Blasts from the Past

This weekend I finally made my way to the international food store. It was Fabulous! Not as huge a place as the Asian markets I frequented in Denver but they had a nice variety from several regions, including Europe and the Middle East. My purchases this time included: Bounty candy (the British version of Mounds, but way better!), Japanese Soba noddles, Kasugai roasted hot green peas - or as the packages calls them "A happy present from the Earth" - and Russian Baltika beer (номер семь for those who have experienced this goodness). I was SO estatic walking out of the store and vowed then and there to be back for some Chinese dumplings, other world beers, and somen noddles (as soon as I figure out/remember what sauce I should use for that - 日本人の友達助けてください！) Anyways, this is a short blog but one that makes me happy as it reminds me of all the fun international food and drink I've enjoyed in the past (perhaps sometimes too much, as in the case of the Baltika). And now I can relive the moments any time I want! :D Life is good.

Radio Silence

You may have noticed the lack of posting again recently. I have been a wee bit busy with the new job. Figuring out how to teach at a university level ESL program with little to no-prep time takes some getting used to, to say the least. However, now that things are winding down (and there is a cool breeze on the air again) I find some time to write for myself. It’s been quite a rollercoaster-y few weeks. (You could even say months, but let’s stick to the immediate for a moment.) Phrases like “hitting the ground running” and “trial by fire” spring to mind when I think of how to describe my time so far at the LCI. After 5 weeks of teaching, learning, grading and not a little bit of stress over my classes I am looking at the last four teaching days and a week-long break from all things academic-y. After about 2 days of utter comatose sleeping and recouping, I hope to head to Richmond for a catch up with Melanie and her mom and to gather the rest of my things to return once again to Blacksburg.

As for the town itself, it can only be described as ironic that this small town America holds more interest for me than the second largest city in Northern Ireland. Of course, I’m thinking a large part of that interest is due to the nearby Target and a variety of restaurants and cafes. I’ve made up amply for my lack of Japanese cuisine in Ulster by having sushi no less than 5 times in as many weeks! It is also highly ironic that I feel I’ve seen more greenery here than during my time in the Emerald Isle. That is helped by what I like to call the “fuzzy mountains” of the Blue Ridge range. They at least have satisfied my need to be nearer mountains again, though they still look funny to me in all their tree-covered-peak-less way. I simply can’t get over how many trees are in Virginia!!! It’s astounding to me. Pete’s backyard along makes me feel like I’m in a forest. And just driving from Blacksburg to Roanoke (which I had to do to get a new social security card) made me wonder at the strength of will the native Americans and first settlers must have had in order to carve a livelihood out this place. I guess growing up in a pretty arid and tree-less place makes one wary of being surrounded by these silent giants. And yet silence is the last way I would describe Virginia (at least the two places I’ve lived so far). I can’t remember hearing so many different kinds of insects – or seeing them! – and the birds are just show-offs plain and simple. There’s a musicality to this place that I’ve not experienced before and it makes all the stresses of the day vanish quite quickly, if only I had the time or presence of mind to let them.

On the other hand, I’m told that Blacksburg is quite a different place in the summertime and I’m experiencing it at its best (according to some). It will definitely be interesting to see the shift when all the students return for the year, but I’m hoping my time in Boulder will have prepared me somewhat for what is to come. Though I still need to learn to say Hokie without cracking a mocking smile. ;)

And so it begins....

Two days ago I began my first day of work. It was mostly paperwork on my part and assessment of the students' English levels. The unexciting yet necessary aspects of a new job/school. The most interesting part of my day however began with a guy, as these stories often do. He's a large, sweet gentleman who gave me quite the wild ride yesterday and today. And his name is Kurt.

Kurt is a 1986 Ford F150 XL, with sky blue coloring and a rough and tumbled look. He's a good truck and my fast friend. (Not that fast as he's a little bit long in the tooth, though he's still younger than me.) Pete let me borrow his truck to get to work until I got the bus pass to let me ride the public transport. Considering my most extensive driving experience has been in a broken down old Honda Civic CRX (Love you Baby!!) Kurt is a whole other beast!

