live now

Nostalgia. How often we seem to think yesterday was better than today. I don't think it was, and I would advise you not to wait 10 years before admitting today was great. If you're hung up on nostalgia, pretend today was yesterday and just go out and have one hell of a good time. - Art Buchwald

corny t-shirt slogans

I just had a flashback from circa 1991. My parents had bought my brothers and me these t-shirts from some sort of leadership conference they had attended. I thought they were stupid. (From about 1991-1999, I thought most things my parents said and did were stupid, so the fact that I reacted with disgust at this t-shirt souvenir was no surprise. If I ever actually have a daughter, I suspect the universe will be cashing in on the hefty karma debts I built up during my teenage years...)

I still think the t-shirt was cheesy, and in this moment, I am recalling this mental image of a photo taken of my youngest little brother wearing it... the thought of it makes me laugh... I think he was missing a few teeth and it was so big on him it was more like a dress. But, right, get to the point, I know, I know.... the t-shirt said: 'Some will, some won't, so what.'

However, while I don't want those words plastered all over my chest - how true is that statement? I was thinking about it today as I am figuring out what is next for me after Cambodia, corresponding with a lot of places all over Central and South America.

Even though I felt mildly exploited and very frustrated last week when I received an email from this agency who placed me in Cambodia, cheekily changing their mind and asking me for 500 more pounds to set me up to do the same thing in Peru (this is just to put me in contact - I pay my own way)... well, I am sort of glad they did. For two reasons.

First of all, oddly enough, it indirectly helped me sell my condo. The next email that was waiting for me in my inbox was yet another counteroffer from a potential buyer I had been dealing with for days. Looking back, that email about my condo was somehow the final straw. I think this had been building up for weeks. Perhaps it was the constant witnessing of poverty for days on end, and knowing how far that extra 500 pounds would go in this country, not to mention the 600 pounds I had already paid to that agency. Maybe it was the feeling mildly guilty about paying that initial fee to them in the first place, and trying to justify it in my head ever since I arrived. It's not about the money so much as the principle. Maybe it was visiting the Killing Fields the previous day and taking in the sad and all too recent atrocities of the genocide this country endured a few decades ago - coupled by all the reading I've been doing about genocides since I got here, which has prompted me to try to convince myself, with no success to date, that it won't keep happening again and again across the world. And without a doubt, it was definitely those beers I had just consumed downstairs with the random English and German guys I met that evening that really put me over the top. But whatever it was, I finally got really fired up. I have such a tendency to adapt and be flexible, to compromise. But in that moment, that tendency was nowhere to be found. I told that buyer I was done - walk away. (On reflection - if I had actually really needed to sell the place, it would have been the dumbest negotiation move known to mankind - it was only $1.5k we were talking about and she was my only interested buyer in the 6 weeks it had been on the market. But I didn't care. Again, it was the principle of the matter. And I wasn't that desperate to sell it. I decided I would keep it for another year and see if the market improved.) She came back wanting it anyway, within an hour, for the right price. But by that point, that news had little effect on me. By that point, my frustration had somehow slowly transformed into just tears of sadness about all the heartbreaking things I have been seeing lately in this country. I guess my frustration and disappointment rooted a little deeper than the $1.5k, or 500 pounds.

But secondly, I think a little kick in the rear is exactly what I needed. A kick in the rear to live by the corny t-shirt slogan. Instead of looking on the shelf for another risk-free, pre-boxed experience, I stopped. Asked myself: what exactly do you want to do next? Do you even know for sure? Stop. Write it down. Then go tell people exactly who you are, what you are looking for, what you will accept, what you won't accept. Be open to the fact that many of them will say no, and most of all, don't take it personally. Move on. Wait for it. It will come. As a result of a week's effort, I received many no's and even more non-responses. But I also have plenty of yes replies sitting in my inbox with requests to come take photos for their website and marketing materials, to help train them on finance and accounting, to teach children, etc. etc. None of them want me to pay them to volunteer my time. I am getting very close to what I am looking for. I will be patient.

