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Santa Barbara- Food, Fun, and Fabulous Sites 3

2012-01-24T08:00:00.000-08:00

Breakfast Battles

I happened to stay at a Holiday Inn, which I mistook for aHoliday Inn Express. The former does not servebreakfast (boo!) so I searched town for inexpensive breakfasts.There was a Denny’s across the street but I wanted places with a more localtouch.

International Café

I stumbled across International Café, located in a stripmall on Calle Real in Goleta. Although I went to this location three times I always got the same thingbecause it was sooo good: smoked salmon bagel with cream cheese, capers,tomatoes and red onions. It was delicious!

The bagels seem fresh though they weren’t quite my style. Iprefer super soft, fluffy bagels and theirs were thick and chewy. International Cafe offers vanilla coffee, which everyone before and after me always seemed to order. I recommend you follow their example and try it when you stop by. The regular coffee won't rock your world, so try something different.

The service didn’t thrill me, either. All three morningsthere were young girls working, perhaps college students. They would’ve workeda bit faster if they weren’t busy complaining to each other about classschedules and homework. They were kind to the customers but the time thing could be adownside if you’re in a hurry. I never was so it worked out fine.

Overall Rating: 7/10 So-so service still can't ruin a good lox bagel.

Tupelo Junction

By far my favorite breakfast experience took place at Tupelo Junction in downtown Santa Barbara. Had I discovered it earlier I would've gone there multiple times.

The storefront is small, with two outdoor tables situated near the sidewalk. Upon entering, the restaurant opens up into a broad, warm room with tasteful country kitchen decor. I sat in one of the few window seats to enjoy people watching and basking in the warm winter sunshine.

I enjoyed everything that touched my mouth. Tupelo Junction has a decent tea selection. The whole leaf earl gray was warm and rich (I add milk and honey to mine). They refill the water here, which is important to me. I drink a lot of tea and quality leaves can be used more than once (so it's a waste not to!).

I ordered a scramble with two eggs, Gouda cheese, applewood bacon, caramelized onions and spinach served with a side of seasoned potatoes and banana nut bread. Scrumptious! I loved how all of the flavors worked together to create a warm, hearty party in my mouth. The Gouda was particularly nice, a much welcomed break from the cheddar that's so common on scramble/skillet dishes. And good lord is it filling! I skipped lunch that day. (Not completely--I ate ice cream and was just fine until dinner).

The hostess and waitress were both incredibly pleasant and attentive.

My only regret is not coming multiple times to try the beignets. The ladies next to me were nearly orgasmic with happiness as they ate theirs!

Overall Rating: 10/10 for excellent food, great views and a menu that offers something for everyone.

Santa Barbara- Food, Fun, and Fabulous Sites 2

2012-01-20T15:15:00.000-08:00

Noodle City

If you’re staying in Goleta, CA (near the Santa Barbaraairport) then I beseech you to visit Noodle City.

Noodle City is two blocks from my job. I was on my way toanother restaurant when I saw it. The aroma of pho drifted outside from theopen door. I stopped in my tracks on the sidewalk and peeped inside. The tiny establishmentwas packed. It was a high energy place in a laid-back town. I couldn’t resiststepping inside.

There were maybe three waitresses for all 35-45 guests thatwere packed inside but those girls were handlingit. No one missed a beat. The service was fast and courteous (though notsteeped in Southern hospitality like I’m used to).

I ordered pho with seafood. It was straightforward; the onlyoddities were the fried blocks of tofu which I've had before but theirs were particularly delicious. They were a nice touch. The seafood wasgood but I’m not going to claim that they pulled it out of the ocean thatmorning or anything. The dish was flavorful and piping hot, just as it shouldbe!

What makes this place is the atmosphere. Santa Barbara isn’ta particularly diverse city when it comes to ethnicities so the diversity foundat Noodle City was invigorating. It was like every person of any color waseating there. And some of them brought their white friends!

I’m laughing as I write that but it’s true.

I chatted a bit with the table of guys beside me. They orderedpho with chicken, a broken rice and pork dish, and a vermicelli dish withchicken and shrimp. Consensus? It was all excellent. The guys mentioned thatthey stop in at least once a week. Noodle City is the “best Vietnamese restaurantin town.”

Overall Rating: 9/10for great food, fun atmosphere and speedy service

Santa Barbara- Food, Fun, and Fabulous Sites 1

2012-01-17T08:30:00.000-08:00

I arrived in Santa Barbara on a business trip and couldn’twait to check out the food scene. I got a few suggestions from local coworkersand created an itinerary of must-sees and must eats. Check back for updates!

Shintory Sushi Factory

After reading rave reviews online, I decided to stop intoShintori Sushi Factory on State Street. It isn’t in the downtown portion ofState Street but it’s easily accessible if you’re headed that way.

Atmosphere: Shintori is easy to miss. The small read awningand red sign blend in with the surrounding signage. Once found, the entranceand interior are both unassuming and underwhelming. It’s a small restaurantwith about 7 tables and a bar. Nondescript images are easy to ignore. One TVflashes silent pictures at guests while the sushi chefs rock out to reggaeton.

The menu has a lot of common favorites as well as a fewlocal specialties. As my litmus test, I got a rainbow roll and their version of aBeauty and the Beast (BBQ eel and tuna over a California roll). The rolls aresmaller than what I’m accustomed to at my favorite hangouts in Atlanta but theywere still filling. The fish was good. Not stellar but it was just fine.

The sauce on the eel was HORRID to my taste buds. I’vegotten BBQ eel multiple times and at least two dozen restaurants and I’ve neverhad sauce like this. It’s as if the standard sauce was sprinkled with cigaretteashes! Perhaps it was sprinkled withashes. I hadn’t offended anyone that I was aware of…Bitter sauce on eel is just a bad idea. I scraped the BBQ sauce offof the roll and doused it in soy sauce to try and fend off the flavor.

There were a few cute odds and ends. Each meal comes with a edamame appetizer, and many rolls are served with veggies on the side like peas, carrots, and grape tomatoes. Gotta get in your veggies! The two waitresses that assisted me were very kind.

Overall RestaurantRating: 5/10 for decent, filling food that simply didn’t wow me.

Image Credit: Asian Food Grocer

Vote Decatur as the South's Tastiest Town!

2012-01-03T09:16:00.000-08:00

I often do restaurant reviews on this website from my travels, but I think it's also important to represent restaurants in my hometown of Atlanta that are worthy of recognition.

Decatur, GA is one of my favorite Atlanta towns. It's being recognized by Southern Living magazine as one of The South's Tastiest Towns. What does that mean? Decatur is getting props for its unique food culture and excellent restaurants. My favorite Decatur eateries are Wahoo, Java Monkey, Sushi Avenue, and Cafe Lily.

But-- we need your help! Decatur needs votes to win the title of the Tastiest Town. We are thousands of votes behind our competitors like Lafayette and we need your votes to bring home the victory.
Vote every day, once a day, until January 31, 2011. Each vote get you closer to a chance of winning a $2,500 trip!

Thanks for your support!

Fun ways to stay warm this winter

2011-12-13T13:17:00.000-08:00

Vacuum Insulated Thermos

I freakin' hate cold weather. I'm not kidding. For some reason, I begin to shiver if temperatures drop below 65 degrees. As you can image, I've found multiple ways of staying warm in style. Explore products that are great for chillin' in the lodge or outdoor excursions.

Warmth To Go
When I'm getting an early start on my day, I'm eerily dependent on my vacuum insulated mug by Thermos. It holds 16oz and keep fluids hot for six hours. What I like most about it is that there isn't some magical way that I have to put on the lid to drink from it. Have 360 degree access to my beverage!

Multi-color Pashmina

If you haven't had a revelation of pashmina, you're at a terrible loss in life. Imagine a scarf made of the softest material that is also warm, beautiful and elegant. That's pashmina. I perfer them to other types of scarves because they're so easy to dress up or dress down. Many are quite large, so you can use them as shawls.

Fireside Coziness

Catina Bootie

Fuzzy slippers are a given. My favorites this year have been the Women's Catina Slipper Bootie at Target. I got the turqouise color and I adore them. The wool keeps my legs warm and the firm sole is great for running to the mailbox without having to change shoes. The inside is lined with artificial fur so they feel magnificent.

After a long day on the slopes (or just running around in Christmas traffic) it's great to crash in front of the TV with a warm beverage and a fleece throw. Fleece blankets are perfect for staying warm while you are lounging. They aren't bulky. They're easy to wash. You can also find them in a plethora of colors to match your home decor.

Didn't I mention a warm beverage? Allow me to recommend Aristeacrat's Creme Earl Grey tea. It's smooth, delicious, and a perfect way to begin or end your day. I prefer mine with milk and brown sugar. I've even gotten my boyfriend hooked on it so it's a...manly?...tea as well.

What are a few of your cold weather must-haves?

Exploring Tallulah Gorge

2011-12-07T08:00:00.000-08:00

A few months back, my boyfriend and I began our very own commemorative trekking pole. Every time that we visit a new state park, we buy one of the cute little medallions that we can nail onto the wooden pole. The collection is growing rather nicely, I must say.

We don't just go to the parks for the medallions, of course. (They're bonuses.) The parks are an excellent way to unwind on weekends and enjoy the absolutely stunning creation around us. One of my favorite spots in Georgia, so far, is Tallulah Gorge.

Tallulah Gorge is located in North Georgia near Toccoa Falls, right along the South Carolina border. Quite a few travelers have likely passed over the gorge without noticing it; if you aren't looking for it, the bridge over the river looks like any other overpass on 441. With that said, you should get the picture that the gorge is no Grand Canyon. It does have it's own sense of beauty, though.

The bridge passes over one of the most narrow parts of the river. Beyond, the river and gorge extend for two miles and becomes nearly 1,000 feet deep. The most beautiful areas, in my opinion, are the views of the waterfalls and pools created by the Coleman and Tallulah rivers. The bare cliff faces are also stunning during sunset.

My boyfriend, his brother, and I hiked the North and most of the South rim trails. The hikes are easy, and a decent alternative to anyone wanting to avoid the 600 stairs leading to the gorge floor or the 1,099 stairs on the Hurricane Falls Loop trail. With that said, the hike was a bit too easy for my liking. I didn't break a sweat or feel the burn of well-worked glutes. I hope to drag my s.o. back for one of the more challenging trails. As much as I hate stairs, the opportunity to swim in Bridal Falls is tempting. It's luring me back for the summer.

There are a few things that you should know about Tullulah Falls, GA.

Your dining options are few. If you're traveling with picky eaters, plan to eat before or after your trip.
It gets cold really fast near the water during the cooler months, so even if you plan your excursion during a mild afternoon, bring your jacket for the evening.
Use quality boots, especially in the spring, fall, and winter. Most of the paths wind through trees, which is excellent for blocking out the southern sun. Unfortunately, this means that any degree of moisture stays trapped on the path. In autumn, fallen leaves become slippery. In the spring and winter, rain and melted snow will leave the paths muddy and slick. If you plan to explore the gorge floor (all boulders) it is also important to wear boots with good traction.

Gulf Shores Vacation: Day Four

2011-11-23T08:00:00.000-08:00

The next morning was the first day of real sunshine. Not “ButI’m at the beach so I may as well be outside,” sunshine that is alsoaccompanied by icy 15 mph winds. I mean legitimately sunny, cloudless weatherof at least 70 degrees. I couldn’t have been happier—unless it was 80 degrees.

I thought that the water was still too cold for a swim so Iplanned to lay out on a beach towel and soak up the sun. My boyfriend,however, was still in his “But I’m at the beach…” mode and decided to go snorkeling.It makes me cold just thinking about it. Gear in tow, we drove a golf cart downto the beach and began our activities.

The Beach

Much to my disappointment, my boyfriend discovered that thisportion of the Gulf doesn’t have many of shells. (Clear water, prettywhite sand, and no shells was great for laying out on my towel but bad forbringing back souvenirs.) My boyfriend was also a bit started by the quantityof jelly fish bobbing along in the water. I think he saw a few sting rays, too.They are what eventually drove him back to the shore. He’s the sort of guy thathas to be doing something and I felt bad that his snorkeling was cut short so Ipulled myself from the sand and decided to go for a walk with him.

The community isn’t very large. Less than 3 miles along thecoastline is well-developed and then the quantity of homes starts todwindle. I wanted to keep walking (I can walk on the beach for years!) but wedecided to turn back after a mile or so and headed inside for lunch.

Gulf Island Grill

I don't know how to review Gulf Island Grill. We all ordered buckets of seafood by the pound in one form or another. I got a 2 pounds of clusters and 1/2 pound of shrimp and entered bliss. I was stuffed beyond a reasonable capacity but I couldn't have been happier. My boyfriend got 1/2 lb Oysters and 1/2 lb shrimp in addition to some an oyster appetizer and half of my gumbo appetizer . My sister and brother-in-law split a St. Martin's Platter and were satisfied, though not gorged.

Fresh seafood is simply delicious. The restaurant doesn't "make" any of the sea creatures, so I don't know how to rate the establishment on how it tasted; maybe they tossed some Old Bay and garlic in the pot while everything steamed. What was prepared (the gumbo) was chuncky and well-seasoned but it was overshadowed by my obsession with crab legs so...I dunno.

Overall rating 6/10 for freshness and moderate prices for the portion sizes.

After lunch, we drove to a shopcalled David’s Gallery. It’s a tattoo parlor, clothing store, and naturalremedies shop all fitted into one building. The areas are clearly designatedbut are connected to one another via a series of doorways. Inside, theemployees looked like a cross between hippies and bikers: serious piercings andtattoos, mellow, easy to talk to, not afraid to toss out a “curse word” infront of the customers, complementary. Take them or leave them. They did have agreat selection of skirts upstairs that were hand dyed and made from naturalfibers. I snagged one that reminded me of a Raggedy Anne doll that has traveled to Tunisia. Beautiful.

After our brief shopping stint, we decided to head back intoFairhope for the Oktoberfest. Tickets were $30 per person. Fortunately, beforewe could cross the threshold, a couple exited the event and heard us debatingwhether to enter.

“Don’t waste your money.” The woman warned. She seemed weary and disappointed.

“Seriously, it’s not worth it,” groaned in her partner. He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. “They’reserving, like, small samples of Miller Lite and Budweiser. And they’ve gotstore brought pretzels and hotdogs. It was a complete waste.”

The two walked away hand in hand, ticked-off but determinedto redeem the night.

We were certainly grateful for their input. My boyfriend andI lingered around the entryway for a moment longer, listening to the pop musicand watching the sparse population mingle and stroll between the booths. Welooked at each other and shrugged.

“Let’s walk around a bit. If nothing jumps out at us, whydon’t we head back to that place with the Christmas lights on the sign that we passedon the way in?” I suggested. I received no opposition.

I fell in love with the town all over again that night.Sure, the family-oriented Oktoberfest was a bust, but walking through the townhad a beautiful, magical quality to it. The storefronts were filled with seasonaldecorations and unique crafts. I saw a few cafes and restaurants that I’d wantto come back to during the day, if given the opportunity.

In an effort to get back to the parking lot (and not passthrough the Oktoberfest area again) we took a different route. Along the way,my boyfriend laughed, “The cat is leading the way.”

I immediately began checking the shadows for a scurrying catahead of us. Nothing. Seconds later I realized that he was referring to a facepainted on the side of a fence. It wasn’t a cat, but a regularsmiley face. Neither of us could place why but, from a distance, it had lookedlike the grinning face of the Cheshire Cat.

Into the Rabbit Hole

The restaurant, we found out, was called Fly Creek Café. Amassive chalk board served as their sign, the names of upcoming artistssprawled in festive print under the logo. We headed down a gravel driveway thatlooked as if it was leading to a marina and warehouse. A tiny grouping of carsto the left of the corrugated steel structure reassured us that we were headedin the right direction.

The Red Queen: We should’ve known something was…off…when wefirst met the hostess. She wore a broad smile with bright red lips and a redcarnation in her hair. As she greeted us, she cocked her head to the side andbrushed her brown hair behind her ear.

My boyfriend nudged in her direction with his chin. “Niceflower.”

“What?” asked the hostess, pausing with the menus in the crookof her arm.

“In you hair? It’s a nice flower...it looks good.” He seemedincreasingly hesitant as he spoke. He looked to me for clues.