Me and my baby car

First and foremost is getting into the truck. That presents a slight issue for someone who's waist comes up to about the same height as the pedals. With no "oh shit" bar to hand I have to do a little jump and try to propel myself into the cab. Wanting to impress on my first day I decided to wear a cute little skirt... hmmm.. great plan. I managed to find my way to school, getting in and out of the truck without flashing anyone. Once I got myself into the cab I realized sadly that I was too short to reach the pedals comfortably and though I found the lever and tried to adjust the seat, I couldn't and so thinking it was stuck I scooted to the edge of the seat and drove the best I good.

Next was backing the the monster of a car down a long-ass graveled driveway to get to the street. Negotiating that little bit of 'threading the needle' was fun as I worried alternatively about smashing Pete's car, trampling the bushes or the crashing into the shed on the side of the house. But I prevailed through that challenge and celebrated my arrival on the street with a sigh of relief and burst of laughter at the thought of if only my brother or grandpa (big truck enthusiasts themselves) could see me now. This tiny girl in the Big truck.

I started to drive off to school using the handy map Pete drew for me the night before. Focusing on not taking out any of the construction cones or workers on the main road I slowly made my way to school. Throughout the drive I found myself occasionally laughing in a slightly panicked yet amazed manner at my ability to actually drive the biggest car I've encountered before. Arriving at school I put Kurt into park and pushed as hard as I could on the emergency break. Then I kind of shook myself off and went to get a latte at the Starbucks gloriously close to my school to shake of the bit of nerves I'd worked up during the drive.

After my first day at work - spent filling out forms and assessing the students - it was time to get back in the big boy and go home. At this point in time I was not aware that the truck had a name at all, so I decided to call it something in order to be less afraid of driving him. (As we all know, you'll be less afraid of something when you know it's name.)



So on the ride home I called him Sammie and talked soothingly to him, telling him to go easy on me as it was my first time driving something so big. Well that must have worked because I didn't demolish any mailboxes or fences or run over any children. When I got home again I just chuckled to myself and thanked Sammie for the wild ride. It was later that day when I asked Pete if the truck and been named already and thus discovered his true identity of Kurt.

The next day I went out to Kurt again for round 2. This time I wasn't as frightened and took the bull (or ford rather) by the horns. Now he and I have a good working relationship and I only sometimes still chuckle of the sight of me driving this big ol' working vehicle. Perhaps its not as funny to anyone else, but he's a picture of me and my new best friend.....

Me and Kurt

A crab-filled 4th

Another new town, more strange-faces soon to be familiar. An exciting time indeed on any adventure. And this new adventure happily began on a national holiday. For me, New Years’ are always filled with high hopes and low jubilation; Christmas is usually a hit or miss on overall enjoyment and Halloween I could take or leave. However, the 4th of July is possibly one of my favorite holidays, with the exception of Valentine’s Day (my personal favorite, due to my take on it being a loved-filled day for all and not just for couples). I like the 4th not so much because of its historical and patriotic significance, though I do ponder the meaning of the day at some point during the festivities. I like the 4th because of a fabulous tradition of going to the Arvada soccer fields with Melissa and her family to watch fireworks, usually preceded by a yummy barbeque. I was very disappointed the few years I wasn’t able to indulge in this fun familial gathering, and though this year I wasn’t in Colorado I did at least have another fabulous experience – at Pete’s Annual Crabtacular!

As you may guess from its name, this is a celebration of life, liberty and… crab. Don’t ask me why exactly, it’s an east coast thing I haven’t quite figured out yet. It was definitely a night of firsts for me. First time cracking open and eating crab (most likely to be my last), first time to see and catch fireflies (they are fun little buggies!) and my first night in the Blue Ridge mountain town of Blacksburg. I have to say, with possible exception of the first ‘first’, I loved them every minute of it all. Unfortunately I have no pictures to prove that, yes I did indeed mallet a poor – but flavorful! – crab in a rather barbaric-land-locked-city-girl fashion. So you’ll just have to take my word for it. After the cleanup of tiny mutilated bodies, we all wandered to a cemetery to watch fireworks. It’s a far cry from the soccer fields of suburban Colorado but the mood was the same and had me reflecting on the paradox that is America and its people. (For more on my thoughts on this, see my post from the 2008 elections.)

