There are some things that you should be told before you travel. Most of them relate to transportation in one way or another, and I am pretty sure that most of them are left unsaid out of some personal sadistic joy on the part of the silent friends. They are adhering to the classic "learn by experience" principle. This is wrong. I seek to enlighten by sharing some of my experiences from the last six weeks.
Planes
1) Prepare yourself for sickness. Seriously, this is the least of your worries, but be ready. I tried to do the math to calculate exactly how many germs were being recycled into my lungs during a 9+ hour flight, but then I remembered why I'm an English teacher and I stopped torturing my brain. Needless to say, there were enough germs to give me the plague.
2) Rows with escape hatches really do have more room. Don't neglect the "choose a seat" option when booking, and look for these. Most people decide window or aisle, but that is simply not enough. I am only 5'6" and my knees battered against the seat in front of me. While I probably have abnormally long, mutant femurs, I can't imagine that any non-mutants of, say, 5'7" or more can live through the contortion required of flying across "the pond" (incidentally, Brits, a lame moniker for something as large as, well, an ocean)! That "escape row" inch or two makes all the world happier.
3) Don't try to sneak into first class or you will get caught. And when you do (Little blonde girl with your snooty escort and ugly headpiece that looks like a twisty black tumor) and they escort you scowling back to your proper seat in my row, I will chuckle internally and grin out the window into the Czech night that hides my glee. Of course, then I will lament that I do not actually have a row to myself. Maybe chuckling was too much.
4) When you fly, know the customs and characteristics of people around you. For instance, you should know that Armenian men, while fit and handsome as youths, often grow portly and smoke too much as they age. To boot, they don't have the same relationship with "Sure" that we do in America, a fact that doesn't keep them from raising their arms. Not a problem until you are squished between two of them, they remove the armrests, and they begin to sprawl. Knowing the country will at least prepare you to take a sedative if needed. Yeah. It was as fun as you imagine.
5) When anyone with an official uniform barks at you in any language, just try to comply while making it clear that you only speak English. Follow this immediately with acute regret that you only speak English.
6) When a nice-looking German man smiles at you more than once while flying home, makes a point of talking to you as you deplane, waits for you at customs, and then invites you to dinner in the airport, you just say, "yes" because there really is no other answer. ;)
Trains
1) When riding a train between countries in Europe, do not believe the "reserved" signs on seats or you won't find one. When you have a Misha to point this out, you get a seat. When you don't, you spend the whole ride in a dining car, smiling at the waiter, making bread and jam and coffee last 2 hours so you can save precious Euros.
2) Each country, heck, each city has a different definition of "single ride" and "day" tickets for public transport. This is a good lesson to know BEFORE you are pulled off of a tram by ticket checkers who inform you that your "day" ticket was not for 24 hours, but rather expired at 4am. If this does happen to you, smile a lot, be really sweet and explain that you couldn't understand the German writing on the ticket. Then smile more. If you execute this correctly, the nice man will smile back, give you a warning instead of a 40 Euro fine, and give you a free hour to ride the tram so you can finish your trip. (I also got a free 10 Euro credit for my German cell phone this day by smiling and being sweet, but I digress.)
Automobiles
This is easy: People in other countries (read Armenia here) don't actually follow laws or believe that lights mean anything or give the right of way to pedestrians in crosswalks WHO HAVE WALK SIGNALS. They will run you over. They will feel bad about it, but it won't trouble them for long. How dare you walk when the little green man tells you too! They also will make 4 lanes where only 2 exist, pass on curves and with no sight-line, and just generally terrify you every moment that you are on any street in their country. You will love their country anyway, but you will fear. And speaking of fear, I must give a nod to the Germans here: the autobahn is a little scary at 160km/hr.
Happy travels. Start the joyful planning NOW!
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Monday, July 18, 2011
Doors Left Ajar
A door left ajar
lets whispering from afar
breath life into... a dream of me and you
I will the spark to die
But still it lights my eye
Still makes me feel that this alone is real
And though I know it
I dare not show it... or let this madness makes a kill
By dwelling on what might have been
Or giving sadness space to fill
I'll balance on the edge a while but won't... fall in
I am sitting in Dresden listening to the rather haunting voice of Silje Nergaard and bemoaning the end of this beautifully lyric summer I have had. In three days, the coach will turn back into a pumpkin and it will all be over. While I deeply love home and my friends there, and I am super excited to meet my new nephew, Jaxon, part of me wants to hole up in a remote corner of Germany and stay. I am aware, even as I type these words, that they sound incredibly selfish, that many people will never have the chance to experience even a small corner of the world, but my desire to exercise humility and gratitude does not cover the truth of the matter.