I smiled and nodded, tapping my temple, thinking that maybeshe forgot that the flower rested above her ear. “It matches perfectly with yourlipstick.”

“Um…,” the smile remained plastered to her face but she was completely clueless. “Right this way,”she enunciated and then headed out to the patio.

The outdoor seating area faces the water and the marina,making it a gorgeous place to chill at night. The boats rocked gently in thewater, the moon shone brightly, and the other guests chatted merrily amongstthemselves.

A group of men hovered over a high-top with their beers, watchinga single television rigged over the outdoor bar. For some reason completelyunknown to us, the hostess sat our menus on the table they were standing at. Themen dispersed but didn’t seem fazed by the incident at all.

Clown-smile in place, the woman looked us both in the eyesseparately and said, “Toby will be right with you,” before walking away.

Toby never came. To this day, we have no idea who in thehell Toby is.

The Mad Hatter: The guy that eventually waited on us wasn’tToby but he was awesomely weird. He spoke with a distinct Cajun accent (thinkGambit from the 1990s animated X-Men series) but it ends up that he is fromRomania. (I guess Romania + Alabamaaccents sound like Louisiana?) That could’ve been incredible sexy if it wasn’tfor his over-sized sweater. The sleeves drooped over his knuckles; he tugged atthem like Jennifer Love Hewett used to in Party of Five. It just seemed more peculiar because he was at dude, maybe close to his 30s.

He shifted from one side to the other as he spoke, doing alittle jig, emphatic about everything he said, pulling on his sleeves. Herecommended an appetizer by explaining, “Yeah, the stuffed shrimp are shrimpthat are stuffed. There is crab meat on the inside, stuffed in the inside, andthe whole thing is wrapped in bacon. It’s really, really, delicious. It’s real crab meat and lots of it. And realbacon. It’s reeeeally, reeeeally, good. You’ll love it. I’ll get it for you.”

We didn’t dare question him. He seemed so certain that we’dlove it. We believed him. That was smart of us, because he was right. Thestuffed shrimp were delicious (though I peeled off the bacon and gave it to myboyfriend).

Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum: We ran into a problem, though,when we wanted to order drinks. No drink list. No chalk board with drinks onit. My boyfriend asked two of the waiters (part of the group that hovered over our table before) if they had a drink menu and both men looked completely shockedthat they hadn’t thought about giving us one sooner. They began their searchfor the drink menus by looking under the salt shakers on the table next tothem. Then they looked under the napkin holder on an adjacent table.

My boyfriend, who was standing near them, turned back to mein disbelief. What are these guys doing?The menus couldn’t have been folded into the size of a business card andstuffed under a salt shaker…? He wasn't saying anything but it was all over his face.

That’s when the reality hit us. Everyone must have been high.Really, really high.

Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum eventually found a drink list (the size of an averagemenu, certainly not small enough to fit under a napkin holder). We flagged down the Mad Hatter and ordered our beverages.He seemed delighted to have us at his “tea” party. He assured me that my drink(basically a white Russian with lots of chocolate) was going to be really delicious.

Thimble Mouse: Whileall of this was happening, we noticed that the other families in the areaseemed to know one another. They huddled around a bonfire, sliding marshmallowsonto skewers and talking wildly about a million topics at once.

One little girl, about 9 years-old, brunette with a pointed nose, grabbed myattention as being the most peculiar of the children. She asked a woman what the devillooked like; when the woman implied that the devil was a like shape shifter, the girl (whom we dubbed Thimble Mouse) didn’t like the answer. She insisted that the devil had apointed beard and a red tail. Then she ranted on about how she could outsmartthe devil.

I lost track of the conversation but when I tuned back inthe woman was telling Thimble Mouse that she must run laps around patio to burnoff some of her excess energy. (I know: how about you stop feeding the child marshmallowsat 11pm!)

Thimble Mouse bolted around the patio three or four timesbefore settling breathlessly into her chair and continuing to chat it up. A blond woman who sat across from her apologized to us profuselyfor the noise that her daughter was making. We told her to think nothing of it.The dad, I guess, chirped in and asked if we wanted any kids. They had three orfour of them, boys and girls, and we could have our pick. The poor man seemexhausted even with a beer in his hands and I think he was only 30% kidding.

I changed my opinion to 60% when the couple stopped us onour way out. “Wait, Erica!” The woman said. I was startled that she remember myname. “What about a kid?”

Her husband laughed and shouted. “Don’t try to sneak out ofhere without one. We’ll slash your tires!”

Everyone around the bonfire laughed, including the kids.

“Really,” the woman continued more casually. “Which one do you want?”

“Pick me!” shouted Thimble Mouse, her hand extended highabove her head.

I have no ideal how my boyfriend and I got out of that. Wemumbled and smiled a lot and eventually made our way out of the Rabbit Hole.

Fly Creek Image. Mad Hatter Image

Gulf Shores Vacation: Day Three

2011-11-15T08:00:00.000-08:00

The guys heard about the USS Alabama and decided that weshould tour the battleship. I hadn’t toured a battleship in well over a decadeand my sister never had. Why not?

USS Alabama Tour

Here are a few notes for surviving the ship tour:

Lose weight and consider shrinking. The corridors are small,the doorways are smaller, and I am convinced that sailors were all 4’11’’ orshorter.
Take breaks. They aren’t kidding when they suggest allottingat least 2 hours to tour the ship. There are God-knows how many levels and tinyrooms to investigate. Since many of the spaces are tight and the hallways arewinding, it’s easy to feel a bit claustrophobic or oppressed.
Go with people who really enjoy history or battleships.Enthusiasm is contagious. Otherwise, you’ll be bored to tears very quickly.
Don’t bring babies. Whowould? you wonder. Some woman thought it was a good idea and I swear shenearly dropped the child three times trying to climb through the doorways andup the ladders. It was absolutely frightening. And I don’t think there isanywhere to change a diaper.

My sister and I only made it through the green tour. (Thereare also yellow and red tours, I think.) The guys went to the very top. I laterjoined them to tour the adjacent Air Force museum. Notes to survive the Air Force museum:

Read all the little plaques, even if you usually skipthem. Interesting stuff! And most of them are short, sweet, and to the point.
The flight simulator is a mixed bag. As a ride, it’s fun.The movements of the vessel are jolting but not horrifying (suitable for kids)and you can feel the vibrations whenever you’re "shot." What ruins thesimulator are the 1994 or earlier graphics. I feel like the graphics on myAtari were better. Spoiled, modern patrons will be a bit disappointed.

Felix’s Restaurant

Snapper with crawfish Oscar sauce

Whether you’re coming or going from the USS Alabama, it’shard to miss Felix’s Fish Camp and Grill. It’s a two story…shack?….made of corrugated steelthat rises majestically from the swampy area along Route 16/Battleship Parkway. The building is so bad that it's cool and we just had to go in.

Yes, Felix’s is touristy. It’s next to a major touristattraction, so go figure. But don’t fault the restaurant or the staff for pickingprime real estate and making cash off of good planning.

After walking up a long ramp or taking the elevator (therestaurant is on stilts since it’s next to the water) guests enter the typicalwood-clad, nautical themed restaurant. Southwest facing windows make for beautiful sunset views. I don’t think the windows are insulated,unfortunately, because it was extremely warm in the dining area.

We settled in, ordered our quintessential oyster appetizerand selected our entrees. I got the stuffed yellowtail snapper, topped with twocrab cakes and served with fried green tomatoes. I’m a big fan of Felix’s crabcakes, especially when served on top of a thick snapper fillet. It waswonderfully prepared in flavor and texture. The fried green tomatoes only rankslightly above average, too soggy to be extraordinary. I’d certainly go backfor the Come Back Sauce, a house blend created specifically for fried foods.

My boyfriend ordered the ½ shrimp ½ oyster poboy with a sideof crab soup. We were instantly saddened by the sight of a typical hoagie.(Sea-N-Sud’s bun really spoiled us.) It didn’t help that the seafood didn’timpress, either. Fortunately, the crab soup stepped in to save the day, richand hearty with chunks of crab.

Pork chops with crawfish sauce

Pleasantly surprised by her venture into the unfamiliar, Iwas glad when my sister ordered the crawfish smothered pork chops with jalapeñofritters (hush puppies). Plentiful crawfish, unique cream-based creole sauce,and a juicy pork chop makes this a recommended dish. She was less than impressed by the fritters;they lacked spice and flavor.

Her husband ordered the fresh catch which includes grilledyellowtail snapper with crawfish Oscar on top and a side of grits. Felix’sOscar sauce should win an Oscar for its stellar performance! (Sorry, I couldn’thelp myself.) His only complaint regarded the cheese grits. Grits. In a bowl.With shredded cheese on top. Not even melted.

Overall restaurantrating: 7/10 for great views, Come Back Sauce, fresh fish and heftyportions.

Mobile, AL Driving Tour

I wasn’t ready to make the trek back to Gulf Shores. Ididn’t imagine that I’d ever come back to Mobile on my own (what’s there?!) soI begged my fellow travelers to do a driving tour through the city. We were allpleasantly surprised.

Mobile is by no means a large city but it has plenty ofattractions and charm. We drove around a bit, meandering through one-waystreets. Dauphin St. held my interest. It reminds me a bit of New Orleans orCharleston; it has glimpses of international influence, ornate wrought ironbalconies, and quaint shops. The area is rather pedestrian friendly. We parkedand hopped out to look around.

We passed Bienville Square and decided to stop at Spot of Tea. The restaurant is located directly across from Cathedral Plaza. We sat onthe patio (the bottom, not the balcony, which doesn’t open until after 5pm) andwatched a group practicing for a wedding in the Plaza. While no one wasimpressed with the teas (I’m kind of a tea person, so that was a bigdisappointment) we all agreed that Spot of Tea is an excellent location forpeople watching, sipping a beverage, chatting and letting the day pass by.

You can see Mobile from the pier in Fairhope

Everyone was in a pretty good mood after our short stop inMobile so we took a different route back to Gulf Shores. We came up the US-98alternate but headed back on Route 98 proper through Daphne and Fairhope. Wewere two for two in good ideas for the day.

I officially want a home in Fairhope. Residents have takengreat lengths to maintain the small town. Its center is filled with character,each of the historic buildings preserved or renovated nicely. There are plentyof small cafes, shops, and restaurants that promote pedestrian traffic. And theflowers! Every street corner has a lovely little flower bed and hanging basketsof seasonal varieties. Such little touches are what made me fall in love withthat place.

Fairhope is an active community. Nearly every publicbuilding advertised an upcoming event including an Oktoberfest and a youth artshow at the community center. People milled through the streets wearing lightjackets and smiles; if I didn’t feel so giddy myself I would have been scaredthat we’d entered some sort of Amityville Horror scene. But I DID feel giddy and I couldn't wait to return the next day for their Oktoberfest celebration.

Gulf Shores Vacation: Day Two

2011-11-11T07:30:00.000-08:00

Since the second day of our trip also had a chilly forecast,we decided we do a bit of hiking. We didn’t think too much of it since placesbelow sea level tend not to have too many treacherous hills. For the most part,we were right.

Pine Beach Park

The entrance to Pine Beach Park is clearly marked from stateroute 180. You’ve got to try to miss it. Since the SUV nearly got stuck in thesand earlier that day (a little unnecessary but fun off road action) I was gladthat the parking lot was covered in gravel. We checked out a few of theinformative displays before starting the trail.

The first leg of the trail is well shaded. The archway ofprickly beach vegetation and Spanish moss provides much needed relief from thesun but it also blocks off any scenic views. We strolled along at a casualpace, taking photographs of flowers, moss, and silly poses of each other. Itwas a peaceful place to take a walk.

We came to a lookout point, basically an elevated gazebo,that provides guests with views of Gator Lake and a bit of Little Lagoon. Theshelter has more informative plaques about the wildlife that resides in the area.I was less interested, though, because I was snapping photos with a DSLR. (I’mcurrently obsessed with them!)

While we were near Gator Lake we didn’t see any gators. Therewere at least three herons, though, and I swear they are the most intelligent, regal,and intimidating birds arouns. Really scary when you get too close to them. I’veheld plenty of snakes and clawed mammals in my lifetime but I’m not touching aheron.

Past the lookoutpoint is where things got interesting. Hikers will pass the ruins of a fewstructures (unidentifiable, just a few brick walls and a foundation) and thenenter the sand dunes. Hiking in sand is one of the best workouts ever! Sincethe weather was cool I was able to take of my shoes and enjoy the sand beneathmy feet. (Don’t try that in the summer. I image half a mile of hot sand isquite unpleasant.) I got a nice tingle in my thighs and butt but it wasn’tenough to make me feel the horrors of exercises. Nice! It would’ve been perfecthad we gotten a slight breeze but the dunes block those, of course.

My favorite moment in the whole hike was when we reached thecrest of the last dune. The beautiful Gulf opened out before us like ashimmering gemstone with ribbons of turquoise, teal, and blue. The wind pickedup immediately and cooled us off. We made our way towards the water and satalong the edge.

Then reality kicked in. We noticed the oil rigs in thedistance, beastly structures that rose out of the horizon like sinisterTransformers. Then we noticed the clean-up crew. They were making their waydown the beach with nets, stopping and scooping. I was in denial at first.Could they still be cleaning up oil? But it is true. About half a dozen workerspassed us with dark matter in the bottom of their nets.

I had mixed feelings about it all. We learned that theworkers were paid by BP. At least BP was still paying the crews to clean sincethere were still globs of oil that needed to be removed. (Most globs were thesize of ping pong balls or smaller.) At least a few men and women had jobs thatmay not have been employed otherwise. Both good points. But it hurt me in an inexpressibleway to see such a beautiful beach aesthetically and physically marred by ourquest for fossil fuels.

Within an instant I thought back to PureIcedTea.com and howmuch needs to be done to protect the natural beauty of the South. There is alot of work to do. “And we drove to this beautiful place in a freakin’ SUV!” Ithought. My siblings know how I feel about that sort of thing but they alsoconvinced me that there wasn’t a more cost effective, time-wise andgas-friendly way of getting to our destination. Ugh, the dilemmas thattravelers face.

Mikato Japanese Steakhouse

After spending a couple of hours near the beach, chattingwith the few locals and visitors, we headed back into town for a late lunch orearly dinner (I think it was about 4:30pm). We settled on sushi at MikatoJapanese Steakhouse, a dimly lit restaurants nestled in the distant corner of ashopping plaza. It seemed inappropriately dark, as if strippers would crawlfrom the other side of the bar at any moment. There was nothing at all shadyabout our waitress, an accommodating and humorous 40-something.

Of course, you want to know about the sushi. Filling.Creative. Moderately priced. I couldn’t get a feel for the quality of fishused; it certainly wasn’t poorquality but I wouldn’t put it towards the top of my list. I’m sorry, but wewere so delirious from our morning in the sun that I completely forgot that I’ma blogger. I didn’t take notes from our dining experience and I’m pullingeverything from our collective memories. The only thing that we recall is thatthe Volcano Roll changed my sister’s life for the better and their BBQ eel madea believer out of my boyfriend. Sort of. The common theme seems to be that thisrestaurant does sauces and seasonings well even if the fish itself isn’t themain attraction.

Overall rating: 5/10 for friendly staff and good sauces. It's a forgettable restaurant, unfortunately.

There was nothing of interest to us in the mall. Itsexterior corridors made a great place to walk off the food. We hoped back inthe car and headed home, picking up a frozen pizza in case of late nighthunger. I think we spent the night sipping homemade sangria, watching Fact ofFaked on Sci-Fi (sorry, SyFy, which is stupider) and being glad that we were onvacation and didn’t have to do anything that we didn’t want to do.

Image Credit: Malaysia Most Wanted

Exploring Gulf Shores, AL: Day One

2011-11-08T07:30:00.000-08:00

Every day is a good day for a vacation. When my sisterproposed taking a trip during her fall break from school, I was more thanthrilled to jump on-board with the plans. She wanted a location with beachaccess that was within comfortable driving distance of Atlanta. Destin poppedup on the list first since it is where she got married but when my boyfriendsuggested Gulf Shores, Alabama, we agreed that trying a new destination would be worthwhile.

We settled on a rental property in the Morgantown neighborhood. It’s a relatively small development of beach houses with communitytennis courts and a pool. Since we were vacationing in October, the off season,most of the homes were vacant. No complaints about that! It felt like we hadthe beach all to ourselves.