Tomorrow will begin the next stage of this new escapade, as I will begin work tomorrow at Virginia Tech’s Language and Culture Institute. I’m excited for this new opportunity to help students improve their English and look forward to meeting my new colleagues. With that in mind, I should best get to bed for a full night’s sleep, I got a busy day ahead of me! I am hoping that this jaunt in the Appalachians will be full of new experiences such as my first night here (though perhaps with a bit less carnage) and have high hopes for all that lies ahead of me here.

P.S. Thanks to Pete for the fantastic celebrations and keep on rocking out the crab-fest!! I’ll just hang by the grill next time… :)

Virginia Update

It has been a week and a half since I arrived in Richmond, Virginia. So far I’ve spent the time adjusting to the time difference (finished that within a few days) and the heat (don’t think I’ll ever adjust to that). Also, there’s the ol’ job hunt thing… I almost with the ‘hunt’ part of that phrase was more literal. Right now I feel like I’m sending applications out into a void and whether they are read or not, who the hell knows? I’d feel more productive if I had like a bow and arrow (boy, I miss my archery days!) and could go around to offices and organizations and.. well maybe not shoot people, as I’m sure that wouldn’t be a great first impression (though perhaps a very memorable one), but just… meet them in person I guess. My personality does Not come through well in cover letters or resumes. But then a

gain, whose does really? Ah well, I’m sure at some point some employer will find my ramblings interesting and call me in for an interview where I can really wow them.

In the meantime, at least I have been having some good quality time with the three resident cats here (for instance, Melanie’s cat Hope is sitting on the couch cushion next to me making sure I do my work, i.e. purring contentedly and occasionally give me the eye). Damn, I wish I was a cat myself. What a good life, eh? Maybe in my next incarnation I’ll be lucky enough to be house cat spoiled by those silly human creatures. Until then, I’ll continue to do all those silly human things, like applying to jobs.

P.S. I do actually have a goodbye to Derry blog half-started which I will try to finish soon and publish. For now though, enjoy my lolcats ode to the Bible Belt…..

The Surreal Life - Tales of multi-culturalism

Through all my travels I've had certain time where I thought to myself "How did I end up here? How I am learning Irish dancing in Ukraine or bathing in an Japanese onsen with my boyfriend's (at the time) mother and sister with nothing covering me but a tea towel, and no mutually understandable language between us?" Well the past few weeks have given me further proof of the uniqueness and commonality of our incredible shrinking globe.

I guess you could say it all started on St. Patrick's Day, when I was hijacked by one of the students from my school while I was shopping in the new 24-hour convenience store (actually open the literal 24 hours a day - a miracle here). The store is run by some Saudi Arabians living here and the student is a Chinese girl who has been studying here for a long while. Anyways, I went to this party where I was greeted by another ESL teacher from the school. As the crowd filled up I noticed it was an interesting mix of Iranians, Chinese and Irish folk. I chatted with my student, met another girl from Scotland and then conversed with an Iranian woman and pondered the multitude of tiny moments in one’s life that led each one of us to this point. How did we all come to be hundreds or thousands of miles from home at a St. Patrick’s Day party in the middle of Derry? I know of course my own path but I was intrigued to hear about theirs. However, conversations were cut short as the hostess tried to teach us some traditional Irish dancing much to her dismay (we were not quick studies) and everyone else’s enjoyment. After that the party disintegrated in to laughter and traditional Iranian dancing (which most of the guests had a better grasp on) and I headed back to my house, smiling to myself at the most unique Paddy’s Day experience I’ve had yet.