This world is an expanse of goodness, the kind that swallows you whole. And I, in turn, want to devour it. It really is ravenous, this feeling I have about the world. I want to inhale and embrace and consume every bit of it that I can. It is insatiable, this desire in me. So why, I wonder, can I not actually take the plunge and leave the comfort of home? I often think about teaching in remote regions of the world or working for an NGO for a while or even joining the foreign service (this one is Jay's fault), but when it comes down to it, I "balance on the edge" but don't fall in.
Often, when I am in the mountains, I stand on the edge of cliffs and look over the edge as far as I can without falling. I like the rush of it, the high upness of it, the risk of it. But I always know that I won't go far enough to fall over. Certainly, in the mountains that is wisdom, but in life? Is traveling the world my version of standing on the edge of the cliff? I get the thrill but never have to take the plunge. I think that is it. For all my wandering heart speaks of the world and its greatness, I am still a scared little girl.
This is not easy to admit. I like to believe that I am part super woman, but tonight I was reminded that I am not. Tonight, I allowed a raw edge to be exposed and, while I am better for it, I also am more acutely aware of my fear to take big jumps, to risk when risking matters. I don't know what the future holds. I can barely see beyond today, but I want to be fearless about whatever it is. I want to always leave the door ajar for something greater than I can imagine, even if it lets in memories or sadness or fear. I want to remember that light seen in doorways and through cracks in windows and from around corners is powerful enough to cut the darkness that I may imagine in the idea of change. I have grown so much in the past 6 weeks, but I realize that I am only on the edge of the abyss, looking down, waiting for my wings.
lets whispering from afar
breath life into... a dream of me and you
I will the spark to die
But still it lights my eye
Still makes me feel that this alone is real
And though I know it
I dare not show it... or let this madness makes a kill
By dwelling on what might have been
Or giving sadness space to fill
I'll balance on the edge a while but won't... fall in
I am sitting in Dresden listening to the rather haunting voice of Silje Nergaard and bemoaning the end of this beautifully lyric summer I have had. In three days, the coach will turn back into a pumpkin and it will all be over. While I deeply love home and my friends there, and I am super excited to meet my new nephew, Jaxon, part of me wants to hole up in a remote corner of Germany and stay. I am aware, even as I type these words, that they sound incredibly selfish, that many people will never have the chance to experience even a small corner of the world, but my desire to exercise humility and gratitude does not cover the truth of the matter.
This world is an expanse of goodness, the kind that swallows you whole. And I, in turn, want to devour it. It really is ravenous, this feeling I have about the world. I want to inhale and embrace and consume every bit of it that I can. It is insatiable, this desire in me. So why, I wonder, can I not actually take the plunge and leave the comfort of home? I often think about teaching in remote regions of the world or working for an NGO for a while or even joining the foreign service (this one is Jay's fault), but when it comes down to it, I "balance on the edge" but don't fall in.
Often, when I am in the mountains, I stand on the edge of cliffs and look over the edge as far as I can without falling. I like the rush of it, the high upness of it, the risk of it. But I always know that I won't go far enough to fall over. Certainly, in the mountains that is wisdom, but in life? Is traveling the world my version of standing on the edge of the cliff? I get the thrill but never have to take the plunge. I think that is it. For all my wandering heart speaks of the world and its greatness, I am still a scared little girl.
This is not easy to admit. I like to believe that I am part super woman, but tonight I was reminded that I am not. Tonight, I allowed a raw edge to be exposed and, while I am better for it, I also am more acutely aware of my fear to take big jumps, to risk when risking matters. I don't know what the future holds. I can barely see beyond today, but I want to be fearless about whatever it is. I want to always leave the door ajar for something greater than I can imagine, even if it lets in memories or sadness or fear. I want to remember that light seen in doorways and through cracks in windows and from around corners is powerful enough to cut the darkness that I may imagine in the idea of change. I have grown so much in the past 6 weeks, but I realize that I am only on the edge of the abyss, looking down, waiting for my wings.
Friday, July 15, 2011
The Time of My Life
We're coming home tonight, singing together,
coming home by white moonlight.
These words were penned in the early 1900s by Daniel Varoujan, an Armenian intellectual who would lose his life in 1915 during the Turkish conflict. Nearly 100 years later, I have walked in his footsteps, coming home in white moonlight. Last night, as I returned to Jay's apartment for the last night of my visit, I was bathed by the full moon in a clear Armenian sky. It was appropriate that the moon should light so bright a path over such a beautiful city that has left a little more light in my heart. This country, its people, and the amazing Jay Treloar have made the last week one of great adventure and great joy. I am left a little tired from it, but I simply don't care.
