the hiatus. an explanation

February 16, 2013

in seoul, south korea

tags

I haven’t posted for nearly 10 months. Why?

The simple explanation is, my feelings were hurt. After this post my blog started to get more and more hits. Traffic spiked. I was linked and mentioned on other blogs. And I’m not going to lie, seeing my stats climb on google analytics was pretty awesome. Oh oh look someone in Reno, Nevada was on my blog for 2 hours! Nice! I’m getting lots of hit for people googling “Mefloquine wet dreams”. Dirty… and awesome!

But with the increase in traffic came a lot of trolling. The rudest comments I just deleted. And most of the email I could ignore. People criticizing my writing style (“your blog is like if Diablo Cody was released on a poor unsuspecting African village.”) others shaming my over sharing (“writing about the stupid things you do while drunk abroad doesn’t make you seem cool it makes you seem pathetic”) and then there were the grammar/proofreading freaks. I was able to brush off most of those emails, but then an entirely different set started rolling in…

When I received some critical emails from other travel bloggers and Returned Peace Corps volunteers I really took their words to heart. I was accused of being exploitative. Of not writing about the “essence” of my experience in the Peace Corps. For making it seem like a joke. People were angry that I was writing honestly about my service. One person even went so far as to say I “wasted” the amazing opportunity that had been given to me.

So I stopped posting. I stopped checking the site. But the funny thing is… the blog didn’t die. I still got the emails (both good and bad) but the longer I was away the more positive the feedback was.

Recently nominated Peace Corps volunteers were watching the video of me opening my invitation and then sending me the link of them opening theirs.

I was messaged, tweeted and Facebook friended by strangers who felt like they knew me because they spent a day reading every post on my blog.

So, I’ve decided to put on my big girl pants and to ignore the haters. I love writing and I love sharing my writing on this blog. But my return comes with an–apparently much needed–explanation of what this blog is about.

This is not a typical “travel blog.” At no point will I ever write about those bright and shiny “travel moments” that saturate the travel blog community. I don’t write about exotic sunsets, historical monuments, authentic cuisine or thought provoking interactions with the “locals”.

I write about the awkwardness and uncomfortableness of life abroad. Because that is my travel reality and that is what I choose to write about. I am a hot mess, with an incredibly sarcastic voice and a penchant for poor decisions on the road. They say write what you know, and I do.

Also, if you want to read a great thought provoking tome about the Peace Corps experience, you won’t find that here. But, if you want to read about how one of the world’s most deadliest snakes nearly made me shit my pants. Or how I taught my Senegalese family to scream “dance puppet dance” at me during parties, then you are in the right place.

I think we all know that the Peace Corps won’t be featuring me in any of their recruitment ads.

Finally, This blog is not a “how-to” guide for anything—unless you are search for how to become a semi-alcoholic, over-educated, underemployed nomad. In which case I recommend you start by perusing the archives.

This blog is about telling a story. MY STORY.

I’m not going to win any travel awards for evocative writing or perfect photos. I know that.

This blog is filled with the stories of my life… or perhaps the lack there of. It is deeply personal, and I intend to keep it that way.

So whether you are reading along because you take sadistic pleasure in watching how my misadventures and poor decisions play out. Or because you are my future lawyer collecting evidence for an insanity plea deal. Or because you googled “big ass Senegalese girl” and this blog was the top result. Welcome.

Over the next 6 months or so I will be posting the things I wrote during my hiatus. Even though I stopped posting on this blog I never stopped writing! Fingers crossed, these posts will inspire/terrify/disgust and entirely new group of people.

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a dixie cup of urine

June 5, 2012

in seoul, south korea

tags

All foreign teachers in South Korea are subjected to a mandatory health check. You know, because foreigners are dirty, unhealthy and gross. Obviously. That’s why they trust us to educate their children. They just don’t trust us not to get STDs…

My health check began with me striping down in front of a Korean nurse who was texting on her phone while she hooked me up to some sort of sadistic-looking medical robot. Wires were taped to my chest and back. My arms were placed into plastic hooks and one was wrapped in a blood-pressure cuff. If I hadn’t been extremely exhausted and jet-lagged I may have protested or required some sort of explanation in a language I could understand. Instead, I laid back and resigned myself to the fact that humiliation and confusion were probably going to be my new normal. Nothing new.