Even during the height of the season, the Morgantown neighborhood is quiet. Most of the restaurants and attractions are 10 to 15miles away in Gulf Shores proper, which is perfect if you’re searchingfor a relaxing getaway. The location is a bit inconvenient if you like to dineout often and enjoy cultural activities. My travel buddies fell somewhere in the middle, so the location worked out just fine.

Sea-N-Suds Restaurant

We made the drive “into town” each day, at least once a day.On one of our first excursions we set our sights on Sea-N-Suds restaurant. It is near to the Gulf State Park so it’s theperfect stop for a day after sunning and swimming.

The restaurant offers plentyof seating with waterfront views, as well as a deck outside where you can enjoythe weather while having a drink (though I didn’t notice any tables for seating, likely because it was a windy October day).

The beach views save the ambiance of this restaurant. The interior designconsists of some nondescript beach kitsch and solid wood tables. If I'd found this place anywhere other than the beach I would have turned around and walked out. But don’t bedisappointed. I think the restaurant crew spends most of their time on theirfood and customer service.

The waitress was fun and personable. My boyfriend and Ienjoyed her How to Make Cocktail Sauce 101 class that was brief andinformative. And delicious! We used the fresh cocktail sauce on our oysters onthe half shell. Fresh. Light. Perfect.

My brother-in-law ordered an oyster poboy and I opted forthe shrimp poboy. We exchanged halves so that we could sample both. The poboysare served on soft, sesame seed buns that are durable enough to hold the sandwichtogether but not so thick and bulky that you can hardly eat them. The bunsprovided just the right amount of bread. (My boyfriend now insists on finding restaurants in Atlantathat don’t serve poboys on hoagies.) The fried oysters and shrimp were as freshas fried food can be, and the breading provided a bit of crunch and texturewhile leaving room for us to enjoy the flavor of the seafood.

Sea-N-Suds struck out with the stuffed crabs. While theywere tasty, they would have been tastier with less breading and more crab. It’sstill a decent buy at about $8. The onion rings and fries were good, greasycomplements to our meal but nothing mind-blowing.

Overall Sea-N-Suds Rating: 8/10 for waterfront views, fillingportions and fresh seafood.

The Original Oyster House Restaurant

I’ll spare the boring details about grocery shopping and skipright to dinner. We dined at TheOriginal Oyster House, a restaurant that overflowed with people and carseach time that we drove by it. Once we were inside, we completely understoodwhy. I genuinely felt welcomed by the super friendly staff. They weren't at all creepy or artificial way.

I'm not sure what it is about interior designers in Gulf Shores restaurants but they don't seen to stray much from the norm. Fishing propaganda, a million nautical items on the walls. Typical beach restaurant stuff. It felt clean and had a nice local vibe to it so I won't complain too much. Again, they seem to focus on the food more than the decor.

We held onto our tradition of ordering an oyster appetizer. The oysters weregenerous in size and again, very fresh. I don’t think the freshest oysters thatI’ve had in Atlanta could compare to them. I also nibbled on my sister’s bowl of gumbo. The crawfish and okra wereparticularly delicious, leaving us fiending for more.

I was still relatively full from lunch so I ordered thegator bites appetizer as my entrée and a side of turnip greens. I discovered that I don't like meaty gator bites. I eat cold-blooded meats like seafood because its the lightest meat around. Thick, hearty gator just made me think about the animal that I was eating and kinda ruined it for me. (Yeah, I was a vegetarian for a few years.) I'm well aware that most people would really appreciate the ample portions of gator. Very filling! When complemented with the sweet and tangy tiger sauce,The Oyster House’s gator proved to be an appreciated departure from the norm.The turnip greens were delicious, just like my grandmother would make them.Then I realized why: there was pork in it. Heads up, if you don’t eat pork.

My boyfriend ordered the Captain’s Choice with deliciousshrimp scampi, cheesy hushpuppies and the fanciest grits I’d ever sampled.There was something else involved like a fish option. I found it forgettable because I keptstealing the shrimp scampi. It’s worth stealing. Seriously.

Drawn in by fried soft shell crabs, my sister ordered theShrimper’s Delight. The entrée didn’t disappoint. The crab claws remained plumpand juicy on the inside but crisp on the outside. We’d recommendordering a plate of those for the group next time. Everything else on the plate, though delicious, paled in comparison.

There were a few fish specials that night, including HammerJack. No one at the table had tried it before so my brother-in-law took theplunge. He loved it but I wasn’t impressed. I’d say that it is reminiscent oftuna yet it had the texture of overcooked salmon. Since no one at the table hadtried it before, we don’t know if that is how Hammer Jack is supposed to be prepared.The scrumptious butter pecan sauce could’ve made a burnt tire taste good so itdefinitely saved my brother-in-law’s entrée.

Overall The Oyster House Rating: 10/10. We all wanted to goback, hands down. Good service, good food, good portions, good people.

Image Credits: Classic American Food, The MacLarteys, Tie Dye Travels

Ending the Search for Hiking Boots

2011-10-07T20:00:00.000-07:00

Dillon

I bought my very first pair of hiking boots about two yearsago before leaving for the Peace Corps in Paraguay. My friend at the time was a militaryveteran who had grown to hate boots (he now lives in flip-flops) but due to hisstrenuous training and ability to endure strange and unusual punishments, hecame shopping with me.

After a super short search at an outdoor supply store, weselected a pair of Columbia Dillon hiking boots. The outsole seemed durable,the leather was comfortable, and he had great success with the brand in thepast. It was my first pair of boots and I was freaked out about leaving thecontinent so I was just glad that they had purple accents and weren’t tooclunky.

He turned out to be right about the boots. To this day the boots areincredibly comfortable, waterproof, and quite willing to take a beating. I’veworn them for hours hiking in the rain on uneven terrain and my feet weren’teven phased by it. I haven’t had the honor of wearing them while hiking theAlpes during a snowstorm or anything but the Dillons have performedbeautifully in every test I’ve ever put them through. The boots run true to mystreet shoe size but I was encouraged to get half a size larger. This worksperfectly when wearing thick hiking socks and my feet don’t feel cramped. NOTE: I think Dillon has since been discontinued on Columbia.com though you can still find them online elsewhere.

Fast-forward to a few weeks ago and I was at it again, thistime making a more informed search. My ankle-height, waterproof boots are greatfor hikes in cooler weather but during steamy Atlanta treks during the summer they left my feetfeeling hot and unhappy. I wanted a shoe that was more breathable and stopped below the ankle.Durability was also a major factor as I planned to take on more challenging hikes in the future.

Targhee

I decided that durability was my main priority so I askedaround and did a bit of research for the queens of reliable soles. Though Ihear great things about Vibram soles, my boyfriend has a pair ofboots with Keen soles that are ten years old and still kicking butt so Idecided to start there. I set my budget to $100 (nearly impossible, right?) andbegan the search.

The Keen Shasta caught my attention because of the design. The shoes' breathability also ticked off another requirement on my list. The leather is water resistant nubuck and the rest of the upper is mesh. They don't offer a lot of arch support, which was the only downside. I have low arches that seem to "fall" while walking long distances so I moved on.

The next two that caught my eye were the Keen Targhee II and the Keen Palisades. Both had low profiles, breathable mesh, yet the Targhee seemed like the less breathable of the two shoes. (It reportedly has a higher degree of waterproofing.) The Palisades felt lighter on my feet. They have the EVA midsole and removable metatomical footbed that feels quite comfortable and forms to my foot well. I liked the arch support. I made the purchase, in half a size larger than I needed like I had with the Dillons.

Palisades

I wore the shoes around the house just to make sure that I still liked them. Immediately I sensed that they were too big. While the toe area and the ball of my foot felt cozy, the shoe seemed too large around the ankle and heel. I figured that once I put my hiking socks on they'd fit better. I was wrong. The rest of the shoe remained comfortable but I could still feel my heel shifting slighting in and out of the shoe as I walked. BOTTOM LINE: If you have thin to average-sized heels, don't bother getting the Palisade a size larger to accommodate your socks. The shoe just gets longer, not any wider, with size.

I returned the size 8 shoes and have a pair of 7.5 coming in the mail. Even with the opportunity to switch out to another shoe, I like the Palisades so much I'm ordering them again.

Hiking and Biking at Panola Mountain Park

2011-10-04T08:00:00.000-07:00

Panola Mountain State Parkis a 100 acre reserve created to protect one of Georgia's granite monadnocks.Unlike the more popular Stone Mountain or neighboring Arabia Mountain, Panola’scaretakers have undergone serious efforts to preserve the rare plant life foundat the site.

My first time at Panola Mountain Park, I walked the trails with my girlfriendfrom high school. Pets aren’t allowed so we had to leave Riley at home. Myfriend and I walked about 7 miles round trip (out of a possible 24) at a briskpace, fast enough to feel like we were getting a workout but gentle enough thatwe could carry out conversation. The terrain is fairly level with slightelevation gain but nothing that put us seriously out of breath. Much of thetrail is shaded, which is excellent since we’d caught a relatively hot day inthe late summer.

Walkers share the paths with joggers and cyclists. That wasn't a problem likeit was at RoswellPark, where I was nearly run over a few times. The concrete paths at thepark are wide and I think there are fewer cyclists in my area in general.

I went back to Panola about a month later with my boyfriend. With bikes intow, we set out on the trails. Biking makes a major difference. I swear thatthe hills got bigger! I died three times. Or at least twice; I actuallydismounted and walked while my boyfriend pedaled up the hill, pulling my bikealong beside him. While that little gesture made me love him more the eventreminded me of three things:

I need to get in better shape so my bike and I will beback on those trails again.
Walking and cycling use completely different muscles. Iknew this, of course, but I was surprised at how true it is. I can walkforever. Biking 7 miles with minor hills just about sent my thighs to the grave,dragging the rest of my body with them.
Lactic acid is brutal. Even when I wasn’t winded, theburning in my thighs made me stop moving. It reminded me of when the dance teamcoach made us do multiple toe-touches back-to-back. I always questioned mydedication to the team after those sessions.

Other than torturing myself with cycling, I’ve got a few other reasons toreturn to Panola. They’ve got a new archery range! I can get my Amazon Woman-onfor $10 per session. Annual passes are available for $100. I enjoy amateur archery.My older brother and I would make bows and arrows out of sticks when we werekids. He got a crossbow as a teenager. I think it’s time to get back to that.

In addition to the range, there are also opportunities for geocaching. Forpeople that are into tree climbing and fishes, the park has activities for you,too.

Have you been to Panola Mountain State Park? What's your favorite activity to do there?

Credits: Walking Trail Photo, Biking Trail Photo, Sunset at the Park

Eco-Friendly Camping Equipment Winners and Losers

2011-09-29T09:49:00.000-07:00

As acamper, I like gadgets that are multifunctional and portable. As a tree-hugger, Ilike inventions that minimize our negative footprint. As a woman, I like toshop and see some of the latest trends. Hence my list of Eco-Friendly Camping Equipment Winners andLosers for September.

WINNER Popup Solar Shelter You know that you're doing someposh camping when you have a portable shower and changing station. With a sizeof 4′ x 4′ x 6’6″, the tent provides ample space for adults. It was createdwith privacy in mind, so the materials are opaque yet there is plenty ofventilation along the top for air and light. Enjoy the added convenience of a5-gallon PVC Solar Shower. It's no spa but it's better than a bucket of wateror the potentially questionable bathrooms at your camp site.

LOSER Solar Face Shield Okay, so I appreciatethe concept. Smearing chemicals all over your skin at set intervals of time inan effort to protect yourself from the sun is a health hazardous double-edgedsword. Without it, your cells are at the mercy of the sun’s rays. With it, yourstill stuffing your pores with chemicals atbest and absorbing carcinogens at worse. But this face mask is hideous. Who is goingto walk around in that? Maybe as part of a Halloween costume but it just doesn’tseem cool.

WINNER Black Hills Solar Charger Backpack Having a power charger is like a vital necessity for today’scampers and hikers. Charge your GPS, batteries, smartphone, and other deviceswith this Black Hills backback. It holds 25 litres of your stuff and candeliver an output of 6V. The battery gives your about 3.7V. You can also changethe internal battery using an AC adapter or USB cable, increasing this pack’sawesomeness.

WINNER SolarPowered Baseball Cap At first, this was going to be a loser. I thoughtto myself, it’s like a headlamp that just looks less nerdy than a headlamp. Butdoesn’t that make it great? I feel like an idiot with that silly trap tied to my skull and that appendage-like lamp protruding from my forehead. A baseball capjust looks cooler. Besides, it blocks your eyes from the sun during the day andprovides you with light during the night.

Finding the Right Jacket for Rain, Wind, and Cold

2011-09-23T08:00:00.000-07:00

With the fall underway, it is time for me to stock up on outdoor gear for cooler weather. After leaving much of my stuff in Paraguay post-Peace Corps service (the stuff was already old and I needed to make room for souvenirs) I experienced the first cool week of fall in Atlanta just to remember that I didn’t have a jacket, a rain coat, or gloves so I started shopping around online.

I’m an obsessive comparison shopper. There are so many options in the world, I like to make sure that I’m getting the best quality for my budget. If you are like me, hopefully this post will save you a few hours.

I wanted a jacket is: 1.) water resistant and wind resistant yet breathable 2.) hooded 3.) light enough to tuck into my pack when hiking yet thick enough to keep me warm since I get cold easily 4.) figure flattering on my petite frame. Oh, and if possible, I’d like to keep it under $100.

Columbia 3-in-1 Bugaboo

Columbia 3-in-1 Bugaboo Interchange Parka

I originally stopped into Bass Pro shop for hiking socks. I generally don’t shop there because I’m not an avid hunter or fisher and I always assumed that’s what the store was all about. Not true. While you can find everything you need for the aforementioned sports there’s also a decent department for outerwear and active wear. In addition to finding the socks (Redhead, $9) I also came across a Columbia 3-in-1 Bugaboo Interchange Parka for $160 and thought that I was in love. It’s waterproof with taped seams, wind resistant, has the Columbia Omni-heat technology, and has the added bonus of being worn as a fleece jacket, a raincoat shell, or zipping them together for maximum protection in diverse conditions. The Bugaboo felt warm and comfortable but a bit bulky because I was trying on a medium (I’m 5’3’’, 110lbs). I felt that the medium provided more than enough space for layers and the sleeves passed my knuckles so I opted for a small. No smalls on the rack. The kind sales rep put in an order for me with a nearby store.

I read reviews when I got home and learned that just about everyone loved the jacket. The downsides are that, for some, the back of the jacket isn’t low enough to protect your bum while sitting. There were rave reviews for Columbia’s durability and resistance to the elements. A female hiker was just getting a new jacket after ten years, and that was only because the old jacket didn’t fit anymore.

The North Face Cedar Falls Triclimate Jacket

The North Face Cedar Falls Triclimate

As I waited for Bass Pro Shop to call and let me know that my order had arrived, I stopped into the Sports Authority to get a wicking shirt with my boyfriend. Waiting for him to shift through the inventory, I began to browse as well. What do I find other than another super cute interchange jacket, this time The North Face Cedar Falls Triclimate Jacket in Moonlight Ivory. It first caught my attention because it’s just so lovely. It’s got a sophisticated cut to it, which is more versatile for my purposes. I could wear it around town and not look like I just crawled out of the state park. When I am at the state park, Cedar Falls has all the fixings that I liked for outdoor play. It’s waterproof with taped seams, windproof, breathable yet warm (I still don’t know how they do that) and has eight pockets, four of which have zipper closures. The waist has a drawstring to block out cold, and the hood is fully adjustable as well. I pulled the Cedar Park off the rack and tried it on. The angels were singing more loudly this time.

The only disadvantage is that the hood doesn’t detach; not much of a problem for me because the hood lays flat. The medium fits beautifully, allowing room for layers underneath but it's still flattering on my figure. With a price tag of $99 thanked the shopping gods and made the purchase. I promptly canceled my order for the Bugaboo with Bass Pro.

The North Face Atlas Triclimate

I came across more durable and versatile jackets in the higher price ranges. The North Face Atlas Triclimate has a two-toned fleece that is thicker than Cedar Fall's. The Atlas comes with pit zips and a detachable hood. As much as I’d love to have those features, I couldn’t find it online under $230. The Passport Triclimate has all of the aforementioned features with the addition of an insulated lining. It’s also about $230. But let’s face it. I live in Atlanta, Georgia. I don’t ski and I don’t plan on hiking the Himalayas anytime soon so Cedar Falls provides sufficient for warmth and protection for what I need. (One reviewer from Michigan exclaimed, “It was 3 degrees this morning but I was toasty in my Atlas Triclimate!” It’s never that cold here, which just proved that I didn’t need the $130 upgrade.)