Jay and I spent my last night in Armenia driving back from Gyumri after a long day with director Braden King. Braden and his wife were easy to talk to and the day was a success, even if they did have to rewind 7 reels of film by hand and nothing ran on schedule. The people of Gyumri were alive with questions for Braden and they were openly moved by an American film showcasing their beautiful country. They understand the richness of this nation, even if most of the world does not. After the screening and Q&A, we decompressed with pizza and began the long drive home. That's when the real fun started!
Jay and I came home singing and dancing (maybe safer when NOT driving, but whatever), carried our singing into the streets of Yerevan and capped off the evening at the magical fountain in Republic Square that dances to music on its own with colorful lights. It really is a show. It was a joyous night. And so is all my time with Jay. I really appreciate those people in my life with whom I can have serious conversations and still be an absolute goof. I am so glad that I came here to see my friend. Our visit alone would have been worth the journey, but Armenia offered me so much.
I have spent the last week laughing and dancing (until almost 5 in the morning), meandering through streets filled with history, standing in darkened doorways of monasteries that dot the country, and listening to a people who remember the pain of the past but are so filled with hope for the future. These are a kind people, and even though they are prone to rather uncomfortable bouts of staring, they are open and hospitable and welcoming to strangers, which is great since I couldn't communicate! I quickly became painfully aware of how bad my Russian is when I realized that I don't even remember the letters. I could have survived here with Russian, even knowing no Armenian, but alas, it was not to be. Eva Eikhorn, my college Russian professor, would be so disappointed. I was forced to get by with smiles and the kind help of people I met in the street or on my tours.
Tours are something new for me. I never do tours when I travel, as they are usually expensive and slow and crowded. None of this was true here. With Jay gone most of the time at work, I had to occupy myself. This proved a little more difficult in Armenia than in Germany, so I turned to the Hyur tour group. I purchased two 8-hour English language tours for only $18 each (WOW) and got to see beautiful Armenia outside of Yerevan. I am so glad that I did it. Not only did I see a lot of breathtaking country and explore beautiful monasteries, I also met some travel companions, particularly a husband and wife from Lebanon who danced with me by a river to live music and helped me go shoe shopping (I broke my good ones). They were long and wonderful days.
Add to that a hike to Havuts Tar Vank with Jay, the exquisite Garni Temple (and Juliete), the Symphony of Stone, a seriously crazy birthday party, a lot of music, a lot of dancing, a little U.S. Women's Soccer (hooray!), an art market, a fruit market, a visit to an Armenian home, a film festival, more apricots and cherries than any human should consume in a week, new foods, new friends, and a delicious fish named Hripsime. Yup, it was an eventful week. I leave it all with a song dancing in my head (dirty bit) and prepare myself for a few days in Prague.
More good things to come if I can survive an 11+ hour layover in Kiev, Ukraine. Here goes nothin'! Goodbye Armenia. Goodbye Jay. I will miss you both very much.
coming home by white moonlight.
These words were penned in the early 1900s by Daniel Varoujan, an Armenian intellectual who would lose his life in 1915 during the Turkish conflict. Nearly 100 years later, I have walked in his footsteps, coming home in white moonlight. Last night, as I returned to Jay's apartment for the last night of my visit, I was bathed by the full moon in a clear Armenian sky. It was appropriate that the moon should light so bright a path over such a beautiful city that has left a little more light in my heart. This country, its people, and the amazing Jay Treloar have made the last week one of great adventure and great joy. I am left a little tired from it, but I simply don't care.
Jay and I spent my last night in Armenia driving back from Gyumri after a long day with director Braden King. Braden and his wife were easy to talk to and the day was a success, even if they did have to rewind 7 reels of film by hand and nothing ran on schedule. The people of Gyumri were alive with questions for Braden and they were openly moved by an American film showcasing their beautiful country. They understand the richness of this nation, even if most of the world does not. After the screening and Q&A, we decompressed with pizza and began the long drive home. That's when the real fun started!
Jay and I came home singing and dancing (maybe safer when NOT driving, but whatever), carried our singing into the streets of Yerevan and capped off the evening at the magical fountain in Republic Square that dances to music on its own with colorful lights. It really is a show. It was a joyous night. And so is all my time with Jay. I really appreciate those people in my life with whom I can have serious conversations and still be an absolute goof. I am so glad that I came here to see my friend. Our visit alone would have been worth the journey, but Armenia offered me so much.
