stages of grief: peace corps edition

December 7, 2011

in washington state, usa

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Stage One – Denial
This stage manifests itself by volunteers insisting that they feel “fine.” They haven’t yet acknowledged that their service is over. They may still refer to themselves as a “PCV” (Peace Corps Volunteer) instead of a “RPCV” (Returned Peace Corps Volunteer). They call their village of service regularly and insist that their local language skills are not declining. Many volunteers prolong this stage indefinitely by embarking on close of service journeys to destinations even Lonely Planet has failed to cover in their Shoestring Guides.

Stage Two – Anger
Once volunteers have accepted that their service is in fact finished, they often channel their overwhelming feelings of guilt and loss into anger. Volunteers in this stage can often be heard crying, “Why me? It’s not fair!” or “Why did this happen to me?”

Stage 3 – Bargaining
At this point many volunteers start to believe that a return to the Peace Corps would solve all their problems. Many may find themselves negotiating with their former Country Directors for Peace Corps staff positions or Peace Corps Response assignments. Volunteers fruitlessly attempt to find a way to re-create their original Peace Corps experience—except vowing to be a “better” or “more effective” volunteer this time around.

Stage 4 – Depression
During the fourth stage the volunteer begins to understand the certainty of the end of their Peace Corps service. Because of this many volunteers may disconnect from the world and people around them. Phone calls to their country of service will occur less frequently. Their lives will revolve around marathons of the television shows Hoarders and Top Chef. Volunteers will spend most of their time grieving the end of their service.

Stage 5 – Acceptance
After grieving the end of their service, volunteers can finally move on and accept their new reality. They reassure themselves that, “It’s going to be okay.” Or “I can’t go back, I may as well move on.” Volunteers fall into their previous lives and their Peace Corps experience becomes something brought up only during drunken bar conversation.

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what 2,000 septuagenarians and i have in common

November 28, 2011

in atlantic ocean

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As I was piecing my return journey to the United States together I scoured the internet for the cheapest and longest route back home. My time in Senegal was up, but I was certainly not in a hurry to get back to the USA.

Mexican food and rootbeer could wait, I was in search of an epic Odysseus-esque journey home—just with fewer Sirens and Cyclops encounters…

By accident (because when does anything awesome happen to me on purpose?) I discovered the cheapest way to get across the Atlantic was to take a repositioning cruise.

Sure the average person probably couldn’t be convinced to spend 2 weeks trapped on a boat in the middle of the ocean, but just in case this isn’t completely obvious to everyone, I am not average people. My standards are much, much lower.

All-you-can-eat food, cheesy on-board entertainment and my own bathroom with indoor—err inboat?—plumbing is kinda like my personal version of 72 virgins waiting for me in Paradise.

Oh, and it was so much cheaper than taking a plane. Snap. Decision made. I bought a ticket.

Once onboard it didn’t take too long for me to find my groove on the good ship Voyager of the Seas. And by groove, I mean discovering the perfect balance of Dramamine and day-drunk.

My initial reluctance to spend much time with my fellow septuagenarian cruisers was quashed when I discovered that as a Returned Peace Corps volunteer I had quite a lot in common with international-retiree-set.

First, we both are used to living on a fixed income. Both RPCVs and aging cruise passengers are experts at getting more for much less. I thought I was being sneaky when I repacked and snuck my own bottle of vodka on the ship. But then I had dinner with a couple that had managed to sneak an entire mini bar—mixers and all–onboard. Overpriced cruise cocktails be damned!

Second, dinner conversation was never difficult because 70-year-olds are as out of touch with technology and pop culture as I am. No one had any idea who the hell Lady Gaga is or what’s so cool about the newest iPhone, so I fit right in.

Finally, Peace Corps Volunteers love to talk about all of our strange medical problems and our medication regimens and most people would consider this level of openness awkward. Not septuagenarian cruise passengers. Most conversations would eventually devolve into ailment one-upmanship. I see your dengue fever and raise you a rheumatoid arthritis.

I wonder if I am old enough to move into a retirement community in Florida…

the dirty details

Transatlantic repositioning cruises take place in the fall and spring when cruise lines move their ships from Europe to the Caribbean. The ships that spend their summers in Europe will cross the Atlantic in the late fall to spend the winter months in the Caribbean and then the process is reversed in the spring. Ticket prices on the cruises are unbelievably low (my cruise from Barcelona to New Orleans was 13 days for $750—but that is the single occupancy rate and most cruise prices are based on double occupancy. For a couple the same cruise would have been $399 per-person.) If you have more time than money and are interested in visiting some of the ports along the way, a repositioning cruise is a great option.

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on pueblo ingles and the multiple meanings of “going down”

November 9, 2011

in coto del valle, spain

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“You are turning me crazy!” Alex, the Spanish engineer bellowed across our table.

Unfazed, I corrected him, “I think you mean I am driving you crazy.”

“You mean like a car?” He asked, scribbling notes frantically on a piece of paper, “I am driving you crazy…”

“Yes, but I am driving you crazy, not you.” I chided, gesturing to myself and then to him for emphasis.

“Oh yes. You are driving me crazy.” Alex proclaimed. Proud of his mastery of yet another English idiom.

“Okay. Good. Now, you are a party animal…”

For a week in the Spanish Andalucían countryside I experienced what only could be explained as linguistic karmic retribution. Spending the last two years torturing the people of Kedougou with my white-girl Pulaar finally caught up with me and now it was my turn to sit down and listen to my language being dissected and tortured by foreigners.

But unlike the poor population of Kedougou, I was getting paid for this.

And by “paid” I mean I received a room in a nice hotel with a balcony and mini-fridge and unlimited red wine and food. So, I got a raise compared to my previous gig. Slowly but surely I am moving up in the world.

This newest opportunity was courtesy of the Pueblo Ingles program.

The Pueblo Ingles week long program is for Spanish students and professionals looking to improve their English skills by immersing themselves in an English speaking environment. The English environment is provided courtesy of native English-speaking “Anglo” volunteers.

The Anglo volunteers are put up in idyllic Spanish hotels with all of their food and accommodation covered–in exchange for spending time with the Spaniards and talking. All you have to do is get yourself to Spain.

So that’s what I did. I filled out an application, booked a flight and next thing you know I was stuffing my face with goat cheese and explaining to a Spanish Catholic school principal the multiple meanings of the English phrasal verb “going down.” Don’t you just love cross-cultural exchange?

the dirty details

The only requirement to be a Pueblo Ingles Anglo volunteer is that you must be a native English speaker with enough life and career experiences to keep you talking for up to 16 hours a day. You can find out more information about how to be a volunteer here.

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