In addition to the view, I get a nice breeze in my bedroom. (However, calls to prayer at dawn kindda kill that effect.) I've tidied up a bit, but I'm not going to be in it long enough to find the motivation for a big scrubdown or remodeling. I only have another week here until I move to a different flat downstairs, but I'm thinking of maybe finding a place in Jebel Amman or Jebel Webdeh, which are neighborhoods that have a slightly more established and ecclectic feel.

What Does it Mean?

2009-08-09T06:47:00.000+07:00

I probably would have started this blog ages ago if I hadn't been stuck on picking a name. Actually, I've also held back beause I can't entirely wrap my brain around public narcissism. But I'm motivated to finally start blogging so that I can share my latest adventures abroad with my family and friends. So in true Lena fasion, the name materialized when push came to shove.

But I don't want the blog to only be about my recent move to Amman, Jordan. (We're all narcissists deep down, I think.) And without the opportunity to divulge in person, online is my only option! Moreover, what if I actually stick to blogging after I have completed my 1 year contract? Or what if I want to write about something that does not relate specifically to Amman or my teaching experiences here?

So the title "My Meaningful Meandering" stems from several things. First, I have always strived for a meaningful life. I want to learn and grow from each person I meet and each experience I have. I want my education, formal and informal, to create a solid foundation that helps me reach my ultimate goals.

But herein exists the contradiction. What goals? Each time I set a specific personal, educational, or occupational goal, I change it or doubt myself. Moreover, I can rarely focus on accomplishing just one tiny goal. I am an explosion of intentions. And I move at a very slow pace--unless I am pushed or cornered, in which case I am driven and focused on nothing but that goal. In a nutshell, I am an adult with ADD, and coping with it is a neverending process. But I've outgrown my adolescent angst and mid-twenties tribuations. I am happy and assured. My faults are meant to be faced and tackled.

So the word meandering here has many meanings. It is physical, in that I really do meander in the way that I move and get things done throughout the day. It is psychological, in that my feelings constantly ebb and flow--and I generally let them carry me through life, for better or worse. And it is concrete, in that I am meandering throughout the Middle East. Assuredly, I will not just be strolling the streets of Amman for the year; I will be working in my chosen field as an international educator. But this year abroad is also a detour, or strange twist, to my life.

I never saw myself here, yet here I am. When you meander, you find yourself in unexpected places. And my ultimate goal is to find meaning in those places. Hence the meaningful meander.

Initial Misteps

2009-08-09T06:43:00.000+07:00

Most of my meanderings are deliberate and rewarding. I take my time getting ready in the morning. I wander through new neighborhoods imagining alternative lives. I change my career based on instinct, need for change, and desire for growth. But yesterday's meander was one that snowballed and left me completely uprooted.

My move to Amman has been planned, more or less, for months. I accepted the job in February, made contacts abroad, and studied the language and culture as much as possible. A grad school classmate of mine offered advice about the school and finding housing, for which I was extremely grateful. I landed in Amman eager to meet the people she had promised would be meeting me there. Unfortunately, I had put a bit too much trust in the fate of loose planning...and found myself stranded at the airport.

Adrenaline and resourcefulness can get you far, I've learned. So I sought out the only plug down a random hallway for the cell phone that my friend had given me prior to departing the US, which contained the phone numbers of the people supposedly picking me up. I just want to interject that I couldn't have charged it in the US because the power plugs are different. Anyway, I tried the friend of my friend and realized that there were no minutes left on the phone. Having no idea how to add minutes to a phone, I approached the information desk and asked for help. The man was very kind in explaining how to buy the right calling card and then helped me make the call from his land line. But I received an automated message that the person's phone was disconnected (although I learned later that this was a mistranslation and her phone was actually just turned off).

My next approach was to see if the only cafe in the terminal had wireless internet, in case I had any urgent emails awaiting. After several failed attempts, I did finally picked up a weak signal; but all I found was the confirmation that my friend had sent my photograph to her friend and that she and the landlord were expecting me. So I sent out an SOS to another grad school classmate who lives in Abu Dhabi and happened to be on Google Chat at just the time I needed her. Having been through some trying situations herself, she shored me up with lots of encouragement and directed me on putting minutes on the cell phone. I thanked her profusely and regrettably signed off.

Re-energized and ready to put myself out there, I found the cell pone kiosk and asked the salesman how to add minutes. He fiddled with the phone, asked me for a reasonable amount of money, and entered some information into his computer. A few moments later, my phone buzzed and a message appeared telling me I had 10JD in my account. So I scrolled through the list of names and found the name of who I thought was my future landlord. She answered the phone, spoke English, and knew who I was! But she had no idea that I was stranded at the airport. Embarrased at the imposition that I thought had already been worked out, I quickly asked for information on taking a taxi to her house (where I would be staying in the second floor flat).

After some miscommunication, I was able to confirm the neighborhood and general vicinity of the house. With at least that much information, I figured I could call her again when I was close and have her give the taxi driver detailed directions in Arabic. Breathing a sigh of relief that the ordeal was over, I stepped outside and found a taxi that would take me to al-Asharfiyya. As they always do, he assured me he knew where it was. Money is more important than honest. Having been taken advantage of in the past, I clarified the price before getting in the taxi. He handed me a piece of paper almost completely in Arabic that basically stated that I would be charged 19JD, which I thought was fair ($26USD for a 40 minute ride).

Little did I know that the taxi didn't know anything about al-Asharfiyya and he stopped the car and got out to ask directions from strangers several times (which I'd been warned does happen occassionally). Mind you, this was after making several calls to the landlord, who gave him specific directions each time. Apparently the landlord had also called the friend of my friend, so she made contact with me and apologized profusely for the misunderstanding (she had been away from email and never received my friend's confirmation about my flight). Despite at least getting in contact with these people, I was still riding in circles around their neighborhood. And the driver had used my cell phone so much that the battery died and we had to stop at a tiny neighborhood electronics store to recharge it. At this point the novelty of the adventure had worn off and he no longer had my benefit of the doubt, so I asked him to pull over, steeled myself to the embarrassment of the imposition, and called the landlord for someone to meet me.

The landlord's son walked to the central area and hopped in the taxi to direct him to the house. On one hand I felt bad about taking up so much of this driver's time, but on the other hand I was furious at his ineptitude. In the end, I decided to round up the fare to 20JD and tipped him a few extra dinar. Apparently he thought this wasn't enough and went on a tirade in Arabic to the landlord's son. The son would have none of it and directed me toward the house. Once arrived, the family greeted me with warmth, relief, and assurance that the driver was an idiot and had been paid plenty. I even learned later that he had overcharged me in the first place about 5JD , so I no longer feel the slightest bit of guilt.

Adding to the family's graciousness, the son set up internet for me right away so that I could email my family and let them know I had arrived and was alive. Exhausted and upset, I collapsed in my room and cried. At that point, I had been travelling for 19 hours and eaten little more than granola bars and airplane food. As if sensing my need for nourishment and comfort, Anne, the friend of my friend, knocked on the door. She guided me downstairs to her apartment, cooked up an omlette, and warmed a mug of tea. We chatted like old friends and the anxiety of my imperfect trip slowly dissipated. I did cry again before falling asleep that night, certain this was a huge mistake. But the kindness of everyone who helped me provided solace. (Even the taxi driver to a degree, considering he didn't abandon me on the side of the road after my phone died).

It certainly wasn't the best way to start this experience. But I've learned my lessons about planning and know that with each day that passes between me and that awful evening, the negative feelings will soften and I will eventually have a laughable story about my first night in a strange country.