Lessons Learned:
1.)Try stores outside of your comfort zone. You never know what you might find!
2.) Be lame and create a list of what you need in a jacket. Make sure that your jacket meets the requirements and see any additional features as bonuses. If the bonuses are going to break your budget, just say no. That money can be used for other items that you need later.

I'll update you on the jacket's performance as soon I we get some inclement weather!

Camping at Lake Lanier and Getting Hit by Bikes at Roswell Park

2011-09-20T08:00:00.000-07:00

I enjoyed my first camping trip to Lake Hartwell so much that I wanted to go camping again and bring my sister, brother-in-law, and my dog Riley. We decided to go to Lake Lanier the weekend after Labor Day.

My sister was a summer camp counselor so she’s been there, done that with the camping thing. My brother-in-law has also camped before and he grew up playing in forests, mountains, and fields in Germany so I figured neither of them would have any serious issues with camping at a relatively posh site like Lake Lanier. They didn’t. Not that we gave them anything to worry about. My boyfriend and I set up the tents and everything so that my siblings could arrive like royalty and just enjoy the night. (It was a post-anniversary gift).

The Sawnee camp sites at Lake Lanier are larger than those at Lake Hartwell but they are also a bit closer together, it seems. The Lake has 692 miles of shoreline offering plenty of campsites for people who want easy access to the water. Again, the drought* has taken its toll on this lake, too, but we were still equipped with a nice view and plenty of wet space to cool off in.

But that’s not what we did. My boyfriend has got problems with lake water (“It’s slimy!”) so we opted to hike instead. (Note: dogs aren’t allowed on the trails at Lanier. Riley had to sit this one out.) My boyfriend and I took the 3.8 mile trail that skims much of the lake and veers off into the forest. The hike was quite pleasant: most of the trail is shaded and there are little wooden footbridges throughout that direct you over marshes and small streams. We saw a family of deer (4 or 5) and crossed paths with a turtle that was headed toward the highway. We redirected him and hoped he took the hint.

The paths are well marked in most areas and points of interest, though not very interesting to me, helped us to gauge the distance and the route. There are about 20 beaches on the lake and we passed two of them along the trail. We also passed three rest stops and two small playgrounds so there is plenty of opportunity to rest for anyone who needs a respite. We strolled at a comfortable, moderate pace and made it back to our starting point in 2.5 hours. The trail is easy without much elevation gain.

One good thing about Lake Lanier is the team of rangers that walk around handing out fliers and talking to people about when the floodgates open. They really want to prevent accidents and they do what they can to keep the dam and its guests safe; it’s up to the guests to heed their advice. The ranger we spoke with really seemed to love his job and was quite helpful.

I felt bad that Riley wasn’t able to hike with us at Lanier so we went to nearby Roswell Park. The original intent was to do a bit of geocaching (Riley would’ve liked the off-road action) but we doubted that my sister and brother-in-law would dig it so we stuck to the paved trail. Maybe next time.

Roswell Park trails are comfortable to walk with very few stretches that aren’t covered. The wooden bridge reportedly gets very slippery when wet and it can be dangerous for joggers and bikers. Oh, the bikers… they add a different dynamic to the trail experience. I love bikes and bikers, don’t get me wrong. It’s just an additional thing to think about when you’re walking, especially with a dog or child. “On your left!” is what most bikers shout before zooming by (thank you!) but sometimes they don’t say anything at all. You don’t know a stealthy road bike is coming until a handlebar clips your elbow and you feel a breeze pass. Sometimes the bikers do shout but the runners have their headphones in and don’t hear them. Quite a few near collisions. The biker/runner relationship can get a bit strained at Roswell Park because of that.

Image Credits: Lake Lanier Path
Young Biker
Woman by the Water

Labor Day at Lake Hartwell, GA

2011-09-19T09:06:00.000-07:00

I’ve always wanted to go hiking but lacked the equipment and the people to do it with. (Of course, the second that I mentioned that I’m going camping half a million friends come out the woodworks who are also into camping but never mentioned it.) Anyway, I didn’t have to do much persuading to get my boyfriend to take me out over the Labor Day weekend.

All the sites close to Atlanta were taken so he looked farther north and found Lake Hartwell. It was constructed by the Army Corp of Engineers and there were quite a few campsites available. He assured me that my first time camping wouldn’t be too “hardcore” and he was right. I was actually quite spoiled.

Lake Hartwell rests a pleasant drive up I-85, close to the South Carolina border. Once you get off of the interstate there are a few miles of winding roads that lead to the lake but with a halfway decent GPS there shouldn’t be a problem finding it, especially since the Corps did a great job with posting signs.

The ranger, a mature woman with gray curls, a bright smile and a warm Southern accent, welcomed us and immediately told us that the sight we picked wasn’t “very nice.” With 56,000 acres of park there were more spaces to choose from. “There are quite a few sites that are open,” she said, scribbling the numbers of the available sites on the back of our pass. “Take a look at them and feel free to pick another.”

We did as she said and got a much better site well within walking distance to the bathrooms and showers. The sites are well maintained. Ours came with the standard picnic table and a grill. We set up the tent, an REI Hobitat 4, and inflated the mattress (yes, I know that’s cheating). Even with the mattress inflated, we had sufficient space in the 4 person tent to be comfortable. Since he promised me posh camping, my boyfriend took me to dinner in downtown Hartwell. There are choices but keep in mind that it is a small, small town.

We settled on Mi Jalisco, a Mexican restaurant in a strip mall that wasn’t as pleasant on the eyes as it was on the palate. The staff was extremely kind (it helps to speak Spanish, of course) and the food proved to be delicious. My boyfriend ordered a chorizo nachos appetizer that was loaded. It could’ve been an entrée for a moderate appetite. He was in heaven. I ordered a shrimp fajita quesadilla with spinach that tasted divine. My margarita was a bit more tart than I prefer but it got the job done. My companion ordered some creamy shrimp plate with beans and rice; he wasn’t feeling the creamy sauce but everything else was good. We give it a 7.5/10 which is decent with a Tapatio judging the restaurant.

We rushed back to the site to make it before 10:30pm. We basically slid under the gate. At the site, our neighbor came by to make sure his generator wasn’t going to bother us. We carried on a good conversation until the mosquitoes came to eat us all alive. We scurried to the bathrooms (which were very clean and well stocked) washed up, and headed back to the campsite.

I slept well on the comfy air mattress and woke up to a view of the lake. It's a large lake with 962 miles of shoreline but it wasn’t at the height of its grandeur due to the drought (sigh). The deepest point is usually 200 feet but I could tell that wasn't the case that weekend and the other visitors were having to work around the low water levels. With a bit more water I could imagine that Lake Hartwell would be a great destination for water sports and activities, an alternative to the more crowded Lake Lanier and Lake Allatoona.

Have you visited Lake Hartwell? What are your thoughts?

Image Credits: Lake Hartwell
Shrimp Quesadilla

Hiking at Amicalola Falls

2011-09-16T08:37:00.000-07:00

Hiking at Amicalola Falls was my first hike since returning from the Peace Corps. It was an excellent start, a low to moderate intensity hike with lots of shade, well-marked paths, and a stunning view at the top.

The day began at the visitors’ center where we met a ranger and his friendly great horned owl. If you’ve never seen one of these bad boys in real life, they’re amazing. Seriously, their eyes are huge, their heads really do a 360 (okay, not really) and their talons could easy carry away my dog. There were an array of snakes on display as well as maps marking the Appalachian Trail and relics from the trail’s first hikers.

We arrived to the trailhead soon after. My boyfriend planned the hike right before my birthday (mid-August) so he gave me one of my gifts early, a Camelbak L.U.X.E. in blue and gray. It certainly came in handy. It is my first hydration backpack and I simply adore it. Whenever I got thirsty I just tugged the straw and—tah dah!—instant hydration without the annoyance of holding a water bottle while hiking or having to unsnap/dig the bottle out of a backpack. The only disadvantage was that the fluid in the tube gets warm overtime so the first sip is warm before the fresh, cool fluid rushes through the tube.

As for the hike, it starts with a gentle incline and gradually zig-zags through the forest. Points of interest along the way include a large tree that was hallowed out by lightening (I think) and a 1940s-style pickup truck that is lodged and rusting on the cliff. Both were fun photo ops.

I’m not in excellent shape so I was surprised that I didn’t get winded during the walk to the bottom of the falls. We chatted casually, joyfully even. Until we got to the stairs. I had to tilt my head back to see the top. I glared at my boyfriend.
“You said that this would be a relaxing hike,” I murmured. I don’t remember his response because I was too busy fuming. I hate stairs with a passion and there were 175 of them looming overhead. I looked at the bottom of the falls, which was lovely, and figured that the view from the top would be even better. He assured me that it was and thus began the ascent. (Note: it is possible to drive to the top of the falls if you’d like.)

No lie, I stopped three times. We played stair-style leap frog with another couple who was stopping at alternate intervals. I was surprised to find that my legs weren’t really tired, just the burn of some lactic acid, but my endurance sucked. I don’t think the elevation is high enough to effect our bodies but I know that I could hear my blood pumping in my ears and that’s when we stopped.
It was well worth it! I felt like a champion when we finally reached the top and I was rewarded with a view of a small but beautiful waterfall. Amicalola is derived from the Cherokee word for “tumbling waters.” Due to the drought the falls weren’t tumbling and full as they could’ve been but it was still a sight to see. Other hikers had tossed coins and roses at the top of the falls, some lodge in the rocks and puddles.

The view down the mountain wasn’t nearly as nice as the view overlooking the southern peaks of the Appalachian Mountains. I didn’t think we were that high but Amicalola Falls is the highest falls east of the Mississippi (at 729 feet) and we could see for miles and miles.

At the top of the falls there are places to picnic and other trails that veer off into the mountains. We went geocaching and actually found the cache after about 30 minutes (woo-hoo!). Another fun photo op.

We hiked back to the bottom and enjoyed a picnic at a table adjacent to a stream, close to a visitors’ center. Overall it was a great way to get back into the hiking scene.

Photo Credits: Amicalola Falls
View from Top of Falls

Ending the Hiatus

2011-07-27T06:50:00.000-07:00

It has been over 6 months since my last travel post. This is largely because I returned home from the Peace Corps in early February and focused my efforts on my newer website, pureicedtea.com. This site explores eco-friendly practices and healthy living. I’ve geared it toward those of us in the South who are tired of the unsustainable Southern Cliché but of course everyone is welcomed to read it.
I have not stopped traveling! While this is formally called ericaspcblog and I’m no longer in PC, I will use it as a travel journal. No need to stop a good thing, right?

This summer, I enjoyed a trip to Jekyll Island, Amelia Island, and Jacksonville, FL for the Jazz Festival. My sister, brother-in-law and I decided to go on a fluke one weekend, eager to say that we did something worth enjoying for the first few weeks of summer.

We stayed in St. Mary’s a sleepy, budget-friendly town that is conveniently located near all the destinations on our agenda. Readers, I am glad to report to you that we were completely unproductive during our trip. For two days, we sat on the beach spotting dolphins and manatees, reapplying sunblock religiously (mainly in support for my German [read: easy to burn] brother-in-law) and talking about nothing. I got a sun-kissed glow, enough vitamin D to last me through the year and a trip to the beach that I hadn’t had in half a year.

Digression: I did take a trip to Argentina during my PC service where I also chilled out at the beach, drinking mimosas and wishing that I owned a home in Mar del Plata. I am glad to report that I was unproductive during that trip, too. I flirted as any good tourist should, tried a few new restaurants and was greeted back by Paraguay with a closed border and merciless heat. Maybe I’ll do a flashback and write on that trip later.

Between sessions of vegetating on the beach we tried a few restaurants, Fins was the first. Fins is located on Jekyll Island and has a great patio area with ocean views. While it is close to beach access, everyone was dressed in relatively modest cover-ups; no one rolled in with salt water still dripping from their hair and feet caked with sand. Oddly, when people look nice I think that makes the food taste better.

I’d only return to the restaurant for the beach views. I ordered a shrimp poboy that was good but not impressive. The waiter was in a very sour mood, the sort of guy that can’t respond with a simple “you’re welcome.” The restaurant wasn’t busy and we hadn’t been burdensome guests so I can’t provide any justification for his poor customer service.

The other restaurant was St. Mary’s Seafood, appropriately located in St. Mary’s. It was a warm, cozy establishment with uber friendly staff and a good variety of seafood options. The prices were agreeable and well worth the portion sizes. In the mirth of my vacation I ordered a screw-my-health fried catfish, grilled shrimp, fresh oysters, fried clams, deliciously overcooked greens and I think there was some cole slaw involved. (This was before pureicedtea was underway, might I add. Hahaa.) Bottom line: the food is good and the prices are better. Go there.
The Jacksonville Jazz Festival was what a festival should be: entertaining and a great way to unite the community. A variety of Jazz musicians were represented on stages across the downtown region; unfortunately, the schedule didn’t do a great job of detailing where each performer would be located and when. My siblings, uncle and I meandered around the RiverWalk catching moments of a neo-jazz/rock band before heading over the a nearby plaza for more traditional jazz.

Jazz isn’t my forte. I was more interested in the company that I kept, the cool hairstyles that I saw, and the simple fact that I was not in a landlocked city. Next time I’ll pay closer attention and report better!

Geesh—this is a rough entry! Shoddy at best but the next will be fresher on my mind and, hopefully, better. My good friend and I are heading out for a canoeing expedition in north Georgia. Yikes!

La dueña del dueño

2010-12-29T17:18:00.001-08:00

“Sabes qué...”
That means that she is going to take something else from the house.

Nearly 10 months ago, I moved into a beautiful, fully furnished home that needed a bit of love. It had potential but had clearly been in the hands of a Paraguayan male for the last six years. (No cruel stereotyping intended; women in my town make sure that their males never have to clean a thing.) I immediately got to work sweeping cobwebs from the ceilings and chairs, de-gunking the sinks, scrubbing the floors and so forth. Right when I got comfortable, the Mother of the owner decided she wanted to start visiting me. In doing so, she would critique my cleaning habits and carry things out of the house with her.
“There were two of those cloths, weren’t there? I’d like to take those with me.” She was taking the table cloth right off of the table. This is after deciding that she wanted a dresser, a coat rack, the electric oven and the wooden table it sat on, four chairs from the living room, four from the storage room, and three from the kitchen. I rented the house as fully furnished and she was beginning to un-furnish it.

Had the price of the house not been so amazing, I might have gotten angrier sooner. As inexpensive as it was, I didn’t mind her taking the dresser, electric oven, and four chairs from the storage room because I wasn’t using those, anyway; yet when it came to things that I was actually using I began to feel a bit touchy. She had me pour water out of jug so that she could take the jug with her!

I am an American. Not an Andrew Jackson-with-the-Cherokees American but a modern American: good price or not, an agreement is an agreement. When I made an agreement with her son to pay $200mil guarani for a fully furnished house that is exactly what I expected. If she would like to start un-furnishing the house, the price needs to decrease. It seems only fair, especially after I went out of my way (or out of my mind) and offered to pay the electricity bill, which her son had forgotten to charge me.

Anyhow, those are the sorts of cultural problems I run into here with a higher frequency than in the States. Agreements and contracts are like water here; they simple evaporate over time. Back home, broken contracts mean fees or lawsuits. I’ve only been out of the States ten months and my mindset hasn’t changed. I don’t like to change agreements without a fight, especially when I’m the one being placed at a disadvantage.

“Sabes qúe, weren’t there six chairs instead of five?”
There might have been six chairs six years ago. Who knows what your son did with the missing chair. “There were only five when I moved in,” I replied, the same smile plastered on my face that I’d been wearing since she arrived a half hour ago.

She left to pick some mandarins and my mind began to race. What is the nicest way to go about protecting my rights? I had to be nice but not a pushover. I had to be firm but not rude. When she returned, I was waiting with a notepad and pen. “I would like to make a list of the things that you’d like to take with you so that I don’t forget.” She rambled off the list, nearly a full page in my notepad. I continued, “If you would like to take these things, there is no problem. However, when I talked to your son we agreed on the price of the house furnished. I will have to talk to him again and change the price because now the terms have changed.”