After the machine whirred, spun and spat the “nurse” unhooked me and handed me a paper Dixie-type cup. It was flimsy, white colored with pink and blue flowers printed on the outside. She then spat off some rapid Korean. I, of course, gave the universal sign of “I have no I idea what the hell you just said”: Eyes wide open, shoulders raised, uncomfortable half-smile. She acknowledged my confusion by doing an about face and walking quickly away.

Ummmm… ok. Helpful. I returned to the waiting room hoping that the Korean chaperone my school sent would be able to provide insight. I held the cup out confused and said as clearly as possible, “I don’t understand. What do I do?” His response was a grunt, a motion towards the bathroom and then he too did an about face and walked quickly out of the doctors office.

Frustrated and incredibly confused about why everyone kept pivoting quickly and running away from me, I came to the most logical conclusion possible: Being put out and turning quickly to avoid additional interaction must be some sort of Korean cultural tradition. Being an expert at cultural integration I let out a huge sigh and did my own fierce about face and marched towards the bathroom—In the process tweaking my neck from the whiplash. I guess I will need to keep working on my pivoting skills.

Inside the bathroom I massaged my neck and I stared at the paper cup. Then I stared at the sink. And then stared at the toilet. It seemed I had two possibilities. The cup was given to me so that I could get a drink of water. Or to pee into.

I just had my pulse, heart, lungs and various other vital signs checked by a sadistic-looking medical robot. I thought to myself that if they wanted a urine sample they would have given me a plastic non-leaky type cup… with a cover. Right?

But I couldn’t figure why they would want me to drink water at the doctor’s office… after weighing the possibilities I concluded that I needed to pee into the cup…. So I did.

I strode out of the bathroom confidently and carried my slowly deteriorating cup of pee to the nurse who had returned to the examination room (I can only assume by means of a couple of perfectly executed 180 degree turns). At the sight of me her eyes got big and she squealed and waved me away, pointing to the reception desk.

Frustrated, utterly confused and unable to do my newly learned culturally appropriate Korean about face without spilling pee on my fingers, I froze.

The receptionist approached cautiously carrying a shallow cardboard box with a handwritten sign in Korean taped to the front. I can only assume the sign said, “Flimsy Urine Filled Dixie Cups Go Here.”

I placed my cup carefully in the box and then backed away quickly, expecting the receptionist to spin around and send my urine spilling over. Luckily I managed to avoid any flying drops.

Health examination. Check.
Alien registration card. Check.
Dignity. No check.

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making responsible decisions. and drinking beer.

May 7, 2012

in washington state, usa

tags ,

So I think I am moving to a foreign country tomorrow. I say “I think” because I actually don’t have a plane ticket to Korea—or maybe I have a plane ticket, but no one at my new job has given me the (very-important-kinda-necessary) details of this ticket.

Oh yeah, that’s right, I think I’m supposed to start a job next week. I say “I think” because this job is as an English teacher. And I’m not a teacher. Well, I did just spend the past two years in Africa “teaching” people things. But I also spent the past two years chasing bats out of my hut at dusk and I feel far more qualified to be a guano specialist than a teacher.

I’m trying really hard to be a grown up. I’m making a responsible decision and getting a real job (well, at least as “real” as I can manage) that has an actual paycheck—even if it isn’t really something that I am passionate about. I’m making sacrifices and compromising. It kinda sucks.

I am standing over three empty suitcases, gulping down a beer and feeling really disappointed that my packing list includes things like makeup, sweaters, and regular closed-toed shoes. I keep staring longingly at a box filled with the remnants of my former life. A headlamp. A complet made of hand-dyed blue fabric. A couple of mefloquine tablets and a baggie of erythromycin. I can’t help but think that any journey that doesn’t require these things cannot be much of an adventure. I’m also starting to realize that maybe I shouldn’t use the risk of dying of a tropical disease as scale for measuring a journey’s adventurousness. I should also stop making up words like “adventurousness” if I’m going to be an English teacher.

I console myself with the knowledge that even though Seoul is not Africa, it will be better than here. America, you’ve seriously let me down. So I’m leaving, this time for good. That is, if someone would just tell me what plane I’m supposed to get on… Maybe I’ll just have another beer.

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