not for mothers (most specifically, mine)

I don’t want to brag, but I’m really good at Mario Kart. (Even though I just spelled it Maria Cart, and couldn’t figure out why it looked wrong). Rainbow World has nothing on this. But no amount of red shells or bananas or ticking bombs on wheels or lightning bolts could have prepared me for driving here. Instead of bananas, you have napping dogs. Instead of ticking bombs, you have massive, blundering bovine. Instead of red shells, you have children haphazardly trying to ride bicycles on a dark street. It is crazy.

During that trip I mentioned in my previous post, to some far off lands up north, we drove on some interesting roads. Pavement ends, gravel (if you’re lucky) begins. Single lane traffic. Headlights viewed as optional. (or merely as a signaling tool) As a signal, the code could be broken down as follows: 1 flash: Hi, I’m here.  2 flashes: You are on my side of the road. Multiple flashes: I realize I’m on your side of the road, but just slow down a little so I can pass this oxen drawn cart with the seven families on it plus the six bicycles in front of it that I won’t see until I’m directly on top of them. Multiple flashes and horn: Hell no, get back on your side of the road.

So, that’s pretty much the code, as I’ve come to understand it. It differs…day light, rain, presence of herds of animals, and a median change the meanings, but generally, you can follow the above as a rule if you ever try to drive here.

During our trip, I would be having a conversation with my friend in the back seat, while constantly aware of what was going on ahead of us. Headlights flashing. Still flashing. Horn comes, we slip in just in time. I would nominate driving here, especially at night, as an olympic sport. It takes muscle coordination, performing at top capacity under extreme circumstances, and considerable skills and training. After driving for 14 hours in two days, I literally felt physical relief when we came into the city and suddenly a median appeared between the two lanes. Not that a median is any guarantee of traffic direction in your lane, but it helps to lessen the abrupt presence of oncoming traffic at any given moment. There are still giant holes in the pavement where, during the day, men had set about to repair a water line and simply hadn’t finished it, or finished it with a large bump in the middle of the road.

Obviously, I’m still alive, and have only witnessed one minor accident in the four months I’ve been here. It is hard to believe, but I think when you set out assuming every other driver is going to do the last possible thing you would ever expect any rational human being to do, you are probably a really great defensive driver.

So, I still love it here, still love the adventure, how every day is different, even every trip to and from work. The other day I got on a bus, running about 10 minutes late. But something just came over me and said, “Have faith in your bus driver.” I thought, “You’re right. I should believe in him. We’ll be there in 10 minutes.” I have never seen someone drive like that. I wouldn’t have thought it possible if I hadn’t experienced it first hand. It was a delicate dance of swerving, barely slowing for a passenger to jump on or off, a quick brake to jolt the bus and give someone a window of opportunity to move. A 10 out of 10 in my book. I stepped off the bus exactly 10 minutes after I got on (a trip that usually takes 15-20) and had more than enough time for my morning chai.

I am pine.

I recently went on an overnight trip with my supervisor and another intern, Brendan, who served as our bodyguard. Although, I have to say, he didn’t do a very good job. I still managed to get mobbed by a group of 5 year old boys. We were wandering around, trying to be as inconspicuous as two white foreigners can be in a town seven hours from a big city, but, shockingly, they found us. The little punk kids always find you. I spotted them down the lane. Or really, I heard them. They were shouting, “What your name?”. We slowly walked down closer to them, laughed, and walked back. One of the older ones, emboldened by his recent brush with death-by-contact-with-foreigner, jumped through a bicycle and the others followed close behind.

I meant to say through. Little kids ride adult sized bikes one of three ways. 1. They stand on one side and use it like a skooter. 2. They sit on the bar rather than the seat. 3. But this kid was in a class of his own. He stuck his leg below the support bar, through to the other side, balanced his weight, and rode the bike. He would actually pedal. I have no idea how he did it. His obvious efforts to impress succeeded completely. One of the littlest ones ran behind trying to poke a stick in the back wheel. Classic boy. If you can’t do it, make the other guy mess up. It makes me smile to know that kids are the same everywhere.

So they rode up to us, and made sure to stop a safe distance away. I greeted them, and they all giggled like little five year old boys do, except the cheeky one with the stick. He just lifted his eye brows. Now, my friend Brendan contends that there is no difference between an eye brow lifted in greeting and an eye brow lifted in invitation. I beg to differ. Either way, this kid was not greeting, let’s just say that. I laughed out loud because it was so unexpected. How does a five year old learn to do that? He was instantly my favorite.