I have spent the last week laughing and dancing (until almost 5 in the morning), meandering through streets filled with history, standing in darkened doorways of monasteries that dot the country, and listening to a people who remember the pain of the past but are so filled with hope for the future. These are a kind people, and even though they are prone to rather uncomfortable bouts of staring, they are open and hospitable and welcoming to strangers, which is great since I couldn't communicate! I quickly became painfully aware of how bad my Russian is when I realized that I don't even remember the letters. I could have survived here with Russian, even knowing no Armenian, but alas, it was not to be. Eva Eikhorn, my college Russian professor, would be so disappointed. I was forced to get by with smiles and the kind help of people I met in the street or on my tours.
Tours are something new for me. I never do tours when I travel, as they are usually expensive and slow and crowded. None of this was true here. With Jay gone most of the time at work, I had to occupy myself. This proved a little more difficult in Armenia than in Germany, so I turned to the Hyur tour group. I purchased two 8-hour English language tours for only $18 each (WOW) and got to see beautiful Armenia outside of Yerevan. I am so glad that I did it. Not only did I see a lot of breathtaking country and explore beautiful monasteries, I also met some travel companions, particularly a husband and wife from Lebanon who danced with me by a river to live music and helped me go shoe shopping (I broke my good ones). They were long and wonderful days.
Add to that a hike to Havuts Tar Vank with Jay, the exquisite Garni Temple (and Juliete), the Symphony of Stone, a seriously crazy birthday party, a lot of music, a lot of dancing, a little U.S. Women's Soccer (hooray!), an art market, a fruit market, a visit to an Armenian home, a film festival, more apricots and cherries than any human should consume in a week, new foods, new friends, and a delicious fish named Hripsime. Yup, it was an eventful week. I leave it all with a song dancing in my head (dirty bit) and prepare myself for a few days in Prague.
More good things to come if I can survive an 11+ hour layover in Kiev, Ukraine. Here goes nothin'! Goodbye Armenia. Goodbye Jay. I will miss you both very much.
Friday, July 8, 2011
Curiosity minus the cat
Whoever first said, "Curiosity killed the cat," must have had a truly boring existence. Surely it was some adult's idiomatic way of telling a child to stop being nosy. Yes, this is what we do in America; we threaten the death of cute animals to children whose minds are full of wonderment! Now, I don't believe that anyone is really advocating felinicide, but are we still squelching the truly probing minds of children? If there is anything that I have learned since arriving in Europe, it is that curiosity and wonder are the centerpiece of a happy existence.
I realize that, to some people, wandering a city where no one speaks your language and you resort to poor renditions of charades to communicate does not sound like a good time, but for me, it represents a certain freedom. It also pushes me to be a better communicator and a more patient person. These are such good things. E.E. Cummings once said, "Once we believe in ourselves, we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight, or any experience that reveals the human spirit." I have learned, more than ever in the last two weeks, that I believe in myself and my ability to take risks that free my spirit.
Where Nicaragua taught me such love for humanity and such compassion for others, Europe has taught me a self-sufficiency that has made me stronger and more open to the world. In Nicaragua, I spoke the language and understood the culture. I felt a communal bond with the people that I don't always feel in Europe. Here, I have been challenged by different personalities and different customs. I have learned to enjoy the adventure of getting lost and rely on my own reasoning to find my way again. I guess there really isn't much choice but to become self-sufficient when you are in country after country where few people speak your language and you know nothing of theirs. Traveling alone like this has brought out the phlegmatic in me. I have always known the sanguine part of my spirit, and I think that it is also obvious to those around me, but being here, wandering, has revealed to me a level of self-content that I am not sure I knew before. Some of the most beautiful moments of this trip have been those I have spent completely alone - watching the Elbe flow beside me as I took the train to Prague, meandering slowly toward the Blue Wonder (bridge) along Dresdner StrasBe (this is my attemt to make a letter that isn't in English), and today, walking, completely lost, toward an apt I only barely remembered through alleyways and crooked streets.
I have discovered how happy I am to sit on a corner absorbing the sights and sounds of cities around me. I have found such beautiful music in the words that float effortlessly in the air above me. I have discovered that pain and anger and joy and love are not contingent upon understanding another's language. They are the expressions that transcend, and in the last few weeks, I have shared smiles and laughs and knowing glances with people who are so very different from me yet, at the core, still so infinitely human.