Then… last Thursday kicked off another round of crazy multi-cultural experiences when I met some former Spanish students of mine for a goodbye drink before they returned to Spain. A drink or two later they had to go to a dinner with the other students from their program. Graciously they asked if I would join them and touched by this (and already enjoying myself tremendously), I did. We went to the Chinese buffet in town, where of course I met with a few more students from my school. All in all me and about 15 Spanish students sat down to dinner. The conversation was lively and though I didn’t have a clue as to what was said most of the time I was having a great time. It felt so good to me to be a minority again, very reminiscent of my “Japanese groupie” days at DU. Strange, you say? Possibly. But nonetheless true. Of course some of them did talk with me in English but that wasn’t so necessary for me, as often the actual language spoken simply covers the mood and deeper sense of communication. Again, I left this occasion feeling buffeted by the inter-cultural experience.

On Friday I mingled with a culture a bit closer to home (quite literally), when I attended an Irish ceili at the new Irish Cultural Centre in town, Cultúrlann Uí Chanáin. Now, I thought it would be like a traditional music jam session. It turned out much to my horror, it was traditional set dancing! (Think the original square dancing kind of thing…) Rarely before have I wished so fervently to have the ground open up before me and be swallowed whole by it. (Un)Fortunately (depending on the outlook) that didn't happen and in the end I danced the night away with a friend I'd luckily invited before I knew what it was. The following day brought more surprises in the form of two women who came into the little shop I work in part-time. In extremely broken English they proceeded to ask me for help to find a certain rare crystal. Taking a stab in the dark I started to speak Russian to them only to discover they came from Latvia. We then had a fairly long conversation, this time in broken Russian (on my part). It felt so good to speak Russian again despite the poverty of my vocabulary and complete disregard for grammatical structure. Flying high on a wave of renewed love of Russian, the afternoon in the shop passed quickly.

Since then I have had occasion to listen to a rock band/drum circle at the school with students from all over. Spain, China, Saudi Arabia, Germany, (and of course our Irish hosts) etc., we all gathered together to enjoy the spring night and the universal language – music. It’s true that music can breach the language divide, I reflected, as the whole group joined together to sing U2’s classic, “One”. If ever there is hope to be found for mutual understanding across continents and cultures it can be found within rhythms and melodies. Though we may look different on the outside there is an inner commonality that can never be removed, though it of course can be tarnished and abused. So next the time you find yourself amongst strangers remember that “a stranger is just a friend you haven’t met yet."

Dios Mio! It's the end...

Tonight I watched the latest episode of Ugly Betty, a favorite tv show of mine since its inception four years ago. As the final credits began to roll, I suddenly got a sinking suspicion... I searched frantically online for a moment to realize that the brilliant series about a young woman coming into her own in New York city was finally coming to a close. For the last time. Oddly this episode was strangely reminiscent for me in particular. As Betty strolled through the streets of London I relived my own early adventures there. The newness of life in a different place. The excitement of learning something every day, either about your adopted home or yourself. Ahhh... it was an interesting time. One filled with possibilities (as well as pitfalls). Where anything seemed not only within reach but almost inevitable. After all, I had managed to move myself from Colorado, USA to London, UK at the fairly tender (for a sheltered suburban girl) age of 23. How could the world not be my oyster?

It's easy to be fearless when you are young. By the very nature of youth, you feel invincible to the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. As time goes on however those arrows begin to pierce through that invincibility until you are left feeling vulnerable and exposed to the world that was once a treasure. But it doesn't have to be that way. As Betty Saurez shows us with her indefatigable bravery and strength of character, the world of mischance and missed opportunities doesn't always get the upper hand. There are always more risks to take and adventures to pursue. Just because things haven't turned out as expected or life throws you a curve ball doesn't mean that the quest is finished. It's only a new path to follow. The world is a treasure not because it is inherently so, but because we make it so. Therefore...

"What lies behind us and what lies before us are small matters compared to what lies within us." -Ralph Waldo Emerson

Rest in Peace Grandma Bert

Last Sunday night (March 7^th) about 10:30pm Denver time, Bertha Buckner (Bert to her friends and family) passed away at the age of 85. Survived by her three children, three grandchildren and three great-grandchildren, she will be missed by all. She lived a long and good life, sharing most of it with her beloved husband Jerry (Buck) Buckner (who also departed this world six years ago). Bert grew up in North Dakota but made her home in Arvada, Colorado where she raised her family, tended her gardens and kept herself busy as her farming life background had taught her. In between ironing for others and babysitting grandchildren and friend’s children she also quilted and canned foods. Never idle to the last she taught the lesson of hard work. Now her work on this plane is finished and she goes to be reunited with Buck in the world beyond. Rest now and know that you loved and were loved in return.