It's so silly that the fear of someone saying no to me has paralyzed me from action so many times - it's really no way to live. (Oh, I just wrote that with a z instead of an s! Maybe I am starting to shed my Englishisms! Wait, should ism be izm? I actually can't even tell anymore, I would have to google it. Nevermind.) It applies to all aspects of life I suppose - relationships, jobs, etc. There is this Dr. Suess quote I love: 'Be who you are and say what you feel. Those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind.' The more time I spend in these countries the more it sinks in that I have been privileged with the opportunity to design my own life. Not everyone has that privilege. And the more I realise it's a privilege, the more it feels like a responsibility. So I am starting to step up. Before you know it I am going to be channelling my inner Aussie mate and asking the chef in a random restaurant if I can come back tomorrow for him to teach me how to make the dish I just ate. (Surprisingly, this friend of mine gets quite a good response rate to this and has found himself donning aprons for impromptu cooking lessons in kitchens all over the globe...) Seriously, I'm not quite to that level yet, give me time. But you are definitely the voice in my head sometimes... you know who you are...

broken down buses

I am convinced that buses break down on more trips than not in these countries. The first time I took a bus in Guatemala, I really didn't have a clue what I was getting into. At that point my idea of budget transportation was booking a flight on easyjet or Ryanair instead of British Airways. Not taking ground transportation on a rusty, rickety old bus with a broken windshield that showed up a half hour late (standard) and then proceeded to drive around for an hour to six other houses to pick up everyone else up before we ever left the town.

But, that's all part of the adventure. Especially when it breaks down halfway there, and the driver asks you to all get out and push start it, only to get it going long enough to stop again about a half hour later, this time on a very busy motorway on the edge of one of the most dangerous capital cities in the world. Always a good place to be standing as a group of obvious foreigners in the grass in the pouring rain while we waited for a replacement. The guy actually wanted to keep driving, but we had to ask him to stop. Seriously, the lights were flickering, the windshield wipers were moving at the speed of a snail, and it was pouring down rain. He tried to remedy this by using a towel, a flashlight and his arm out the driver's side window, but that was clearly not cutting it. (I'm not making this up, people....)

I honestly didn't know what to do with the whole thing except laugh. I know, it's a strange reaction, some people were really panicking. A normal reaction. Panicking, for their bags, but more so, for their body parts. (Guatemala City is... Guatemala City.) I was obviously concerned, but I realised there was absolutely nothing I could do about it so I just hid myself in my raincoat hood and umbrella and quietly laughed.

My experience with Cambodian breakdowns was equally annoying but much more relaxed. I had been on this overnight bus from Sihnoukville to Siem Reap for 10 hours when it came to a stop. I was actually sleeping, finally. It was light outside. Great, we are here. No. Wait. This is not a bus station. This is the side of the road. Ugh. Seriously? We must be really close. I am supposed to go to work this morning. And this guy next to me smells, and I really want off of this bus. I step off. One look at those guys taking apart the entire bus did not inspire a lot of confidence.

Look, I don't think I am invincible, and I use my head. I also trust my gut. I was not sitting on the side of that road for 4 hours while they fixed that bus. At 7am, it was already blazing hot, and I had hardly slept. Plus the only reason I took that bus was so I could show up at work that morning like I said I would. I knew we had to be less than 30 kilometers away, especially when I saw Soben drive past. Soben is the 'driver' at this place I work. He drives like a maniac, so he is hard to miss. I love him - we don't get too far in conversation in English, actually, we really just have one joke together, which is to say good morning to each other in the afternoon. (You have to find humor somehow, even across language barriers.)

I would have never done this in Guatemala. (Still wouldn't, actually.) But I didn't hesitate for a second in Cambodia. I walked down the road until I found someone who spoke English (this took a while), told him where I wanted to go, and 10 minutes and a little bit of bartering later, his father appeared as my new 'taxi' driver... in his personal car which he had to take the cover off of. I found 3 other people to come with me so I wasn't alone and 15 minutes later I was at my desk.