She didn’t like this suggestion. We went back and revised the list, permitting me to keep the things that I used most. I understood her perspective: her mindless son rented out her house for a ridiculous price. She also needed to understand mine: I received a great deal on a house and now I am unwilling to change the terms.

We discussed it like grown women should. In the end, the price remains the same and I keep the items that I am using (she will borrow the chairs for 1 week in October for a church meeting and then return them). I felt much more at peace about the situation and, without my prompting, she said that she did, too. I walked away feeling like this lady was simply a businesswoman looking out for her own interest, yet not at the expense of my well being. I respect her.

This little lesson taught me two things:
1.) Never be afraid to stand up for myself in a way that is kind and dignified.
2.) Things don’t always turn out terribly.

I’ve gotten into the bad habit of imagining the worse case scenario for everything. I deceived myself into believing that I was only self-protecting and that if I imagine the worse then the reality won’t seem as bad. The truth, I was thinking in anti-faith, which is counterproductive.

UPDATE:
Well, what can I say? I got my hopes up that the woman wasn’t a complete nutcase and that we’d have a functional relationship. How unfortunate.

Today, her son arrived to remove a ceiling fan from one of the rooms. Last week, they arrived with a truck and removed the outdoor bathroom. They took everything but the concrete foundation, carrying away the toilet, the shower, the sink, the light fixtures, the wooden walls, maybe even the dead spider that rested in the corner because he wasn’t there last time I looked.

They’re great about keeping their promises regarding what they want to take out of the house but miserable about keeping their promises regarding home improvements, such as mending the leaking roof. There are rain showers in the living room and a small stream in the kitchen.
“We will find someone to fix the roof,” said her son. “My dad or some neighbors can do it,” he assured me when I moved in.
That was months ago.
“We cannot change the entire roof, but we can patch the leaking parts. That will cost less,” the dueña said comfortingly.
That was seven months ago.
One month ago I was told nothing could be done because everything costs too much. Today I was told the real reason was because it would look ugly to have one part of the roof covered with new tiles and one part of the roof covered with old tiles.
“But the water damages everything,” I explained. “If you don’t fix the roof now, later, you’d not only have to fix the tiles, but replace the wooded beams and the floor because the water is destroying them.” I pointed to examples.
The son, who was at the house with an uncle to remove a ceiling fan, observed and nodded. Then, when a spineless, apologetic smile and a childish tilt of his head, he explained, “I don’t have the money to do anything. And right now, we only have money to change the windows.”
Oh yeah, the windows!
So the windows themselves aren’t bad. They’ve got great wrought iron bars, and are quite large and picturesque. They want the change the shutters, which are admittedly rotten and fallen apart.
Priorities, people? Instead of saving the money from the shutters to add to the funds of fixing a leaking roof that is slowing eroding the rest of the house...you just want to fix the shutters, which help nothing, prevent nothing, and add little aesthetic value to the house. Really? And what am I paying rent for, exactly? Why not use the rent money to fix the roof?
Oh yeah, the church’s anniversary.
Apparently, every year, la dueña has family and friends from all over the continent (really?) come to Paraguay to celebrate the anniversary of the Pentecostal church. Every year, then, she repaints her house and spruces it up. I suppose she is using the rent money to pimp out her house for this year’s celebration. Spending over 1.5milion guaranies for a three day event and letting your investment, a home, fall apart. Hmmm...
Am I just being culturally insensitive or does none of this make sense? The money used to replace the custom-made wooden shudders could be used for the materials to patch the roof. We wouldn’t need to pay for labor because the dad or the neighbors can do it, remember?
I wanted to stop this “I’m just being culturally insensitive,” sensation and went to neighbors for help. If they thought things were just as unreasonable, then I’d certainly feel better that the dueña was the only certifiably insane person in the situation.
Ña Juana cracked a peanut and popped it in her mouth. She had listened carefully as I explained the situation, and now I awaited her response. “You are right. If they wait, they will have to fix the roof, and the floors, and the humidity will possible damage the walls so they will need to fix those, too. I don’t know much about costs,” she ate another peanut and played absent mindedly with the shell, “but I know they could’ve fixed the roof with your rent money by now.”
I asked if they knew anywhere else I could rent. I admitted that I didn’t want to deal with this family anymore.
“Talk with Blanca,” she suggested. “Her mother-in-law has a house free. It’s her daughter’s house but her daughter is working in Spain. Maybe you can move there.”
I talked to Blanca during the initial months of my home search. Why didn’t she mention the house, then? I know for certain that her sister had been in Spain long before I got to town. I also asked Blanca if the dueño was a good guy and she co-signed that he was.
Whatever. “I will talk to Blanca,” I sighed. Then I tried to smile and add more energy to my voice. Ña Juana had tried to help me as I asked, and I was thankful for her insight. She confirmed that I was not a crazy American. La dueña’s logic did not make sense, and I was not being treated fairly and I had every right to feel uncomfortable with the family.

My Girls

2010-10-01T16:37:00.000-07:00

This week, I discovered the joys of having four daughters. Today, I realized why I never really wanted children.

When I first got to Mboi’y, I told myself that I would like to start a club for girls, a place where they could come together without their household cares and be girls: not surrogate mothers or house workers, not young women for the high school boys to use. Ideally, they would learn to think independently, responsibly, and creatively. We’d develop intellectually, socially, and spiritually—all without making a task of doing so. I wanted my home to be a refuge of sorts, not just for me but also for “my girls.”

This plan began to crumble almost immediately. Primarily, the most disadvantaged girls are the ones who cannot leave home as much, meaning that they can’t come on strolls around the neighborhood or bake cookies after school. They have mouths to help feed, clothes to wash, homes to maintain. The girls who did have this time available generally didn’t associate with the girls who didn’t, either because they didn’t have time to get to know them (the latter group is always working and rarely in school) or for prejudice based solely on appearances (“Why is she so dirty and awkward?”). Lastly, I am simply not accustomed to being a big sister, rarely a mentor, much less a mother. I am also unaccustomed to sharing my space.

Although the plan was crumbling I wanted to salvage what I could and give my girls club a try. After dance practice, I invited my younger girls over for mandarins and terere (like cold green tea, or drinking lawn clippings). The boys followed, annoying the hell out of us and trying to climb into the trees for mandarins. Aside from defending the trees (la dueña expressly said that she didn’t want boys breaking her branches) I also had to keep an eye on my computer which had become the impromptu radio. (Note: a mixed group of kids can never decide what they want to listen to.)

I relaxed a bit after the boys left. I let the girls entertain themselves. They did fine with the computer—other than greasy hand prints—and considered themselves helpful by cleaning and rearranging parts of my house; they swept, pulled a curtain out of a box and decided to use it as a tablecloth, washed dishes, and hung pictures that I had taken down on purpose. They meant well, and I smiled so much inwardly that I forgot how disturbed I was by children moving my belongings. I tried to relax and let them feel helpful, let them feel comfortable, but in the back of my mind I knew that I couldn’t let them think this was “their” house, only that they were welcomed in it.

After the next practice I was looking forward to their visit. They made it even better by bringing me gifts! I received fruit and two homemade cards, one with a full page picture. I instantly fell in love. I taped the pictures to my bedroom wall and grinned every time that I thought about them. They wrote such nice things in the cards. I was diggin’ my big sister-ness, although I was only being a big sister to rich girls who had time to play after school. I figured I could wiggle in some others soon enough when the regularly scheduled dance classes started.

I love each of them for different traits. J is the daughter of two very socially active parents. As such, she has developed a strong sense of opinion and independence. She is also my linguistic and cultural translator. Having grown up in Asuncion, her Spanish is very strong and she understands diversity a bit better than others. She is also worked with volunteers in the past, so she gets the bad Spanish thing. On the downside, she is a bit lazy and used to getting her way, though in her defense I have noticed her actively trying to explore the opinions of others.

JM is a pint sized punch of pretty, opinionated, and funny. She has a way of treating boys like they’re morons—and justly so—which really helps when I am trying to round up the dudes for fitness class. I hope to God she finds an amazing guy and doesn’t loose a single touch of her sparkle. Fun thought of the week: she knocked on my door, and when I asked who it was she responded in a man’s voice (though obviously from a 12 year old girl). I opened the door and there she crouched, trying her hardest to look mean, with a kitchen knife in her hand and her purse thrown over her shoulder. Love that memory. Anyhow, she is the only girl in the family and her family is recovering from the loss of her older brother. That instantly makes me want to jump into big sister mode with her. On the downside, I think she knows that she is pretty and she knows that she is richer than most of her peers so that plays into her personality. She never talks down to others, but she doesn’t go out of her way to uplift anyone either.

P is my spitfire protege. She dances beautifully, though with the errors expected of a girl that hasn’t worked with choreography before. She is just fine dancing to her own tune. She is also one of the most mature girls, a sixth grader who likely already knows what’s up with boys. She doesn’t care to bicker and seems to let things roll of her back easily (like running through the house, flying over the stairs leading to the outside and landing on her face; or burning a pot of oil, pouring the hot oil into a class cup which subsequently exploded; nearly dropping my kitchen table in the mud, etc.)Did I mention she has a great sense of humor? She isn’t condescending, seems to want to please, acts responsibly, and the list of “likes” continues. Downside is that her Guarani is much stronger than her Spanish and at times I think she avoids talking to me for that reason, though she always smiles at me and makes sure that she is getting my attention. Love her to bits! A tad worried that she is getting the attention of boys and not getting the attention of her parents, which is a disastrous combination.

Lastly is LP, who is only last because she is such a closed book. She is the tallest girl in her 5th grade class and wears the awkwardness accordingly. She rarely has an opinion about anything, and just giggles and wiggles when placed in the spotlight. She is, however, a good cook and responsible older sister. She has such a cute gait when she walks, and is stunningly beautiful in my opinion, though she likely seems plain to most people. She has a rich voice and seems thoughtful, though she doesn’t share what she is thinking. She is never mean to anyone and is likely to be the most receptive to everyone—and maybe unfortunately, everything. Not having an opinion can be a problem in the fifth grade. She is by all definitions a follower. If I accomplish anything with her I hope it is self confidence and a sense of direction.

Well, those are my girls!

So why do I not want children? Well, J's mother entrusted me with the care of J and P today while she went into Santani. The morning was fine, as was the early afternoon. When I thought they should be bored to tears, they didn’t even complain. Anyway, the “problem” (if I can even call it that) came after we split up. I decided not to go to the last day of the rezo (memorial service) and they decided to go, promising they’d be back after it was over. It was only two houses away so I didn’t see a problem. Well, they didn’t come back immediately and I began to worry. 45 minutes of them not returning had me putting on my raincoat, trudging outside and searching for them even though there was no chance of them being lost, and little change of them being kidnapped or otherwise harmed. After fretting for a good 20min I received a response from my text that they were with their mom at a friend’s house.

The 20 minutes of worrying was enough to convince me that I don’t need to be a babysitter or a mother just yet. There is so much responsibility when caring for kids, even reasonably responsible kids in a reasonably safe environment. I didn’t want this to be the one, exceptional day where they weren’t responsible or safe. I would rather not deal with any of that at all.

So what does that mean for my girls club? Do I want that responsibility? Can I be flexible enough to accept half-washed dishes and not knowing where my box of matches has been placed? Am I okay with girls taking too long in the bathroom and likely playing with my face cream? How can I draw the proper boundaries and still be fun to hang around?

Two days later, as I’m walking home from school, a woman stopped me in the street and began talking about her daughter. From the flow of the conversation I finally figured out who her daughter was (the woman kept using some nickname I hadn’t heard before). In the end, the woman said, “You know, she thinks you’re really great. She talks about you all the time, about your dancing, your stories, and the foods you make from all over the world. She thinks you can do everything!” At that moment, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to fly or bury myself in the ground. It was great to hear that her daughter thought so highly of me, but daunting to think that this girl thought the world of me. She thought I could do everything? What happens on the earth shattering day when she realizes that I’m only human?

The conversation revitalized my desire for the girls’ club. I needed all the girls to know that I’m human like they are, yet I’ve developed a certain group of skills based on hard work, creativity, and exposure to many good things in life. They can do the same...

You do actually work, right?

2010-09-18T16:15:00.000-07:00

Most of my blog posts are about my emotions, people I interact with, and basically everything other than my work. So, what am I working on?

Truth be told, I’m not satisfied with where I am because of who I am. Peace Corps has taught me that I am much more introverted than I ever imagined, and I have to work hard to step outside of myself and make the necessary contacts to be successful. I hate networking. I feel like a lioness on the prowl, seeing whose life and resources can be beneficial for me. Can’t we be friends first? But networking is a part of getting your job done here, and the most successful volunteers are those that make connections and rub the right elbows.

Where I have made good connections, I am making process. I spend a lot of time with the teachers at my school. I’ve learned that the key to being comfortable and being effective is working one-on-one. If I spend a lot of time with a teacher, get to know her kids, drink some tea with her, and in the general flow of conversation make a suggestion for her class, she feels less threatened, less judged, and is overall more receptive. In this manner, I got the preschool and first grade teachers to teach their kids the vowels, and improve daily teeth-brushing activities in the classroom. I’ve also convinced them to integrate a daily activity with numbers where the kids are exposed to the abstract and concrete forms. That might not sound amazing to my Stateside readers, but trust me, it’s a mighty feat here.

In first grade, I haven’t had much success with the teacher. He has, however, agreed to let me work one-on-one with some struggling students (he has a million reasons why they aren’t his responsibility). 5/7 are making progress that I feel comfortable with! I believe the other two require a certification that I don’t possess, but to compensate I am developing a greater sense of patience, flexibility, and humor.

I’m teaching two fitness classes. This season, we are focusing on dance as a way of getting fit. We are exploring different dance forms from throughout the world including pop, jazz, traditional Arabian and traditional Japanese, ballet, and hip-hop. I have experience in some of these areas but I owe a lot to the internet. My advanced class is my pride and joy; those girls have my heart! (And when they misbehave, it’s heartbreaking!)

As for side projects (ha! so far they are the most time consuming), two schools have identified the need for an additional classroom. One of those schools would also like a playground. One would also like a water tank to supply constant running water. So my goals are: two classrooms, a playground, and a water tank. In the States that could be done in less than three months. Here, the paperwork alone may take three months. I’m willing to put in the effort. Not because I think the playground is a necessity (I can identify other things that I think are more important) but because the community sees “things” as a sign of progress, and if I don’t deliver “things” they are less likely to appreciate my service here. Forget that their kids are learning to read. They want something they can see! Whatever. I can do both, God willing.

As a side-side project (ha! ha!) I am working with two other volunteers to create a series on Afro-Paraguayan history. Ignorance is fierce in Paraguay. I’d compare it to 1950s US without the Jim Crow but with all of the misconceptions, racism, classism, and stereotyping one could stomach. The volunteers and I hope to compile resources and present our findings in the town of Emboscada, which has a high concentration of Afro-Paraguayans. It’s basically going to cover how black folks got to Paraguay in the first place, for what purpose, the end of slavery, and then a bit on the Afro-Paraguayan community today and visions for the future. It’s a big undertaking since resources are few and far between, but that will just make it all the more rewarding when it’s done.

Well, that is the work swing of things. Apparently, EEE is no more. We are now Education and Youth Development (EYD) so my work outlook may be changing. Vamos a ver...

Idiosyncrasies...

2010-09-18T08:22:00.001-07:00

I’ve received quite a few emails regarding my living conditions in Paraguay. People are baffled by the idiosyncrasies, the clashes of modernity and—how shall I say?—the rustic charm of a developing nation. Hopefully, I can clear the confusion.

WHY IS THE PEACE CORPS IN PARAGUAY?
Let’s start with the basics. Why am I here? In theory, my job description includes aiding rural teachers by introducing interactive teaching methods using didactic materials, songs and games. Many rural schools lack these basic activities. The root of the problem (perhaps) was the dictatorship, in which teachers were appointed jobs based on social politics. Teaching had nothing to do with liking children, education, or a sense of social responsibility. It was just a source of income. Fast-forward 20 years after the fall of the dictatorship and that mindset lingers in some teachers and principals—they simply don’t want to teach. On the other hand, you have those that do want to teach but received poor training in how to make education fun. They were trained to believe that teaching meant writing notes on the chalkboard and having all the kids copy. That’s it. Time for tea! I’m here to introduce new ideas to willing recipients. I also work as a tutor for kids that the system has failed. And, I also help w/ community projects.