To be sure, I have also shared incredibly beautiful moments with friends. I have laughed at a restaurant with Kris and Conny, two beautiful Germans I met more that 3 years ago when they wandered through Gainesville. I have sat across from my arrestingly lovely friend Cindy (de Chile) at a cafe in Berlin, just enjoying the precious moment of reunion (we haven't see each other in more than 3 years). I have gone to the opera (there are no words for the beauty of Carmen) and wandered the beautiful, misty city of Dresden with Micha, my dear friend who has taken such good care of me and drugged me with love of Dresden. I met my Lithuanian Doppelganger, made a new Finnish friend, and visited the beautiful German countryside to see Mutti and the rest of Micha's lovely family. And now, just today, I am reunited with my friend Jay, one of my favorite people and the only person other than my dad who gets away with calling me Heath. I have felt welcomed and loved and warm despite the rain, and it has all deepened my understanding of how blessed I am as a human being. My life is so small but so rich with beauty and meaning.
I feel very much like Cummings must have when he wrote, "The world is mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful!" Covered in dirt in Nicaragua, walking through rain in Berlin, breaking bread with great friends in Dresden, being barked at by an official in Prague, getting shocked (badly) in Kiev, trying to find my way through back streets in Yerevan - all of it, every tiny moment, is absolutely stealing my breath away. I hope that these blogs, in even the smallest measure, are conveying that, because I feel absolutely lost for words.
I realize that, to some people, wandering a city where no one speaks your language and you resort to poor renditions of charades to communicate does not sound like a good time, but for me, it represents a certain freedom. It also pushes me to be a better communicator and a more patient person. These are such good things. E.E. Cummings once said, "Once we believe in ourselves, we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight, or any experience that reveals the human spirit." I have learned, more than ever in the last two weeks, that I believe in myself and my ability to take risks that free my spirit.
Where Nicaragua taught me such love for humanity and such compassion for others, Europe has taught me a self-sufficiency that has made me stronger and more open to the world. In Nicaragua, I spoke the language and understood the culture. I felt a communal bond with the people that I don't always feel in Europe. Here, I have been challenged by different personalities and different customs. I have learned to enjoy the adventure of getting lost and rely on my own reasoning to find my way again. I guess there really isn't much choice but to become self-sufficient when you are in country after country where few people speak your language and you know nothing of theirs. Traveling alone like this has brought out the phlegmatic in me. I have always known the sanguine part of my spirit, and I think that it is also obvious to those around me, but being here, wandering, has revealed to me a level of self-content that I am not sure I knew before. Some of the most beautiful moments of this trip have been those I have spent completely alone - watching the Elbe flow beside me as I took the train to Prague, meandering slowly toward the Blue Wonder (bridge) along Dresdner StrasBe (this is my attemt to make a letter that isn't in English), and today, walking, completely lost, toward an apt I only barely remembered through alleyways and crooked streets.
I have discovered how happy I am to sit on a corner absorbing the sights and sounds of cities around me. I have found such beautiful music in the words that float effortlessly in the air above me. I have discovered that pain and anger and joy and love are not contingent upon understanding another's language. They are the expressions that transcend, and in the last few weeks, I have shared smiles and laughs and knowing glances with people who are so very different from me yet, at the core, still so infinitely human.
To be sure, I have also shared incredibly beautiful moments with friends. I have laughed at a restaurant with Kris and Conny, two beautiful Germans I met more that 3 years ago when they wandered through Gainesville. I have sat across from my arrestingly lovely friend Cindy (de Chile) at a cafe in Berlin, just enjoying the precious moment of reunion (we haven't see each other in more than 3 years). I have gone to the opera (there are no words for the beauty of Carmen) and wandered the beautiful, misty city of Dresden with Micha, my dear friend who has taken such good care of me and drugged me with love of Dresden. I met my Lithuanian Doppelganger, made a new Finnish friend, and visited the beautiful German countryside to see Mutti and the rest of Micha's lovely family. And now, just today, I am reunited with my friend Jay, one of my favorite people and the only person other than my dad who gets away with calling me Heath. I have felt welcomed and loved and warm despite the rain, and it has all deepened my understanding of how blessed I am as a human being. My life is so small but so rich with beauty and meaning.
I feel very much like Cummings must have when he wrote, "The world is mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful!" Covered in dirt in Nicaragua, walking through rain in Berlin, breaking bread with great friends in Dresden, being barked at by an official in Prague, getting shocked (badly) in Kiev, trying to find my way through back streets in Yerevan - all of it, every tiny moment, is absolutely stealing my breath away. I hope that these blogs, in even the smallest measure, are conveying that, because I feel absolutely lost for words.
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