All part of the adventure, like I said...

mystery language

I work with 15 Khmer people, 1 Eastern European girl and 1 German guy. The staff at my guesthouse are all Khmer. English is not the first language for any of them, but it is the language we all speak to each other.

I have struggled with an accent identity crisis ever since I left Missouri 13 years ago. From southern belle drawl to nasaly Michigan and Chicago, then to England, I now get told I just sound like I am from California. Neutral. I am not a chameleon. I just don't like to repeat myself, so I adapt to be understood, it's not really a conscious effort.

But here my accent is not changing. I'm noticing I'm just eliminating entire words from my sentences, to be sure I'm understood the first time. It's terrible. I say things like 'where you go to lunch today?' to the girl I am working with or 'you like my key'? before I give it to the cleaning girl passing me in the hallway.

Great. My ratio is now 10% British English, 20% American English, and 70% pidgin English, with some very confused spelling going on... still not using 'z' but definitely have started to drop the 'u' after a month away from that cloudy island. I must get out of here before I start replicating the things I see on menus and signs. The best one lately was 'Chicken Condom Bleu' (not kidding)....

el dia del madres

How lucky am I, not only to have a mother so incredibly beautiful on the inside and out...

...but also such a wonderful dad. My mom had major surgery this week. Why do we only stop to fully appreciate the blessings in our lives when we fear they could possibly be taken away from us? When my dad emailed me to let me know that all went okay... and that she was even letting him feed her, while he sang to her the Beatles song 'When I'm 64' (the lyrics say it all...)... I could only think two things: 1) Thank God, and 2) Oh Dad, why did you have to set the bar so high. :)

Happy Mother's Day!

questions breed more questions

Anyone who truly knows me well will have commented at least once, or 100 times, on my profound ability to, what they like to term, 'overanalyse.'

I generally don't like to make snap judgments or decisions about people or situations, unless I absolutely have to. For me, the question at hand, whatever it is, usually unravels into a web of more and more questions. I like information. I like to know the big picture before concluding. I also have a very active mind and an occasionally intense emotional core. They like to go to war with one another. They both are exceptionally good at arguing their cases, meaning I have to give both sides time to battle it out. Sometimes it takes a while.

I guess have always looked upon most things in life - especially if humans are involved - as three dimensional. I have a strong urge to peel back the layers. Things aren't always what they seem at face value. Sure, making quick decisions is valued in our fast-paced society. It often projects and inspires confidence. Saves time. Sometimes it is absolutely necessary, of course I can recognise that. And I can certainly do it when I have to... I suppose there is no way I could have been successful in my career to date without it.

But, give me time... and I will always take it. There are plenty of downsides associated with this trait. But with the passing years I think we all get better at learning how to best channel our innate personality characteristics - identifying when they are assets, and when they are liabilities.

Sometimes that means I make the conscious decision to tone it down (or turn it off!), even if it doesn't come naturally.

But it is really the experiences I've gained while living in the developing world that have most strongly highlighted to me that there are times when there is infinite value to keeping your question marks open until you've educated yourself from all angles. Sure, I love engaging in debate about all these things I am seeing, I get passionate, I share my perspectives and experiences... but usually they are only articulated in the form of questions or the presentation of two (or more?) possible sides, reserving complete judgment. I'm not advocating wishy-washiness or never taking a stand about anything. I'm saying that decisions and judgments, however quickly you can produce them, are not always that useful if they are only narrowly informed. And I have more to learn.