My secondary job is to improve the general livelihood of youth. This part is quite flexible. It includes job skills training, health and fitness, arts and crafts, social skills, and anything else a child might need to become a productive member of society. I enjoy this part the most because I believe that children can only learn when they aren’t sick, stressed-out, or otherwise unhealthy. I’ve started teaching dance (read: fitness) and health classes. In dance class, I throw in the basics of health, as well as geography and social studies. For example, I choreographed a dance to Shakira’s “Waka Waka” after the World Cup. Before teaching the dance, I did a mini presentation on South African history, geography, and social politics. In my health class, we cover hydration, exercise, and a balanced diet. To make class more interesting, we prepare healthy snacks together and play games dealing with health and food choices. For American kids, my ideas aren’t extraordinary. For kids in my site, my ideas are new and interesting because, for the most part, they have been copying off of the board for years.

HOW DOES PARAGUAY’S UNIQUE POSITION AFFECT MY JOB?
How do I do what I do? My site makes my job interesting. My town, and much of Paraguay, is a brain shattering clash between developing nation and 21 century. I have access to a decent amount of resources but still face economic, social, and logistical hardships. Let’s explore that before I continue:

Weirdness is ubiquitous. For example, a Mercedes Benz must share the road with an ox cart in the capital city of Asuncion. My town just received running water 8 years ago. Many people have cell phones and wireless internet but use outhouses and wash clothes by hand. I believe that the strangeness in the leaps of advancement is caused by political corruption and poor infrastructure. (Mind you, they go hand in hand.) For example, a new politician has no issues pocketing every penny that he receives. As a result, he’s driving a Benz while is neighbor strives to survive selling beans out of the back of an ox cart. Because money doesn’t go where it should, infrastructure is lacking. Water and power shortages are a daily occurrence, assuming that your town has been equipped with those amenities at all. Cell phones and wireless internet are popular because they require minimal government involvement. I’m sure that I said that wrong...for example, there aren’t power lines running to everyone’s houses to supply them with landlines, but some rich dude paid to have a Personal tower erected one town over, so everyone who can afford the one-time-purchase of a cell phone and/or modem has access to wireless communication.

How does this relate to my job? I brought my computer from the States and a wireless modem here, so I can chat with my sister while researching South African history. But to print my notes I’d need to wait at least an hour for a shoddy, Cold War era public bus to take me to the next town, and then wait another hour or more for it to bring me back. It’s only a 15 minute trip but it isn’t pedestrian friendly. Anything revolving paper (printing, books) costs an arm and your first born child because they’re luxuries. I have easy access to electronics stores where I can buy speakers for my iPod; then I can play my iPod during dance class where children are dancing barefoot and battling intestinal worms. I can do my job rather easily but the “rustic charms” of a developing nation are always present.

So when people see that I’ve changed my Facebook status they assume that I’m living somewhere comparable to the US and that I’m on a 2 year vacation. I’m not. Even with my fancy modern bathroom I might end up taking bucket baths when the water goes out. I have to go outside to use the “kitchen” sink. Everything shuts down when it rains because the dirt roads flood. I can IM my family but it takes 4 hours or more to load a YouTube video. I have Ramon noodles and instant coffee but neither does me any good when I can’t heat water during a power outage. (I nipped that in the bud by buying a gas stove, but you get my drift.) Disclaimer: I am not complaining. I am by no means the most disadvantaged PC volunteer.

Socially, there are many blurred lines as well. I can’t tell where I stand. Women in my town do not live alone. They do not travel alone. Most of the time, they do not sleep alone because they should be scared to do so. I’ve met more than one woman in her 20s who still chooses to share a bed with a sibling (when hubby isn’t around) because she’s scared to be alone. Women are usually married by age 20 at the latest, and working on their second or third kid by 25. In my town, women rarely drink in public. (Less than 10 years ago, women did not drink at all.) Girls as old as 18 still need permission to be out after dusk. They rarely get that permission. Public male and female interaction is limited. If you have a male friend over—even if you’re just sitting outside playing cards—he is instantly your boyfriend. And you’re likely screwing him since he visits you.

With all that said, there are a few single mothers in my site, a few women that are in college or university, one girl with a tattoo and labret piercing, a few that drink in public, and a few that have good male friends. Amazingly, these girls don’t have miserable reputations. I’m not sure what any of that means for me, though. I am a 24-year-old unmarried woman who has traveled alone, is living alone, drinks alcohol on occasion and is accustomed to having male friends that I don’t sleep with. Where do I fit into the groove of things?

There are upsides to the oddness of Paraguay. During one of my interactive model lessons in pre-K, we talked about colors and then took a field trip to a student’s grandparent’s house. To explore the colors we learned about, we picked orange oranges straight off of brown and green trees. We petted black and white cows, and chased red, white, and brown chickens. Then we went back to class and made pictures of what we encountered that day using printing paper and Faber Castell markers. Most American kids can’t explore colors in such diverse ways.

And in the midst of it all, I have the EPP kidnapping and killing people in the north, drug trafficking on the Bolivian and Brazilian borders, crazies who take public transit only to cut off girl’s ponytails and sell the hair...and families who keep their doors and windows unlocked all day long.

So if you’re still confused by my job functions and living conditions, you should be. God knows I am.

When Someone Dies, Life Stops

2010-07-22T17:34:00.000-07:00

My morning started more or less like normal. It was rainy and cold, so I didn’t want to get out of bed. I managed to, however, and made myself some oatmeal and coffee, then sat around like a zombie until I mustered the motivation to plan my day. I decided to mount the screens for my windows (to keep out bugs), then box up the owners books and put mine on the shelf in their place.

My neighbors helped me with the screen for the windows. It started off with 15-year-old and I, but her mother (my friend) joined us soon afterward. I had wanted it to be a girls-only affair, but my friend insisted on getting her husband to help us, which meant that they spoke a lot of Guaraní and did everything while I only got to hand out nails. It took a few trips to the carpenter to get the measurements right (all of the windows are not the same size) and we were nailing, hammering, and finishing in no time.

During the process, the daughter asked if I heard what happened to our neighbor’s son. He had died in a motorcycle accident. My neighbor is an elementary school teacher. I have tereré with her three times a week, and her daughter is in my dance class. I didn’t think either connection made us close enough for me to go to the rezo (on average, a 9 day funeral event). I had continued working without a second thought. When my friend arrived a bit later, she asked me the same question. “Yes, [your daughter] told me what happened.” “Hmm,” she responded.

They invited me to lunch in their home. As we sat around digesting, my friend asked if I went to the church yesterday to visit my neighbor and her family. I replied, “No, I wasn’t invited.” “Hmm,” she responded. The subject changed to airplane rides and her daughter's “feo” boyfriend before returning to my neighbor. “You should come to the church with us. We are leaving at three,” my friend suggested. “Do I need to be invited?” I asked. She shook her head. “Just come.”

We didn’t go straight to the church. We went first to my neighbor’s house, where at least 100 people were gathered. Earlier in the day as we irreverently hammered at my windows, I hadn’t noticed that there was anything different. My neighbors always have people over, milling in and out of the house, pounding music until the rafters shutter. The only difference today was that it was quiet. There was no music. Everything had stopped. Everyone just stood around. I should have known something was wrong. There was no music...

My friend ushered me into the house and asked of Sonia’s whereabouts. I was surprise to hear that she might be in the kitchen cooking. Then I wasn’t so surprised. She likely needed the distraction. Blanca was going to take me back to the kitchen when I insisted that we wait; if Sonia needed some time alone, I wasn’t going to interrupt her solace in the only room of the house without a million people standing around. We waited.

The atmosphere was difficult to read. Everyone dressed differently, from jeans and tennis shoes to what I considered proper funeral attire. Some people were laughing and chatting just one room away from those whom were mourning in abrupt bursts. Sometimes people changed simply by walking through a doorway: one neighbor was bawling in one room, crossed the threshold of another room and greeted a friend with a smile. She burst into tears again soon after and I wasn’t sure what to do or think. Were the smiles an attempt to lighten the mood or were there mourners in Paraguayan funerals like those in ancient Israel?

I greeted other professors with a half smile and the expected kisses. Then I stood around with my friend and waited. Vehicles had arrived to carry the casket to the church. The rest of us would walk. Much time passed between the arrival of the vehicle and our departure, in which everyone waited and watched more that I thought appropriate. At one point, the deceased’s sister/my dance student erupted into a fit of tears that even made me cry. She collapsed into a chair and was instantly surrounded by her friends who petted her hair, dried her tears, and hugged her. Their response made my heart melt—then it froze. I noticed that everyone else in the room was just staring at the sobbing girl with the most detached expressions on their faces. No one downcast their eyes. No one cried with her. They just stared.

A fellow volunteer once warned me about the seemingly cold way that many view death here. They literally view death, straight in the eyes, without a blink. In American culture, staring is rude. I think it is even ruder at a time like a funeral. I didn’t know the deceased's sister as well as anyone else in that room, and yet I was bawling and wanting to scoop her up into the biggest embrace possible. How could they sit and gawk at her like that?

The iciness in my heart subsided when we all began to walk to the church. The crowd grew as we passed through town. People slipped in and out of doorways like ghosts, kissing my neighbor’s cheeks and returning into the darkness. Others joined the procession in silence. By the time we reached the church I would estimate that ¾ of the town was with us, standing outside, inside, waiting, watching.

I cried uncontrollably during the church service. The deceased was a 22-year-old cowboy. Fellow cowboys placed his riding jacket over his casket. Little details like that make me weak. All of the youth sat in one area of the church and sang for him. In addition to the traditional hymns, they learned two songs that they sang at the end of the service. The entire congregation cried then. I don’t know if they wrote the songs or if they were covers, but the youth sang with such sincerity that it didn’t matter. At one point, my English-speaking friend(who until then had been buzzing around trying to ensure that every aspect of the service was in order) silently began to cry amidst her yawns. She likely hadn’t slept much with so much planning to do. I put my arm around her and she rested her head on my shoulder for a moment. I felt like I needed to be there, maybe even that I was there just to hold her for those few moments when no one else would. I didn’t feel so much like an outsider looking in.

That sentiment gripped me more as we walked from the church to the cemetery. I was intentionally lagging behind when my friend wrapped her arm in mine. “Walk with us,” she said. “Us” included the deceased's mother, my friend, and three other teachers. They wanted me to walk with them. I was a teacher, too. I was a friend. They wanted me to walk with them to the cemetery. I hadn’t realized that I was intentionally being included. To them, sharing tereré three times a week and teaching their children meant that I was part of the community. I wasn’t just the outsider. I was a teacher, supporting another teacher in one of her darkest hours.

I felt the gravity of every step. We walked in silence, our eyes on the ground, our arms interlinked. Hundreds of others walked with us, trudging through the mud, silently praying to fend off the rain. My friend broke the silence, whispering, “It’s hard to walk one of our own to the cemetery and leave him there.” I started to cry again. It really was his final resting place; I hadn’t thought much about that expression until then. The entire community marched on.

At the cemetery, all of the youth and family members had one last chance to say their goodbyes. When they lowered the casket into the ground, the emotions erupted again, and then everything was quiet. Everything stopped again, but only for a moment. Slowly, people made the journey back to their homes. No one talked much. The hum of motorcycles made the most noise.

I now know why my mother doesn’t like funerals. They’re emotionally draining whether you’re close to the deceased or not. Maybe she and I are just too empathetic. Either way, I returned home exhausted. I knew that I had to write what I was experiencing in order to release it. I didn’t feel much better afterward, but at least I felt that my head was back on my shoulders. I also had some positive points to meditate on: I had been included, taken into a community as someone else left it. I want nothing more now than to give back a fraction of what has been given to me.

The Least Fun Rollercoast Ever

2010-07-17T14:23:00.000-07:00

If anyone ever tells you that the Peace Corps is an emotional rollercoaster, they aren’t lying.

Just this week I’ve gone from loving my job to wanting to book a ticket home. There are little annoyances, like almost getting ripped off at a hotel, that irritate me on a daily basis. Then there are bigger issues that nearly push me over the edge. For example, I got kicked out of a host family’s house simply because one of the kids didn’t like me—and by kid I mean a 20 year old male, living with his mom, with no job. He moved out of the house and refused to move back in until “the stranger” was gone. It didn’t matter that his parents and three sisters are the ones that invited me. Apparently they didn’t “consult” him first. Regardless of the family dynamic and how I feel about it, the end result was that I was kicked out, potentially with nowhere to go. Fortunately, my former host family took me back in but the damage was done. The neighborhood was abuzz with gossip and everyone I met wanted to get involved in some way, though generally in no way that I considered helpful.

Realizing that you’re at the mercy of completely strangers is daunting. Being slapped with the reminder that not everyone has your best interest in mind is disheartening.

Then there are the great times. Just the other day I had a successful tutoring session. A boy who didn’t know the alphabet when we started now can identify all of the letters and is beginning to write them by dictation. He can also spell his name and sound out individual syllables. I’m SO proud of his hard work! I am relieved to see that I am having some sort of impact here.

I am also conducting a winter arts camp. For the older grades there are dance classes, and for the younger kids there are arts and crafts. My high school dancers are doing an outstanding job. They remind me of how much I love to dance; they also remind me that I need to be a good role model at all times: I showed up to class one day in my baggy, hunter green cargo pants—made of parachute material--that I’ve had since at least 8th grade. (They remind me of Aaliyah’s pants in the “Are You That Somebody” video.) After class the next day, two mothers asked me where I purchased the pants because their daughters wanted some exactly the same. The subsequent classes, a few girls showed up in baggy pants with pockets. I had to keep myself from laughing throughout class. I’m really excited to start seasonal classes with them later in the year.

Thank God, I’ve had success with some teachers, too. The jardin teacher has been super helpful with my winter camp. I’ve gotten to know her and her family very well. The preschool teacher has also made some suggestions for early childhood stimulation classes that will help prepare kids for jardin and preschool. In the upper ranks, the vice principal really liked my proposal for health classes with 3rd and 5th grade. She is supporting my efforts by helping me proofread and edit the syllabi. Other than not speaking Guarani, I have no complaints about work.

But just when things get good, you’re reminded that you aren’t at home. Perhaps that’s what makes service so tough. If I hated every minute of it, I could go back home to my family, friends, pets, my BED, AC/Heating, sushi, REAL coffee, my jacked up car which is still better than public buses here, and everything else about the US that I miss. If I adored every minute, I’d always know I was in the right place for this point in my life. Switching back and forth just makes my brain and heart tired.

WHAT'S BEHIND DOOR NUMBER 3?

After getting ousted from the host family’s house, I feverishly began my search for a place of my own. Some of my original options still stood, so I contacted an owner and arranged to move in within two days. On a rainy Friday evening I bought some goodies (a stove, mattress, dresser), moved in my junk and started the three day long cleaning process: sweeping the community of cobwebs and spider webs from the vaulted ceilings, as well as killing their creators; cleaning more of the same from all of the furniture; bleaching the bathroom; sweeping and scrubbing the beautiful tile floors; and unpacking.

On day three, the rain recommenced. I looked forward to sleeping in, reading and writing, and taking a long hot shower. What I got was rain in my living room and part of my kitchen. Before, I thought we had tracked the water. Now I could see it falling from the ceiling. Since the floors are tiled it wasn’t a terribly huge deal but I would’ve liked to have known about the leaks before moving in. The owner said he’d have it fixed Tuesday or Wednesday. The days have come and gone. The roof still leaks.

It’s raining again. A variety of cookware decorates my floors. Even with the leaks, I’m still really happy about the house. It’s the perfect size for me, and it has a lot of security features that I wanted. The location is close to the school, my friends, and the main roads leading in and out of town. Once the ceiling is fixed I won’t have a complaint in the world about this house. The next step will be painting and replacing the shutters if money allows :o)

CHA-CHING

Let’s talk about money. You will not starve on the Peace Corps living allowance. Depending on your site and how often you eat with neighbors, you can live quite reasonably. The strange thing is that, as it becomes the norm to have certain amenities (a fridge, for example), the Peace Corps budget hasn’t increased to accommodate modernization in more developed areas. Volunteers then have an awkward decision to make: they can live below the means of the rest of the community; they can use money from the States to live at the means of the community, thus diminishing money that should be used to readjust to our lives back home after service; or they can save every penny possible, live as a recluse, and finally buy a fridge two months before it’s time to leave for home. Peace Corps sees the problem and is actively working the fix it, but current volunteers are left wondering why some people are living posh while other are just making it month to month.