We went back and forth asking “What your name?” to each other, then they got spooked and ran back to the other end of the street to tell everyone about how they were almost eaten alive by the strange white woman. We followed them a few minutes later and were again bombarded by, “What your name?”. I decided they needed to learn some other English phrases, so I taught them, “How are you?” and “I am fine.” Brendan and I demonstrated the interchange, but every time I would ask them, “How are you?” they would just repeat it back. Then I’d say, “I am fine” and they would say in unison, “I am pine.” After awhile a few of them got the hang of it, so we walked down the street like the pied piper with a herd of five year olds behind us shouting, “How are you?” “I am pine!”. What a fun world.

I miss you

I realize that three posts in one day is a bit excessive, especially considering it’s been weeks since I last wrote, but WordPress has this great feature that I just discovered. It tells you how people find your blog. It even tells you the words they type into google to find your blog or to stumble across it, probably.

Here’s a favorite. Tongue zits. Thank you, whoever that was. I can only pray this person happened upon my blog by accident using that search, because, really? Tongue zits? I will take black hairy tongue any day. But it made me laugh, and it made me think of all of you and how much I miss you.

I woke up recently and thought, “What? I’m still here?”. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be here anymore because I still wake up every other day and think, “Yes! I’m here”. It was more about just wishing that I was home with all of you. To be able to go out for Dairy Queen blizzards (you know who you are) or  to play on a play ground or to just know what is going on in the lives of those closest to my heart.

I know most of my stories are silly, which is largely because I prefer to laugh, so that’s what I share. But I want you all to know how well I am doing here. These stories are only indicative of a wonderfully beautiful life here. If you’re not already, you should be jealous. Read between the lines and you’ll see bright saris and naked babies and men urinating at and between every street corner. Not all the best images, but so normal here. Everyday is an adventure, every moment worth capturing, except maybe the frequent and apparently uncontrollable urge to urinate.

I would take pictures constantly if I wasn’t trying to avoid creating even more barriers with the people around me. Everywhere you look, everywhere, is something worth remembering. I don’t think that’s just true about living here, though.

Certainly, it’s the newness that makes me keep my eyes open, but it doesn’t make the familiar any less wondrous. That is why I am so thankful to be here. To be plopped down in this foreign land with my eyes wide open, trying to catch every detail. I go into my day expecting to be astounded; although, my heart doesn’t twist in my chest as often as it used to. I have to keep reminding myself to open my eyes and see what I’m looking at.

Anyway, this started out as a way to tell you all how much I miss you. I hope you know it’s true.

Intruders

Today was, like I mentioned, a bit of a long day. I came home after my language lesson and went into the kitchen for a glass of water. We all know what’s coming. A few, might I say barely, dirty dishes were in the sink, with a cockroach eating off of one of the knives. Usually watching something eat can humanize it a little, even make you feel for its need to survive. Not so with cockroaches. Revulsion is a better word. I carefully cleared the plates and glasses out of the sink, checking the back of my arm frequently in case the cockroach had magically run up my arm and was about to appear on my shoulder like in any good children’s movie. No such luck. It was in the drain.

Now, I just want to pause here to say I’m losing my faith not only in the security of my apartment building but in my neighbors. While certainly unnecessary, the screams that this hunting expedition evoked drew absolutely no response from the surrounding flats. Apparently, I could be robbed blind without a soul to take notice.

For a few minutes, I contemplated trying to save this revolting creature’s life. I thought, “Yeah, that makes sense. I’m a vegetarian. It fits with my worldview…” But, after a few rounds of trying to catch a freakishly fast cockroach, I said, “Hell, no. Today, you’re going to die.” I went and grabbed a shoe (my Birkenstock, which I thought was quite appropriate) and returned to the sink. In a flash, as if he knew it was now or never, the cockroach scurried up the side of the sink and behind my two cutting boards. Not that I need to offer an excuse for my rampage, but let’s just return to that verb for a minute. Scurried. Enough said.

I painstakingly removed dish after dish from the fortress the cockroach had found until, just at the last moment, he jumped down to hide behind my gas burners. Bastard. I decided to throw the shoe aside and go for the big guns. I have this thing about killing animals. If you’re going to do it, make it a fair fight. Granted, me with a birkenstock isn’t that fair of a fight against a six legged insect, but life isn’t fair, and this one was really fast. I grabbed the cockroach spray and jiggled the cutting board under the stove. Nothing. Do cockroaches have tactics? I tried for a few more minutes, and finally gave up, thinking I could clean up the dishes and wait him out.

