Jumping In

Apologies for the long absence after my promise to be a dedicated blogger. In the last three weeks: (a) my boyfriend Brian almost died of heatstroke in a rural Vietnamese hospital after running in a 10k where the race company ran out of water halfway through, (b) we interviewed and accepted jobs at a school in Maputo, Mozambique, and (c) we got engaged and are planning a wedding for this December!

If you're gonna jump in, jump in ALL the way :-)

Lots of updates and recipes to come on delicious smoothies I've invented. But for for now I will give you the engagement story.

I am definitely not a morning person. Capitalizing on that, Brian decided it would be a fabulous idea to wake me up and propose to me on Monday morning. From what I remember, it was very special. Apparently, my answer was, "What??? Brian?!?!" He continued, "Is that a yes?" And I finally responded, "Of course!" Then I proceeded to administer two shots to his leg as part of his medical recovery. And here we are.

He used a pearl ring that my grandfather gave my grandmother in the 1940s when they lived in Japan. While I absolutely love this ring and it means the world to me, we will most likely switch it when we return to the US in July for a diamond ring from the same time period that belonged to his great aunt.

My family was already planning a Christmas trip to Puerto Vallarta, so we are thinking of piggy backing on that, inviting his family to join us, and whipping together an intimate ceremony. Yes, I recognize this is crazy to plan in seven months. BUT we are not going to be able to plan anything that is not a destination wedding while living in Africa. The beauty of this situation is that everything is planned via emails with wedding planners who are experienced in not having brides on site, and we show up to a fantastic party. I know it will be more work than that, but it seems like the easiest way to have a lovely experience with our families with minimal stress. I will certainly keep everyone posted as to how this evolves.

For now...I am tingling with excitement about being engaged and embarking on this new, African adventure with the best partner on the planet. <3 br="">

Homebase & Homesick

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.

From Jordan to Vietnam

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.

The Highs and Lows of Living Abroad

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!

Recent Trips

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.

Diving in Head First

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.

What Does it Mean?

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.