I certainly didn’t have enough to buy everything I wanted for the house with my Move-In Allowance. With that said, I’m not sleeping on the floor, either. It’s the Peace Corps. I didn’t expect to have a fridge, washer, dryer, and stove when I signed up. I was thinking mud hut and a hole out back to piss in. I am pleasantly surprised to have electricity and running water. I’m stupefied that I have wireless internet connection. Fellow volunteers in other countries ARE sleeping on the floor. They DON’T have running water, electricity, and wireless internet and at the end of the day I have no room to complain. Inconveniences are expected. Luxuries are appreciated. And service must go on either way.

My first somewhat necessary renovation is the fix the roof. My first not-necessary-but-desired renovation will be to replace the shutters. On cold rainy said like today I may as well be sleeping outside with as drafty as the house feels. Then I’m going to save up to buy a washing machine. It’s not what you’re imagining by any means, but it does get the job done better than my bare hands. Third on the list, I plan to save up for some paint. The interior walls are jacked and the house would look a lot merrier with a fresh coat of high quality color. To me, it’s a worthwhile investment. Lastly, I might add a sink in the kitchen (surprise, there isn’t one). I’m currently using the bathroom sink just for water, and washing dishes outside or in the shower.

Things are ended on the up-and-up. I’m still here, still planning cool stuff for my community in the future and still optimistic about this whole save-the-world-and-change-yourself gig. Suerte!

I Thought I Was Being Superficial, Then I Realized I Was Being Progressive

2010-05-31T17:57:00.000-07:00

This session is all about housing, food, and why I don’t need to change my American perspective just this once...

Let me begin by saying that my sister and brother-in-law (along with every other member of my family) has done an excellent job spoiling—I mean, loving—me. For this reason, I have come to have rather high expectations in life. I came into the Peace Corps expecting physical and emotional hardship, all the while knowing in the back of my mind that the good times would certainly outweigh the bad and that I would have an exceptionally wonderful service simply because I’m me.

This is not entirely untrue. During training, I was one of the few trainees who encountered no problems with my host family. I had privacy, good food, encouragement, and a sense of inclusion in the family. Now as a volunteer, while not in the ideal situation, I still have come across a loving family that has offered me a full access to their home, their hearts, and their time.

I expected this wonderfulness to continue without hindrance. As I searched for more permanent housing, my host sister mentioned this beautiful 2 story house up the street. It is fabulous by rural Paraguayan standards and pleased my American sense of material elegance: it had a large kitchen with a gas stove (yay!), an unnecessarily large bathroom with the best water heating system available in the country, three bedrooms, and an attic that could be converted to make the perfect dance and arts studio. Of course, I wanted this house.

The owner, currently in Argentina, wanted me to pay $400USD. I laughed out loud because A.) I’m not paying USD for anything here B.) “volunteer” means I have no money, US or otherwise. Trying not to insult her, I explained that I “can’t” pay in USD. Then she asked for $450g, which is more reasonable (and well under $400USD) and I said I’d consider her offer. After conferring with other volunteers I concluded that I would only afford that house if I ate instant noodles for two years and never left my site. The other volunteer in my area is only paying $200g for her house, which is smaller but is still very nice. My counter offer was $300g. She didn’t budge. My max was $350g and she still didn’t budge. She politely thanked me for my interest and hung up the phone.

Are you kidding?

Aside from being upset that she was throwing off my success-groove, I was saddened by this woman’s apparent lack of business savvy. Our town is VERY small. I am the only new person to arrive in three years. She simply isn’t going to have any other offers on that house! She would rather have no income and have the house overrun by spiders than to have an additional $300g in her account each month (only $150g less than she expected). What nonsense!

So I’m still with my great host family, but sleeping in an old corner store. This is less than fabulous, but I have to remember that I am in the Peace Corps. Not the chuchi-super-fancy-house Corps, not the Desperate-House-Wives-of-Atlanta-Corps, but the I’m-dedicating-two-years-of-my-life-to-help-others-and-better-myself Corps. That might mean not having a two story house, which is fine.

Did I mention that a lot of my fellow volunteers and living in wooden shacks, sharing a room with three or more children, fetching questionable well water, and using wood burning stoves? Yeah. I won’t complain about my situation. But that’s just it. I have lived so well it is difficult for me not to expect more. It’s not a matter of deserving more, or needing more, or even being dissatisfied with less. It is simply that I am accustomed to more, and part of my Peace Corps journey seems to be lowering my expectations in life...right?

That is counter intuitive to me. No part of my upbringing supports that expectations should be lowered. If anything, expectations should be raised and precedents exceeded.

The standard of living should be raised. Why not? Why not have a community with clean running water, and secure and comfortable housing that uses sustainable resources? Isn’t that why we have Rural Economic Development and Rural Health and Sanitation departments in the Peace Corps? We aren’t preaching the gospel of superficiality and capitalism so much as trying to make people’s lives easier. There is nothing easy about hand washing clothes in filthy river water or chopping down every damn tree in town just to cook dinner.

So basically, I’m not changing my standards. I’m content with what I have but will continue to aim for more/

Let’s take Paraguayan food for example. Grab an animal, cook it in grease, and add some mandioca (like potatoes with nothing on them). Dinner is done! Everyday. I won’t settle for that. So what did I do? I made tofu fried rice for my family, using the healthiest veggie oil I could find, a crap-load of veggies, and tofu instead of animals. Before that I made whole wheat pasta with eggplant and tomatoes, and before that I made veggie omelets. They loved it all! Three days this week my family ate healthier because I didn’t settle for, “Well, at least they have food.” If you’re going to eat, why not eat food that actually benefits your body?

If you’re going to live, live well.

Agree?

I'm Officially a Volunteer!

2010-05-09T17:10:00.000-07:00

SWEARING-IN WEEKEND

So you bust your butt for about three months in preparation to become a volunteer. You would think that they swearing-in process would be monumental, right? The event didn’t live up to the hype. Fortunately, the events before and after swearing-in were sufficient.

The week before swearing-in is the infamous talent show. It’s a free for all, open for no-talent, true talent, and anything in between. The education group decided to create a mixture; the guys mocked our health charlas and created a rap about sevo’i and ghiardia. I, along with my chicas, choreographed a backup dance. I must admit that I am very proud of our efforts. The lyrics were actually GOOD and the choreography was fun and energetic. (During our first rehearsal I wore the Michael Jackson’s Thriller T-Shirt my brother gave me, which helped me channel the late King of Pop.) We presented at the talent show amidst cheers and applause. Then we won :o) It might seem silly, but it was one of the best moments that I’ve had in training because everyone worked together and had a great time in the process.

Later that week we packed all our crap and heading into Asuncion for the official ceremony.
I swore in as an official volunteer on April 30. The ceremony was at the U.S. Embassy, which reminds me more of a botanical garden than an office building. The grounds are impeccably maintained with tropical foliage, and even a little waterfall.

The ceremony itself wasn’t groundbreaking, and after three months of emotionally draining training I expected more of a catharsis. But alas. The ambassador gave a speech—which, based on the amount of “ums” and its painfully apparent lack of organization, was improvised—followed by a volunteer’s speech. Then we ate cake. After that we all sort of looked at each other and tried to figure what we should do as official volunteers.

AFTER PARTY

I’ve got to be honest. Most of us made some really bad decisions as official volunteers. Yes, swear-in weekend is all about partying it up in the big city before venturing out to our prospective sites. Unfortunately, that tradition comes with a price. The price is having a bunch of drunken, loud, horny volunteers storming the city like we own it. There was more than one occasion when I was really ashamed of our behavior, and I questioned why such behavior is tolerated by the Powers That Be of the Peace Corps (and yes, they know exactly what’s going on). Fortunately, I did find my niche throughout the weekend. I got to spend time with people that I didn’t often see during training.

Being who I am, one of the highlights of the swear-in weekend was the food. Most of my friends ate cheap so they could spend money on beer. Not being much of a beer drinker, I took advantage of every night to eat at a great restaurant and selecting exactly what I wanted. It was marvelous. The food itself wasn’t “exotic” but it was good. The best dishes were from a Mexican restaurant (Hacienda de las Palomas) and Korean (I’m clueless of the name, because the sign was written in Korean, but it is on Avenida Peru near Mercado 4).

In Georgia, my siblings and I ate Mexican or Tex-Mex at least twice a week. Having gone without for three months is unfathomable. I nearly cried with joy when my friends and I approached the restaurant. We walked into the quintessential setting of warm hues and faux antique finishes. I welcomed the familiar aromas and salivated as I scanned the menu. I wanted everything--but first, a Tequila Sunrise. There was so much laughter and picture taking, it was like prom-night dinner. I ordered shrimp fajitas (because I hadn’t had shrimp in three months, which is also unfathomable) and savored every drop. There wasn’t cheese, which threw me off, but I easy ordered some along with some tasty guacamole.

In Georgia, we also had Japanese at least once a week. My friends weren’t down for Japanese food (claiming that there could be no good sushi in a landlocked country) so the closest I could get was Korean. I had never eaten Korean food before, and was really excited when my friend proposed going to the ever-shady Mercado 4 and trying out a restaurant. The free appetizers were a meal in themselves, and I was glad to try traditional favorites like kimchi. There was also spicy calamari and a vegetable soup with tofu. We were rolled out of the restaurant.

Other personal highlights include dancing until 5am, more than my fair share of coffee at a sidewalk café, and growing closer to my fellow volunteers in the process. Regardless of some of our behavior, I know that G-32 will have some kick-butt volunteers and I’m excited about the work that we will do here.

FIRST DAYS AT SITE

We can’t do great things if we can’t get to our freakin’ sites. For some of us, just getting to our new homes on Tuesday was a pain. Some roads flooded, trapping volunteers between Asuncion and unknown towns on the way to their sites. Others had buses that only left twice a day to take them to sites hours away—don’t be late or you’re stuck waiting 24 hours or more for your next ride.

For me, I arrived without much of a problem, only to find that I didn’t have place to stay. The teacher who was going to rent her house to rented it out to someone else at the last minute. And by last minute I mean she didn’t even tell me until I called her that morning. Anyway, the current volunteer in my site was able to find a place for me to stay and everything worked out. Likely for the best. I slept in a community center for the first two nights (NOT glamorous) before moving in with the family next door. Now I am sleeping in an old store (also NOT glamorous, but this is the Peace Corps). The plus side, which outweighs all, is that I am staying with an amazingly awesome family.

Wednesday, the current volunteer and I went to the neighboring pueblo of Santani (San Estanislao). It’s pretty perfect. There is a great grocery store that has a few American favorites, a mini Mercado 4 that is infinitely less shady but just as inexpensive, and a café with wi-fi. I think I’m set. This is the Peace Corps but I never claimed to be campo material.

Tomorrow I’m going to drag myself out of my comfort zone and head to the schools. I plan to start simple, working only with preschool and kindergarten for 4 hours, 3 days a week. I also want to pull kids out the classes that are really behind and work with them one on one in the area of writing/reading. The great thing about it all is that I can work at my own pace as long as I communicate my plans well to the teachers. As I grow more comfortable with my language abilities, I can increase my hours and work with more grades.

Prayers are welcomed. Wish me luck. Positive vibes are needed. Whatever your sense of peace, send it my way :o)

Prejudice, Semana Santa, and Other Happenings

2010-04-01T12:54:00.001-07:00

Today someone called me ugly to my face. It was in Spanish with a Guarani accent but it was unmistakably “feo.” Now, my initial response was to be a smart ass, then I remembered that I was a guest in their home and that I’d likely screw up my wit with a language error anyway, so I left it alone. My second response was to seethe, but that only lasted a moment before a realized that I had nothing to seethe about. The man who called me ugly was about 70, toothless, dirty and with chicken poop on his feet, and apparently couldn’t take care of himself as he was mooching off of his sister’s and niece’s meager income. Could I really let this guy offend me?
I could, but that would be silly.

Fortunately, this episode did get me thinking about my reaction to racially-charged events in Paraguay. I’ve had quite a few. People here are going to say mean things about me, likely as they did behind my back in the States. Prejudice is everywhere. Racism exists in many places. In some cases, people used prejudices as a way to affirm their own identities (e.g. the US Klan). They have a sense of why they believe what they believe and what they hope to accomplish through it. Oddly, there are others who don’t know why they dislike what they dislike. In the case of the aforementioned Paraguayan (and much of the globe?) I don’t think he understand that his concept of beauty has origins in colonialism: pale skinned invaders tell the locals that they are less than, treat locals as if they are less than, and then propagate the settler’s sense of beauty and value. The Paraguayan was clearly the descendant of the Guarani; he has features that early Spanish values would have deemed, “feo.” Those values still rear their ugly heads on television, magazines, advertisements...and he laps them up, so much so that he regurgitates them without thinking. Did he realize that by those antiquated values he, his nieces, his sister and brother-in-law are all feo? Did he fail to notice that their skin is darker than the actors on TV, and their hair is thicker and curlier than the lady posing in the detergent ad? In short, he wasn’t marginalized, poor and dirty because he the descendant of a Spanish aristocrat.

In short, he is too clueless for me to take his opinion too seriously.

Even if he was better educated, it wouldn’t change much. The bottom line is that a racist person won’t like me regardless. It has nothing to do with my moral standing or work ethic or sense of family or anything else that I value. They dislike what they dislike and it has nothing to do with me personally. Asi es!

Now, that doesn’t make hearing verbal vomit any less appealing. It does influence how I react the next time a guy on a motorcycle drives by and calls me a nigger. Seething won’t help. Reacting definitely won’t help. Understanding why and moving on with my life helps. It’s worth blogging about, but not worth carrying on my shoulders for long.

Perhaps I should insert some disclaimer about not all Paraguayans being prejudice but 1.) any of my family and friends reading this already know that 2.) I can’t guarantee that it’s true. What I can say for certain is that I’ve met at least 8 wonderful Paraguayans whose company I enjoy. I made chipa with 3 of them today. Chipa is a type of bread made from mandioca (aka cardboard in stick form, like a potato), cheese, corn, and sometimes onions. During Semana Santa (Holy Week) Paraguayans fast for two or three days, eating nothing but chipa. This sounded miserable at first, but fresh baked chipa is pretty freakin’ awesome. What’s more awesome is making it! The dough is soft and holds forms well, like play-dough, so it’s perfect for making funny shapes. I made a violin, a piano, drums, and a couple geometric shapes with funky designs in the middle. It felt good to play with dough and use some of my creative talents that have lain dormant for two months. My host mom said I was guapa (hard working) and my host sister and I had a great time laughing at designs. She’s a little dirty: she made a pair of breasts, a penis (which she remolded into a flute before baking) and a paddle to spank her son with. It was all great fun.

Afterwards I sat on the curb and watched the neighborhood kids play soccer. There is one girl, Daisy, who is quite good and very competitive. It makes me sad that there isn’t a professional women’s team for her to aspire to. I tried to tell her that if she wanted, maybe she could play for the US. She seemed confused.

We get 5 days off for Semana Santa, which sounds like boringness waiting to happen, so my friends and I have already planned a trip to Asuncion for the weekend. We will spend three days with our family—soaking up the culture of Terere and watching grass grow—and then go to the city for two days and remember what its like to be over stimulated and gluttonous. I like extremes.

Long Field Practice

2010-03-29T13:19:00.000-07:00

When I heard that I was going to Isla Pucu to meet Lindsey, I shrugged. One pueblo isn’t much different than another when you only know a name. I packed my school uniforms, an apo’i top for the supervision interview, and clothes for trudging through the campo. I figured it would be a bit like Naranjaisy but bigger.

I was quite wrong.

Isla Pucu is a little piece of heaven nestled quietly in the midst of rolling hills. It is considered a pueblo, but doesn’t have the city feel because everything is so green; most of the cobblestone streets are lined with trees and bursts of tropical flowers accent manicured lawns. The farmland surrounding the town is lush and speckled with quaint houses and cattle. The people are friendly but generally disinterested, which is a welcomed change for me. Everyone greeted me cordially but no one stared and very few asked questions.