Just as I was finishing the last dish, I heard a strange sound from the stove. It was a scratchy, metallic noise, like what you would expect a cockroach’s scurrying little insect legs to make. I froze, slowly reached for the can of spray, and waited…

Before you worry too much, Laura, he never came out. For all I know, he’s rummaging through my granola bars right now, chuckling with his friends, while I’m holed up in my room, too afraid to go make an omelette in case he decided to jump on my head or something. Thankfully, some of my granola bars are in my room.

Kindly do the needful

I mean, without question, there are things about living here that are just funny. Little phrases like, “kindly do the needful,” bring just the needed boost of joy to even the bleakest office hour. But, to be completely honest, the funniest thing about living here…is me. I, with my expectations, assumptions, loud mannerisms, and pale skin, walk into any and every situation with a giant target on my forehead (the later pun is unintentional and unavoidable, as I couldn’t think of a better way to phrase this sentence). A few bus stories to illustrate my point.

The other day I was trying one of the new-fangled white buses, with these showy handles hanging down from the roof. Just to set the stage, pretty much from the moment I open my mouth to ask where they are going, I have the entire bus’s attention. On this particular evening, I stepped on, painfully aware that all conversation had stopped and every eye was on me. As the bus lurched forward, a swinging handle struck me between the eyes. It’s like when you see someone trip walking up the stairs or on the sidewalk. I spent the rest of the ride as the girl who got hit by the handle. No one wants that.

Another night, my roommate, Dian, and I climbed on a bus that was almost entirely empty, and the rows were situated facing in rather than the front. We all sat in awkward silence, staring at one another, until I said, “Good evening, everyone. I’m Kari and this is Dian, and we’ll be your entertainment for the duration of your bus ride.”  It’s wonderful to be in a place where, chances are, no one has any idea what you are saying. The awkward silence continued except for our indiscreet laughter and efforts to have a normal conversation with an audience.

Even tonight, after a somewhat long day, I climbed onto a blue bus (I avoid the white ones now) and looked around for a seat. It’s amazing how instantaneously it becomes a group effort to find the strange foreign woman a seat. Everyone directed me to the back where a woman slightly shifted her legs into the aisle so I could slip into the seat next to her. The seat was over a wheel, so I had to step up unto the hub (I don’t know), bump my head (clearly the next step), and slowly settle into the seat. Except the last part didn’t happen. I sat down, expecting to hit seat at any moment, but I suddenly stopped, suspended a few inches above the seat. My hips were wedged between the side of the bus and the woman sitting next to me. I wasn’t even sitting on her lap, just wedged. I couldn’t bring myself to look at her and plead for my dignity, I just looked out the window, trying not to think about my wedged hips and obvious discomfort. Finally, after what felt like an excessively long time, she shifted just enough for me to slide down onto the seat, just enough. I don’t know if combined our hips were too wide for the seat or if her right thigh was just enjoying a holiday on the outside, but that was the tightest ride I’ve experienced since coming here, and we recently fit 8 people in a taxi.

I like having my eyes though. After being here for almost four months (how crazy is that), I’m starting to miss so many things. My eyes glaze over on the ride home, and all I can think about is what I’m going to eat next (sad, but true). I want to keep my wide-eyed way of looking at the city here, shocked at every corner. I want to go out expecting the unimaginable, which, here, is almost guaranteed.

Conspiracy Theory

A bird shat on me the other day. (Is the past tense of a profane word okay? I just don’t know how else to describe what happened.) It was…distressing. I was walking down the street, on my way to Hong Kong Express, and warmth hit my upper arm. I tried to rub it off on leaves and posts, but was unsuccessful. Bird defecation on my arm.

Ever since then, I’ve been paranoid. I hear the loud splattering all around me. In one day, I narrowly missed two well placed attempts that fell just to my side. I felt like I was running through an air strike zone.

Now, this might be a little dramatic, but I feel like the birds are using a really cruel form of psychological torture with me. Have you heard of captors telling their prisoners they are going to shoot them and then just repeatedly misfiring in order to make them go crazy? I mean, it is a bit of a stretch, but it’s working. I do feel a bit like I’m losing my mind. I see anarchy behind every glittery black crow’s eye. Every close call makes me flinch. It’s pushing me to desperation. I might just carry an umbrella everywhere I go.

Lanyards.

People are really into them here. Many people will have more than one lanyard around their neck with whatever is attached stuck into their chest pocket. It’s been suggested that I get one for my keys.