There is a quote that pops into my conscious thought quite frequently. Being a naturally curious person I have always identified with this quote, but my experiences over the past year have especially intensified its meaning: 'The more I see, the less I know for sure.' - John Lennon

I said I wouldn't edit myself on this blog. But I definitely have today. Deleted it all from here and saved it for myself until I can get my thoughts out properly. :) As someone who usually has no problem expressing myself in writing, that is a really good sign they neeed to be further developed. So... stay tuned?

noodles and rice

Finding my food rhythm here has been interesting. Food can be very cheap here - you can eat for less than $2 a meal if you go to the right places. On the flip side, it can also easily be the same price as home if you allow yourself to fall prey to those eating establishments set up solely to cater to westerners. (Tempting on occasion... I won't lie.) But I think I have been playing a bit of a game with myself since I got here to see how sensible I can be in my food and drink budget.

It's sort of new to me, as most of my travelling over the past decade has not been in countries like this... nor has it really been of the budget variety. And when I lived in Guatemala, I stayed with a host family, where I just ate what was served. Massive papaya for breakfast that I could barely force down (look, papaya is good, but not in those kind of doses).... chewy steak... yep, whatever it was, I just ate as much of it as I could stomach. Even if I ate a few things I didn't like in order to avoid grandma's disapproving look, the up side was that I really didn't have to think about it.

Here I am staying in a guesthouse. It includes breakfast but all my other meals are on my own. No kitchen.

Anyone who has been over to my flat recently in London and seen the contents of my refrigerator is probably laughing right now, thinking... as if you are actually going to cook something anyway. Look, I can cook! :) I can make anything from homemade pizza to Thai curries to scones to anything Mexican you can think of, but I just don't see the point of cooking for one. And, truth be told, I'm slow as molasses. I only like cooking when it is for other people and I can crack a bottle of wine and chat and putz my way through the whole thing. I distinctly remember my first experience cooking on my own after my former live-in chef and I parted ways (the fact that he dominated the kitchen - which I welcomed, don't get me wrong - explains part of my speed issue). Anyway, what was I cooking? It was just a vegetable stir fry. Time I began: 7:30. Time I ate: 8:40. (It was a lot of chopping!) I thought - forget it, no way am I doing this every night just for myself. It was good for the waistline, if nothing else.

Anyway, back to the point... so after two weeks here are a few of my observations on food:
1) noodles and rice are great. but not for every meal, even if they only cost $1.25. right now, I think if were to see another noodle I would, well...
2) therefore, an occasional visit to westernised eating establishments is in order every now and then. for a salad. and some ice in my diet coke.
3) if you're going to have a drink, it is probably going to be a beer. (not a lot of wine regions near Cambodia... unless you count rice wine... so unless you want to pay 5 times the price for wine that doesn't taste that great anyway... yep, as I said, you're drinking a beer).
4) so if you're going to have a beer, go to one of the many establishments that serve 50 cent drafts. (I know this sounds reminiscent of bars you (and I!) probably frequented in the college years... but really a lot of the restaurants have 50 cent drafts). So now I have learned not to go to any of the places that just serve cans, because they cost twice the price, but perhaps more importantly, they get warm in 2.5 seconds.
5) I did try going to the grocery store. I bought a few things but I don't think I'll be back. It's more expensive than eating out. And while there is a refrigerator in my room, the power goes out so often I think it is slightly risky. I ate some things from it last week that were questionable, while crossing my fingers, and vowing not to buy real food for that refrigerator again.
6) I am starting to find things on the cheap Asian menu with vegetables, sans noodles, sans frying. Fresh spring rolls for one. But it is not without trial and error. Tonight I had some sort of papaya salad. With papaya cut into noodle-like shreds. Sort of like cabbage. Soaked in what I swear was a combination of fish sauce and straight garlic. I almost considered not eating it it was so potent. But, I was too curious, and I'd already paid for it. And as I have made a conscious decision not mingle too much with the backpacker crowd for the first month I am travelling, and there's not a chance for me and any Cambodian men (for many reasons, not least that even at 5'5 and 115 pounds, I qualify as giant status relative to them!)... well, I can probably eat garlic all I want for now.