I quickly learned why the town had such a familiar ambiance. Isla Pucu means “Long Island,” which is deceptive because 1.) it isn’t an island 2.) it isn’t New York. I’ve been told that it was a European colony, and at that time it was named something else. Those people left and wealthier Paraguayans moved in. Many of the current inhabitants are well-off because they or their family members have worked in America—primarily New York, hence the name—and sent money back here to Paraguay. Most of the people I talked to have lived in or have family working in Long Island or White Plains, NY.

My host family was no exception. Both parents spent a year or more in the States doing modest work (though neither speaks English). They came back as big-ballers and now live in a comfortable house with their two kids. My host sister, Claudia, dressed like she was ready for a Hollister photo shoot. Everyday. (Should I mention that she competes in—and wins—beauty pageants?) Her cute clothes, makeup, and highlights made me feel underdressed all the time. And there wasn’t anything that I could do about it since I brought my campo clothes and left my nice American duds in Naranjaisy. *sigh* My other host sister, Laura, was a bit more chill and reminded me of my real sister. I believe she is in school to be a hair stylist, but she didn’t wear her trade on her sleeve. My host mother, Estella, was rather demure and my boisterous host father, Emilio, instantly took up trying to teach me Guarani. Everyone was wonderfully nice and made me feel very welcomed. I settled in quickly and began the bittersweet process of getting to know people that I knew I’d have to leave.

When I wasn’t preparing for charlas on parasites, I enjoyed the ease of in-home internet access with my host sisters. We took pictures for Facebook, drank some T-re, and otherwise goofed around. We also watched brainless television, particularly a bad telenovela called “Victorinos.” At night I enjoyed taking a shower without shower shoes and drinking Coca Cola that was actually cold. In the mornings I made myself scrambled eggs or big bowls of Frosted Flakes. I guess you don’t know how precious these simple activities are until you haven’t had them for two months...

Of course, the peace and tranquility couldn’t last forever. Days at school were insane. We gave between 6-9 presentations a day (in Spanish, speckled with Guarani for flavor) about the parasite Sevo’i. I didn’t realize how much I hated repeating myself until then. We also administered oral evaluations to the kids, which means that I took the test too since I’m learning Spanish right along with them. We played 6-9 rounds of Duck, Duck, Goose (or Sano, Sano, Sevo’i) and freeze tag in the hot sun. It was a lot of work (more than most volunteers usually do in a school day, so I’ve been told) but it was great to get into the classrooms and put my skills to the test.

The experience reminded me that working with kids doesn’t come naturally for me. I really want to like “the creatures” as they are called here, but I just don’t have that magic touch that other volunteers seem to have. Everything feels forced to me. That’s something to consider when I get to site...

Leaving my host family and Isla Pucu was emotionally difficult. I hugged Claudia goodbye moments before she left for school, and we both lingered trying to think of something sentimental to say that we could both understood. We just laughed instead and hugged again. My host dad drove me to Lindsey’s house with my luggage and said goodbye in Guarani. My host mom was the last person that I got to see because she worked at the school. She invited me to come back and visit them and I think we got three good hugs in before she had to get back to her students. I didn’t get to say goodbye to Laura, which may be good because I likely would have choked up or said something stupid. I definitely plan on visiting my new friends. I know it will be even more fun to hang out with them when my language skills improve.

I really needed my vacation in Isla Pucu. Even though I was working, it was one of the first times that going home after work didn’t feel like going to second job. It was also one of the first times that I could hang out with locals my age that didn’t have kids to look after. The trip was a breath of fresh air and gave me the positive energy that I need to make it though the next few demanding weeks.

Site Placement Questionnaire—Almost there!

G-32 got screwed. We had our site placement interviews before long field practice, which is silly because we are asked what we want in our sites before we even know what a real site is like. Fortunately for me, I don’t think that I said anything that I regret and I will fill in the “Site Placement Questionnaire” with any details that I might have missed in the interview. It may not even matter; some say that the interview and questionnaire are just formalities and that Josefina has already matched us to sites. Regardless, I trust that it will all turn out for the best.

Visiting Isla Pucu confirmed that I want to live in a place that feels small but has a lot of options. I also want a site that is aesthetically pleasing. Perhaps most importantly, I want a site with progressive, liberal-minded people. (Now, keep in mind that progressive and liberal-minded Paraguayan-style is much more low-key than, like, US-West coast.) What made the people of Isla Pucu different is that they were chill but they CARED; in some towns in Paraguay that I’ve visited tranquilo translates to, “There are many problems that need fixing but I don’t give a damn. Drink terere.” In Isla Pucu, people generally seemed to use forethought: work smarter not harder; sacrifice a bit now for a better later; prevention is better than treatment, etc. A Peace Corps volunteer can do crazy-good things with a community like that. We spend less time trying to get people to care and more time making stuff happen.

I don’t know if Lindsey loves her site as much as I do. Our experiences would differ greatly since we are different people. But I see potential there that I hope to see in my site.

The Honeymoon is Over

2010-03-17T14:27:00.000-07:00

We were told during orientation that we were in the “honeymoon” stage of our relationship with Paraguay. Most of us look at each other and shrugged. Very little is glittery about our small towns, and most of us are just happy to not live in mud huts. Surely there is nothing enamoring about piles of cow poo on the sidewalks—wait, there are no sidewalks—or million degree weather, or the never ending stares of the locals and the constant threat of parasites.

They then told us that weeks 3 and 4 would end the honeymoon stage.

I am in week 4. It is certainly over if it was ever there to begin with.

Everyone was in a slump today. No one was overtly negative, just hot and tired. And we are all a bit “over” group work. (If our trainers could control it, they’d make us take group bathroom breaks. “Everyone wait till 5pm to take a piss! We’ll do it as a group!”) Anyhow, we were given yet another group assignment today and I think we all secretly despised each other for it.

Then the cow poo hit the fan. We had our first real encounter with the bane known as “chisme,” the cute word here for senseless gossip. Apparently, some ladies got bored and decided to spread rumors that some of our group members were drunks. And by drunks, that means that they...had a drink? This wouldn’t be a problem, except that it’s hard for people to take you seriously as an educator when they think you’re an irresponsible alcoholic. Some of us were concerned that our trainers and language coaches would believe their family members over us. Needless to say, no one was feeling particularly fond of our neighbors that evening, but we decided to let it roll and pick our battles. We decided not to confront the culprits because it is considered rude here to confront people directly with a problem. (...yeah, that’s what I said). No one wants to make anything worse.

But the unspoken effects run deep. I think that there is a greater sense of distrust among us now; how do we know who is spreading rumors about us? In some cases, our own host moms are trying to ruin our reputations. It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

May sound random, but this whole experience makes me miss my mom. Back home, I’d roll my eyes whenever she told a re-story because she always seemed to exaggerate the details. If Brianna did a new dance, my mom would turn it into a 3 Act ballet set to Gershwin. If any of us had the least hint of talent, she claimed it would instantly make us famous and wealthy. But the great thing is that my mom always exaggerated for the benefit of her kids. She made us sound better. In sharp contrast, it really sucks to encounter “parents” here who may exaggerate stories about their “kids” with the intention of harming them. With that said, I *heart* my host mom. I just feel bad for my friends.

Cleaning House

Aside from chisme, I’ve had to get use to some other cultural differences. Some of the homes here (e.i. mine) blur the lines between inside and outside. There are open courtyards, windows that don’t close and don’t have screens, farm animals at your feet at the kitchen table...sometimes these things are pretty cool. Other times, not so much. Cool: waking up to a bunch of fuzzy baby chicks chirping and hopping around in the kitchen. Cool: Having a pear with lunch, then feed the cow the core. Cool: Showing with a tree frog. Not cool: the countless, dusty, bug infested cobwebs lining my ceiling and bathroom. Not cool: the plague of flies that always chill between my bedroom, the kitchen, and the bathroom. I kind of feel bad for them because the insects don’t know any better—some of our “rooms” are outside, which is their home—but I’ve gotten to the point now where I can’t catch and release one more spider! I just freakin’ kill ‘em. (I know, I lose PETA points.)

One day, I lost my mind and went on a cleaning spree. I dusted down all the cobwebs (gagging several times) and cleaned everything that was questionable. I was on a roll, so I wanted to attack the bathroom next, but I hesitated and decided against it. Would it offend my host-parents to clean their house? Probably. My host family understands that outdoor/indoor living has its inconveniences, so I don’t think they bother trying to tidy up some things. If I cleaned up after them might they be embarrassed or something? All of this is still new to me. Still don’t know what to do.

On the Brighter Side

The kids here are pretty awesome. There are a million of them with unexplainable amounts of energy, so there is always someone willing to play a game, or do barefoot yoga in an abandoned field, or participate in reading clubs. I was pleasantly surprised by how many kids here like books! Relative to incomes in this town, books are expensive luxuries and I’m glad that the other PCTs and I can share the goodness. We read about three short books with the neighbor kids in small groups, mixing in some games in between. In the beginning, I was really nervous because my language skills aren’t as strong as I’d like. Now, after giving two presentations in Spanish with a language interview on the horizon, chatting with a bunch of kids seems less daunting.

Oh, did I mention that I did two presentations in Spanish? Go me! Granted, it was nothing high tech or ultra impressive but I got up and there and made it happen. Baby steps.

Staging, Orientation, and a bit after...

2010-03-02T08:48:00.000-08:00

Staging

It’s been quite a while and so much has happened!

For staging, I met up with 49 other invitees in Miami, FL. It was a bit overwhelming, especially since no one really knew what was going on between checking in, an orientation that wasn’t really an orientation, and a not so clear dinner schedule. Things lightened up a bit in the evening: after a lot of paper signing and vaccinations (H1N1--ick) a lot of invitees strolled to a nearby Cuban restaurant. For most of us, it was the first opportunity to have full fledged conversations and get to know the others in our group. Everyone was in a pretty good disposition and we shared stories about our different regions of the country.

The next morning was a blur. There was a lot of information thrown at us at once, along with some icebreakers and other games dabbled in the mix. By the time we packed an overnight bag (luggage customarily arrived late, we were told) and made it to the airport, everyone was ready for dinner and a nice long rest on the plane. We broke off into groups to enjoy our last meal in America—at the airport—and settled on some overpriced American favorites like chicken fingers, quesadillas, and our favorite “adult” beverages that we might not get in beer-ridden Paraguay.

Let me emphasize the sadness of the first two meals. During these times, all 49 of us were together and we began forming friendships. We valued these times and clung to each other much more than normal strangers would. And after over 11 hours of flying and layover time, most of us started to feel like a small family.

Then they split us up.

Welcome to the Peace Corps.

Orientation

The 49 of us were split into three groups according to our projects. This was a bit shocking for some, especially since we happened to befriend the very people we would rarely see thereafter. We had to start from scratch again. We went through introductions again, awkward moments again, trying to find our niches again...This was the first time that I really realized the amount of flexibility PC requires.

This set off something in me that I hadn’t expected. I felt very hesitant to really get to know anyone because I knew that in 3 months I be ripped from them and expected to make new friends in a new community in a new country...but of course, you can’t thrive for three months in a new environment without friends. So what’s a girl to do? I suppose I did what everyone else did and just adjusted. Come what may, I’ve made so great new accomplices :o)

The same day that we landed we we met our temporary host families and moved in. This could’ve been awkward, but my fabulous host mom, Graciella, made me feel very welcomed. She switched between Spanish (Castellano) and Guarani, the local language, in order to help me communicate with the rest of the family. At this point, everything was still a bit crazy and I desperately await the opportunity to feel settled.

Orientation didn’t help. It was a mess of information, spiral notebooks, handouts, skits, team building activities, more information. Wait, what happened? In the midst of it all, we shared stories about our new homes. Let’s start with the basics: most everyone had electricity in some capacity. Running water and indoor plumbing are both harder to find among the RHS invitees, though most of us in EEE and UYD have that, too. The food is high in starch, proteins, and calories (just about everything is fried) so most of us were having vegetable withdrawals by day three.

I felt special because my host mother is very understanding of my vegetarian diet. Salad and a variety of veggies balance out my meals, along with fresh fruit and plenty of chilled water. Now, none of this is bought at a grocery store, mind you. Some of it is dug straight out of the back yard. Anyhow, its fresh. Even the starches taste good because Graciella is a fabulous cook.

Everything else hasn’t been such a breeze. I share my bathroom with gnats, spiders, cobwebs and frogs the size of baseballs. The humidity keeps my body and hair from ever feeling completely dry. The heat is...freakin’ hot. Nothing creative to say about that. Every day at meal time is like a picnic: select your food fast and chow it down before the flies carry it all away! And while were talking about the animal kingdom, I pass about 10 cows, 6 pigs, 30 chickens, a goat or two, and a minimum of 6 stray dogs on my way to class every day.

Oddly, none of that concerns me much. I did sign up for the Peace Corps, you know, and none of this is really “extreme.” Just different. Make friends with the giant frogs and cows, cover your food and you’ll be just fine :o)

Training Begins!

We were split into language classes according to our previous experience. I was a bit disappointed to be placed in the lowest level Spanish class. I soon realized that it wasn’t that bad; most kids in the upper level courses had spent months abroad, if not years. No way that my independent study could compare to immersion. Anyway, we started our language classes in the morning and our technical classes in the evening and I sort of developed a normal, human schedule. In language class, things that I thought I had forgotten resurfaced, and nuances that were a stinging enigma were bought to light. I LOVE my language class. The professor is hilarious, the perfect match for my two riotous compadres, Stefanie and Sam. We could probably learn more if we laughed less. Or not :o)

That brings me to current day. Yay! PCV site visits this weekend. I hope to keep you updated.

This is ACTUALLY happening

2010-01-25T17:57:00.000-08:00

No more Prep Time, Maybe.

Prep Time, Definitely-Right-Now-Maybe-Even-Should've-Started-Last-Week is here.

Since I was notified in August, I've been making financial arrangements, trying to set up a new account that I can access on site, training someone at my job to take my place, and otherwise trying to get my house in order. Even in the midst of all that preparation, the Peace Corps felt abstract. It wasn't until this weekend that reality hit me.

Just last night I bought my first pair of waterproof hiking boots. I also received a monstrous suitcase and some calling cards (thanks Daniel!). I sat down and created a list of things still needed/desired and what I've come up with is listed in the sidebar. Until now I'd only made mental lists to prepare for my trip. The second that I started making purchases and writing things down (or typing them, because I'm so 3008) the more real the trip became. It sounds silly but it's true.

These past two weeks also mark the influx of e-mails, phone calls, and conversations requesting/demanding that I stay in the States. Really, guys? Since August I've heard little other than "Bon Voyage" and laughter, and now everyone is laying it on thick? I'm not sure what to think of all this. The obstacles I'll face are rough, and the comforts of home are very tempting, but I really want to do this...

I've been asked a few times, "What will you miss most while you're away?" My reply usually involves sushi, coffee, a constant electric supply and my car. But the truth should be obvious to anyone who knows me. I'll miss the people who ask me stupid questions like, "What will you miss most while you're away?" I'll miss my goofy family and friends, the people who get my odd sense of humor and my disdain for “meat pieces.” I'll miss the people who know who I am beneath my façade and love me anyway.

I'll also miss English. I'm use to manipulating language for my numerous objectives. I'm used to subtle word play and being able to express myself adequately--sort of. In Paraguay, I’ll be reduced to an infant or worse, forced to point and gesture and probably draw pictures in the dirt. Knowledge is power. I don't know Guaraní. You put it together.

But I’m not worried. The peace that transcends understanding is with me and I'm not afraid. Not really. I'm mostly excited. There is something fun and intriguing about being tossed into shark infested waters and being told to find land. I'll be like a humanitarian SEAL, right? Except in my case, finding land leads to self discovery and the edification of those around me. At least that is what I am hoping for.

Prep Time...maybe later?

2010-01-08T17:59:00.000-08:00

Yo--

This first posting is my attempt to make sure that I know how all this works. I have avoided blogs for so long (figuring that if we cared enough about how things were going, we'd pick up a freakin telephone) but since I will be going away for 27 months, a quick phone call or text may not do the trick.

Welcome to ericaspcblog! I was invited to Paraguay back in August; my staging and subsequent departure takes place Feb 8, 2010. I'm more excited than nervous, though that may change closer to departure. Or not :o)

I'll keep you posted. Thanks for reading!