A week ago, we had two new interns arrive, and they were staying with me since they didn’t know how to get around yet. We went over to a friend’s for dinner, and mid-way through the take out order I realized I had locked my keys in my flat. I frantically called around, but eventually had to resign myself to the reality. We were staying there for the night. It ended up working out, with us rushing home the next day to change quickly before their first day at the office. (this is the black tongue day)

Now, our office is quite small, and the room I’m in fits 5 people in a space meant for one. So much stuff. It’s my job to organize it all, so a friend and I took a carload to my flat to store the stuff there. We were just pulling the last of it off the elevator when I realized I left my keys at the office.

So, my friend drove back to the office and I sat on the ground and read for an hour with intermittent breaks to try to kill the mosquitos swarming around me. I think that must be one of the funniest things to watch people do from a distance.

One comforting thought, my friend tried very diligently to break into my apartment and failed, so rest easy, I’m safe.

within 30 minutes

Our refrigerator broke probably 5 months ago, but we only just recently found a repair man that would admit it. Apparently, all of them would tell Julia and Emily that the water pouring out of the bottom was normal. It is also apparently normal for the sides to be burning hot and for your milk to spoil within a few days.

So, today, I’m home from the office, with the refrigerator repair man. I’ve been here since 1:40, but he didn’t come until 3. I called him at about 2:30 to see where he was, and he said he’d be here within 30 minutes. So I waited. He brought new shelves, which is great. We have to carefully balance our food on the sides so they wouldn’t break all the way through. But the tubing he brought to fix the leak was too short, so we’ve been sitting around for about an hour waiting for his colleague to come. I finally asked if it was finished, and that’s when he told me he was waiting for a longer tube, but that it should be here within 30 minutes. Fantastic.

That’s my news. I also had Subway for lunch and a mangosicle for dessert. I hope you have the joy of eating a mangosicle someday soon.

Black Hairy Tongue

Most frequently referred to as black hairy tongue, lingua villosa is apparently quite a common ailment. While a number of precipitating factors have been found to contribute to black tongue fungus, as it is affectionately referred to, “there is no predictive value to the finding of hairy tongue.” (courtesy of Wikipedia)

Hairy tongue. First of all, not a completely accurate description. There were no hairs. Plenty of discoloration, as you can see, but no hairs, praise God.

As I read through the Wikipedia description of black hairy tongue, I had literally taken every necessary precaution to ensure that a black fungus could survive on the surface of my tongue.  

1. Tobacco use. While not a regular smoker, I do enjoy the occasional hookah, so Sunday night, some friends and I went out for hookah. After which, I realized I had locked my keys in my flat, so I was forced to stay at a friend’s house.

2. Poor oral hygiene. (This is the embarrassing one.) Since I was staying with a friend, I couldn’t brush my teeth after the hookah, and apparently toothpaste on a finger didn’t cut it. (I promise, I brush regularly and thoroughly.) Additionally, I had been up throughout the previous night with stomach related issues, so I took a Cipro to kill my new little friends.

3. Antibiotics apparently contribute to the development of BTF as well as taking antacids. So, obviously, to help with my current symptoms I chewed one

4. Pepto Bismol tablet before falling asleep. Mix thoroughly and let sit overnight and you have black hairy tongue.

As gross as these pictures are, I must admit, they were taken almost at the end of the day and after I had brushed my teeth and eaten several times. It was on the mend at this point. My friends were incredibly gracious, as you would expect anyone to be about a black hairy tongue.

Extravagant Abundance

Sometimes it’s just too much, isn’t it?

You go out for a simple sunset and come back, your face glowing from your seat in the cleft of the rock.

Last Saturday, I flew along the Himalayas to get a glimpse of Mount Everest. I had no way of knowing what was coming. Who could expect it? Massive, towering, and majestic mountains surrounded the plane. Shane and Shane’s song Fringes was playing in my mind along with Rachmaninov’s Vespers. I kept thinking, “If these are the fringes, then who can stand to look on his face?” Perhaps that is why he covers us with his hand.

That evening, I watched the sun set over the same hills, barely blinking in an effort not to miss a single shadow or ray. A few times my eyes clenched shut on their own, as if to say, “We can’t take anymore in.” My heart pounded in my chest for over an hour as hills faded and reappeared, clouds broke apart, and the world grew dark.

I’m reading Annie Dillard’s book, “Pilgrim at Tinker Creek” currently, the inspiration for the brief thoughts shared here, and she talks about the tree with lights in it. About herself as a bell, once struck, that stands resounding. I feel my spirit reverberating from that night, trembling at the magnitude and depth of beauty. Overcome by it all.