Chasing Windmills

For those of you who have followed my blog for a while you will notice the sudden and rather drastic cosmetic makeover. This last year and a half has been quite sparse on postings, therefore I believe an overhaul of content and style was called for to rejuvenate the site. The first and perhaps biggest change is the title of said blog site. Over the course of my time in Northern Ireland I have been following a path not so much of adventure and discovery of the outside world as much as an exploration of the mind, both mine and those around me. I don’t mean to suggest I have been psychoanalyzing myself and others, only that I have been constantly pondering what it is within humanity that makes us fight, flee and in general act the way we do. This propensity towards the philosophical has led me to modify the original purpose of this blog. Rather than it being a log of my travels and new experiences (which sadly seem to be declining in recent years), I will instead expound upon the larger questions swirling inside my mind, topics ranging from the banal “why don’t people in Derry share the sidewalk?” to the more abstract discussions of identity formation (the very topic of my master’s dissertation here). Perchance interspersed within these, I hope, sagacious thoughts there might slip in a few humorous travel stories. However, for now “The Next Great Adventure” will be superseded by finding the silver lining in life, those moments of light within the vast dark. Or as Don Quixote would have us do – chasing windmills.

Don Quixote: Dost thou not see?

Sancho Panza: What?

Don Quixote: A monstrous giant of infamous repute! Whom I intend to encounter.

Sancho Panza: It's a windmill.

Don Quixote: A giant. Canst thou not see... the four great arms whirling at his back?

Sancho Panza: A giant?

Don Quixote: Exactly.

A frozen new year

Russia, Ukraine, Alaska, Colorado… these are but a few of the cold places I have lived in or visited. Snow and ice for months on end in each location. And though I did not stay through a whole winter in the first three, I have nonetheless tasted their winters which alone would be enough to chase out many a warmer blooded traveler. Yet through all those experiences of cold and chill, it is two tiny little islands that have bested me in my ability to cope. The wee isles off the European continent, known worldwide as rainy cloudy climes, when the mood strikes can compete with any on the mainland in the depths of wintery freeze. Right now for instance, I sit at my kitchen table in two pairs of socks and pants each, a t-shirt under a turtleneck under a fleece sweater with gloves, hat and earmuffs. And am I warmed yet? Oh no. I’m only now not shaking with the cold. A vast improvement and one I hope will be enough to allow me to continue working on my dissertation. Let’s give it a try and see what happens…. in the meantime, enjoy this poem that puts me in mind of a possible solution to my chills. (Although I'm definitely not at this point yet!)

The Cremation of Sam McGee

by Robert W. Service

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.

Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam ’round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he’d often say in his homely way that he’d “sooner live in hell.”

On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! Through the parka’s fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we’d close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn’t see;
It wasn’t much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.

And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o’erhead were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and “Cap,” says he, “I’ll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I’m asking that you won’t refuse my last request.”

Well, he seemed so low that I couldn’t say no; then he says with a sort of moan,
“It’s the cursed cold, and it’s got right hold till I’m chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet ’taint being dead - it’s my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you’ll cremate my last remains.”

A pal’s last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! He looked ghastly pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.

There wasn’t a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn’t get rid, because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: “You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it’s up to you to cremate these last remains.”

Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows - O God! How I loathed the thing.

And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;
And I’d often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.

Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the Alice May.
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;
Then “Here,” said I with a sudden cry, “is my cre-ma-tor-eum!”

Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared - such a blaze you seldom see;
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.

Then I made a hike, for I didn’t like to hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don’t know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.

I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near:
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: “I’ll just take a peep inside.
I guess he’s cooked, and it’s time I looked”... then the door I opened wide.

And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: “Please close that door.
It’s fine in here, but I greatly fear you’ll let in the cold and storm -
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it’s the first time I’ve been warm.”

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.